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French artist Trypheme debuts on Impatience with “Odd Balade”, a darkly-hued collection of songs drawn from human delicacy and dreamworld mythology.

“Odd Balade” is Trypheme’s most ambitious and boldest record to date - both lyrically and musically. The album’s thirteen tracks resist rigid genre boundaries and flutter from medieval folk realms, sprawling synths, gothic 80s wave, leftfield pop, haunted vocals, mutant electronica to reverbed guitars - all reflected through her own shadowy prism. Especially album closer “A Walk In The Vercors” evokes a soothing serenity that echoes the sonic balm of Julee Cruise.

Trypheme’s musical repertoire trends heavily electronic and somewhat abstracted, but on “Odd Balade”, the artist slips into the role of the modern troubadour with a shift to a more poetically and personal songwriting that is infused with symbolism and dreamlike fantasies. The connective tissue of the album is the audacity to love and the vulnerability that ensues. As intimate and introspective as the lyrics are, the themes remain universal and human to the core: the fear of losing a loved one, the melancholia of leaving places and t“the fear of losing a loved one, the melancholia of leaving places and the cycles of life. The record was largely composed in Chars, stirred by the French village’s eerie atmosphere and frequent trips to the seaside in Brittany, where Trypheme resides. Drawing inspiration from the rugged terrain of the seaside landscapes, the writings of Allen Ginsberg and Mark Fisher and the hyperrealist art of Scott Prior, Trypheme uses her songs to depict life with broad strokes of rhythm.

On “Odd Balade” Trypheme consolidates herself as a gifted, nimble songwriter, masterly producer and subtly powerful vocalist. The record combines her skill for crafting lush, alien sound worlds and efficient, alluring arrangements with stealthily devastating songs. Belin’s voice becomes a key ingredient, appearing on eleven of Odd Balade’s thirteen tracks, by turns heavily manipulated, sampled and replayed as a form of percussion, or basically bare.

“Odd Balade” is the manifestation of Trypheme’s roving artistic practice, a ceremonial-grade sacrament cast in a rich nocturnal glow. Pairing the mundane with the mythic, the album stays true to its core: odd and strangely familiar.

RIYL - Riding off into the sunset to an unknown destination, hauntology, present, tales told by the fireside, hot summer rain, adventures, to feel a warm presence when you are walking in the forest or in the mountain, coastal landscapes, sailor’s stories, slow motion, vitesse, heavy blossoms, colors, the warmth of the sun, the tenderness of the moon, getting lost in unfamiliar streets, city’s lights, motorway rest area by night, magic numbers, rendez-vous, picnic, serendipity, poetry, the smell of old records and old books.

Tiphaine Belin has been releasing music as Trypheme since 2016. Odd Balade was written and produced by Belin, and mixed by Belin and Abel Roux. It was mastered by Amir Shoat. Cover art photography is by Ariane Kiks, with art direction by Ariane Kiks in collaboration with Mathilde Chaize.

In 1999, on December 23 to be precise, the electronic music landscape changed forever. On that day, the now legendary Icelandic band múm released their debut album “Yesterday Was Dramatic – Today Is OK”. The thing is though, back in the day, hardly anybody realized. It was Christmas after all, people were busy with potentially more important things and didn’t pay attention to some kids selling records on Reykjavík’s high street. Little did those shoppers know.

Thankfully, those 10 tracks weren’t overlooked for long. On the contrary: the album went on to become one of the most influential building blocks of what back then was called electronica and today is considered an art form playing a crucial and important role in shaping and defining the rich electronic music culture of the 21st century. Now, 20 years after the record dropped onto planet Earth, Morr Music is re-issuing the remastered album with its original artwork, adding newly commissioned re-works: A note-for-note representation of “Smell Memory“ by Kronos Quartet (with additional drums by múm’s Samuli Kosminen), a gentle reinterpretation of “Random Summer” by acclaimed pianist and composer Hauschka and an otherworldly new version of “Ballad Of The Broken String” recorded by label mate Sóley. Additionally, four remixes produced in the early 2000s are made available for the first time ever on vinyl here.

In 1999, electronic music was in full bloom. The dance floors were thriving worldwide.Yet the concept of using electronic sounds in acoustic-based productions (or vice versa) was still in its infancy. Many producers were trying, most of them failed. The results felt often forced, fabricated, unimaginative, random and forgettable. New ideas require new mindsets after all. With “Yesterday Was Dramatic – Today Is OK”, múm established a new approach in music production. Instead of setting a fixed agenda and working with a distinct hierarchy for their sonic palette, Gyða Valtýsdóttir, Kristín Anna Valtýsdóttir, Gunnar Örn Tynes and Örvar Smárason let each instrument and sound source be true to itself, creating an ever-evolving universe of sonic bliss. Listening to the album in 2019 still makes every music lover’s heart jump. Combining Drill-and-Bass-inspired beat-chopping, future-informed DSP-programming, ethereal vocal work, indie rock’s boominess, folk music’s soulful brittleness and a lofty feeling for melody and arrangement, the album is a rare example of musical transcendence and remains impossible to categorize.

