Suche:not glass

Supermodels ist eine Platte, in der man sich selbst wiedererkennen kann, egal wie alt man ist oder wo man steht. Clauds fesselndes und ergreifendes zweites Album ist ein selbstbewusstes Tagebuch über das Quecksilber des Lebens und der Liebe in den frühen 20ern, ob es nun die Selbstzweifel sind, die sich durch die Songs schleichen, oder der Ort des Kompromisses, den sie zu finden versuchen. Es ist eine exakte Karte der emotionalen und logistischen Wechselfälle, denen sie in ihren frühen 20ern begegnet sind. Risse in Romanzen und Freundschaften, der Druck der Plattenkarriere, die Verluste des Erwachsenwerdens: Jeder dieser 13 Songs ist ein weiterer artikulierter Tagebucheintrag, der ohne Rücksicht auf das Genre und mit der Achterbahn der Gefühle zusammengefügt wurde, die jedem Stück eine so spezifische Schwere verleiht. Für Claud sind dies vertraute Themen, die zum Teil das gleiche Terrain abdecken wie Super Monster von 2021. Aber die Ideen haben ein neues Selbstvertrauen, das sich in Strukturen und Hooks ausdrückt, die nicht zweideutig sind, wenn sie sich von stirnrunzelndem Folk über ungestümen Pop bis hin zu verdrehten Klavierkuriositäten bewegen. Während Supermodels größtenteils im Schlafzimmer ihrer Kindheit entstanden ist, wurde dieses Album an einem eigenen Ort aufgenommen und von einem Team von Vertrauten und Mitarbeitern zu prächtigen Produktionen ausgebaut. Supermodels hat seinen Namen aus dem Albumsong „Screwdriver“. „You caught me looking at photographs of supermodels“, singen sie, wobei sich ihre Stimme langsam über die elegische Zeile erhebt, die auf dem kaputten Klavier geschrieben wurde. "Trying not to cry when I look back at myself". Es ist ein erschütternder Moment, eine Erinnerung daran, wie wir alle daran arbeiten, uns nicht mehr als minderwertig und nicht gleichwertig zu sehen, um ein Dutzend verschiedener Unsicherheiten zu überwinden, die wir in den tiefsten Nischen unserer Fassade zu speichern versuchen. Aber Claud verbirgt bei Supermodels nichts. Es sind Kerne der Verzweiflung, der Erlösung und letztlich der Einsicht, die uns daran erinnern, dass wir weder die Ersten noch die Letzten sind, die sich diesem Blues stellen und weitermachen.

Supermodels ist eine Platte, in der man sich selbst wiedererkennen kann, egal wie alt man ist oder wo man steht. Clauds fesselndes und ergreifendes zweites Album ist ein selbstbewusstes Tagebuch über das Quecksilber des Lebens und der Liebe in den frühen 20ern, ob es nun die Selbstzweifel sind, die sich durch die Songs schleichen, oder der Ort des Kompromisses, den sie zu finden versuchen. Es ist eine exakte Karte der emotionalen und logistischen Wechselfälle, denen sie in ihren frühen 20ern begegnet sind. Risse in Romanzen und Freundschaften, der Druck der Plattenkarriere, die Verluste des Erwachsenwerdens: Jeder dieser 13 Songs ist ein weiterer artikulierter Tagebucheintrag, der ohne Rücksicht auf das Genre und mit der Achterbahn der Gefühle zusammengefügt wurde, die jedem Stück eine so spezifische Schwere verleiht. Für Claud sind dies vertraute Themen, die zum Teil das gleiche Terrain abdecken wie Super Monster von 2021. Aber die Ideen haben ein neues Selbstvertrauen, das sich in Strukturen und Hooks ausdrückt, die nicht zweideutig sind, wenn sie sich von stirnrunzelndem Folk über ungestümen Pop bis hin zu verdrehten Klavierkuriositäten bewegen. Während Supermodels größtenteils im Schlafzimmer ihrer Kindheit entstanden ist, wurde dieses Album an einem eigenen Ort aufgenommen und von einem Team von Vertrauten und Mitarbeitern zu prächtigen Produktionen ausgebaut. Supermodels hat seinen Namen aus dem Albumsong „Screwdriver“. „You caught me looking at photographs of supermodels“, singen sie, wobei sich ihre Stimme langsam über die elegische Zeile erhebt, die auf dem kaputten Klavier geschrieben wurde. "Trying not to cry when I look back at myself". Es ist ein erschütternder Moment, eine Erinnerung daran, wie wir alle daran arbeiten, uns nicht mehr als minderwertig und nicht gleichwertig zu sehen, um ein Dutzend verschiedener Unsicherheiten zu überwinden, die wir in den tiefsten Nischen unserer Fassade zu speichern versuchen. Aber Claud verbirgt bei Supermodels nichts. Es sind Kerne der Verzweiflung, der Erlösung und letztlich der Einsicht, die uns daran erinnern, dass wir weder die Ersten noch die Letzten sind, die sich diesem Blues stellen und weitermachen.

Supermodels ist eine Platte, in der man sich selbst wiedererkennen kann, egal wie alt man ist oder wo man steht. Clauds fesselndes und ergreifendes zweites Album ist ein selbstbewusstes Tagebuch über das Quecksilber des Lebens und der Liebe in den frühen 20ern, ob es nun die Selbstzweifel sind, die sich durch die Songs schleichen, oder der Ort des Kompromisses, den sie zu finden versuchen. Es ist eine exakte Karte der emotionalen und logistischen Wechselfälle, denen sie in ihren frühen 20ern begegnet sind. Risse in Romanzen und Freundschaften, der Druck der Plattenkarriere, die Verluste des Erwachsenwerdens: Jeder dieser 13 Songs ist ein weiterer artikulierter Tagebucheintrag, der ohne Rücksicht auf das Genre und mit der Achterbahn der Gefühle zusammengefügt wurde, die jedem Stück eine so spezifische Schwere verleiht. Für Claud sind dies vertraute Themen, die zum Teil das gleiche Terrain abdecken wie Super Monster von 2021. Aber die Ideen haben ein neues Selbstvertrauen, das sich in Strukturen und Hooks ausdrückt, die nicht zweideutig sind, wenn sie sich von stirnrunzelndem Folk über ungestümen Pop bis hin zu verdrehten Klavierkuriositäten bewegen. Während Supermodels größtenteils im Schlafzimmer ihrer Kindheit entstanden ist, wurde dieses Album an einem eigenen Ort aufgenommen und von einem Team von Vertrauten und Mitarbeitern zu prächtigen Produktionen ausgebaut. Supermodels hat seinen Namen aus dem Albumsong „Screwdriver“. „You caught me looking at photographs of supermodels“, singen sie, wobei sich ihre Stimme langsam über die elegische Zeile erhebt, die auf dem kaputten Klavier geschrieben wurde. "Trying not to cry when I look back at myself". Es ist ein erschütternder Moment, eine Erinnerung daran, wie wir alle daran arbeiten, uns nicht mehr als minderwertig und nicht gleichwertig zu sehen, um ein Dutzend verschiedener Unsicherheiten zu überwinden, die wir in den tiefsten Nischen unserer Fassade zu speichern versuchen. Aber Claud verbirgt bei Supermodels nichts. Es sind Kerne der Verzweiflung, der Erlösung und letztlich der Einsicht, die uns daran erinnern, dass wir weder die Ersten noch die Letzten sind, die sich diesem Blues stellen und weitermachen.

Als autodidaktische Musikerin und charakteristisch private Künstlerin, die ihr Leben ihrer Arbeit widmet, taucht die amerikanische Songwriterin Julie Byrne nach über sechs Jahren seit ihrem ihrem letzten Album "Not Even Happiness" aus einer zutiefst anstrengenden und generativen Phase mit der kraftvollsten, glänzendsten und lebensbejahendsten Musik ihrer Karriere auf. The Greater Wings wurde über mehrere Jahreszeiten hinweg geschrieben, mit Bildern von Nächten auf Tour, Zeiten der Isolation und den Fahrten quer durchs Land für die verschiedenen Kollaborationen zwischen Chicago, New York und Los Angeles. Die Aufnahmen begannen mit dem verstorbenen Eric Littmann (Phantom Posse, Steve Sobs), ihrem langjährigen kreativen Partner und Not Even Happiness-Produzenten, und endeten in den Catskills von New York mit dem Produzenten Alex Somers (Sigur Rós, Julianna Barwick). Obwohl sie die Plastizität des Verlustes in sich tragen, sind die Lieder universell, ungezügelt in ihrer Hingabe und Freude. Byrne lehnt sich weiter in Atmosphären, die sowohl weitläufig als auch intim sind; das üppige, beschwörende Songhandwerk fließt zwischen ihrer charakteristischen fingergezupften Gitarre, dem Synthesizer und einem neu hinzugefügten Klavier, das durch Ausschmückungen mit Harfe und Streichern erweitert wird. Es ist der transzendente Klang von Ressourcen, von Freundschaft, die nie ohne Romantik war, von Loyalität, die von innen heraus brennt wie ein brennendes Herz, und der Lebenskraft, die in unwiederholbaren Momenten heraufbeschworen wird - roh, wunderschön und wild. "Meine Hoffnung für The Greater Wings ist, dass es als Liebesbrief an meine auserwählte Familie und als Ausdruck der Tiefe meines Engagements für unsere gemeinsame Zukunft lebt", erklärt Byrne. "Durch die Trauer neu geformt zu werden, hat mir auch bewusster gemacht, was der Tod mir nicht nimmt. Das nehme ich mir zu Herzen, in Worte, in Töne. Musik ist nicht an eine lineare Zeit gebunden, so dass sie in der Lage ist, die Zukunft aufzuzeichnen und zu ihr zu sprechen: So hat es sich für mich angefühlt, als wir gleichzeitig lebendig waren und alles auf einmal geschah. Wie es sich angefühlt hat, an meine Grenzen zu gehen und zu stoßen, die Liebe, die diesen ganzen Kampf wert war. Diese Erinnerungen sind meine Werte, sie gehören zu mir."

