quête:ten walls

RSD 2024

First time ever release on vinyl format. 180 GRAM BLACK VINYL. After The Sabres of Paradise split in 1995 Andrew Weatherall underwent one of many reinventions. He began working with Keith Tenniswood as Two Lone Swordsmen which released several records on the Warp label, set up a new electronic imprint under the Rotters Golf Club banner and fully explored new DJ personas departing from his house-based sets into dub, electronica and rockabilly. Renowned for unconventional sets where he’d raise the roof dropping an unexpected but exactly right track into the mix, he’d push the audience to new heights by introducing them to music they’d never even thought of exploring. The experiments went down especially well in Japan where he’d tour playing solo sets as well as performing alongside pioneers like Underworld, Adrian Sherwood and The Orb. In 2003 his new label, Rotters Golf Club, was approached by the Italian fashion house Emigliano Zegna to create some music to help launch their first foray into Japan. Andrew always had a keen eye for quality and agreed to provide some music. At the time it wasn’t envisaged as an album. He’d just grabbed some tracks he and Keith had been working on, polished them up and swapped them for a small advance and a large raid on their Bond Street store. He then let them get on with the release and turned his attention to the next TLS album proper. This was Double Gone Chapel where rock and psychobilly were mixed in with electronica and controversially Andrew added his own vocals. The Zegna album ‘Still My World’ was sidelined by a live band and a whole new direction. Andrew’s untimely death refocused attention on his historical recordings and ‘Still My World’, previously only released on CD in Japan, now sees the light of day in the rest of the world.

Lili Holland-Fricke and Sean Rogan’s debut album “dear alien” is a constellation of radiant improvised impulses, imagined in lucent fragments of cello, guitar and voice. Spacious, tender and glistening with rich electronic distortion, the record melds a spectrum of processed and natural sound as the artists invite listeners into their dreamlike world of synergetic introspections.

Cultivated through a shared spirit of resourcefulness and play, “dear alien” emerges as an organic meeting place in the compositional output of British-German experimental cellist Lili Holland-Fricke and Manchester-born guitarist and producer Sean Rogan. Having studied their respective instruments at the Royal Northern College of Music, both artists have flourished in eclectic solo and collaborative projects, creating intricate and intimate spheres of sound with a deep appreciation for songwriting and improvisation.

Holland-Fricke’s transition from the classical world to writing her own material, and later vastly expanding her palette with electronics, first converged with Rogan’s distinctive flair for production in 2022 on her EP “birdsong for breakfast” and single ‘draw on the walls’. Now, the duo present an album envisioned through true ‘50/50’ collaboration during the summer of 2023, written across two intensive weeks of improvising and experimenting at Rogan’s Greenwich home studio. A convergence of the artists’ sounds and influences, the music was fostered by the idea of making an album with ‘no plan’ and their shared recent discovery of Arthur Russell, to whom the final track is dedicated.

“dear alien” assembles eight compositions that emerged naturally as the duo created sketches with cello and pedals, guitar, tape loops and poetic vocal musings, forming songs that explore themes of waiting, circling back around, and glitchy communication. Moments of drifting through pillowy layers of sound contrast with saturated visions of electronic modification, where the record’s glowing instrumental contours are pushed to the extremes.

The plaintive shades of ‘half blue’ and meandering deliberations of ‘slow thing’ are teased by the friction of static signals and a sense of ever-mutating sonic mass – a sensibility most acutely realised in ‘dawning’, where cello-vocoder eruptions grow in magnitude, the absence of sound between them burdened with something sinister and unspoken. As the artists expand on this piece, ‘It’s the sound equivalent of squeezing your eyes shut to shield against the brightness of something you don’t want to see, only to find that each time you open them again the world is not softening but getting more relentlessly overwhelming, to the point of being totally blinding.’

Three tracks with lyrics – ‘at first’, ‘dear alien’ and ‘seem asleep’ – refract the album’s wistful and melancholic colours into poetic imagery and metaphors, ushering in reflections on relationship tensions and someone close feeling unknown, with hints towards wider unsettled feelings about climate change. In the spirit of lyrical improv, ‘seem asleep’ compiles lone lines from Holland-Fricke’s journals into a cut-and-paste collage around hopeful patience or futile lingering – either way conjuring a softness that welcomes the hazy ambience of ‘for a. r.’, the final composition which soundscapes the summer days spent making the album. As the artists describe of this track, ‘The music kind of leads somewhere, but then kind of leads nowhere, and just meanders around where it is, content to just be walking in a circle back to where it started.’

Incognito virtuoso Lambert, known for his playful personality, bold vision, stunning neo-classical compositions, and of course his ever-present horned Sardinian mask, is back with brand-new album Actually Good. Initially intended as the score for a gritty crime drama and debut film entitled ‘The Stranger’, which, due to reasons that will become clear with time, was swiftly curtailed, the now retitled soundtrack, Actually Good, is not only ready for release, but so is a remarkable mini-documentary about the making of this crime catastrophe. Featuring rolling piano arpeggios, sedate strings and staccato synths, Actually Good combines tension and elegance in equal measures for a truly cinematic experience.

The band name is a nod to the eponymous album by Sonny Rollins from 1962, but the project refuses to sound nostalgic. Every performance leads to completely new music, with every player bringing influences from their own generation and background. Recorded by Bartosz Szkielkowski at Pardon To Tu, Warsaw, October 3rd, 2022 (except for LP format extra track). In this quartet Amado gathers three of his strongest longtime influences: German pianist Alexander von Schlippenbach, Norwegian double bass player Ingebrigt Håker Flaten and American drummer Gerry Hemingway. For Amado this band represents a deep dive into his own formative roots, something he has been dealing with more and more in these last few years. With Schlippenbach, Håker Flaten and Hemingway by his side, Amado has the perfect context to explore the classic materials he considers to be the basis of his journey as a musician, an impulse that is part him and part history. This is a quartet whose name really represents, aside from a direct homage to Sonny Rollins, a bridge between different languages, backgrounds and generations, all united through improvisation. Rodrigo Amado - tenor saxophone Alexander Von Schlippenbach - piano Ingebrigt Håker Flaten - bass Gerry Hemingway - drums

Resonance is one of the most powerful forces this world has,
simply because there is no way to stop it. A drop of
condensed water separates itself from the concrete ceiling.
Propelled only by its own weight, it plummets down towards
a cacophony of naked bodies and §ailing arms to shatter on
a the forehead of an ecstatic dancer. And while all this is
happening, a voice resonates through the entire room,
making the walls shake and the crowd lose themselves even
further : “Move Your Body, Move Your Soul”. Narciss emerges
from a grimey basement in Berlin to bring us two heavy
utility dance§oor cuts on Actions Speak Louder Than Words,
his ¦rst Solo EP on Seelen. The title track is truly something
to behold. With a breakneck tempo, hard hitting percussions
and a legendary house vocal, it wields an absolutely
hypnotizing power that, before you know it, will make
everyone in attendance grind and juke till the early morning
hours. There is a palpapable vibe of mid 90s Detroit-Techno
but still it manages to cut out an identity for its own, with
razor sharp sound-design and a very uplifting attitude for its
genre. And while the tracks arrangement and sound-design is
very minimal, it is on Brennpunkt that Narciss really §exes
his trademark way of building tension with remarkably few
elements. Everything here is stripped down to its most
functional core. The synth-lead is simple yet menacing, the
kick-drum hits like a boxer, and you can be pretty sure that
the hihats will leave burns if you get too close to the record.
As is custom on this label, the B-side is dedicated to thereconstructive efforts of friends or family. This time the
mastermind of Manhigh and Grounded Theory, Mr. Henning
Baer, and Seelen’s very own Shaleen have both let their
actions speak. Henning Baer has taken on the title track in
his Remix and has transformed it into a true vintage electro
cut. A distorted synth and pad add heavy grit to the original’s
vocal, and the warehouse sized kickdrum will knock anyone
unprepared off their feet. Meanwhile Shaleen’s reinterpretation of Brennpunkt strips it down even further,
swirling the original’s elements into a groovy maelstrom.
This version rumbles, clicks and sneers, with sampled voices
from a Shakespeare play giving the whole ordeal a truly
macabre feeling. This is a tool for only the most darkest of
warehouses when the night is at its peak. So now, to
summarize this record : it is a call to action. And because of
this, it continues to resonate, even when the last track has
been played. And a resonance can never be stopped.