Many of the ideas formulated and recorded for the album quickly became an integral part of the canonical self-conception musicians around the world were and still are aspiring to. How these ideas really came about, though, is not known – the dynamics, the struggles, the qualms, the sudden realization of having achieved something which might actually stick. Maybe that is a good thing. Örvar Smárason remembers that most of the album “was recorded in a tiny, sweaty room in the summer of 1999 with carpenters banging nails around us, but sometimes we put on headphones so we couldn’t hear them.” It is a good thing they did. As is often the case with classics, all one can do is listen closely and let the magic sink in – again and again.

You don’t need to be Freud to regard teeth as a delicate issue. They can make joy look joyous and pain look painful, and on the cover of the new múm album they do both at the same time. As »Yesterday Was Dramatic – Today Is Okay« (2001), »Finally We Are No One« (2002) and »Sing Along To Songs You Don’t Know« (2009) »Smilewound« is another example of the band’s art of juxtaposing two conflicting meanings and taking advantage of the energy created through the tension between both.

Sparser in sound than many of its predecessors, »Smilewound« is an airy, relaxed record. The múm-core-duo of Örvar and Gunni doesn’t make you laugh out loud (except maybe for the quirky vintage Arcade-sound-start of »When Girls Collide«), but it will make you smile often - despite the heavenly voices singing about violence in one form or another in most songs. Musically, múm’s capability to build playful electronic sound-ornaments around simple melodies is in full bloom. And these days they know that trimming the ornamentation can strengthen the melody. Take »The Colorful Stabwound«: an aguish drum’n’bass piece and »Smilewound« gets close to a straight pop-song. Even that isn’t very close, but it combines its rhythmic strength with a simple yet effective piano-line and the soothing lushness of a female voice to something compelling that follows you like the smell of a delicate eau de toilette. Or »Candlestick« which started out as a little ditty strummed on an acoustic guitar many years ago and has grown into this bouncy piece of synth-pop that changes its musical colours every couple of beats until you feel comfortably dizzy. Perfect pop in very fancy clothes. No wonder that antipodean pop-princess Kylie Minogue wanted to collaborate with múm on the »Whistle«, the main song in 2012-movie »Jack & Diane«.

Recorded in, among other places, the band’s practice-space, an old baltic farmhouse and on the kitchen-table after dinner, the album was produced by múm themselves. And being the revolving collective they are, it comes as no surprise that we see the return of former member Gyda. Defining satellites as part of the core fits nicely with the band’s penchant for ambivalence - in fact that's part of the album's charm.

Yesterday it started to rain…

The smell of damp tarmac rising up through open windows, a smell which is uniquely evocative for us all depending on our individual histories: a suburban pavement, a school playground, a basketball court.
The rain cut through a band of low pressure that had been lying over the city for days, pinging rhythmically off metal, causing rolling tyres to hiss and spit.

The music that soundtracked this meteorological shift was the debut full length from Rain Text (Giuseppe Ielasi & Giovanni Civitenga), simply titled III. Scattered throughout the nameless eight tracks there are moments of low-end pressure relieved by the fizz and clatter of metallic rhythms; there is static, there is discord, there is release.

The individuals comprising Rain Text have a long history of manipulating sounds for evocative ends, Giuseppe Ielasi has been making music as one half of Bellows for many years, each album stretching and destroying their sound in beautiful increments. He has also released reliably inspirational music either solo or in collaboration for the likes of Editions Mego, Shelter Press and Faitiche. His sensitive ears are also in high demand as a mastering engineer. It is worth perusing the 800+ releases he has technical credits for on Discogs: from classics of the avant-garde to the freshest faces of the Swedish underground, the chances are some of your favourite albums are included.

Giovanni Civitenga helms the SKYAPNEA long-running NTS show. Joining him, you can enjoy the fruits of a lifetime of deep listening through shows that flit between the industrial and the devotional, a space that is fully explored on III.

The album was recorded quickly over three fertile days in Ielasi’s studio in Monza, but of course results like this can only be achieved at such a pace by spending a lifetime obsessing over the mechanics and possibilities of sound.

Those who are enamoured by the rain—who are returned by it to the surfaces, smells and sounds of a lost and idealised youth; who feel themselves restored—are known as ‘pluviophiles’. Their response to rain may well have a biological explanation: when rain hits tarmac negative ions are released into the air, which are thought to result in feelings of wellbeing and positivity. All the more reason, then, to return to the vivid ecosystem that Rain Text has so carefully cultivated for III."