Als autodidaktische Musikerin und charakteristisch private Künstlerin, die ihr Leben ihrer Arbeit widmet, taucht die amerikanische Songwriterin Julie Byrne nach über sechs Jahren seit ihrem ihrem letzten Album "Not Even Happiness" aus einer zutiefst anstrengenden und generativen Phase mit der kraftvollsten, glänzendsten und lebensbejahendsten Musik ihrer Karriere auf. The Greater Wings wurde über mehrere Jahreszeiten hinweg geschrieben, mit Bildern von Nächten auf Tour, Zeiten der Isolation und den Fahrten quer durchs Land für die verschiedenen Kollaborationen zwischen Chicago, New York und Los Angeles. Die Aufnahmen begannen mit dem verstorbenen Eric Littmann (Phantom Posse, Steve Sobs), ihrem langjährigen kreativen Partner und Not Even Happiness-Produzenten, und endeten in den Catskills von New York mit dem Produzenten Alex Somers (Sigur Rós, Julianna Barwick). Obwohl sie die Plastizität des Verlustes in sich tragen, sind die Lieder universell, ungezügelt in ihrer Hingabe und Freude. Byrne lehnt sich weiter in Atmosphären, die sowohl weitläufig als auch intim sind; das üppige, beschwörende Songhandwerk fließt zwischen ihrer charakteristischen fingergezupften Gitarre, dem Synthesizer und einem neu hinzugefügten Klavier, das durch Ausschmückungen mit Harfe und Streichern erweitert wird. Es ist der transzendente Klang von Ressourcen, von Freundschaft, die nie ohne Romantik war, von Loyalität, die von innen heraus brennt wie ein brennendes Herz, und der Lebenskraft, die in unwiederholbaren Momenten heraufbeschworen wird - roh, wunderschön und wild. "Meine Hoffnung für The Greater Wings ist, dass es als Liebesbrief an meine auserwählte Familie und als Ausdruck der Tiefe meines Engagements für unsere gemeinsame Zukunft lebt", erklärt Byrne. "Durch die Trauer neu geformt zu werden, hat mir auch bewusster gemacht, was der Tod mir nicht nimmt. Das nehme ich mir zu Herzen, in Worte, in Töne. Musik ist nicht an eine lineare Zeit gebunden, so dass sie in der Lage ist, die Zukunft aufzuzeichnen und zu ihr zu sprechen: So hat es sich für mich angefühlt, als wir gleichzeitig lebendig waren und alles auf einmal geschah. Wie es sich angefühlt hat, an meine Grenzen zu gehen und zu stoßen, die Liebe, die diesen ganzen Kampf wert war. Diese Erinnerungen sind meine Werte, sie gehören zu mir."

Catorce reflexiones sobre el fin (Fourteen Reflections on the End) originated from an installation exhibited at the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Oaxaca, Mexico, in 2019. Fourteen magnetic bodies of tape that dialogued with the fourteen pieces of electroacoustic music now contained in this album composed from the sound anthology of Angélica Castelló. Thus, Catorce reflexiones sobre el fin is a complex piece consisting of multiple parts that, although articulated with each other, hold a life of their own.

Like every body, these have a unique history made up of mixed fragments spun by Angélica, ranging from field recordings, references, and self-references to previous pieces, experiences, and voice recordings made specifically for these compositions re-recorded in various formats, from lo to high fidelity, analog and digital, composed, decomposed and recomposed (Castelló, A., 2019). Likewise, as any body, they also reflect on their end, whether absolute or temporal, of the many ways of being finite and of saying goodbye.

During the Catorce reflexiones sobre el fin, Castelló takes you on a journey that is difficult to locate. An ethereal space between shattered glass, stridulation of cicadas, war drums, murmurs in French, Italian maledictions, and soft recitations in Spanish. From uproar to solace, all wrapped in a soft abstraction that only allows access to the subtle whisper of these expressions. A gesture between invitation and sharing because who does not recognize oneself in this emotional storm?

First, the approach of the winds, the first breeze that caresses the body. Then the bewilderment announced by the scent of uncertainty condensed in the air’s humidity. The prelude to the storm, to something that will shake you from head to toe, something from which there will be no return.

To the acceleration of the winds comes the percussions, the tremor of the storm with its lightning. la Ira (1). A vibration running through the whole body, unstoppable. This reverberating sound, resulting from its re-percussion with our body acoustics, owes its tones and echoes to the cavities and organs of different masses. From what is hollow and what is full; what is void and what is matter. There is no turning back. It is a dive into the void; to fight and resist because there is no other way to go. It is a matter of survival.

Ma fin est mon commencement Et mon commencement ma fin (2)

After this, the cicada resumes at the crack of dawn, a gentle breeze, and solitude, that temporarily musical silence of embraces (3) with hints of harpsichord and bells.

The breaking of the waves in Sicily is accompanied by the antenna that picks up radio transmissions that already invite other tastes. The Mediterranean and its currents mingle and divide tense routes of escape, exchange, and struggle between Blutorangen, tides, and birdsongs.

An immersion into deep waters.

And in the end, we all commit sins! Queste maledette! (4)

Lorena Moreno Vera, 2023

The turbocharged Boosted EP from Washington DC's Jackson Ryland drops in Peach Discs. Inspired by the multi-faceted work of hyper-prolific producers such as Paul Johnson, Heiko Laux, K-Hand, Aubrey & Cari Lekebusch, Boosted's four tracks highlight the various layers that make up Jackson's sound, and confirm him as a thrilling and versatile producer whose deep understanding of dance music's history informs his firmly present approach to production.

Recorded between 2018 and 2022, Boosted splits the difference between the booming drums and trippy synth patterns of "Glass Cut" and "Hyp Gruuv," and the complex, evolving textures of "Boosted" and "Lip," the latter representing a side not often heard in Jackson's output to date. Taken as a whole, the EP fits into the long lineage of DC-based music - one defined by an effortless flexibility to flip between emotions while never forsaking the groove.

This is the 2nd release of the year on Shanti Celeste and Gramrcy's Peach Discs.

Eaux proudly announces the second full length LP from Rrose, Please Touch, released on vinyl, CD, and digital download. The LP follows 2019's Hymn to Moisture in ways that are both subtle and striking: Please Touch further hones the artist's tensile sound while exploring new aesthetic vistas and basking in an undeniably erotic sense of play. Moving with undulating power, the album's nine tracks drift across tempos from a weightless 0 bpm to a crawling 100 to a lunging 140 and back, with a rich palette of sculpted noise and cross-talking microtones.

Rrose's compositional process, rooted in their studies with West Coast avant garde trailblazers at Mills College, centers on "seed" sounds being fed through elaborate webs of interrelated audio processing. The result is a world where changes in any one element have downstream implications for some or all the others. It's a rich interdependence that lets the tracks breathe, grow and mutate with uncanny organicism. Please Touch addresses in equal measure the perceptual and the corporeal: these are sounds that sink into the body, exhibiting a tactility that pushes, pulls, bends and yields with fearsome vibrancy.

The album splits its time between radical techno iterations and pieces which pare back the percussion, letting the synth textures uncurl in their own time and space. The quivering drone and rolling sub-bass of "Joy of the Worm'' set the tone for the record, while "Rib Cage," Spore" and "Spines " swing with stepping rhythmic underpinnings. Building with finely calibrated tension, they use their few elements to startling, snarling effect. "Pleasure Vessels" is a rare moment of becalmed introspection in Rrose's oeuvre, hinting at a melodic ambiance that is practically unseen in previous works. It glows with a soft, dawn-like light before dissolving into a tidal fizz. "The Illuminating Glass'' brings the tempo down to a languorous chug, nodding its way through a field of glistening chirps and leaden gasps. "Feeding Time," "Disappear" and album closer "Turning Blue'' meanwhile nod to the cerebral psychedelia of Rrose's forebears, with mesmeric, looping textures and long, magisterial tones not dissimilar to the spectral works of James Tenney (whose work Rrose regularly performs) and the deep listening pieces of Pauline Oliveros.

The title of the album refers playfully to the tactile quality of the music while hinting at a forbidden sensuality that is only permitted within the confines of this microcosm. The phrase is also another nod to Marcel Duchamp, who gave this title to a 1947 exhibition of Surrealist art. Across the nine tracks, Rrose follows the lead of the sound(s) rather than trying to impose on the flow of the sonic material. Each move changes the parameters of a track's evolution. Thus, a non-hierarchical, symbiotic relationship forms between the so-called "music-maker" and the music itself. Please Touch acts as a collection of limbs, organs, parasites, and growths which both devour each other and keep each other alive.

Black Truffle is pleased to announce Symphony No. 107 –The Bard, a previously unheard archival recording of the legendary improvising ensemble MEV (Musica Elettronica Viva), captured in concert at Bard College, New York in 2012. Formed by a group of American expat composers in Rome in 1966, the MEV ensemble played an important role in the development of free improvisation, bridging the live electronics tradition begun by Cage and Tudor and the high-energy squall of free jazz. Early recordings like Spacecraft or The Sound Pool unleash volleys of metal and glass amplified with contact microphones, howling winds, primitive synthesizer bleep and raucous audience participation, the intensity of which puts much later ‘noise’ to shame. In later decades, the ensemble would go through many iterations, often including legendary free players like Steve Lacy and George Lewis. In its final years, MEV settled into the core trio of founding members heard here: Alvin Curran, Frederic Rzewski, and Richard Teitelbaum, using piano, electronics, and small instruments.