2024 Repress

Mutual Rytm is back with more searing techno, this time in the form of a welcome return to wax from venerated Aussie mainstay Shane Yates, aka Alpharisc.

Melbourne's Alpharisc has been making music since 1993, initially with humble tools like the Commodore 64 and Amiga 500, before putting together and building a growing collection of hardware. He has always maintained a somewhat reclusive character since breaking through with the city's renowned Wetmusik party and label collective following the release of his first EP in 1999 and has always kept a nostalgic touch in his music alongside his signature Alpharisc sound. Following a string of digital EPs on the likes of Future Retro Music, this is his first vinyl 12" in two decades as he returns to Mutual Rytm following his appearance on the Federation Of Rytm II compilation, serving up his bustling 'Ram Face' EP.

The powerful 'Formation Filter' opens up with a powerful techno groove built from rock-solid kicks and rumbling bass that will rattle walls. Snares and synth rolls peel off the drums as they race onwards and grow ever wilder and more intense for maximum destruction. 'Circus Fear' is another stylish linear workout with lithe synth details and loopy drums peppered with coarse claps and hits to up the ante, while 'Hot Morning' brings even more fire with its big, churning percussive clatter and supersized hi-hats racing along over more bulky beats.

Things get more unhinged with the hard-edged 'Ram Face', which has pummelling drums and scraping hits forming a barrage of industrialised sound; a lead from a SID chip will bring a smile to those who are familiar with its sound playing a hypnotic lead over the top. The final track on wax, 'The Old One', builds up cosmic tension, haunting synth lines and howling solar winds into another peak time techno weapon. As always with the label, a digital bonus cut 'Hairyman' provides a special treat and delivers another frosty techno roller with pent-up energy and compelling drum programming.

Club music culture necessarily shifted gears in many ways during and after the course of the pandemic. Older participants found their way into other interests and younger participants took new reigns to orient spaces they felt good inside of. The agenda for the music, and the cultural industry surrounding it at large, took a more frivolous and “fun” turn. Clubs needed to recoup lost money, people needed more refreshing catharsis for their nightlife escape, and in some pockets scattered around the globe a newer and younger cadre of producers/promoters/DJ’s pulled optical cues from a scattering of “darker” influences to give an alternate aesthetic to the aforementioned “vibes” culture. In the midst of this, a large polarization of conceptual energy shifted within the compositional and utilitarian machinations of the club music culture leaving behind the brooding and cerebral placeholders for different kind of enjoyable hedonism. Terrestrial Paradise’ “Artificial Hell” harkens to another prescient time before that shift occurred. “Artificial Hell’ might just be an illustration of what all of this fun escapism encapsulates.

Terrestrial Paradise is the latest moniker from Montreal come Los Angeles based producer Jaclyn Kendal. Having developed and cemented her sonic positionality with releases on North American labels like Ascetic House and Summer isle over the years, as well as a series of monolithic live sets, Bank is pleased to announce Kendal’s Terrestrial Paradise first full length album “Artificial Hell”. Over the course of nine recordings, “Artificial Hell” gives a master class in pressurized industrial techno of the slower variety. Fitting with the legacy of Bank’s output since it’s inception, Terrestrial Paradise’s aesthetic sensibilities sit within the canon of a certain tinge of club music imbued with a sense of natural grit, sans pretense.

“Artificial Hell” nods to artists like Scorn, Regis, and 400 PPM while maintaining it’s own territory in the landscape of cerebral and brooding rhythmic techno. Ominous, mechanistic drones sit above succinctly exacted percussion composition and sound design. Throughout “Artificial Hell”, Kendal shows her proficiency with the push and pull of building and releasing tension. On tracks like “Salvation” and “Relativity” she melds her synth wash wallscapes with driving percussion, serving as both a hint and counterpoint to the the entirety of the latter part of the album taking on spartan ambient compositions as a way to keep the listener in a subdued stasis. This album is a statement piece from a long time participant in the North American underground music sectors. It reminds the listener through perilous, considered rhythms and darker drone impositions to cement themselves back into a place where not
everything is always a good time.

U.S. Cinematic outfit Whatitdo Archive Group returns to explore the worlds of Mid-Century Exotica and Library Music with "Palace Of A Thousand Sounds," out on May 5th.

From the instrumental cinematic-soul outfit behind 2021's critically acclaimed The Black Stone Affair comes Whatitdo Archive Group's most recent foray into the realms of the esoteric and arcane, and their most adventurous album to date: Palace Of A Thousand Sounds, available May 5th, 2023 on Record Kicks on limited edition LP, CD and digital platforms.

After The Black Stone Affair enthralled record collectors by traversing the cinematic landscape of an imagined 1970s Spaghetti Western, Palace Of A Thousand Sounds finds Whatitdo Archive Group entrenched deeper in the worlds of mid-century exotica and library music—from the Tropicalia-steeped Amazon to the minor key tonalities of the far-out Near East.

When the dust finally settled from their debut album, composer and tireless sound scientist Alexander Korostinsky set out to discover the band's new direction, with the ultimate goal to breathe new life into the mid-century era sound with the compass of modernity as his guide.

From its conception in 2021, Palace has sought to carry on a legacy set in motion by the likes of Martin Denny, Les Baxter and Juan García Esquivel. Korostinsky, guitarist Mark Sexton, and drummer Aaron Chiazza recorded the album in marathon sessions from Korostinsky's Studio "A," in Reno, Nevada—a mysterious sonic laboratory where the year 1970 has yet to happen, and vintage analog equipment interfaces with modern musical perspectives and experimental recording techniques to produce era-defining sounds.

Not content to appeal to the sensibilities of armchair anthropologists, Palace Of A Thousand Sounds finds the band interrogating the genre itself while making studious tributes to the real places and times it draws from. It's in this tension between here and there, fantasy and reality, that Whatitdo Archive Group find their groove.

Drawing from a century of pop and folk sounds from around the world the way only 21st-century crate-diggers can, Palace is rooted in an undercurrent of heavy funk that is decidedly here and now. Whatitdo Archive Group showcase the breadth of their influences with disarming confidence, equally at home behind sweeping harp, loungey vibraphone or Turkish bağlama saz. A lush seventeen-piece orchestra commanded by award-winning composer Louis King (Janelle Monáe, Monophonics) completes the instrumental mélange, enticing listeners to imagine a borderless planet unified by melody and rhythm.

The album is unafraid to explore the strange and uncomfortable in pursuit of an authentic musical identity, subverting expectations in pursuit of forwarding the genre while paying homage to its past. Fans will appreciate the architectural complexity of the record accessible only through multiple listens—each visit to the palace yielding new details to marvel at, curiosities to ponder, grand mysteries to explore.

Once the needle drops, W.A.G carefully guides you from room to room, sound to sound within the walls of the album's sonic palace. Listening becomes an aural journey providing glimpses into different worlds both real and imagined; you are everywhere and nowhere all at once—a guest in the grand halls and hanging gardens of time and sound.