Words by The Dengie Hundred – August 2024

The follow-up to 2024’s "Perpetual Eden" sees Bloody Head stretch out and capture the cosmic sprawl of their live gigs on record. Available on limited-edition LP with spot-varnished sleeve.
After finding their Perpetual Eden and then seeing it violently retrograde, Bloody Head return with a new transmission devoted to the pendulum’s swing and the big wheel’s turn.
The big wheel turns and the seasons turn and we turn and it all just keeps on spinning away… elliptic, off kilter, centres not holding, the whole merry-go-round whirling and dissolving and coagulating, perpetually.
The CHILDREN OF THE DUSK and the sundry weirdoes and creeps depicted on the cover painting, channelled by Danny Roberts 777, all spinning and singing and sinning as they rattle along… in some sort of strange, discordant VIBRATORY AFFINITY with themselves/each other/it all.
Stay a while and take the time to BEND DOWN AND KISS THE GROUND/smell the roses/find your Eden, in and amongst the nooks and cracks and crannies and in the thin, strange places.
TIME AS VEILED ETERNITY is a microcosm of the whole merry Shambala, pushing and pulling and coming together and falling apar
Recorded, mixed and mastered by James Atkinson at the Stationhouse, Leeds. The session almost kiboshed by Storm Éowyn. A sprawling mass/mess which oozes and lurches from bloody minded heaviness to meditative reflection to unsettling delirium and back again, ending in total sonic breakdown. More focused and restrained, more reckless and chaotic. There is No time, to every season some sort of purpose.

Zeitkratzer director Reinhold Friedl and his ensemble present new compositions, grounded on Domenico Scarlatti's piano sonata F-minor K.466. Commissioned by the dance company Rubato and dedicated to Mario Bertoncini (1932-2019).

Little is known about Domenico Scarlatti (1685-1757). His music is, so to speak, left to its own devices: free, cheeky, playful, sonorous, surprising. Harmonically strolling again and again into unforeseen regions, the ear leads, not the theory; and also the fingers get their right: playful and haptic it goes. Scarlatti explained, "since nature has given me ten fingers and my instrument provides employment for all, I see no reason why I should not use all ten of them."

Freedom, friction and listening pleasure instead of convention: "He knew quite well that he had disregarded all the rules of composition in his piano pieces, but asked whether his deviation from the rules offended the ear? He believes there is almost no other rule than that of not offending the only sense whose object is music - the ear."

Reinhold Friedl applied this principle and composed the music for a choreography by dance company Rubato. Dance music drawn from Scarlatti, who was so inspired by dance music. The material of the piano sonata F-minor K.466 is twisted anew in all its richness, shifted back and forth, declined, frozen, noisified, sound structures extracted, floating. Those who know the sonata, will more than smell it’s shadows. Dedicated to Mario Bertoncini (Gruppo di Improvvisazione Nuova Consonanza) who was particularly fond of K.466, on which all the music presented here is grounded.

"Wild flowers", Barbara Zubers had once called Scarlatti's music. Let them bloom.

Pager Records returns with catalog number sixteen, dropping another essential slab of wax: The Aquatic Genie — a 5-track journey that blends house, disco, funk and a wink of humor — this time from Aladdin, a French DJ and Producer based in Lyon, coming in HOT with his unique approach to house music, influenced by jazz, funk and reggae. Drawing from these influences his sound feels fresh yet rooted in the DNA of Pager’s signature aesthetic.

Intro (Flying Carpet Airlines) – hazy lift-off joint, saturated samples and dubbed-out FX pulling you into a low-slung groove. Cosmic Lounge Energy…

Forever – breaky house with elastic low-end and vocoder shimmer that sneaks into your head. Pure sunrise material…

You Smell Like Fish – house on a g-funk trip! Funk-driven bass, warm keys, and talkbox heat bringing a modern boogie twist — guaranteed eyebrow-raiser.

Doyoulike2dance – straight-up party trigger with a smile. Funk-loaded drums and a hook that says it all. Pure body music.

Rock The House – stripped-down, Detroit-tinged funk workout to shut it down raw and sexy…

Playful and funky — The Aquatic Genie keeps one foot in the house nation and taps the other into the disco world. Full of character, bounce, and club weight — another Sureshot from Pager for both DJs and Listeners <3

Limited Vinyl Pressing. Don’t sleep on it.

Hardware is the fifth studio album by Swiss hard rock/heavy metal band Krokus, originally released in 1981.

The album charted in the US, UK and other European countries and went on to become gold certified.

Engineered by acclaimed British studio professional Mark Dearnley (known for his work with AC/DC and Def Leppard),
the record emphasizes energetic guitar work from Fernando von Arb and Tommy Kiefer. The singles on this album are "Rock City", "Winning Man" and "Smelly Nelly".

Hardware is available as a limited edition of 666 numbered copies on red coloured vinyl and includes an insert with lyrics.

Bordello Travels presents the second volume of ‘Buone Vacanze’ with your tour guides Ali Renault, Señor Chugger, Back From The Wave & Umatik and CT Kidobo.