Curran, Rzewski, and Teitelbaum were life-long friends blessed, as Curran says, with ‘incompatible personalities’: major figures in the post-Cagean experimental tradition, they explored countless divergent and even contradictory paths as composers and performers, from agitprop songs to brainwave-controlled synthesis. MEV is the sound of these three personalities coming together, their contributions radically individual yet attaining a state of ‘fundamental unity’ that Rzewski, in a text written in the collective’s earliest years, defined as the ‘final goal of improvisation’. Of course, listeners familiar with aspect of the trio’s individual works might hazard some guesses about who is doing what: the crisp piano figures are probably Rzewski’s, the cut-up hip-hop samples most likely Curran’s, the sliding, squelching synth possibly Teitelbaum’s. But often these identities are dissolved in a constantly shifting hall of mirrors, the listener unable to tell which of these pianos is live and which is a sample of a past virtuoso, or whether a horn blast derives from ethnographic documentation or Curran cutting loose on Shofar. The two side-long sets here occupy a similar terrain of constantly shifting texture and instrumentation, unexpected interruptions, and moments of sudden beauty. The first set is sparser, at times almost ominous, as a bell repeatedly sounds across wheezing harmonica, seasick orchestral textures, and creaking wood, making room for episodes of yodelling and delicate prepared piano before exploding into a storm of buzzing synth and piano fragments. The second set is more frenetic, moving rapidly across centuries and continents: cars crash into post-serial piano pointillism, wailing voices collide with chopped and screwed hip-hop samples, Hollywood strings are buried under layers of electronic gurgles. The performance slows in its final moments, making way for a sampled voice repeating the phrase ‘protest and the good of the world’, reminding us that MEV’s idea of freedom was always more than musical. Symphony No. 107 –The Bard is a beautifully recorded example of the endlessly multi-layered later MEV sound, accompanied by new liner notes by Alvin Curran (now the only surviving member of the group) and a selection of previously unseen photographs from across the many decades of the group’s activity. Arriving in an elegant sleeve bearing a beautiful photograph by Francis Zhou of the Olin Hall at Bard College where the concert was recorded, this is an essential document from a major group in the history of experimental music. As Rzewski wrote, this music is ‘like life, unpredictable, sometimes making sense, mostly not’.

How about you forget for a moment all the things you thought you knew about Saroos, okay? First of all, let’s forget about all the other projects these guys are part of. Why? Because thinking of The Notwist, Driftmachine, Lali Puna, Tvii Son, to name “only” half a dozen things, might be misleading in this case. What’s more, please make sure to forget the fact that they’re mostly filed under “instrumental,” “post-rock dub,” or “kraut-flavored indie-tronica,” you know, all that. And most importantly, let’s forget that they’re a closed, three-minded system: a fixed and fully committed entity of three. No more!

Known to reinvent themselves in less drastic ways, Christoph Brandner, Max Punktezahl and Florian Zimmer, have opened the floodgates to COLLABORATION – making things open, porous, different, new, in many ways, on their quietly explosive latest album “Turtle Roll”.

Announced by 2021 singles “Tin & Glass” feat. Ronald Lippok and aptly titled “Frequency Change” feat. Leila Gharib aka Sequoyah Tiger, the sixth full-length sees the Berlin threesome add another handful of vocal guests along the way – thus turning into shape-shifting full bands and/or temp quartets, perfectly at home in about as many genres as there are tracks on the LP.

Kicked off by the motoric B-funk (Berlin represent) of the Lippok-assisted “Tin & Glass,” complete with retro-futuristic effects, spoken declarations, and non-terrestrial vibes, it might not be Daft Punk playing at their house, but a byobv (vibe) house party of musical minds isn’t too far off, actually! Once again as much a mixtape as an album, the mood, vibe, and color changes with every new collaborative tune: From ethereally soothing and dreamy (“The Mind Knows” feat. Solent from Canada) to clap-driven and wildly hypnotic (that pounding “Mutazione,” featuring vocals and rhymes courtesy of Eva Geist from Italy) and almost radio-ready (“current, bass-heavy alternative indie hits only!”), when that stadium-sized oomph of “Frequency Change” feat. Sequoyah Tiger arrives around halfway in.

Elsewhere, Japanese guest Kiki Hitomi (WaqWaq Kingdom) adds exotic ecstasy to the hypothermic beatscapes of “The Sign,” while Ukrainian vocalist Lucy Zoria pushes poetic layers over “Southern Blue”’s wonky foundation that hardens and finds more direction with each round the beat clock takes – until it’s impossible to escape that undertow. “My baby makes it better,” sings Caleb Dailey on the faithful and still-loving “Being with You,” a sepia, softly churning look back by the US songsmith, a sweetly shimmering ode to a relationship.

Speaking of foursomes, there’s four instrumental tracks scattered throughout the new LP – ranging from a painting in crystal clear colors of night (“Organ of Recall”) to the highly dramatic sonic tapestry of “Thicket” (actually feat. vocals as well). Before the perfect goodbye of slow-moving album closer “Here Before,” “Passed Out” sounds like Odd Nosdam finding his feet after blacking out on a German carnival.

Titled after a surf maneuver that allows you to break through the crests on the way out, Saroos have skipped the obvious waves with “Turtle Roll” – creating their own kind of sonic “Hang Ten” by adding 7 new voices to the mix.

The next chapter of the Natural Information Society is here. Since Time Is Gravity, credited to Natural Information Society Community Ensemble with Ari Brown, presents a newly expanded manifestation of acclaimed composer & multi-instrumentalist Joshua Abrams nearly 15 year, 7 albums &-counting flagship ensemble. Joining the core NIS of Abrams (guimbri & bass), Lisa Alvarado (harmonium) Mikel Patrick Avery (drums) & Jason Stein (bass clarinet) are Hamid Drake (percussion), Josh Berman & Ben Lamar Gay (cornets), Nick Mazzarella & Mai Sugimoto (alto saxophones & flute), Kara Bershad (harp) & Chicago living legend of the tenor saxophone Ari Brown. Recorded live to tape at Electrical Audio & The Graham Foundation, cover painting Vibratory Cartography: Nepantla, by Lisa Alvarado. 2xLP on Eremite USA, 2xLP & CD on Aguirre/Eremite Europe. Out 14-04.

Since first developing Natural Information Society in 2010, Joshua Abrams has been gradually expanding the group’s conceptual underpinnings, its musical references & the sheer number of the group’s members. Its music is, in a sense, an expansive form of minimalism, based in repeated & overlaid rhythmic patterns, ostinatos & modality. Its roots, its scale & its meaning become clearer in time. If time is gravity, it also allows us to carry more. Having begun as fundamentally a rhythm section with Abrams’ guimbri at its core, the version here can stretch to a tentet, including six horns.

Abrams has been expanding his minimalism gradually, but he has long understood a key to minimalism’s potential: the breadth of its roots in the late 1950s & early 1960s, ranging from the dissatisfaction of young European-stream composers with the limitations of serialism to the simultaneous dissatisfaction of jazz musicians with the dense harmonic vocabulary of bop & hard bop. The former began exploring rhythmic complexity & narrow tonal palates in place of harmonic abstraction (Steve Reich’s Drumming, Philip Glass’ Music with Changing Parts; perhaps above all Terry Riley’s In C & his late ‘60s all-night organ & loop concerts); the later reduced dense chord changes to scales (signally with Miles Davis' Kind of Blue, but rapidly expanding with John Coltrane’s vast project). In the 1950s the LP record opened the world with documentation of Asian & African musics, key influences on both minimalists & jazz musicians. If John Coltrane’s soprano saxophone suggested the keening shehnai of Bismillah Khan, the instrument was rapidly taken up by two key minimalists, LaMonte Young & Riley, similarly appreciative of its flexible intonation, the same thing that kept it out of big bands.

If the guimbri, the North African hide-covered lute that Abrams plays with NIS, involves a rich tradition of hypnotic healing music associated with the Gnawa people, Abrams’ music also touches on other musics as well — other depths, memories & healings, different drones, rhythms & modes. As the group expands on Since Time Is Gravity, he has made certain jazz traditions in the same stream more explicit as well. If there is a mystical & elastic quality involved in the experience of time, both in direction & duration, you will catch it here. The parts for the choir of winds expand on the roles of Abrams’ guimbri, Mikel Patrick Avery & Hamid Drake’s percussion & Lisa Alvarado’s harmonium: at times, the winds are almost looping in the tentet version, each hitting a repeating note in turn, at once drone & distinct inflection on temporal sequence. The brilliance of the work resides in Abrams’ compositions, the NIS’ intuitive execution & in Ari Brown’s singular embodiment of the great tenor saxophone tradition, including the oracular genius of Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis, & Yusef Lateef. The three pieces by the expanded NIS featuring Brown —the opening “Moontide Chorus” & “Is” & the ultimate “Gravity”— have an immediate impact, & togther might be considered a kind of concerto for tenor saxophone. Here Brown presses almost indistinguishably from composed melody to improvised speech, getting so close to language that he might have a text. Everything here is a sign. Note the tap of the Rhythm Ace that links “Moontide Chorus” to “Is”, the attentive heart always present, even when signed by a machine. There’s a link here to the methodologies & meanings of dub music & the linear & vertical collage of beats, textures & tongues: treated with reverence, a sample of a beat-box can be as soulful, as hypnotic, as a mbira or a tamboura. If those pieces with Brown are heard as a suspended concerto, the three embrace & enfold the other works, like the sepals of a flower. That placement will also touch on the mysteries of our perception of time.

Particularly in “Is”, but elsewhere as well, a phenomenon of transcendence arises in which time appears to be tripartite, at once moving backwards & forwards & standing still. This is an act of technical brilliance certainly, but also an illumination of music’s ability to represent temporal consciousness through polymetrics. This particular listener has only heard it before in a few places, including the horn shouts & bowed basses of Coltrane’s Africa, in moments of Charles Mingus’ The Black Saint & the Sinner Lady, in certain pieces where tapes were literally running backwards, & earlier still in Dizzy Gillespie’s Cubana Be, Cubana Bop, in which the composer George Russell & conguero Chano Pozo found a music that spoke at once in the voices of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring & the vestigial rites, rhythms & songs of the Yoruba language & Santeria religion of inland Cuba.

In Joshua Abrams’ compositions & the realization of them by the NIS, in the time of one’s close listening & memory thereof, distinctions between the “natural” & the “social”, the “quotidian” & the “transcendent” are erased, suspended or perhaps irrelevant. Consider two of the ensemble pieces, one named for nature, the other social science. In “Murmuration” the repeated wind figures of flute & alto saxophone combine with the interlocking patterns of harp, guimbri & frame drum (tar) to create a perfect moving stillness, not an imitation but a witness to the miracle of the starlings’ astonishing collective art, a surfeit of beauty that might be the ultimate defense tactic.