Steeped in obscurity, a cult following of crate-diggers and musical oddity collectors has been brewing over the mysterious releases of the Whatitdo Archive Group. Surfacing in 2009 from the high deserts of Reno, NV USA, this three-piece recording collective(Alexander Korostinsky, Mark Sexton and Aaron Chiazza) focuses solely on curating, performing and preserving esoteric soundtrack, library and deep-groove collections. As an onlooker, it's hard to tell whether the music they are procuring is actually archival, music of their own creation, or both. Their debut LP The Black Stone Affair, the formerly lost soundtrack music of a once-shelved Italian cinematic masterpiece, was released in 2021 and received praise from the likes of Wall Street Journal, Mojo Magazine, Uncut, Shindig, Blues & Soul Magazine, BBC 6, FIP Radio (FR), KCRW (US), JazzFM (UK) and more. Two years later, the Whatitdo Archive Group is back. Get ready for an exotic adventure with their sophomore full-length effort: Palace of a Thousand Sounds.

THE 1968 ALBUM ON WHICH JOHNNY CASH BECAME A LEGEND: AT FOLSOM PRISON AMONG THE MOST IMPORTANT AND POTENT STATEMENTS OF THE 20TH CENTURY


Johnny Cash already knew his way around Folsom Prison when he and his band stepped inside the institution’s forbidding walls on the morning of January 13, 1968 to record At Folsom Prison. He’d played there two years prior. But this time was different.

Cash took the stage that day for two shows amid a darkening sociopolitical atmosphere and a raging war in Vietnam, as well as the knowledge his career and health hung on by a thread. The Arkansas native shared many of the long odds and abject failures of the inmates for which he performed. The songs he chose, and the conviction with which he delivered them, say as much. The point at which Cash transformed from a country star into a legendary artist, and a bold statement about the American prison state and its commitment to rehabilitation, the triple-platinum At Folsom Prison remains one the most important, potent, and fabled records of the 20th century.

You can hear it echo off the walls of the room; pulse through the itchiness of the Tennessee Three’s acoustic-based boom-chick rhythms; crackle in the announcements conveyed over the intercom; ring in the comedy of the off-cuff remarks and pair of novelty tunes; sense it in palpable energy that wells up within Cash and his audience. And you can experience it like never before via Cash’s knockout singing. The bedrock foundation of all his music, the singer’s baritone resonates with profound degrees of depth, pliability, and passion that underscore how much this appearance meant to him — and the extent he was living the narratives.

Indeed, every song on At Folsom Prison serves a purpose and speaks to the conditions — mental, emotional, physical, geographical, legal, social — the inmates confronted on a daily basis. Beginning with the explicit messages of the opening “Folsom Prison Blues,” Cash makes it clear he understands and shares many of their plights. Not for nothing did the myth of Cash having done hard time persist for decades once this record hit the streets. That’s how real it is, and how dedicated Cash remains to conveying every note with the same truth he invests in the impromptu comments he makes between and amid songs.

Listen to the sorrow, regret, pity, and loneliness of Merle Travis’ “Dark as the Dungeon,” Cash pulling syllables til they threaten to break and inhabiting the mood of bleak phrases such as “pleasures are few” and “the sun never shines.” Witness the isolation, dejection, and sadness punctuating the walking-blues “I Still Miss Someone,” matched in gravity by a solemn reading of “The Long Black Veil” — a traditional dirge that involves murder, cheating, and deception. Cash cuts even deeper on a heartbreaking solo rendition of “Send a Picture of Mother” and plainspoken version of Harlan Howard’s “The Wall,” detailing a suicide disguised as jailbreak through cliched-jaw deliveries that softly curse the impossible situation.

In chronicling temptations, mistakes, mortality, punishment, and life “inside” — for better or worse, the stories of the disenfranchised, forgotten, written-off, and unrepentant — At Folsom Prison also has a blast playing the outlaw role. Cash captures wild-eyed craziness and out-of-control mayhem on a revved-up take of “Cocaine Blues,” taking extra satisfaction in its dastardly tales by way of voice that shifts into character for the sheriff and judge. The gallows humor and racing drama of “25 Minutes to Go”; quicksilver accents and resigned acceptance of “I Got Stripes”; train-whistle blare and twangy locomotion of “Folsom Prison Blues” — all fight the law only to see the law win.

Cash remains deeply committed at every moment, and inseparably connected with the tortured souls removed from the goings-on of the outside world. No wonder all but two songs here stem from the day’s first performance that saw Cash, Luther Perkins, Marshall Grant, and company give everything. As does the Man in Black’s soon-to-be-wife, June Carter. The couple’s fiery duet on “Jackson” scorches; their combination of surrender and fortitude “Give My Love to Rose” puts us in the dying protagonist’s shoes.

And with the closing “Greystone Chapel,” famously penned by convict Glen Sherley, who watched it all happen under the watchful eye of guards, Cash separates the corporeal from the spiritual, relaying lessons about salvation and survival. Heady themes to which he’d return for the remainder of his illustrious career.

"Brainwashed" ist das zweite Studioalbum der britischen Metalcore-Band While She Sleeps - es erschien am 23. März 2015 - und wird jetzt zum ersten Mal überhaupt auf Vinyl erscheinen. Das Album wird am 22. Mai 2024 über Music For Nations / Sony Music veröffentlicht und auf exklusivem rotem Vinyl gepresst.

Jackson C. Frank's eponymous album is the embodiment of folk legend. Issued in late 1965 on the UK Columbia label, it was for many years more famous for its producer (Paul Simon) and the musicians who would go on to cover its songs (Nick Drake, Bert Jansch, Sandy Denny) than for the hauntingly beautiful music contained inside.

Frank's backstory certainly adds to the legacy: born in Buffalo, New York, he used the settlement from a childhood accident to sail to London where he quickly became a fixture of the bustling folk scene. Performing a mix of blues standards and originals, he met fellow ex-pat Paul Simon who would put up the money to record Frank's only LP.

For such a sparsely recorded work, Jackson C. Frank covers a lot of ground. From the rugged, world-weary opener "Blues Run The Game" to the stunning melancholy of "Milk And Honey," Frank's nimble acoustic guitar and passionate howls are all that is needed to power such authentic songwriting. Captured in a single-day session, these ten tracks are stark, gritty and seemingly out-of-place with time. There may be no '60s folk record that is simultaneously as rare and influential as Jackson C. Frank's self-titled debut.

After 2021’s critically acclaimed album “Afraid To Leave”, Berlin based post-punkers Bleib Modern invited artist friends to take an outside perspective on their tracks, resulting in the “2 Afraid 2 Leave” compilation, featuring remixes and reworks from several esteemed names within the darkwave, post-punk and EBM music scenes.

From club bangers like IV Horsemen’s version of “Bitter Smile” and M!R!M’s dreamy lo-fi bedroom synthpop sound on “Into The Night” to Danish deviant pop artist Dune Messiah’s crooner “Loony Voices”. The album also boasts contributions from luminaries like The KVB, The Underground Youth, Blind Delon, Shad Shadows and various Bleib Modern band member side projects.

“2 Afraid 2 Leave” offers listeners a chance to experience Bleib Modern’s music from an altered vantage point, a welcome interlude as the band forges ahead with new creations.