Comes with San Remo Casino sticker cover.

Andiamo!

Mutant, in partnership with Back Lot Music, are proud to present the physical media debut of Universal Pictures’ Jurassic World Rebirth Original Motion Picture Soundtrack with music by two-time Grammy® and Academy Award®-winning composer Alexandre Desplat.



To create the score for Jurassic World Rebirth, director Gareth Edwards turned to a distinguished friend, two-time Oscar® winner Alexandre Desplat (The Grand Budapest Hotel, The Shape of Water), who worked with Edwards on Godzilla. “I feel very fortunate to be doing the music for a movie franchise like this, which entertained me so greatly, as a filmgoer, for decades,” Desplat says. “I dreamed of writing music for movies like this since I was a teenager, and now, here I am,” he adds with a laugh, “part of Jurassic World, almost a teenager.”



Rebirth represents the second time that Desplat has stepped into a franchise and inherited and adapted iconic musical motifs written by an artist he considers his “forever idol,” the legendary John Williams: Desplat previously took on that challenge with Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Parts 1 and 2. “John Williams wrote a fantastic melody for Jurassic Park that I now get to reinvent, rejigger and resculpt in ways benefit our movie,” Desplat says. “My desire was not to quote John’s score bluntly but subtly echo it or make use of it in the original score I have written for the film in playful and meaningful ways.”



"Continuing in the legacy of composers like John Williams, Don Davis, and Michael Giacchino - Alexandre Desplat brings the action packed Jurassic World: Rebirth to life with equal parts bombast, and tenderness." says Mo Shafeek, co-founder of Mutant. "Beautiful piano melodies give reprieve from thundering percussion, in this beautiful and essential addition to the Jurassic franchise.”

END[GER] Die Band Wednesday aus Asheville, North Carolina errichtet im Laufe der zehn Songs von "Rat Saw God" einen Schrein voller aufregender Details: Halb lustige, halb tragische Botschaften aus den Südstaaten, die sich klanglich irgendwo zwischen dem wimmernden Skuzz von Neunzigerjahre-Shoegaze und klassischem Country-Twang entfalten - mit verzerrter Pedal Steel und Frontfrau Karly Hartzman, die mit ihrer Stimme, den Lärm durchschneidet. Ein Song von Wednesday ist wie ein Quilt. Eine Kurzgeschichtensammlung, eine verschwommene Erinnerung, ein Flickenteppich aus Porträts des amerikanischen Südens, der disparate Momente einfängt und als Ganzes doch irgendwie einen Sinn ergibt. Karly Hartzman, die Songschreiberin, Sängerin, Gitarristin und Leiterin der Band, ist eine Geschichtensammlerin als auch eine Geschichtenerzählerin: Eine aufmerksame Beobachterin von Menschen und witzigen Bemerkungen. "Rat Saw God", das neue und beste Album des Quintetts aus Asheville, ist ekphrastisch, aber ebenso autobiografisch und vor allem sehr einfühlsam. Es wurde in den Monaten unmittelbar nach der Fertigstellung von dem zweiten Album der Band, "Twin Plagues", geschrieben und innerhalb einer Woche im Drop Of Sun Studio in Asheville aufgenommen. Die Songs auf "Rat Saw God" erzählen keine Epen, sondern das Alltägliche. Sie sind lebensnah, erzählen vom wahren Leben, sie sind verschwommen und chaotisch und seltsam zugleich - was Hartzmans eigenem Ethos entspricht: "Everyone's story is worthy. Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." 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.

Die frühen Achtzigerjahre waren für den härteren Rock aus Deutschland eine ganz besondere Zeit. Der ausufernde Progressive Rock und der sogenannte Krautrock waren am Ausklingen, der Punk musste dem New Wave weichen und der Heavy Metal begann Fahrt aufzunehmen.

Einige Bands saßen zwischen 1980 und 1983 zwischen den Stühlen und können gar als „das fehlende Glied“ bezeichnet werden. In diesem Boxset
befinden sich gleich drei Schmuckstücke und Geheimtipps, die heute sogar aufregender klingen als damals. REQUIEM kamen aus Stuttgart
und lieferten auf ihrer einzigen LP einen Mix aus Hardrock, Pomprock und Progressive Rock. Gitarrist Tommy Clauss wurde später mit Bands wie ZAR
berühmt, bei denen auch ex-Uriah Heep Sänger John Lawton dabei war.