“Stigmergy” takes its name & concept from the Occupy movement’s Heather Marsh, who proposes a social system based on a cooperative rather than competitive models, one in which ideas are freely contributed & developed as ideas rather than an individual’s property. In its form, Abrams’ “Stigmergy” is the closes thing to traditional jazz, a series of accompanied solos by each of the wind players. However, the composed accompaniment is a radically collectivist notion: a repeated rhythmic figure, call it ostinato or riff, in which the different winds each play only a note or two of the figure, a concept both more collectivist & individualistic in its conception than any typical unison figure. It suggests another of the underlying recognitions that propel the Natural Information Society, the group as social organism, the teleology of hypnotic anarchy, all parts in place, functioning systematically, evolving & expressing itself, its nature & society, as a transformative organism.

George Lewis has described music as “a space for reflection on the human condition”. This suggests that, rather than a “distraction”, at least some music might serve as a distraction from distraction. It’s a focus, a clarity, a awareness, an external invitation to interiority, as if music itself is a model for form & contemplation, an organism contemplating for us or as us. If that is a possibility, & I am sure I have heard such musics, than this music is among them. How many of our rhythms, melodies & harmonies (cultural, historical, biological, psychic) might such music carry, translate & transform in the particulate ecstasy of our own murmuration? (Stuart Broomer, April 2022)

Nach einem Jahr voller schwindelerregender Verluste, persönlicher Selbstbeobachtung und bittersüßer Erinnerungen kehren die Foo Fighters mit einem neuen Album ''But Here We Are'' zurück, das am 2. Juni 2023 bei Roswell Records/RCA Records erscheint. Eine brutal ehrliche und emotional rohe Antwort auf alles, was die Foo Fighters im letzten Jahr durchgemacht haben, ''But Here We Are'' ist ein Beweis für die heilenden Kräfte von Musik, Freundschaft und Familie. Mutig, beschädigt und unerschütterlich authentisch beginnt ''But
Here We Are'' mit der neu veröffentlichten Lead-Single "Rescued", dem ersten von 10 Songs, die die emotionale Skala von Wut und Trauer bis hin zu Gelassenheit und Akzeptanz und unzähligen Punkten dazwischen abdecken. Produziert von Greg Kurstin und Foo Fighters, ist ''But Here We Are'' das 11. Foo Fighters-Album und das erste Kapitel im neuen Leben der Band. Klanglich kanalisiert sie die Naivität des Foo Fighters-Debüts von 1995, geprägt von jahrzehntelanger Reife und Tiefe, ''But Here We Are'' ist der Sound von Brüdern, die Zuflucht in der Musik finden, die sie vor 28 Jahren überhaupt erst zusammengebracht hat, ein Prozess, der ebenso therapeutisch war wie es um die Fortsetzung des Lebens ging.

White Vinyl

Nach einem Jahr voller schwindelerregender Verluste, persönlicher Selbstbeobachtung und bittersüßer Erinnerungen kehren die Foo Fighters mit einem neuen Album ''But Here We Are'' zurück, das am 2. Juni 2023 bei Roswell Records/RCA Records erscheint. Eine brutal ehrliche und emotional rohe Antwort auf alles, was die Foo Fighters im letzten Jahr durchgemacht haben, ''But Here We Are'' ist ein Beweis für die heilenden Kräfte von Musik, Freundschaft und Familie. Mutig, beschädigt und unerschütterlich authentisch beginnt ''But
Here We Are'' mit der neu veröffentlichten Lead-Single "Rescued", dem ersten von 10 Songs, die die emotionale Skala von Wut und Trauer bis hin zu Gelassenheit und Akzeptanz und unzähligen Punkten dazwischen abdecken. Produziert von Greg Kurstin und Foo Fighters, ist ''But Here We Are'' das 11. Foo Fighters-Album und das erste Kapitel im neuen Leben der Band. Klanglich kanalisiert sie die Naivität des Foo Fighters-Debüts von 1995, geprägt von jahrzehntelanger Reife und Tiefe, ''But Here We Are'' ist der Sound von Brüdern, die Zuflucht in der Musik finden, die sie vor 28 Jahren überhaupt erst zusammengebracht hat, ein Prozess, der ebenso therapeutisch war wie es um die Fortsetzung des Lebens ging.

Standing in a Greyhound Bus station, wearing a Sylvester t-shirt and huge duct-tape-covered glasses, Baltimore ’s Dan Deacon doesn't invoke the image of a composer to the other bus riders. The two suitcases he loads under the bus, which accompany him from city to city, hold the sweat-and-grime-soaked electronics that he uses to craft his raging, maxed-out party music and light show. After 12 tours and 300+ shows in little over 2 years, the gear is beaten and battered, but the show and the energy it produces is anything but.

Dan Deacon has garnered a reputation in the underground as an intense performer and classic showman. The table top full of pedals, a sine wave generator, vocoder and casio blasting through the PA, joined by a makeshift light board with various bulbs and green skull strobe light, make his all out dance-til-you-drop performance a complete experience.

But it isn't all fancy feet and bouncy beats. Deacon is a classically trained composer with a Masters degree in electro-acoustic composition. He has released 7 albums from 2003 to 2006, but those self-produced recordings do not contain the vocal-based experimental pop that he has fine-tuned in live performance. His latest full length, Spiderman of the Rings is the first album bridging the gap between party performer and genuine composer. A mixture of his live show dance anthems, intricate instrumentals and humorous monologues, 'Spiderman of the Rings' establishes Dan Deacon as a new type of entertainer in the contemporary underground.

Vladislav Delay presents the third EP in his "Hide Behind The Silence" series with five 10" releases coming throughout 2023. Intuitive and raw music, momentary and reflective, released on Ripatti's own label "Rajaton".

--

Stillness is a myth. Consider concepts such as ”still water”, or ”still air” for that matter. Go to a restaurant, ask them for a glass of still water, hold it against the light and see where we’re at. Even though the water itself has been captured and imprisoned in the glass, it never stops breathing. It’s filled with tiny particles, dancing. Everything can be explained on a molecular level, but since we’re not scientists – and even if you happen to be – it’s the natural world of perception that moves me.
Still air is very similar. A hot summer’s day with zero wind feels completely still. It’s the closest I have felt to complete stillness. Or for a more urban adaptation, imagine the same vibe inside a normal apartment. In those moments, revelations and mind- blowing experiences can be had with experiments in stillness.
Try this: Just sit down for a minute on a sunny day, making sure there’s enough natural light. Do absolutely nothing. Try not to breathe for a bit. (If you need a mental anchor, you can play Cage’s 4’33” in your head but nothing else.) Watch the tiny dots of dust dancing :..’ ̈.:; ́ ́*°.,’:,. ̈ ̈ ̈ ̈:,.’
The movement is crazy, but the feeling of stillness comes from witnessing how subtle it is. In (perceived) complete stillness, every act of microscopic mobility seems to speak volumes. Yet, it feels both reassuring and oddly threatening that the stillness is never complete. What if we would need absolute stillness? Or is it just enough that we can perceive something as such? Extremes attract, so for both water and air, extraordinary movement is equally fascinating. That is also a luxury item of sorts. For us to enjoy a very ”loud” body of water or air, we need to be safe, in enough control of the situation. So when you are, it’s worthwhile to pay attention and take it all in.
A rapid flowing free with extreme strength and just barely in control. Look at that water go! No still water on this one, only ”sparkling”. A windy day when birds seem surprised how hard it is to fly, but in the end they make it. Trees bend but don’t break. The wind shows you its movement but doesn’t hurt you. It feels friendly, like a big clumsy dog that doesn’t quite understand its size.
It’s beautiful to be a guest of the elements, but not at the mercy of them. A new kind of dialogue forms.

Very Limited GREEN SKULL Vinyl.
Standing in a Greyhound Bus station, wearing a Sylvester t-shirt and huge duct-tape-covered glasses, Baltimore ’s Dan Deacon doesn't invoke the image of a composer to the other bus riders. The two suitcases he loads under the bus, which accompany him from city to city, hold the sweat-and-grime-soaked electronics that he uses to craft his raging, maxed-out party music and light show. After 12 tours and 300+ shows in little over 2 years, the gear is beaten and battered, but the show and the energy it produces is anything but.

Dan Deacon has garnered a reputation in the underground as an intense performer and classic showman. The table top full of pedals, a sine wave generator, vocoder and casio blasting through the PA, joined by a makeshift light board with various bulbs and green skull strobe light, make his all out dance-til-you-drop performance a complete experience.

But it isn't all fancy feet and bouncy beats. Deacon is a classically trained composer with a Masters degree in electro-acoustic composition. He has released 7 albums from 2003 to 2006, but those self-produced recordings do not contain the vocal-based experimental pop that he has fine-tuned in live performance. His latest full length, Spiderman of the Rings is the first album bridging the gap between party performer and genuine composer. A mixture of his live show dance anthems, intricate instrumentals and humorous monologues, Spiderman of the Rings establishes Dan Deacon as a new type of entertainer in the contemporary underground.

Mo H. Zareei (mHz) returns to Imprec/Cassauna with Proof Of Identity, an album of pulsating, pattern-based electronic pieces that evolve in ways reminiscent of Steve Reich's early work or Philip Glass' Music In 12 Parts. With Proof Of Identity, Zareei confronts issues surrounding identity and authorship in composition specifically when created by non-Western musicians. He simultaneously tackles orientalism and the normative take on identity politics.

Artist's Statement:

More than a decade ago, I made a piece of beat-based electronic music and titled it "Middle Eastern IDM" for a course assignment. After listening to it in class, my professor asked what was Middle Eastern about it. It was only a year after I had left Iran to study in the US, and I didn't know that I could say "I am. I made the piece". So I went back and superimposed a sample of Egyptian protest chants on top of the piece, to make it "sufficiently Middle Eastern".