Scottish alt/post/progressive-rock outfit Midas Fall release their Fifth studio album, ‘Cold Waves Divide Us’ on March 8th, 2024 worldwide on Monotreme Records. Michael Hamilton joins founding members Elizabeth Heaton and Rowan Burn for the follow-up to their 2018 Prog Magazine Awards ‘Limelight Award’ winning album, ‘Evaporate’. ‘Cold Waves Divide Us’ sees Midas Fall at their most confidently visceral, each song moving beautifully between quiet and loud, gentle and crushing. “This album is a heavier and bigger experience than the last album”, says Heaton. “We kept the atmospheric strings and 80s synths of Evaporate but wanted to add heavier layered elements, to represent more what we sound like live.” Opener ‘In the Morning We’ll Be Someone Else’ starts quietly with serene piano and vocals, ominously ratcheting up the tension to walls of crashing guitars and Heaton’s soaring vocals. ‘I Am Wrong’ thunders along on pounding rhythmic drums swirling around heavy swathes of low and delicate melodic highs. On ‘Monsters’, the band are more contemplative, with an ethereal beginning making way for gorgeously syncopated guitar and drums, whilst ‘Cold Waves Divide Us’ builds slower, allowing Heaton’s voice to gracefully float over the growing force beneath it. ‘Avalanche’ is a bittersweet lullaby showcasing Heaton’s heart-rending vocals in one of the quieter moments on the album. ‘Point of Diminishing Return’ sees a more electronic influence, with glittering shimmered synths taking the space where guitar melodies were, but with all of the Post Rock beauty that the duo are known for, something ‘Little Wooden Boxes’ showcases perfectly, expertly hovering between gentle clean guitar and piano, and exhilarating, uplifting full-band, full-bore epic. Credits: Elizabeth Heaton - vocals, guitars, strings, synths, piano, drums // Rowan Burn - guitars, synths, piano, drums // Michael Hamilton - bass, synths, drums // Music by Elizabeth Heaton and Rowan Burn/Lyrics by Elizabeth Heaton

2001, Yorkshire, England. SUBDUB is in full strength shaking down Leeds' city walls with regular parties, community events & sound system sessions. Active since 1998, the devoted crew push UK Dub music forward, inviting key players of the scene to play at their events powered by the mighty Iration Steppas sound system. Session after session, the SUBDUB imprint nurtures a loyal community of skankers while building close ties top artists in the field. A solid reputation that resonates amongst dub-heads around the globe. After 3 years of existence and having already put out 3 singles on their Tandori Space Records label, the idea of putting out a SUBDUB compilation album sparks. Producers get involved and the ‘Digital Africa’ project takes shape! But when the test presses finally arrive, the difficult financial situation and bleak state of the vinyl market at the time force the project to get shelved…

22 years on, while on a pilgrimage to SUBDUB and stopover at the Tribe Records HQ, the Dubquake team see the dusty test presses emerge from the record store vaults and get a taste of the incredible music through the shop's speakers… Unreleased & exclusive tracks by Iration Steppas, Jah Warrior, D.BO General, Vibronics, The Disciples, Tena Stelin, Nucleus Roots, The Bush Chemists & Freedom Masses. 12 undiluted UK Dub cuts from the 90s pressed on to 2x12” vinyl discs, with a 13th bonus digital track. Pure sound system business, raw dubs inna vanguard style!

‘Digital Africa’ is finally coming out on Dubquake Records in time to celebrate SUBDUB’s 25th birthday. A forgotten compilation full of history, curated by Simon Scott & Mark Iration. Guaranteed to bring back sweet memories to veterans of the dance, a great piece of dub music education for the rest of us!

Saint Abdullah & Eomac is a long distance, ongoing collaboration between New York based Iranian-Canadian brothers Mohammad and Mehdi Mehrabani (Saint Abdullah) and Ian McDonnell a.k.a. Eomac, based in Wicklow in Ireland. They tested the waters with their first album on Nicolas Jaar's Other People label last year, but 'Chasing Stateless' is their fullest expression so far.

The creative mindset behind the album starts with bravery and eschews escapism. Says Saint Abdullah's Mohammad, "As a collective, we exist to test the revolutionary possibilities within sound and sonic storytelling. As a means to finding a vision of the future and for building cultural dialogue today. Our belief is that the expressiveness of this vision should be pushed to its utmost limits to reveal anew. I always felt that the intensity of the middle eastern soul needs to be revealed more potently. Ian and the Irish have it too. I suspect most historically oppressed cultures do."

The music on 'Chasing Stateless' avoids easy middle eastern tropes — "I think what we're proposing here is that you don't need to water down our culture, you don't need to take only the bits that fit your idea of who we are, what we are. You ought to take it in its entirety."

Musically, the album approaches established genres and re-orientates them towards middle eastern rhythm and melody with an iron soul. Songs are rough and intense. Rusty polyrhythms, daf drums wrapped in a thick coating of distortion or punchy kicks with micro-edited samples of middle eastern life spiralling across them. Mournful melodies are squeezed out until the music teeters on the edge of rhythmic collapse. 'Chasing Stateless' is rough and energetic but also tender and reflective too. It's a human sound, utilising technology but not about technology. Sample heavy with expressions of anger, sadness and hope present and deeply felt.

The album's title speaks to a loss of collective societal imagination; of 'chasing status'. As Moh says "This generation, man, we're really good at putting up walls, despite all our openness. But where does this all lead to? What exactly are we chasing? This is where I especially love the name 'Chasing Stateless,' because if all this continues, we indeed will end up stateless, society-less, community-less, neighbor-less. Just a bunch of same-sies, living in an imaginary bubble, where we all look / think / say / CHASE the same things."

Percolating in the same watery diner coffee that spawned American Football and Hum, C-Clamp shrugged on and off the '90s slowcore and emo scenes in a hurry. Compiled here are the band's two albums for the venerable Ohio Gold label - Longer Waves and Meander + Return, plus a third LP of singles and compilation tracks, and a meticulously annotated book stuffed with lyrics, photos, flyers, and ephemera from their all-too-brief existence. This one's colder than a Chicago winter - better plug in that space heater.

Percolating in the same watery diner coffee that spawned American Football and Hum, C-Clamp shrugged on and off the '90s slowcore and emo scenes in a hurry. Compiled here are the band's two albums for the venerable Ohio Gold label - Longer Waves and Meander + Return, plus a third LP of singles and compilation tracks, and a meticulously annotated book stuffed with lyrics, photos, flyers, and ephemera from their all-too-brief existence. This one's colder than a Chicago winter - better plug in that space heater.

Die-cut sleeve. In the fall of 2013 Bry Webb was putting the finishing touches on his second album Free Will. Released on May 20th 2014, Bry, with his newly assembled band The Providers, spent the following few years traversing North America playing clubs, festivals and storied stages such as Toronto’s Massey Hall. Nothing new for an artist who had spent the aughts in a constant state of motion with Constantines, a band who on average had performed one of every three nights on a stage somewhere in the world. In fact, running in parallel to Bry’s solo touring schedule was a reunion with his former Constantines’ bandmates to once again present their incendiary live show and celebrate the 11th anniversary reissue of the band’s Shine A Light. It is what happened as the decade wound down that seemed out of character for an artist who had spent close to 20 years immersed in the studio and on the stage: the music stopped altogether. Bry explains his feelings at that time, “I lost the musical plot about 5 years ago and stopped playing music entirely, sold instruments and recording equipment, and committed myself to the idea that I was absolutely done”. Webb dedicated himself to his ongoing work in community radio, months turned to years and musical life seemed to be all but gone from view. Now in an unexpected turnaround 10 years on from the recording of his last studio album, there is not only a return to the stage for Bry but also a new record. Primarily composed in a season of upheaval, Run With Me contains some of Bry’s rawest sentiments. Fresh and painfully present there is an immediacy one can hear as emotional walls collapse in real time. Bry explains the context of the album’s creation: “In early 2023 my personal life exploded. In the process of dealing with that, I started writing music again and started recording at home. Advised that I needed to figure out how to ask for, and accept, help from other people, I sent early recordings of songs to friends from twenty-five years of music making - many folks I hadn’t connected with in years - and asked if they’d contribute anything to the songs. People came through in ways that overwhelmed me to the point that I cried when I wrote out the list of players for the liner notes. I felt incredibly cared for. From Andy Magoffin, who recorded the first Constantines album in 1999, to members of the Cons, to my nieces Addy and Ella playing drums, and a doppler recording of my daughter’s heartbeat, the record is a document of my creative life, and the people who made it possible to make music again.” If the cover of Run With Me looks familiar, it is with full intent. The album’s technicolor marbling and die cut text serve to signal the inclusion of the album in a trilogy started with Bry’s first record Provider. Just as that album starts with the track Asa, this new one introduces itself with the instrumental Webb. The trilogy is now completed with his daughter's first, middle and last names represented as the first tracks on each of the three albums. While the LP’s package signals its place in the collection, and tracks such as Older Than The Dirt and What I Do revisit their predecessor’s familiar sonic starkness, Run With Me is the outlier of the trio. A number of new tracks forego the quietude of Provider and Free Will, clearly recalling the rallying rhythms of Constantines’ anthems. Thunder Bay (instrumental backing courtesy of The Harbourcoats circa 2009), with its insistent kick drum and wall of electrics, support one of Webb’s most indelible melodies, and the not so subtly psychedelic Modern Mind reveal an expansion of Webb’s palette. Perhaps the furthest afield is the contextual centerpiece of the album, Goodbye, where we not only hear a joyful voice that lay dormant for years, but hear it reclaim its power. Backed by Constantines’ Will Kidman, Doug MacGregor and Dallas Wehrle, Bry belts out “I’m through with all the rage, now watch the light pour out of me.” As with all of Bry’s work, Run With Me’s lyrics take their time to settle in. Songs of self-examination, reconfigured love ballads, and songs for those who work to help others. Songs of singing abound. It’s there in Older Than The Dirt’s second verse: "Logic to the last intention, logic in the way we kept holding on forever, singing as the floor- was swept”, ten thousand birds sing a warning song in Thunder Bay and again in Goodbye’s telling of a cathartic return to one’s true self with its celebration of those “Who sing - sing all joy - all joy of language, in a single word”. Joining Bry in singing Run With Me’s songs of “death, transition and hope,” are kindred spirits Jennifer Castle, Julie Doiron, Daniel Romano and Steph Yates. All of these singers elevate the album’s healing sentiments and help express the album’s central plea; a prayer of sorts wrapped in the traditional Scottish Gaelic melody of She Is Here’s second verse: “Let the sun rise in the morning and any witness bring. Let all the blooming cosmos teach us to sing”.