SPHINX ist eine andere Geschichte, denn hier haben ein paar italienische Gastarbeitersöhne im Raum Stuttgart eine Band gegründet. So wurde
das Debüt „Here We Are“ vom Label als „Made In Italy“ verkauft, was natürlich nur eine Verkaufsstrategie war. SPHINX nehmen das voraus,
was uns Jahre später unter Anderem Dream Theater lieferten. Eine frühe Version des Prog Metal, oder ein Vorläufer davon. Das gleiche Album wurde
von einem anderen Label 1985 als „Burning Lights“ erneut ins Rennen geschickt; dieses Mal mit einem Heavy Metal-tauglichem Coverartwork.
LIMERICK aus Saarbrücken haben als Schülerband 1980 eine heute sehr rare Single aufgenommen. Das einzige Album erschien dann 1983 – mit
deutschen Texten! Regional war der kräftige Rock mit Dialekt im Gesang sehr erfolgreich und spielte Shows mit Kim Wilde und Climax Blues Band.
Die Gruppe ist heute wieder aktiv und wurde kürzlich im Magazin Rock Hard gefeatured

More than a decade after his last full album, Kim Hiorthøy returns with Ghost Note, released by the Belgian label Blickwinkel. Though his music has quietly existed in the background—shaping contemporary dance, film, and theatre—this album brings it into focus once more. Ghost Note is an exploration of sound on the edge of presence and absence, a fictional world that is both constructed and organic.

Using mostly digital technology, Hiorthøy created a set of instruments that are real—you can hear them, they have tone, timbre, and resonance—but also not. The percussion, for instance, sounds like cheap scrap metal drums. But are they real? Do they exist? Hiorthøy plays with perception, challenging what feels real and what feels like a memory. In doing so, Ghost Note becomes an invitation to embrace uncertainty and indefinability.

“It's a kind of foggy area between theatre and daily life. Ghost notes. I wanted to try to make music that existed in this in-between space. Electronic music that is acoustic, a kind of emotional music that also hides in abstraction (or the other way around), and to try to make tracks that were sort of falling apart as I was making them.” ­- Kim Hiorthøy

The Sexy Drugs bezeichnen ihre Musik augenzwinkernd als "Hard Nipple Power Pop". Damit wollen sie unterstreichen, dass sie ihren punkigen Rock gerne mit Popmelodien würzen. Ihre bewegte Geschichte begann bereits Anfang 2001 im Fillmore in Kaiserslautern. Nach einigen Besetzungswechseln und drei Studioalben unterschrieb die Band Ende 2024 bei Barhill Records. Dort erscheint "Reckless Memories", das erste The Sexy Drugs-Album, das als Quartett entstanden ist. Mit diesem konnten sie auch erstmals ihre Live-Energie einfangen und auf ein Album bannen. "Reckless Memories" ist ein Album über verpasste Chancen, alte Gefühle und neue Schwierigkeiten und Probleme. Es handelt von all diesen Hochs und Tiefs in unserem Leben. Es ging den vier Musikern darum, als Band zu wachsen, obwohl zeitgleich die Welt zu kollabieren scheint. Eskapismus als letzte Chance. Oder anders gesagt: Rock'n'roll ist die Antwort. Zumindest teilweise. Und Liebe sowieso. Mehr Liebe, weniger Hass.

Sterling Drake continues his run of his rustic and authentic Country & Western music with "The Shape I'm In." It's hard to find authentic Western music these days but Sterling Drake clearly lives these songs. Sterling Drake sings songs of the lifestyle he knows as he devotes time to ranching and conservation. The heartbreak, the longing, the loneliness - it's all there in the grooves of this LP. Close your eyes while you listen to this one and you can smell the campfire and feel the big Montana sky above you. A modern Country & Western classic.

In a world where physical experiences are becoming rarer, artists are looking to connect their process to something more tangible, and with A/V rinsed, scent is an obvious next sense to plunder. Florian TM Zeisig - who last appeared on Somewhere Press as Angel R, goes the extra mile, teaming up with perfumer Angel Paradise to develop a suite of music that plays like a bouquet of memory-triggering aromas, coupled with a fragrance that captures the oily essence of their bucolic alpine setting. The project came about when both artists were living in Hinang, a small farming village in the rural Bavarian alps. Paradise was studying alpine plant behaviour and using her research to inform her approach to scent creation, developing natural perfumes based on the landscape. Zeisig, meantime, composed his own response to the mountains and forests that surrounded them. He wrote ‘Spool’ as a poignant farewell (or spiritual rebirth) as they prepared to leave, considering teenage nostalgia as well as the idyllic locale, and the pastoral suite of lulled loops, field recordings and dissociated instrumental vamps plays like a contemporary Heimatfilme soundtrack, locking into the genre’s idyllic, fantastical simplicity and romance. Drunken horn loops and mushy piano chords concertina around a wobbly axis on ‘Oneandhalf’, met by dreamy guitars and whispered, lysergic vocals. The sweet-smelling notes form an enigmatic compound, prompting us to think of Codeine or Galaxie 500 without solidifying completely. It’s music that works with outlines and traces, catching us off guard with flickers of samples and veiled base notes: the Cocteau Twins-like phased piano on ‘Threeandhalf’ that’s drowned out by gunked tape fog, or the smudges of ‘Spirit of Eden’ ambience on ‘Alright’ that creep between tweezed piano phrases. There’s depth too; Zeisig doesn’t restrict himself to Romance-cum-Basinski loopmuzak, he intersperses his GASeous orchestral waves with serene, relatively demure reflections that capture the pristine beauty of a dewy alpine morning. ‘Four’ is an ASMR-rich blend of crunching leaves and mossy, decelerated pads, and ‘Plus’ burns its drones down to crackling embers, letting the faint harmonies flicker through the coal dust. Importantly, it’s emotional music, but not overly melodramatic, finding peace in nostalgia and the calm of nature.