What prejudiced conservatism and performative liberalism share is gatekeeping practices that box one in a preconceived state of otherness. While the former overtly regards that otherness as inferior, the latter exoticises it through patronising paternalism. To me, it is especially troubling when exclusionary practices are driven by some form of overzealous "diversity and inclusion" agenda. If you don't fit the diversity box they've made for you, too bad. It's your fault for being "insufficiently diverse". "Poor thing, you've been colonised!", they tell you, as they claim ownership over a collection of frequencies and rhythms. When you look at who gets to decide if something's indigenous enough, you see how decolonisation itself has been colonised.

When you listen to this piece, I'm very happy for you to keep in mind that it was made by someone from Iran. But I might need to clarify that this piece has nothing to do with sufism and the whirling dervishes, the interweaving patterns of the Persian carpet, the poetry of Rumi, or Islamic architecture. And if you hear those moments of "non-western" sonorities, that is because I have constructed this piece from samples of a piece of Iranian traditional music – an overplayed piece that was all over TV and radio while I was growing up Iran, one that I never found particularly inspiring or interesting. Here, I have tried to make it more interesting by completely taking it apart and reconstructing it through my personal compositional techniques, aesthetic preferences, and a wide range of musical influences. So in short, while this piece might not sound like your archetypical Iranian music, I assure you that it is Iranian enough.

Ten years ago, Parish Bracha anonymously released his Disconscious album Hologram Plaza, significantly influencing the still nascent Vaporwave scene. He continued producing a number of disparate anonymous projects until Cascade II was released in 2020 on Arca's Mutant Mixtape.

Cascades of Refinement, which includes the single Cascade II, is Parish's debut album released under his own name and his focus on the dialogue between the digital and the organic continues. The techniques that defined his influential early sound have been refined into a flawless hybrid of analog and digital textures which give his post-minimalist compositions an unmistakably personal expressivity.

Classical instruments are mutilated and transmuted into razor-sharp shards of glass suspended on piano wire above warped opalescent metal while never losing sight of their tonal integrity. Much like the impartial juxtaposition Parish employs in his timbral exploration, each composition explores the concepts of beauty and gentleness through and with extremity, violence, and chaos as equal counterparts, with each successive piece refining and relieving the artificial tension between these states. Employing use of the Una Corda, prepared piano, bowed piano, plucked piano, harpsichord, church organ, untuned violin, voice, synthesizers, and resampled field recordings, Cascades of Refinement lies somewhere in the indefinite space between acoustic and electronic and is beholden to neither.

Parish's initial electroacoustic experiments with piano and strings were interrupted by the pandemic lockdown when he was limited to sampled instrumentation and digital processing available on a computer. Out of this necessity evolved an appreciation for the incidental nature of digitally sampled acoustic instrumentation and the unpredictability of its interaction with digital signal processing.

As work on Cascades of Refinement continued and acoustic recording was reintroduced, the focus turned to the tension between recorded and sampled instrumentation, with the goal of integrating the two into a singular indistinguishable material to be warped and shaped together. Each of the four pieces of the Cascade series explore this tension, successively integrating and collapsing their distinction with each piece.

The subtle artifacts of digital processing and incidental mechanical sounds of the acoustic are amplified and given presence alongside the tonal elements of each piece until a point of indivisibility is reached. The sound of a bow scraping along a string or a granular buffer freezing are neither discarded nor hidden, but selected as the ripest material to accompany and structure each composition. Cascades of Refinement is a dialogue between organic and digital, between the mercurial and infinitely reproducible, not as opposites, but as mereologically cohabiting counterparts with equal expressivity.

Yazmin Lacey didn't set out to be a singer. Born and raised in Manor Park, East London, she relocated to Nottingham whilst working for a children's charity and initially only considered making music as a way of having fun with friends. However, a chance encounter lead to her earning a place on Future Bubblers - Gilles Peterson's development programme devoted to discovering and nurturing fresh UK talent – and enthused by the experience, Lacey recorded some songs in her living room, then in 2017 self-released her debut EP, 'Black Moon'. The more polished 'When The Sun Dips 90 Degrees' EP followed in 2018, and then 'Morning Matters' EP in 2020 – the EP's title track has clocked up over 14 million plays on Spotify and also saw Yazmin make her COLORS debut performing 'On Your Own'.

11th album by the one-of-a-kind collective: psychedelia and free form jazz (not jazz) trigger a sophisticated excursion into weird textures with drastic turns. Dislocated dense music full of secret connections!

Kammerflimmer Kollektief – "Schemen"

Before reason prevails, invoked by those who want everything to remain as it is, Kammerflimmer Kollektief disrupts the established supply chains of sound. It seeks more interesting ways to assemble them. Trusting in this, because of the fact that every sound that still comes out of a guitar, a bass, a harmonium, drums and electronic devices has already been taken into the common mangle of meaning anyway. Enough of all that. Here, nothing is explained. Here we speak in schemes. Polished and jerky.

The images that Kammerflimmer Kollektief conjures up therefore happen not in the focus of consciousness, but rather in its outer realms. In those to which one does not give one's full attention at the moment, but which are nevertheless perceived. For example, when a leaf falls from the ground back up to the tree in the corner of your eye, and for an instant you think this is possible, before you realize it was a small bird flying into the tree; it is in just such irritating moments between perception and realization that the art of the Kollektief also unfolds. On "Schemen", familiar fragments float gently around their core – a Fender Rhodes tone, a bass figure, a guitar motif, a masterful drum shuffle, a moment of icy stasis borrowed from the harmonium playing of Christa 'Nico' Päffgen. Triggering brief associations, they slowly rush off in other directions through free jazz-informed editing work, whereupon such zones can also arise in which perception has a few tricks ready and earlier experience suddenly breaks into the now in a completely different way. Half suspected, half seen.

Half-music like Can from Cologne – also masters of improvised editing – sometimes produced a few decades ago in their in-between moments. The first minutes of "Future Days" for example, which fade in gently, sketch a barely graspable figure emerging from all directions of the room. Kammerflimmer Kollektief also engages in similarly open moments of development. Loosely, it eludes the first formative impressions, keeping itself ready for moments that do not follow any logic of appointment. This looseness in handling makes Kammerflimmer Kollektief so fluidly audible, even when dissonant peaks and free playing arise. What Karlheinz Stockhausen is to Can's understanding of composition, the recordings of The Cocoon are to Kammerflimmer Kollektief. The Cocoon, a meeting of garage psychedelics from the Hannover area with free jazzers from the Galaxie Dream Band, whose album "While The Recording Engineer Sleeps", recorded in 1985 in unguarded moments, operates in a very similar way with decentralized perceptual ambivalences and only appeared more or less secretly four years later on Wilhelm Reich Schallspeicher. Other traces of "Schemen" lead to the debut album of Quicksilver Messenger Service. The guitars of Gary Duncan and John Cipollina, which refer to themselves in an unforced manner, are instructions to let go. They don't want to be traced in every note as a solo, but they give their music a sense that the essential takes place off center, in the mutual and intuitive gift of loving attentions. Consciousness-free.

Loving turns like the little guitar phrase that, like a kind of leitmotif, is repeatedly ghosting more or less unchanged through all of the Kammerflimmer Kollektief albums. A Coricidin induced, very catchy slide idea filtered out of ancient Æther, which – who knows – maybe even centuries ago found its way from somewhere to America – the old, the eerie – and from there wafted on through the ages to southern Germany, to a smoky studio in the Upper Rhine lowlands. A memory of which even the memory no longer knows what it once reminded. Unsaid, then forgotten.

In Kammerflimmer Kollektief you will also find a friend of slowly building, unhurried music, which probably would have been appreciated by the old Franz Mesmer, who 200 years ago, after tranquilizing treatments, sometimes used to play for his patients ambient melodies on the enormous glass harmonica. However, in order not to surrender completely to the flow of one's own life energy, as Mesmer had in mind with his therapies, Kammerflimmer Kollektief occasionally adds hectic tensions, gently embraced by the droning of a sine wave generator, as if a trance could briefly refesh. This old analog sine wave generator is new in the Kammerflimmer assortment of sounds. So, the art of the Kollektief likes to dock occasionally in modern times, yet with the past in mind. Mental states begin to flicker between imagination and certainty, between culture-bound art expression and coincidences: A cawing and scraping can always just be a cawing and scraping with Kammerflimmer Kollektief, the way Andy Warhol's mushroom eater just eats a mushroom.

Heike Aumüller's cover works, which illustrate all the Kammerflimmer Kollektief albums, additionally act as amplifiers of unexplained refractions. Her style consists of eye-corner art that remains so, even when looked at directly. Her shots remain disquieting because they do not jolt themselves into a reassuring order, even in retrospect. Rather than evading the fear that arises when looking at them by trying to impose some irrational rhyme or reason, that fear must simply be endured. This strategy of endurance is equally applicable to the music. The trick is to let parts be parts without compulsively seeking delusional patterns that lull us into a false sense of security and in doing so, possibly delude ourselves. In this context, freedom means not having to anxiously attach a fantasized superior meaning to everything. "Schemen" has an conspiracy disintegrating effect.


b A2 Zweites Kapitel (ruckartig) [feat. Heike Aumüller]

After Joao Selva, Dowdelin, The Bongo Hop, Underdog Records continue their exploration of the Black Atlantic with IREKE.Ecstatic brass, 70’s keyboards, elastic guitars, round bass and world percussion: from this sonic heritage, Ireke makes a unique fusion, enhanced by the audacious contribution of his dub science, and a few electronic touches

IREKE

Ireke? Sugar cane in Yoruba. Like her, the duo loves tropical climates and intoxicating rhythms, quick to liberate the bodies gathered on a dancefloor. Afrobeat urgency, funk suppleness, dub alchemy, highlife jubilation: with Tropikadelic, Ireke summons the heritage of the masters and the audacity of machines to give life to new sonic territories. At the crossroads. For the love of groove.

From the West, with their ears to the Black Atlantic, Julien Gervaix and Damien Tes- son are both children of the collective and of improvisation, playgrounds for these complete multi-instrumentalists.