As an important agent of Gothenburg’s underground scene, Dan Johansson has been a member of several experimental harsh noise projects such as Sewer Election, and lo-fi indie folk bands like Enhet För Fri Musik and Amateur Hour. Ordeal is his latest solo output, and might as well be ashes stuck in the blast furnace's edges of his last longing career. Not by means of summing up genres or as a culmination of his musical development, but as a profound music piece weaved in his own household.

With not much more than a synthesizer, Vätterns Pärla is built by trembling, dissonant drones stained in feedback and reverberation, thickly textured by the no-fi quality of the recording, depicting a menacing atmosphere congested with heavy fumes. In Johansson's words, Ordeal "takes inspiration from the early 80’s albums of Maurizio Bianchi, filtered through a Gothenburgian no-fi bleakness. It’s an album for inner voyage, childhood memories, and places that now lost purpose and meaning”.

There's certainly intimacy and nostalgia, yet a claustrophobic, hypnotic ambiance wraps it all up in a contained and narrow space. Emphasis is put on texture rather than on detail, on color rather than on progression, on suspense rather than on conclusion. Tension varies stiffly, sometimes a drone layer dismantles and the mood seems to filter, but ragged edges are never polished. We can feel the walls and the air, which although tarnished, can be breathed in somehow. It's as if waking up in a dark room and having to recognize it with our ears and tact, testing its dimensions and its surface. The stillness in the chamber is like the stillness between gasps of storms.

Without visible stars, an enclosed share of night sky hides a heavy load of industrial debris underwater. These remnants are maybe the pearl regarding the album's title. It all can seem like a dream, a grim mechanical soundscape deafened by hefty, yet sporadic winds. Soil strives to make something grow, but sprouting is kept suspended, held by a dismal presentiment. Long shadows on the ground prove that darkness is about to befall. And as these shadows stretch, almost about to break up in a loud strike, the noise turns white.

Not far off two years from the day, Bristol's Tara Clerkin Trio return to World of Echo and the EP format for a five song collection of quixotic, emotional redolence. But do not mistake their absence for inertia. If their musical output has been a little sparse during those in-between years, limited to a few solo ventures and an astonishing ten minute long piece as a trio, their time has otherwise been richly spent: continuous writing and recording, extensive live performances across Europe and Japan, a cultivation of local and more far-flung artistic connections (musical and otherwise), and a monthly NTS show that, through the voice of others, speaks most obviously to their own unorthodox interests. It's the conflux of that winding activity that leads indirectly to On The Turning Ground, 26 minutes of probing, thoughtful composition that draws from no one specific source.

Their inspirations might be centreless, but the trio still possess a very obvious anchor in the form of their hometown. Bristol stands as a city of multitudes, heterogenous and vibrant in such a way as to allow it to renew and remake time and again. Tara Clerkin Trio drink from that same well, duly reflecting a rich musical heritage built on fwd-facing electronic subcultures and experimental urges. As such, On The Turning Ground finds them subject to their own subtle internal evolution, the pervasive sense that you've caught them mid-bloom, on their way to becoming but never anything but themselves.

The two instrumental pieces that bookend the EP stand as a perfect case in point, displaying an increasing mastery of compositional space. Pensive and restrained, 'Brigstow' and 'Once Around' both emanate an interstitial quality that's not so much after- as in-between-hours, miniature dub-folk symphonies held together by the kind of tacit understanding that remains the preserve of only the closest of family units. If those two tracks are shaped by a sense of shifting temporality, then the three vocal-led pieces that comprise the record's core feel like a gentle ossifying of aesthetic into something approaching their own unique form of avant-pop. 'Pop' is, of course, a broadly subjective concept, but there's no avoiding the overt sparkling melodicism of songs like 'Marble Walls' and 'The Turning Ground', undeniable re-directions of that late 90s impulse to bend pop sensibilities into off-centre terrain, to render the familiar new again. This is what Tara Clerkin Trio do, gently pulling the ground from under your feet, turning you to face something you'd not quite seen before. To view the world as they do: sideways, sometimes, all of the time.

This summer, Laurent Garnier announced the launch of his latest landmark album. The newest LP showed why he is such a vital force with a series of cuts, distilling his 30+ year career experiences into cutting-edge electronic music full of tension and release. Now he continues to prove he operates at the vanguard with this exemplary assembly of remixers.

UK techno mainstay Works Of Intent, fka R.O.S.H., opens up with his Farewell remix of 'Reviens La Nuit', a dark, pulsing techno sound with widescreen cosmic chords and unsettling modulations. Romantic techno master Voltaire then flips 'Tales From The Real World' into a scintillant melodic excursion with arps cascading down the face of the track and fizzing synths lighting up the electro beats.

Next is 22Carbone, who are featured on the original album but here remix 'In Your Phase' into a grimy, broken beat with tough bars and twisted metal textures next to the menacing mic work. Rocco Rodamaal has 30 years of experience and is one of few veterans that remains genuinely relevant today. He offers two versions of 'Liebe Grüße aus Cucuron' - a smooth and deep elongated techno trip and a fizzing Keys Mix doused in melodic charm.

New York's new wave techno star Anthony Cardinale aka Avision, lights up his remix of 'Le Swing Du Pouletto' with radiant and optimistic synths and a dark, brooding low end. Later he brings plenty of marching menace and pent-up synth tension to his rework of 'Liebe Grüße aus Cucuron'. Reshit's take on 'On the Record' offers a dreamy ambient soundscape with downtempo breaks and expansive prog-rock style synths. The Limiñanas are Lionel and Marie Limiñana - a pair based in the deep south of France who record garage, psych and pop music and have previously paired up with Garnier on the successful album ”De Pelicula”. They offer a long and short remix of 'Saturn Drive', which in their hands is a dirty post-punk gem with raw drums and sleazy guitars creating walls of reverberating sound.