„Bell Bottom Country“, passend benannt nach der Beschreibung ihres Sounds und Stils, ist typisch Lainey – Country mit besonderem Flair. Das Album spiegelt Laineys enorme Entwicklung der letzten Jahre, ihre Tiefe und ihren facettenreichen Charakter mit Elementen aus 70er-Jahre-Rock, Reggae und Funk wider – und bleibt dabei bis ins Mark Country.

Wilson gab ihr Schauspieldebüt in Staffel 5 der Erfolgsserie „Yellowstone“ als Musikerin Abby, wo sie erstmals „Smell Like Smoke“ sowie „Watermelon Moonshine“ und „Hold My Halo“ vom Album präsentierte.

The deadbeat Danish duo return to serenade us with their signature sound of fuzzed-out garage-rock guitars, falsetto vocal supremacy, and an unyielding rhythm section. Gabestok find themselves lodged at the pinch point between the grandiose and the garage, crafting songs that are at once eminently epic yet raw and direct. Alle Dør I Fremtiden is a road trip into oblivion, always accelerating toward some unknown precipice until inevitably driving you over the edge. Laying in the wreckage of an old car smelling of stale cigarettes and beer you wonder what happened, then flip the record and start again.
A short conceptual album steeped in hopelessness, regression, power, and the almighty battle against mob mentality in the wake of advancing technology and knowledge. Set amidst a geomagnetic storm on a desolate, scorched Earth, we follow an obsessive collector who has amassed a vast physical repository of lost knowledge now esoteric in an era of hard drives and remote storage. Books, piles of papers, and artefacts are all locked away in his private Citadel, far removed from a population of spiritless people, trapped within their own thought-prisons, fiercely guarded by corporate algorithms.
Fire and flames come in many disguises and eventually We All Die in the Future.

“Growing up has always been a solitary journey, marked by forward-looking anticipation, anxiety, unripe potential, aspirations, and closures.”

London based Chinese composer and multi-instrumentalist Li Yilei returns to Métron Records with NONAGE, their second full length release following 2021’s OF. An introspective reflection on the journey through childhood, this new work brings together samples from old Chinese TV shows, mechanical children’s toys and an array of acoustic and electronic instruments - some of which were designed and built by Li themselves.

The Chinese title for "NONAGE" is "垂髫", which translates to “childhood” or “disheveled hair”, and refers to the carefree phase of life when children let their hair down, both figuratively and literally. For Li, nonage is a place that they always revisit - to learn about fear and fearlessness, love and despair, grief and glee, curiosity and mistakes.

“I remember pressing piano keys like touching flowers, reading scores like looking at paintings, writing like how I would talk to myself, greeting death like how I would greet life.”

Initially conceived as an archiving project, the record retraces and reimagines fractions of Li’s childhood memories through smell, location and colour, and brings to life the lingering feelings that remain into adulthood.

Compositions are built around a variety of unusual sources: damaged instruments such as a toy piano, a hand cranked music box, bird whistles, a broken accordion and anything else Li could find that evoked nascent recollections. Interspersed throughout are samples from Li’s childhood piano jams, moments of contemplative transmigration where previous incarnations of self and memory meet the present.

Second volume of tributes from Kutmah.
A beat tape for the brotha from anotha planet, the most high Ras G & the Afrikan Space Program
All beats by Kutmah / Cover Photos By Kevin Ramos

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Second volume of tributes from Kutmah.
A beat tape for the brotha from anotha planet, the most high Ras G & the Afrikan Space Program
All beats by Kutmah / Cover Photos By Kevin Ramos