The first one puts his talents of arranger-saxophonist at the service of the Nantes collective Soulshine and of numerous formations - in turn funk or rhythm’n blues - where swinging is the rule.This is notably the case of the afrobeat group Walko, in which Julien Gervaix had the honour of sharing the stage and the studio for several years with Kiala Nzavotunga, guitarist extraordinaire for Fela Kuti and Egypt 80. Meanwhile, Damien Tesson was being trained as a dubmaster-guitarist-arranger at the reggae roots school with the digital option of the Vendée collective Shi Fu Mi Temple.This initiation led Damien Tesson to join, among others, the Nantes-based group BIBA (Bingy Band) and then to collaborate with Jideh High Elements, a key figure on the international dub scene, Roberto Sanchez and the team of his Lone Ark Studio, as well as Sana Bob, a famous reggae singer from Burkina Faso.And then, life being well done, the paths of Julien Gervaix and Damien Tesson ended up crossing within the jazz-funk combo Playtime, before meeting again in the Vendée a few years later.

With an obvious tropism for Afro-Latin grooves, tropical colours, electronic tricks and furious swaying, the two musicians create Ireke like a glass of well arranged rum. Here’s to us, here’s to you! As if guided by the spirit of the plant, Ireke toasts the immense richness of these danceable rhythms, true generators of life, connection and energy.

Like Legba, the Yoruba orisha of intersections and crossroads, Ireke thrives in the between worlds.Aware of the lineage of goldsmiths who preceded them, Ireke

knows his classics and humbly draws inspiration for Tropikadelic from the musical genius of Pat Thomas, Poly-rythmo Orchestra, King Tubby,Tony Allen, Fela Kuti, Maître Gazonga, Ernesto Djédjé or the Vikings of Guadeloupe. Ecstatic brass, 70’s keyboards, elastic guitars, round bass and world percussion: from this sonic heritage, Ireke makes a unique fusion, enhanced by the audacious contribution of his dub science, and a few electronic touches patiently flushed out in the studio - which the duo considers as an instrument in its own right.

Finally, to give voice to his compositions, on Tropikadelic, Ireke calls upon an army of serious enthusiasts, each member of which has come up with his or her own lyrics. Thus, alongside Ireke, we find the groove griot Pat Kalla (“Femme qui Danse”,“Love Is Jokin”), the Franco-Laotian reggaeman Amatah Keo (“Man Bo Diak”), the Vendée- based Agnès Hélène (“Petit à Petit”,“Oh Ma Chérie”) and Charly Sanga (“Bas Les Masques”,“Oh Ma Chérie”), the Burkinabè lion Sana Bob (“Métissage”) as well as the Nantes soulman Jy Cooly (“Kinkeliba”).

For the duo, music is above all a collective practice, an active liberation, a rhythmic approach to letting go, a source of communicative joy... In short, groove is the weap- on! And Ireke knows how to use it.

PURPLE VINYL


A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

More in tune now with the rhythm of the sun and moon, Xylouris White (Dirty Jim White and George Xylouris) speak to each other across great distances with the intuition and fellowship that can only be found over years in each other"s company. With fewer distractions, appreciative of the freedom to play with new sounds and spaces, they carve The Forest In Me from unbelievably thin air. Once you set the needle down on the record and hear for yourself, the intimacies and impressionism, abstraction and unfiltered emotion found in The Forest In Me, you may wonder what was the mood of the room in which this music came to be. George, Jim and long-time producer (and secret third member) Guy Picciotto share their thoughts: Guy Picciotto: "In late 2019, we had begun taking steps to working on new material. In a haphazard fashion, Jim and I started tracking drums in my basement, cutting them up into shapes with no set landing in mind. Some of it we sent to Giorgos in Crete - he responded with his lyra and his lute. Without intention we had initiated a process that would soon become more ruthlessly mandated by the world events that separated and isolated us to three corners of the globe in the following year." Giorgos Xylouris: "While we were recording, I noticed that the music had a certain solitude about it, both from the title and from inside. That led us to find more music from within that we had not yet discovered." Jim White: "The idea emerged, naturally nourished and nourishing a record with none of our usual angles and themes, no verbal language, no angst nor sudden dynamics, a more subtle structure. And we found The Forest In Me." The first revelation from The Forest In Me is "Latin White", in which Jim"s jaunty pattern sets the stage for George"s Cretan lyra and lute figurations, giving this short dance piece the feel of a welcome hoedown around the campfire, warding off the encroaching darkness of an emptied world. The repetitions, gathered to induce joy, have a glassy-eyed mechanical drive to them; their dervish-istic seeking betrays any suggestion of balm.

Tape

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

Released in the UK in January 1967 by Decca Records and February by London Records in the US – Between The Buttons was the Stones’ fifth British and seventh US studio album. Released as the follow-up to Aftermath, this album marked a high point in the band’s career, continuing their ventures into psychedelia and baroque pop balladry, it is among the band’s most musically eclectic works. Brian Jones sidelined his guitar on much of the album, instead playing a wide variety of other instruments including organ, marimba, vibraphone, and kazoo. Piano contributions came from two session players: former Rolling Stones member Ian Stewart and frequent contributor and studio legend Jack Nitzsche. It was the last album produced by Andrew Loog Oldham, the band’s manager and producer of all of their albums to this point.

The album has one of the most striking sleeves of the period, featuring a classic Gered Mankowitz image on the cover. The photo shoot took place at 5:30 in the morning following an all-night recording session at Olympic Studios. Using a home-made camera filter constructed of black card, glass and Vaseline, Mankowitz created the effect of the Stones dissolving into their surroundings – according to Mankowitz… ""to capture the ethereal, druggy feel of the time; that feeling at the end of the night when dawn was breaking and they’d been up all night making music, stoned.”

The songs continued Aftermath’s lyrics of acute social observation and savage insight, their earlier raw, rootsy power enhanced by other influences of the period – notably The Beatles, The Kinks, and again Dylan. It is one of their strongest, most varied LPs, with many great songs that remain unknown to all but Stones devotees.
The inventive arrangements and innovative instrumentation on brooding near-classics like All Sold Out, My Obsession and Yesterday’s Papers brought a new dimension to the music. She Smiled Sweetly shows their hidden romantic side at its best, Connection is one of the record’s few pieces of more conventional driving rock and album closer Something Happened To Me Yesterday includes Keith’s first solo vocal.

The US version includes contemporaneous hits – the two songs that gave the group a double-sided number one in early 1967: the shameless and controversial Let’s Spend The Night Together and the beautiful, melancholy Ruby Tuesday.

Released in the UK in January 1967 by Decca Records and February by London Records in the US – Between The Buttons was the Stones’ fifth British and seventh US studio album. Released as the follow-up to Aftermath, this album marked a high point in the band’s career, continuing their ventures into psychedelia and baroque pop balladry, it is among the band’s most musically eclectic works. Brian Jones sidelined his guitar on much of the album, instead playing a wide variety of other instruments including organ, marimba, vibraphone, and kazoo. Piano contributions came from two session players: former Rolling Stones member Ian Stewart and frequent contributor and studio legend Jack Nitzsche. It was the last album produced by Andrew Loog Oldham, the band’s manager and producer of all of their albums to this point.

The album has one of the most striking sleeves of the period, featuring a classic Gered Mankowitz image on the cover. The photo shoot took place at 5:30 in the morning following an all-night recording session at Olympic Studios. Using a home-made camera filter constructed of black card, glass and Vaseline, Mankowitz created the effect of the Stones dissolving into their surroundings – according to Mankowitz… ""to capture the ethereal, druggy feel of the time; that feeling at the end of the night when dawn was breaking and they’d been up all night making music, stoned.”

The songs continued Aftermath’s lyrics of acute social observation and savage insight, their earlier raw, rootsy power enhanced by other influences of the period – notably The Beatles, The Kinks, and again Dylan. It is one of their strongest, most varied LPs, with many great songs that remain unknown to all but Stones devotees.
The inventive arrangements and innovative instrumentation on brooding near-classics like All Sold Out, My Obsession and Yesterday’s Papers brought a new dimension to the music. She Smiled Sweetly shows their hidden romantic side at its best, Connection is one of the record’s few pieces of more conventional driving rock and album closer Something Happened To Me Yesterday includes Keith’s first solo vocal.

The US version includes contemporaneous hits – the two songs that gave the group a double-sided number one in early 1967: the shameless and controversial Let’s Spend The Night Together and the beautiful, melancholy Ruby Tuesday.

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

First things first - you don't need me to tell you about the significance of Australia in the history of punk. I mean, what am I, Jon Savage? Google it yourself, FFS. Instead, let's just agree that the speedy, feral racket thrown together by the likes of The Saints, Radio Birdman and The Scientists in the mid-late '70s is AT LEAST as deliriously entertaining as anything concocted by their UK/US counterparts, sowing the seeds for seemingly endless garage-inflected noisemakers in the land down under. No one likes using words like 'tradition' or 'heritage' here - the punk rock clusterbomb is far too messy for any of that business - but also emerging from Australian rock's primordial soup is the addictive sneer of Stiff Richards. Like their predecessors, the band are a gleefully wracked mess of full throttle energy and barrelling power chords, with songs like 'Kids Out On The Grass' and 'Point of You' proving at least the equal of '(I'm) Stranded' or 'Aloha Steve And Danno'. Nine tracks in less than 30 minutes, all winners and all determined to leave you flipping over couches and smashing your TV set. And let's face it, you may as well; there's nothing good on. It all builds towards frantic closer 'Fill In The Blanks', which rattles around your speakers like the UK Subs trying to play Ed Kuepper riffs at the centre of an earthquake, before grinding to a halt as a voice says, "That's the one." Does it sound self-satisfied? Hey, it's got good reason to - this is the best no-frills garage rock party since Gino & The Goons' 'Do The Get Around', and the only appropriate response is to declare yourself betrothed to Stiff Richards because you can't imagine your life without 'em. Don't believe me? Sort out your ears and get 'State Of Mind' in 'em. Rock'n'roll as it's supposed to be played. Will Fitzpatrick.