This sophisticated selection of techno remixes brings all-new emotions and moments of dance floor brilliance to Laurent Garnier's superb originals.

Rare Montreux festival sessions from 1982.
Live Album by Detroit/Tribe Jazz Icon Reggie Fields.
Featuring an All-Star Line-up.
First ever vinyl reissue.
180g BLACK vinyl limited to 500 copies (w/obi strip) . Non-Returnable.



The Real ShooBeeDoo (AKA Reggie Fields) has always been a consistent name on the Detroit jazz scene … Fields who played with Pharoah Sanders while he was living in Motor City, worked with Sun Ra in the late 1970s and early 80s and who was also a close associate of the Afro-centric TRIBE label and artist collective, leaving his marks on a few essential TRIBE sessions such as Phil Ranelin’s “The Time Is Now!” as well as Ranelin & Wendell Harrison’s masterpiece “A Message From The Tribe”. It was Wendell Harrison who gave Fields the chance to record his landmark solo album (Reminiscing from 1981) to be released on his Wenha imprint. Reggie chose to record under his moniker “The Real ShooBeeDoo” because he built a rock-solid reputation as an internationally acclaimed performer under that name.



In 1982 he embarked on a European tour and performed at various clubs in countries such as Germany, Holland, Belgium, Italy, Switzerland, Luxemburg, France and Norway. This ecstatic touring vibe can later be heard on his fantastic ‘‘Live at Montreux Jazz Festival, 1982” album (simply called ‘Good To Go’).



“Good To Go” which we are proudly presenting you today features 10 tracks consisting of smooth Jazz-rumbas, French avant-garde jazz vocalizations, bass lines that can blow through walls as if they were made from paper, foot stomping rhythmic beats, lyrics that are pure poetry and ecstatic beats that took the crowd on a musical trip that ended in them raving for more. Playing before a large and enthusiastic crowd, Reggie’s spiritual cosmic free-flowing rhythms took the audience by storm…and the stakes were high because the bill was pretty impressive, he shared the stage with some of the biggest names in the genre (the festival bill also included Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie and Sonny Rollins).



Also…a quick closer look at the cast of all-star players featured on the album is most likely to be enough to get an impression that this is a very special record. Detroit preferred pianist Earl Van Riper brings his rich musical experience to the table that he perfected during his collaborations with Marcus Belgrave, Eddy ‘Cleanhead’ Vinson, Dinah Washington, Wes Montgomery and countless others. On the tenor saxophone we have Robert Barnes known for his work with Donald Bird…and last but not least we have Tani Tabbal on drums who is famous for his performances and recordings with Roscoe Mitchell and Sun Ra!



All of the above makes this rare album a total must-have that just begs for a prominent place in your record collection.



Tracklist:

Jumping With The Bellboy , Dark Eyes , Qu'est Ceque C’est , Do You Call that Friendship , Oo Shoobee Doo , Crazy She Calls Me , Have You Met Miss Jones , Ye Brac Hareesee , Hit That Jive Jack , Too Late Now

Dedicated to Nora Forster, John Lydon's wife of nearly five decades, who passed away on April 5th 2023! Public Image Ltd. (PiL) announce their 11th studio album and first album in 8 years, End of World, to be released on 11th August 2023 on PiL Official via Cargo UK Distribution, followed by a 37-date UK and European Tour. The band began writing and recording End of World in 2018, during their 40th anniversary tour.

After The Great Pause, the band regrouped in the studio and "there was just this massive explosion of ideas," Lydon says. The result finds PiL set to release 13 of the best tracks they have ever written. The announcement comes with the release of new single Penge, which John describes as, "something of a mediaeval Viking epic." Earlier this year, PiL released Hawaii, the most personal piece of songwriting and accompanying artwork that John Lydon has ever shared. The song is a love letter to John's late wife, Nora, who had been living with Alzheimer's since long and sadly passed away on April 5th this year.

A pensive, personal yet universal love song that has resonated with many since its release in January, the song sees John reflecting on their lifetime well spent and in particular one of their happiest moments together in Hawaii. The powerfully emotional ballad is as close as John will ever come to bearing his soul. "It is dedicated to everyone going through tough times on the journey of life, with the person they care for the most," John says. "It's also a message of hope that ultimately love conquers all. As I say in the song, all journeys end and some begin again, but this is the beginning of a new journey with us. And, oddly enough, as bad as Alzheimer's is, there are great moments of tenderness between us. And I tried to capture that in the song." Celebrating their 40-year anniversary in 2018, the band is widely regarded as one of the most innovative and influential bands of all time. PiL's music and vision has earned them 5 UK Top 20 singles and 5 UK Top 20 albums.

With a shifting line-up and unique sound - fusing rock, dance, folk, pop and dub - Lydon guided the band from their debut album First Issue in 1978 through to 1992's That What Is Not, before a 17 year hiatus. Lydon reactivated PiL in 2009, touring extensively worldwide and releasing two critically acclaimed albums This is PiL in 2012 followed by their 10th studio album What The World Needs Now_ in 2015, which peaked at number 29 in the official UK album charts and picked up fantastic acclaim from both press and public. (The album also peaked at number 3 in the official UK indie charts and number 4 in the official UK vinyl charts). What The World Needs Now_ was self-funded by PiL and released on their own label 'PiL Official' via Cargo UK Distribution.

In 2018 PiL celebrated their 40th anniversary with a career-spanning box set and documentary, both called 'The Public Image Is Rotten', and a 32-date UK/Europe tour, plus dates in Japan. John Lydon, Lu Edmonds, Scott Firth and Bruce Smith continue as PiL. They are the longest stable line-up in the band's history and continue to challenge and thrive. PiL will be touring the UK and Europe in September and October 2023.

Dedicated to Nora Forster, John Lydon's wife of nearly five decades, who passed away on April 5th 2023! Public Image Ltd. (PiL) announce their 11th studio album and first album in 8 years, End of World, to be released on 11th August 2023 on PiL Official via Cargo UK Distribution, followed by a 37-date UK and European Tour. The band began writing and recording End of World in 2018, during their 40th anniversary tour.

After The Great Pause, the band regrouped in the studio and "there was just this massive explosion of ideas," Lydon says. The result finds PiL set to release 13 of the best tracks they have ever written. The announcement comes with the release of new single Penge, which John describes as, "something of a mediaeval Viking epic." Earlier this year, PiL released Hawaii, the most personal piece of songwriting and accompanying artwork that John Lydon has ever shared. The song is a love letter to John's late wife, Nora, who had been living with Alzheimer's since long and sadly passed away on April 5th this year.

A pensive, personal yet universal love song that has resonated with many since its release in January, the song sees John reflecting on their lifetime well spent and in particular one of their happiest moments together in Hawaii. The powerfully emotional ballad is as close as John will ever come to bearing his soul. "It is dedicated to everyone going through tough times on the journey of life, with the person they care for the most," John says. "It's also a message of hope that ultimately love conquers all. As I say in the song, all journeys end and some begin again, but this is the beginning of a new journey with us. And, oddly enough, as bad as Alzheimer's is, there are great moments of tenderness between us. And I tried to capture that in the song." Celebrating their 40-year anniversary in 2018, the band is widely regarded as one of the most innovative and influential bands of all time. PiL's music and vision has earned them 5 UK Top 20 singles and 5 UK Top 20 albums.

With a shifting line-up and unique sound - fusing rock, dance, folk, pop and dub - Lydon guided the band from their debut album First Issue in 1978 through to 1992's That What Is Not, before a 17 year hiatus. Lydon reactivated PiL in 2009, touring extensively worldwide and releasing two critically acclaimed albums This is PiL in 2012 followed by their 10th studio album What The World Needs Now_ in 2015, which peaked at number 29 in the official UK album charts and picked up fantastic acclaim from both press and public. (The album also peaked at number 3 in the official UK indie charts and number 4 in the official UK vinyl charts). What The World Needs Now_ was self-funded by PiL and released on their own label 'PiL Official' via Cargo UK Distribution.