Revolution Rock Deluxe vereint das bahnbrechende erste Album von Greenleaf mit ihrer lange vergriffenen Debüt-EP in einer einzigen atemberaubenden Neuauflage! Angeführt von Gitarrist Tommi Holappa von den europäischen Wüstenrock-Ikonen Dozer, begannen Greenleaf als informelles Kollektiv von Freunden, die Musik machten, inspiriert von ihrer gemeinsamen Liebe zum Riff-Rock der 70er Jahre. Nachdem sie sich 2013 in eine richtige Band verwandelt haben, stehen Greenleaf jetzt an der Spitze der globalen Heavy-Szene, nachdem sie ihr letztes Album The Head & The Habit 2024 veröffentlicht haben. Im fünfundzwanzigsten Jahr ihrer unglaublichen Karriere markieren sie diese beeindruckende Leistung mit einer speziellen Neuauflage ihrer frühesten Veröffentlichungen. Mit Jungs von Dozer, Lowrider, Demon Cleaner und anderen wurde Greenleafs erstes Album Revolution Rock 2001 in Eigenregie veröffentlicht und seit der ursprünglichen Auflage von 500 Exemplaren noch nie neu aufgelegt. Revolution Rock Deluxe vereint dieses bahnbrechende Album mit der lange vergriffenen Debüt-EP von Greenleaf aus dem Jahr 2000 in einer einzigen, atemberaubenden Ausgabe. Alle Songs wurden von Karl Daniel Lidén komplett neu gemastert und das ursprüngliche Artwork und Design von Lowriders Peder Bergstrand brillant aufgefrischt und aktualisiert.Feiern wir ein Vierteljahrhundert majestätischer Riffs mit Revolution Rock Deluxe und erleben Greenleafs Big Bang zum ersten Mal wieder! Präsentiert in einer luxuriösen, aufklappbaren 2LP-Edition auf limitiertem farbigen Vinyl oder als Einzel-CD im Digipack. Alle Songs wurden vollständig neu gemastert und die Verpackung und das Design aktualisiert und aufgefrischt. Eine der aktivsten und beliebtesten Bands der europäischen Stoner-/Desert-Rock-Szene

"Bloodshot Bill, the Canadian hickup rockabilly Trash LoFi King of One-Man-Bands meets Gerard Van Herk from the legendary Deja Voodoo duo to create music that comes direct out of a rotten crypt and smells like an obscure trashed up rock'n'roll bad-ass delinquent." -VVR Bloodshot Bill ist eine Ein-Mann-Band aus Quebec in Kanada. Keine Computer, keine Overdubs, einfach nur seine Gitarre mit Kickdrum und ein Hi-Hat, 2020 war er Gewinner von ,Ameripolitan Rockabilly Male Of The Year". Bloodshot Bill sei ,wie Roy Orbison mit einer Kopfverletzung", sagt Reg isseur John Waters. Er hat in den letzten 20 Jahren eine Menge Musik veröffentlicht (Norton, Goner, Squoodge etc und wurde auf Platz 8 der Top 10 Rock-Gitarristen des Vintage Rock Magazine gewählt. Gerard Van Herk, Gründer und Frontmann des legendären Duos Deja Voodoo aus Montreal in Kanada, veröffentlichte seit 1981 viele Platten auf u.a Midnight Records oder What Wave. Sie waren Pioniere in Kanada und schufen ihr eigenes Musikgenre Slugabilly. 2024 trafen sich die zwei Musiker und nahmen die vier Songs dieser EP auf. ,Shot of Blood" und ,Crawl" von Gerard Van Herk sowie ,She said no" und ,Shish Taouk" von Bloodshot Bill. Die Tracks gingen verloren und es wurde nur eine dünne MP3 gefunden die dann von Matt von den Ouside Inside Studios versucht wurde wiederherzustellen. Hören Sie selbst!!!

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

At the end of the roughest year in their history, Ulver is proud to release their thirteenth studio album, titled Liminal Animals. Liminal Animals is permeated by the smell of disaster and documents, with deep concern, a dark and troubled place in a dark and troubled time. The cover art features The Senseless Seven, a 1911 drawing by Austin Osman Spare. Design by grand magus wolframgrafik Paschalis Zervas.

At the end of the roughest year in their history, Ulver is proud to release their thirteenth studio album, titled Liminal Animals. Liminal Animals is permeated by the smell of disaster and documents, with deep concern, a dark and troubled place in a dark and troubled time. The cover art features The Senseless Seven, a 1911 drawing by Austin Osman Spare. Design by grand magus wolframgrafik Paschalis Zervas.

Cindy Lee, Arthur Russell, Viagra Boys, On-U Sound. In the discourse around new albums from singular, world-building artists, the phrase “a big step forward” can often be a blinking red warning sign. You know you’re about to be pulled somewhere new against your will. Inertia is a hell of a thing. It’s nice here. Surely, the party’s not over yet? JJULIUS’ Vol. 3 album is a big step forward, or a step up, out of the murky basement of the preceding two volumes. There’s no time to acclimate. A spindly violin grabs you by the hand and pulls you into the pastoral bounce of “Brinna ut,” which, in spite of its meaning (“Burn out”), creates the kind of blind positivity and warm stomach feeling less cynical people might find in self-help seminars. For us, we have records like this. And, inertia be damned, Vol. 3 has charm like a balm. JJULIUS records have always arrived like meteors from another planet, an impression hammered home by the fact that they’re titled like compendiums of artifacts. And while Vols. 1 and 2 carried that notable tinge of darkness, Vol. 3 has (almost!) cast that shadow, adding elements of disco (“Dödsdisco”) and dream-pop (“Etopisk hallucination”) to his forever favorites Arthur Russell, African Head Charge, and The Fall. Some of that new car smell could be attributed to a change in process. Each song was written over beats played by Tor Sjödén of the wild-eyed Stockholm group Viagra Boys, beats that were themselves inspired by tracks from the likes of Patrick Cowley, CAN, Count Ossie, Black Devil Disco Club and others that Julius would send to him as inspiration. Unless you’re Mark E. Smith, fervor fades. Eventually we all crave a lie down in some nice grass, a few minutes to gaze at the sky and wonder if everything is actually all that bad. Vol. 3 gives you 35 of those respiting minutes. “No looking back, no misery, no talking trash, no enemies.”