All of us carry a piece of where we’re from with us, but these parcels of fallow land often in a uniquely mysterious way become the prey that nourishes our aspirations. Agnès Gayraud a refined thinker by day that transforms into la Féline at night left Tarbes many years ago in search of greener pastures. After making a name for herself with Adieu l’Enfance (2014), Triomphe (2017), and Vie Future (2019), the author and musician has evolved once again. Her latest release Tarbes reinvents the circle of life and challenges our preconceived notions. She welcomes us to her hometown with sweet and clear melodies over the backdrop of an electronic hum, reminiscent of Mark Twain classic Tom Sawyer. Tarbes is no more than a listen away. Physically prevented from returning to her hometown by the viral threat we all know all too well, Agnès found her way back with a small Electone home organ. The constraints of off-peak hours that called for some DIY savvy, slowly but surely, roused her spirit. With a drum machine, a bass and a guitar, she succeeded in making the young girl inside her smile again. With 13 songs and just as many adventures Tarbes is a concept album that tells the story of a young woman’s formative years, as spent in her hometown. The returning hymn doesn’t only imprint nostalgia, it paints the full emotional portrait of a town. Because for Agnès, Tarbes is not just her theater, but her whole world, showing how fiercely protective she is of her hometown in the song Solazur. Under a magnifying glass of emotion, and with the sentimental testimony that is La Panthère des Pyrénées, the artiste shows us the skeletons in our own closets. Tarbes, more than a brief stopover in a rail journey to the coast, broaches issues that touch on abandonment, desertification, aging and redevelopment that many French towns and cities face today. Alexandre Guirkinger’s photographs serve as album art that illustrates this strangely unique singularity. While fine-tuning this collection of stories, in an oh-so-intimate album where solitude rips away the mask of confidence, Agnès found solace in uniting with other spirits. For 3 songs Tarbes, Jeanne d’Albret and Fum, inspired by an Occitan poem of Louisa Paulin (1888-1944), she invited the young voices of Conservatoire Henri Duparc a building she knows intimately, despite never feeling allowed to enter as a child to breathe the energy of their adolescence into this record. She also collaborated with Lyon’s own François Virot to imbue his delicate rhythms into her work, as well as Belgian guitarist Mocke Depret. Lastly, La Féline entrusted the last production stages to her eternal partner in music, Xavier Thiry, with Stéphane “Alf” Briat on the mixing board. The final piece has a complex tranquility, surrounded by non-verbality, with Jeanne d’Albret, Louisa Paulin and the Pyrénées safeguarding Agnes’ secrets. With the calm reassurance of her metamorphoses, La Féline delivers a slice of silence to her town, serving as both her cradle and theater. Tarbes’ Théâtre des Nouveautés is where Agnès Gayraud, La Féline, has decided to present Tarbes to its residents on October 14, 2022. While “nouveautés” evokes newness, this theater is reminiscent of a future which is already outdated, where modernity is only vague and fictional, carrying reminders of French haute-kitsch accordionist Yvette Horner, whose parents were the caretakers of what was then called the Cani Eldorado a bastion of virtue through the 30s, with its lineup of Catholic films. However, by the 60s, it would have become a temple of pornographic cinema. Tarbes, “Les Nouveautés”, end card. In the mid 90s, then 16 years old, Agnès discovered the volatile dust and the ghosts of the past that were hidden in this apostate theater. This phantom bequeathed song the teenager with the gift of her undeniable talent at her first appearance on stage a high school performance of a guitar-laden ballad sung in Spanish, a language her Andalusian mother has infused her with. On October 14, 2022, Agnès returns to the stage, bass in hand and joined by François Virot (drums), Mocke Depret (guitar), Léa Moreau (keyboard) and the Conservatoire de Tarbes singers to perform the album in its entirety

Death and Vanilla return with 'Flicker', presenting their unique pop music that defies categorisation. Housed in a beautifully austere post-ironic de-constructed sleeve; 'Flicker' is a modern reflection on these difficult times. World crises notwithstanding, they return reborn, re-arranged and revitalised after assimilating dub reggae, the motorik spirals of Can, the modal meander of Philip Glass and The Cure's dreamier pop sounds; plus the twice removed symphonic ambience of Spiritualized and Talking Heads under heavy manners from Brian Eno. By osmosis their period of transition since 2019's much darker 'Are You A Dreamer?' has hatched new eclectic electronica anthems riddled with melody lines, and layered for lush love. - Forming in Malmö, Sweden, Death And Vanilla gravitated towards vintage musical equipment; from vibraphone, organ and mellotron, to tremolo guitar and Moog synthesisers. Soaking up soundtracks from the 60s and 70s, listening to library music, kosmiche, French Ye-ye pop and 60s psych, Marleen Nilsson, Anders Hansson and Magnus Bodin were fashioned by the city's austere industrial past and flat pack present, and all in the shadow of the Orsesund Bridge that links their dreamworld to mainland Europe and a darker reality. Death And Vanilla at once sound like everything is possible; but nothing else at all. There is a flicker of hope for everyone. - "Deploying vintage instruments in their quest for melancholic utopia." Electronic Sound * "Baroque pop through a dreampop filter." The Guardian Ltd Indie Retail Only Yellow Vinyl LP including DLC!

Pop Matters said that "Nnamdï's sounds are a testament to the continual melting away of genre distinctions in the current era of (particularly Black) music." His extensive catalog includes covers significant ground in hip-hop, pop, rock, punk, orchestral, and experimental music. In 2021, NNAMDI expanded his freewheeling sonic explorations for an entrée into the world of pop-infused dance and electronica with the release of the Are You Happy EP on November 12, 2021. Notably, Are You Happy is the only NNAMDI project to date that he did not produce, perform, and record by himself. To the surprise of his fans, NNAMDI bucked that self-imposed precedent to work with Chicago producer Lynyn. Lynyn is the alias of composer Conor Mackey, NNAMDI's longtime bandmate in the jazz-fusion quintet Monobody. Are You Happy released shortly before Lynyn's 2022 debut electronic LP lexicon (Sooper Records), which went on to garner significant acclaim. DJ Magazine said that "lexicon is likely to set him apart as one of IDM's next visionaries".

Is Cory Okay? Opening on pads that sounds like a warm LA sunrise and bubbling with the characteristic dorky, oddball mawkishness that is Tungz 101, ‘Is Cory Okay?’ blossoms into a sugar-glass 80s pop ballad for the masculine mental health crisis. Quincy Jones guitars chip away at the soft underbelly of synth, shaping and modelling until sleek lines are established and the entire track becomes effortlessly aerodynamic. The lyric explores male anxiety disorder from the point of view of friends looking to alleviate the psychological distress of a protagonist who outwardly rejects the value of the support but internally begs for it to continue as he can see the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s yet another example of Tungz multi-dimensional approach to song writing, asserting theirs as an essential voice in 2023. Album: Dripping with licks so richly sophisticated they ought to have their own Beverly Hills postcode, Tungz debut album ‘A Good Dream’ mixes the emotional downer of chillwave with the rhapsody of disco and hits perfection. Across 11 tracks, Tungz access a dancefloor utopia, where a French house aesthetic lives out an opulent psych-pop fantasy; beautifully simple yet sneakily complex. Brimming with confidence, the collection not only fulfils the promise of Tungz early EPs, but asserts their multidimensional approach to song writing, confirming them as an idiosyncratic prospect within alternative music.

Death fucking Metal from Peru! A nuclear detonation of shredding and unbridled aggression! Spectral Souls was born in the beginning of 2019 in Lima, Peru, and from the beginning the idea was to work within the Old School Death Metal genre, going back and being inspired by the late 80’s and early 90’s bands and classic albums. During 2019 the band continued with the composition process and did it the first concert in mid 2019. At the beginning of 2020 and during the pandemic, the recording process of the first album “Towards Extinction” began at the Giovani Lama Studios. Because of the pandemic situation with government lockdowns and other obstacles, the recording took longer than expected, but luckily, after almost a year and a half of hard work, it was completed. The album contains 11 songs, in which different aspects within the old school Death Metal sound are explored, thus giving a sensation of interesting dynamics. The theme of the album is inspired by the humanity’s capacity for self-destruction, exploring the misery of man and his great enemies, such as religion, politics and social networks. When Hammerheart Records heard “Towards Extinction” they could not resist offering Spectral Souls a worldwide deal. “Towards Extinction” simply is a killer Death Metal album that brings to mind “Leprosy”, “From Beyond” and “Consuming Impulse”.

2023 Repress On Vertigo Days, the first album in seven years for The Notwist, one of Germany’s most iconic independent groups are alive to the possibilities of the moment. Their music has long been open-minded and exploratory, but from its engrossing structure, through its combination of melancholy pop, clangorous electronics, hypnotic Krautrock and driftwork ballads, to its international musical guests, Vertigo Days is both a new step for The Notwist, and a reminder of just how singular they’ve always been. Most importantly, the core trio of Markus and Micha Acher and Cico Beck are reaching out: as Markus reflects, “we wanted to question the concept of a band by adding other voices and ideas, other languages, and also question or blur the idea of national identity.”

It’s been seven years since The Notwist’s last album, Close To The Glass, and in that time the various members of the group have been busy with side projects (Spirit Fest, Hochzeitskapelle, Alien Ensemble, Joasihno), guest appearances, a record label (Alien Transistor), movie scoring, helping organise the Minna Miteru compilation of Japanese indie pop & running a festival (Alien Disko). Those divergent paths feed back into Vertigo Days in surprising ways, from its structure, built from group improvisations, with songs flowing and melting into one another in a collective haze, to its spirit, which feels refreshed and alive. There’s something cinematic about Vertigo Days too, reflective of the group’s time working on soundtracks, and reflected in the rich, moody photographic artwork by Lieko Shiga that adorns the cover.