In 2018 PiL celebrated their 40th anniversary with a career-spanning box set and documentary, both called 'The Public Image Is Rotten', and a 32-date UK/Europe tour, plus dates in Japan. John Lydon, Lu Edmonds, Scott Firth and Bruce Smith continue as PiL. They are the longest stable line-up in the band's history and continue to challenge and thrive. PiL will be touring the UK and Europe in September and October 2023.

When Transform-I was released in 2009, Bristol’s Dubkasm were unmistakably prominent on the reggae scene but it is this LP - their tenth release - that put them on the map and cemented their status as outernational roots innovators and one of the most creative outfits in reggae. By 2006, Jah Shaka had been rinsing their percussive vocoder smash ‘Zulu Dawn’ (track 15) at the end of every dance for close to three years. Dubplates from the LP became firm favourites on some of the greatest soundsystems in the world, including Aba Shanti-I, Iration Steppas, and Channel One.
DJ Stryda and producer Digistep’s reputation grew still further when the pair managed to get an extremely rare vocal from the legendary Dub Judah, who at the time had not voiced a tune for many years. The resulting 7”, ‘From the Foundation’ (track 2) was the first tune to be released from Transform-I, an album which took the music world by storm with its singular blend of a deep, conscious roots reggae sound with instrumentation that drew on Digistep’s Brazilian heritage.

As the great DJ and journalist Steve Barker said in his rave Wire magazine review of the initial release, ‘Like many innovations heard for the first time, you wonder why this has not been done before’. Indeed, the LP’s blend of percussion instruments like zabumba, cavaquinho, and cuica with an absolutely stellar cast of vocalists including Tenastelin, Christine Miller, and Ras B, with a pre-Reggae Reggae Sauce fame Levi Roots recording from his living room, became timeless the moment it was released. Barker praised the album for being ‘more orthodox than expected’, by which I think he meant that the album is a completely authentic roots record, rather than an attempt to mix musical flavours to conceal a lack of ideas. Instead, ideas flew back and forth across the Atlantic, as basic tracks were laid in the Dubkasm Studio (then in Brazil, now in England) and overdubs and vocals were recorded in London, Nottingham, Bristol and Norway, with the final mixes being done at the Daddy Roots studio in Bristol. The combination is seamless both because Digistep grew up with Brazilian music, courtesy of his father, and because Dubkasm have lived and breathed reggae since their formation in 1994 – just go and listen to early releases like ‘Chemical Reaction Dub’ (1996) or ‘Hornsman Trod’ (2003) and you’ll hear heavyweight productions with a Rasta ethos immersed in U.K. soundsystem culture.

Since the album’s release, Dubkasm have gone from strength to strength and collaborated with a dazzling array of artists. Transform-I was remixed by some of Bristol’s best electronica producers in 2010, and 2013’s 12” ‘Victory’ became a huge soundsystem hit around the world, before being voiced by two of the greatest singers of all time, Luciano and Turbulence, and being remixed the following year by one of the world’s finest dubstep producers, Mala (who in 2016 released his own project fusing Latin music with electronic bass – the excellent Mala in Cuba).
The first project of its kind, beautifully reissued in its original format by Dubquake (the outfit behind France’s incredible OBF Soundsystem), Transform-I is the LP that launched Dubkasm on their current trajectory and has truly lived up to its name.

Tucked in the heart of Koreatown, Los Angeles, lies The Libra Hotel—the titular architecture of Nick Malkin's new album and site of his musical and psychogeographic exploration. Unlike most musical "site-specific" studies, Malkin remains wholly ambivalent to the documentarian approach, instead sharpening an auteur-like focus on the site as a conceptual and highly expressive backdrop. The Libra is musically explored as a space that houses a noir fragmentation of identity—the exhausted trope of a complicated protagonist walking through rain-soaked street corners and fumy neon lights—where an inner monologue is rendered in both miniature and at a cosmic scale. Casting aside stifling tropes around field recording, ambient, and improvised music, Malkin's work finds its own unique fidelity and emotional core through the assembly and reassembly of memory. Nearly every sound on the album—from frayed saxophones, lambent pianos, and dissected jazz drum kits—are multiplied, shattered, and reconstituted into shapes that adorn The Libra in a motion-blurred fog. The narrative of the Hotel suddenly appears as if out of the mist, with intersecting characters interacting within its walls by happenstance. Adminst the languid set pieces, wraith-like sonic grains gravitate around wide subbass beams that give structural form to The Libra, a narrative tension like when a scene is shot from hundreds of different perspectives: an image both luminous and veiled.

Much like Frank Sinatra's own spatial residency immortalized on "Live at The Sands," "At The Libra Hotel" showcases an exuberant view of entertainment, hospitality, and a form of masculinity, one that can quickly detourn into darkness. Knowing this, Malkin extracts a melancholic core out of The Libra locale. The flickering shadows of American decadence are shown in their ephemeral honesty, lines that trace how even in everyday life virtue is tested, sanity is tested, even reality is tested within the confines of desire, within the night. The album is draped in fleeting textures, carefully arranged with a trance-like microtonality, the faint inflections and articulations of a jazz band cascading into dissipated stillness. Voicemails about changed locations and covert eavesdropping on guests' whispered conversations provide an atmosphere of missed connection and voyeurism—a purloined letter of desire receding into a vanishing point. Like the music itself, The Hotel, a chapel perilous at the intersection of desolation row, the center of it all, yet simultaneously at the edge of town, becomes a structure between libidinous virtuality and actuality—our inevitable half-light.

Ultimately, the pensive atmosphere of "At The Libra Hotel," powerfully asserts a plea for the kinds of intimacy only possible in transient spaces. Here, memory cascades into a force that feels like something supernatural, perhaps even religious, yet always subject to the infidelity of our imagination. Here, the album opens into its primary psychodrama, the transient nature of subjectivity itself and how this becomes fractured in the tumult between our commitments and desires. Within this nocturnal space, to quote Louise Bourgeois, "you pile up associations the way you pile up bricks. Memory itself is a form of architecture."

Richie Culver had been waiting his whole life to record I was born by the sea. His debut album immediately and messily inscribed the artist into the canon of outsider music and experimental electronics, serving both as an arresting statement of intent and a painful reckoning with the difficult path that lead up to it, stealing one last glance back at a place he always knew he had to escape. Between grim lamentations, faded memories and anxiety attacks, all told with searing honesty and disarming openness, I was born by the sea excavates a space for hope, finding Culver digging through Humberside silt to find a world weary optimism, the raw material from which his visual and sound art is shaped. For this collection of expansions and inversions, Culver invites a collection of kindred spirits, contemporary inspirations and old heroes to wade into the salt water of his formative years spent living for impromptu raves and afterparties, connecting vivid memories of his birth place of Withernsea to artists hailing from as nearby as Preston and Bridlington, further afield, from Manchester and London, Berlin and Paris, before returning back to Hull, to where it all began.