Bandler Ching makes a bold return from within the vibrant, Brussels music scene with their sophomore album, Mercurial. In this latest offering, the band edges even closer to the ever-evolving world of electronics and dance music while retaining the improvisational spirit that has always defined their sound at its core.
On Mercurial, the band navigates the fringes of industrial trap, while expertly bending and pushing the possibilities of their instruments. Ambroos De Schepper's saxophone transcends its traditional role even more, becoming a dynamic, shapeshifting entity capable of evoking haunting melodies one moment and otherworldly harmonies the next. Federico Pecoraro's bass transforms into ethereal ambient pads that drift through the mix like vapor, adding depth. Meanwhile, Olivier Penu's drums form the rhythmic backbone, laying down eclectic grooves that defy the constraints of any single genre, merging seamlessly from trap to electronica, hip-hop, and beyond.
Known for their ability to blend disparate genres and experiment with textures, Bandler Ching forges a new instrumental language, one that feels untethered to convention and free from classification. It's not a genre-crossing experiment-but a daring move towards a new instrumental genre in the digital age.
Fans of experimental electronic icons like Aphex Twin, Squarepusher, and Ceephax Acid Crew will find much to admire in the upcoming Mercurial album- it's a next step in pushing to a new musical territory and boldly casting off the jazz genre in the process.
It's been two years since Bandler Ching first released their debut album Coaxial on Sdban Ultra. Kicking off the album campaign with an album release show in Volta, the Brussels hotbed for a new generation of Belgian artists. What followed was a series of concerts in key venues and festivals across Belgium and the Netherlands to honorable reviews in national and specialized press.

Dies ist die zweite Auflage von The Monsters "You're Class, I'm Trash", dem noch aktuellem Monsters-Album aus dem Jahre 2021 (erste Auflage war gelb und mit einer 7" Bonus-Single). Diese zweite Auflage hat ein neues pinkfarbendes Sleeve-Design, kommt als 180g Vinyl und mit einem zweiseitig bedrucktem Insert. HI-SPEED-BOOGIE-FUZZ-GARAGE-TRASH-ROCK-N-ROLL FROM LEGENDARY BERNESE GARAGE PUNKS PLAYED WITH A CHAINSAW-ON-STEEL 13 SPLATTER HITS INCLUDING SMALL HORROR OPERA BY SWISS FILM COMPOSER MARIO BATKOVIC The Monsters wurden 1986 in Bern der Schweiz gegründet, als Alternative zur damaligen populären Musik (z. B. Disco, Pop, Top 40 Rock). Sie nannten dies "Teenage Primitive Rock n' Roll Chainsaw Massacre Garage Trash Mix up Rockabilly mit Punkrock und Garage" und haben sich zu einer gefragten Garagen-Punkrockband gemausert, die auf Festivals, in Klubs und großen Hallen so weit gen Osten wie Japan, gen Süden wie Brasilien und gen Norden zu den Skandinavier resit und dort audspielt. Sogar im so Wilden Westen wie New York City in Amerika. Und dann öffnet 2020 die Türen, YAHOO!!! Die Welt wurde komplett abgeschottet und die Pläne aller änderten sich! Da es in naher Zukunft keine Tourneen gäbe, war es jetzt an der Zeit, ein neues Album zu machen. So widmete sich die Band zwei Wochen, um ihren Proberaum aufzuräumen und neue Musik zu schreiben, und 3 Tage im Berner Shirt Off Studio um diese aufzunehmen. Voila! Hier hast du Rosemary's Baby den Knüppel aus dem Sack: 13 raue, laute und spritzig klingende Tracks, die live ohne Overdubs (nur der Gesang/das Geschrei') aufgenommen wurden. Textlich ist das Album eine komplette Katastrophe mit nicht viel mehr als 120 Wörtern, welche aneinandergereiht meistenfalls keinen Sinn ergeben! Es ist eigentlich völliger Quatsch, aber THE MONSTERS lieben es! Das Cover stammt übrigens vom Berner Surrealisten Jerry Haenggli.