The first sign of this newfound openness was the album’s lead single, “Ship”, where the group were joined by Saya of Japanese pop duo Tenniscoats, her disarmingly hymnal voice sighing over a propulsive, Krautrocking beat. Elsewhere, American multi-instrumentalist Ben LaMar Gay sings on “Oh Sweet Fire”, also contributing “a love lyric for these times, imagining two lovers in an uprising hand in hand.” American jazz clarinettist and composer Angel Bat Dawid adds clarinet to the spaced-out dream-pop of “Into The Ice Age”, while Argentinian electronica songwriter Juana Molina gifts some gorgeous singing and electronics to “Al Sur”. Saya also reappears as a member of Japanese brass band Zayaendo, who guest on the album. Throughout, The Notwist also capture the openness of their live performances, too, where they mix and link their songs in unexpected ways.

Indeed, what’s most impressive about Vertigo Days is the way it sits together as one long, flowing suite, the album conceptualised as a whole entity – it’s perfect for the long-distance, dedicated listening experience. This is also captured by the album’s lyrics, which Markus states, “feel more like one long poem.” The dimensions of that poem are multi-faceted, something intensified by the geopolitical weirdness of its times: “As the situation changed so dramatically, while we were working on the record, the theme of ‘the impossible can happen anytime,’ more about personal relationships in the beginning, became a global and political story.” But it also works at a level of poetic abstraction, such that each song gestures in multiple directions – the deeply private pans out to the global. The one certainty is that there is no certainty. “It’s maybe mostly about learning and how you never arrive anywhere,” Markus concurs. To sit within uncertainty is brave, but it’s also where we feel most alive, and Vertigo Days is an album that is brimming with life, with enthusiasm and love for music and for community, all wide-eyed and dreaming.

2023 Repress on Yellow Vinyl

On Vertigo Days, the first album in seven years for The Notwist, one of Germany’s most iconic independent groups are alive to the possibilities of the moment. Their music has long been open-minded and exploratory, but from its engrossing structure, through its combination of melancholy pop, clangorous electronics, hypnotic Krautrock and driftwork ballads, to its international musical guests, Vertigo Days is both a new step for The Notwist, and a reminder of just how singular they’ve always been. Most importantly, the core trio of Markus and Micha Acher and Cico Beck are reaching out: as Markus reflects, “we wanted to question the concept of a band by adding other voices and ideas, other languages, and also question or blur the idea of national identity.”

It’s been seven years since The Notwist’s last album, Close To The Glass, and in that time the various members of the group have been busy with side projects (Spirit Fest, Hochzeitskapelle, Alien Ensemble, Joasihno), guest appearances, a record label (Alien Transistor), movie scoring, helping organise the Minna Miteru compilation of Japanese indie pop & running a festival (Alien Disko). Those divergent paths feed back into Vertigo Days in surprising ways, from its structure, built from group improvisations, with songs flowing and melting into one another in a collective haze, to its spirit, which feels refreshed and alive. There’s something cinematic about Vertigo Days too, reflective of the group’s time working on soundtracks, and reflected in the rich, moody photographic artwork by Lieko Shiga that adorns the cover.

The first sign of this newfound openness was the album’s lead single, “Ship”, where the group were joined by Saya of Japanese pop duo Tenniscoats, her disarmingly hymnal voice sighing over a propulsive, Krautrocking beat. Elsewhere, American multi-instrumentalist Ben LaMar Gay sings on “Oh Sweet Fire”, also contributing “a love lyric for these times, imagining two lovers in an uprising hand in hand.” American jazz clarinettist and composer Angel Bat Dawid adds clarinet to the spaced-out dream-pop of “Into The Ice Age”, while Argentinian electronica songwriter Juana Molina gifts some gorgeous singing and electronics to “Al Sur”. Saya also reappears as a member of Japanese brass band Zayaendo, who guest on the album. Throughout, The Notwist also capture the openness of their live performances, too, where they mix and link their songs in unexpected ways.

Indeed, what’s most impressive about Vertigo Days is the way it sits together as one long, flowing suite, the album conceptualised as a whole entity – it’s perfect for the long-distance, dedicated listening experience. This is also captured by the album’s lyrics, which Markus states, “feel more like one long poem.” The dimensions of that poem are multi-faceted, something intensified by the geopolitical weirdness of its times: “As the situation changed so dramatically, while we were working on the record, the theme of ‘the impossible can happen anytime,’ more about personal relationships in the beginning, became a global and political story.” But it also works at a level of poetic abstraction, such that each song gestures in multiple directions – the deeply private pans out to the global. The one certainty is that there is no certainty. “It’s maybe mostly about learning and how you never arrive anywhere,” Markus concurs. To sit within uncertainty is brave, but it’s also where we feel most alive, and Vertigo Days is an album that is brimming with life, with enthusiasm and love for music and for community, all wide-eyed and dreaming.

* Comes with an 8 page booklet **

The Dead Mauriacs is the project of French artist Olivier Prieur, "Paravents et miroirs, une cérémonie" is a live soundtrack.

The Dead Mauriacs describe their music as "Exotica Concrete" - their music is composed of field recordings made on a daily basis, as well as a diverse collection of sounds, including piano, Indian harmonium, violin, ukulele, didgeridoo, pieces of wood, glass, paper, and metal plates. The album is a spectacular 40-minute sound collage, assembled by sampling Exotica music represented by musicians and arrangers such as Les Baxter and Arthur Lyman, who were active in the 1950s.

"Exotica is a musical genre or sub-genre that emerged in the 1950s in the United States with musicians and arrangers like Les Baxter or Arthur Lyman. It is an extraordinary music because it is false: bird calls imitate bird songs, you can hear the sound of the waves, it is a Western fantasy, particularly North American, of a world and an imagery that never existed. It is a music associated with mass tourism, mass entertainment, consumerism. Arthur Lyman recorded about 30 records in 10 years in Waikiki. With his band, they played and recorded under a geodesic aluminum dome. The dome belonged to the owner of the hotel he played for every night. They did this at night to avoid noise. It's music that is both profoundly naive and totally flawed. In this, it is seductive and intellectually interesting. It is music that could easily be criticized today, but it is an imaginary in itself, like the Italian film music of the 1960s and 1970s." (Excerpt from the calax's interview)

The Dead Mauriacs are not only involved in music, but also in a wide range of other creative endeavors, including video and painting. He also repsonsible for the artwork of this LP. The inside of the product is also accompanied by an 8-page interview with Mauriacs and compiled his amazing artworks.

The Dead Mauriacs
Paravents et miroirs : une cérémonie / Screens and mirrors: a ceremony

Side A
Courte dérive, une ouverture / Short drift, an opening
Le retour des insectes électriques / The return of the electric insects Les oiseaux étranges / The strange birds Tension, terreur factice / Tension, false terror
Dénouement malais / Malaysian ending
Rituels et vanités 1 / Rituals and vanities 1
Rituels et vanités 2 / Rituals and vanities 2
Italiens dʼHambourg / Italians in Hamburg

Side B
Secrets pour piano / Secrets for piano
La suite Monory, Padoue-Le Caire-Nassau / The Monory Suite, Padua-Cairo-Nassau Hommes à découper / Men to cut out Lassitude moite / Clammy weariness
Le soleil artificiel du pont croisière / The artificial sun on the cruise deck
Pirogues et palmiers, vus de la scène / Pirogues and palm trees, seen from the stage La traversée / The crossing Rideau / Rideau
Fields recordings : Semproniano and Siena, Italy, Figueira, Portugal, Charentes, France. An electrical wire with a frequency shifter gave birth to the insects. Real and fake piano. Everything made with a computer and a midi keyboard.
Music premiered at Hörbar, Hamburg, 28th of December 2017. Music (and video) Olivier Prieur.
Thanks to Thorsten Soltau and all people at Hörbar.
Hello to Felix Kubin & Marie-Pierre Bonniol, Julia & Jan Warnke. Kisses to Hélène.

It is recognized today that these tutelary pieces for four pianos are among the most powerful in contemporary music,their impact is almost unparalleled. After the historical version recorded forty years ago, this one, featuring four of the greatest European performers, is now regaining its full power. High level recordings too.

There was some for John Cage, then came Christian Wolff, and finally Morton Feldman, from this school in New York. Only Julius Eastman remained outside the game, the last figure, the most solitary and enigmatic - undoubtedly also one of the most powerful, and it is this power that is revealed through these recordings. In the 1970s and 1980s, Eastman was one of the very few African-Americans to gain recognition in the New York avant-garde music scene. He was politically committed, a figure of queer culture and a solar and solitary poet whose melancholy influenced his genius as well as his tragic destiny : suffering from various addictions, declared missing, actually homeless. During Winter of 1981-82, he got deported from his apartment by the police, who destroyed most of what he owned - including scores and recordings. He was found dead in 1990, on the streets of Buffalo, after years of vagrancy.

The Performers Nicolas Horvath, pianist and electroacoustic composer Nicolas Horvath is known for his boundariesless musical explorations - he has collaborated with leading contemporary composers from around the world, including Alvin Lucier, Alvin Curran and Valentyn Silvestrov - the recordings of his complete works for piano by Phil Glass made a lasting impression. He has collaborated recently with Lustmord on the Deconstruction of November by Dennis Johnson (Sub Rosa SR502: The Fall).

Melaine Dalibert, a French composer and pianist, fascinated by natural phenomena which are both expected and unpredictable, Dalibert has developed his own algorithmic procedures of composition which contain the notion of stretched time evoking Morton Feldman, minimal and introspective, adopting a unique concept of fractal series.

Stephane Ginsburgh, a tireless surveyor of the repertoire but also explorer of new music, collaborated with composers such as Philippe Boesmans, Jean-Luc Fafchamps, Stefan Prins, Frederic Rzewski and Matthew Shlomowitz of whom he premiered works, as well as with choreographers such as Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker (Rosas) and recorded Feldman, Duchamp and Satie for Sub Rosa and the complete set of Prokofiev piano sonatas for Cypres. Wilhem Latchoumia, he embraces both new music and the classical repertoire with success and charisma. His two last recordings for La Dolce Volta (Prokofiev and de Falla) have been highly acclaimed by critics with a FFFF in Télérama. Winner of the Hewlett-Packard Foundation and the Montsalvatge International Piano Competition, he brilliantly won the First Prize in the 2006 Orléans International Piano Competition.