For some, responding to I was born by the sea means diving even deeper into the record’s furthest reaches. Space Afrika clear away the pummelling loops of noise from ‘It’s hard to get to know you,’ revealing a cool and cavernous expanse in its wake. Distant chatter, previously heard as though through thin, plasterboard walls, now echoes from outside the maddening claustrophobia of the original’s Sisyphean sonics, illuminated as a dense storm cloud suspended amidst a more open scene, washed clean by a lighter rain, allowing the tender heart of the track to beat clear. London producer MOBBS stretches out ‘Pigeon Flesh’ into an epic, 10-minute, cold-sweat spiral, strung-out tension wrung from disconnected phone tones twisted in unexpected directions, snatches of Culver’s voice turned inside-out and deep fried bass threatening to tip the track over into oblivion, the build-and-release of a nervous breakdown experienced in real time. In an act of subversive self-reflection, Morgane Polanski switches one kind of ennui for another in her adaption of ‘I was born by the sea,’ swapping the sea for the city, English seaside towns in January for summer evenings in Paris and flashing lighthouses and sparkling oil rigs for the Eiffel Tower and the traffic around L’Arc de Triomphe. Even Culver finds time to revisit ‘Dream About Yourself,’ a track taken from his EP Post Traumatic Fantasy, breathing new words into its glacial drift, the half-remembered testimony of a shut-in: Woke up in the evening / Pray for me / Don’t trust anyone / Pray for algorithm. Reframed in a more melancholy light, the track’s reverberant keys even more clearly evoke a mournful nostalgia, fresh pain felt in old wounds.

Others find a parallel universe in Culver’s visceral world building. Rainy Miller flips the script with a scorched, avant-drill rework of ‘Daytime TV’, threading puncturing hi-hats and queasy low-end surge through the track’s steady ambient cascade, invoking the irresistible Preston beat magic of Miller’s own essential debut album, Desquamation. Aho Ssan melts away the crystalline textures of ‘Love Like an Abscess’ with the ominous crackle of a nascent fire, building through swathes of organic Max/MSP squelch and brittle, nails-down-chalkboard scrape, swelling and metastasising the original to spill over Culver’s desperate hymn to corporeal desire, at once flesh and not. Teresa Winter transports us an hour up the coast from Withernsea to her native Bridlington, replacing the sea wall of synthesis on ‘Nervous Energy’ with muffled ASMR murk and fever dream whispers, transforming Culver’s unflinching observations into a haunting call-and-response, filling in the blanks with her own eerie utterances, a fleeting conversation with a ghost. In a touching victory lap, Fila Brazillia, eccentric stalwarts of beloved ‘90s trip hop imprint Pork Recordings, whose performances at Hull institution The Lamp convinced a young Culver of the necessity to make his mark on club culture, resurface for their first remix in 20 years. Steve Cobby and David McSherry lead a low-slung, heartfelt stroll back through a suite of tracks from I was born by the sea, tracing a full circle saunter from Culver’s origins to his current musical practice, the sounds of his present repurposed by the sound of his youth. In a gesture that reflects the emotional complexity of the project, Fila Brazillia find joy at the end of Culver’s troubled reflection, picking out an undeniable groove in the stasis of feeling trapped in your hometown. Underlining Hull’s vital musical legacy, from Baby Mammoth to Throbbing Gristle, Cobby and McSherry demonstrate that, though there are certainly storms, by the sea there is also sun and through the fog, if you listen, you can hear a singular sound, a sound now carried by Richie Culver.

Participant is a record label and creative studio run by William Markarian-Martin and Richie Culver

If you find the time, please come and stay a while in abracadabra’s beautiful neighbourhood; a magically wonky wonderland where strangers leave as friends to a block party soundtrack as eclectic as it is infectious. The California duo’s album shapes & colors is a dazzling collage of psych-fuelled synthscapes and contemporary Baroque-pop of anti-capitalist movements and escapism, precisely pieced around their own working lives in a blue-collar town.
In the heart of Oakland’s industrial Jingletown above a former auto-repair shop in what was once a mechanics’ break room where poker rounds ensued, Hannah Skelton (Vocals, Synthesizers) and Chris Niles, (Bass, Synthesizers) constructed the angular 80s-tinged anthems (think John Hughes montages to Talking Heads) of their new album, to positively offset the pandemic’s amplification of dysfunctional society. “It reflects our current reality: a huge mess that is systematically broken but isn’t entirely lost,” Hannah tells. “We’re inviting listeners to conjure up every drop of hope and willpower left inside them, pour that into the giant vat of anger and frustration bubbling inside us all, and with this potion collectively enact the necessary change to bring love and light into this dark space.”
When Covid forced Hannah from her salon in San Francisco to become a backyard mobile hairdresser, what she saw inspired them both and the lyrical foundations for their new record. “I’d drive to mansions and people would complain about how hard the pandemic had been next to their swimming pool and tennis courts.” First meeting after the album’s co-producer Jason Kick (Mild High Club, Sonny and the Sunsets) recruited the pair for a Halloween band covering Eurythmics’ art-rock debut ‘In The Garden,’ the pair hit it off and shapes & colors is a product of the years that followed. It combines Chris’ own rhythmic demos following years on the road touring and opening for Amon Tobin, Matthew Dear and Generationals in Maus Haus with Hannah’s lyrical musings honed from project Cassiopeia, so even when topics are as heavy as the beats, they’re met with luminously positive arrangements of hope and warmth.
The by-product of a psychedelic New Year’s Eve escaping a monotonous 2020 reality, the title track itself captures fireworks over East Oakland as viewed from the pair’s couch whilst listening to Mort Garson’s Plantasia for 6 hours straight. The daydream collage of ‘inyo county’ is “a little souvenir taking me back into the bottled-up essence of a slow lazy morning, waking up in bed far from home,” Hannah tells recalling those enforced stay-at-home days. “It fell out of me because I was craving that blissful flavour.” Meanwhile ‘dawn of the age of aquarius’s new parallel reality evolved from a happy accident when their demos had reset to a drone which Jason reworked into a Laurie Anderson-esque breathy vocoder effect. Even bloops and beeps from a forgotten recording session at the Vintage Synthesizer Museum in Emeryville can be heard, where the pair used Mini Moog, Fairlight EMI and ARP 2600 to arrange their sound into shapes whilst distortion and dirt from mixing on 1979 Neve 5313 Console added to the recordings’ color.
Casting a brighter rainbow still, in all its pastel-hued glory, Hannah, also illustrated a self-portrait of the band for the album artwork. “It reflects our makeshift recording studio to encapsulate all aspects of that time and space,” she shares of their abode where, over an intense two-week period and fuelled by the aroma of fermenting vino from the winery below, their single chord, bass and drum-heavy, groove-first momentum took them on an unexpected journey whilst the next-door couple would fire pizzas in their yard and a grandfather across the road would sweep the street clean. “We’d drink coffee and start the day, consistently working, without interruption,” Chris tells of finding their flow. “The loft is a cool space with skylights, tall ceilings and no shared walls so we could be as loud as we wanted to be.”
Just as well. Diving into decades of electronica and crunchy sound effects, field recordings and animal sounds, blended with an infectious Latin influence, shapes & colors is bolstered by live percussionists Greg Poneris (drums), K. Dylan Edrich (Vocals, Percussion: congas, bongos, chimes, cow bells and wood blocks, tone drum and tri-tone whistle) and Tom Smith (Guitar, Synthesizers, Vocals).
NIMBY crews grab those earplugs now. abracadabra is your new noisy neighbour, and there’s no turning this party down.

Jon K and Elle Andrews’ MAL imprint returns with a new LP from one of the London experimental underground's best kept secrets, Rory Salter aka Malvern Brume. His music is rare, eccentric and mysterious - somewhere between Coil's bleak ritual magick and the BBC Radiophonic Workshop's most experimental, minimal fringes. 

Malvern Brume operates just beneath the radar, occasionally turning up at Café OTO lineups and on a smattering of releases for Low Company, Alter, Infant Tree and Kasual Plastik - but he’s never one to shout too loudly about his work. ‘Body Traffic’ is his most interesting set to date, laying bare a process melting found sounds, field recordings and spoken word into throbbing, pulsing rhythms. It’s an evocation of a fraught mindset during the early weeks of lockdown in 2020; sequestered in his flat next to a trainline, the infrasonic - and more audible - rumbles of rolling stock and a nagging sense of dread infecting his ambiguously discomfiting recordings.

Operating in a headspace that values world-building and vivid, visual emotionality, Salter’s careful melodies are familiar - the distant, weeping melancholia of 1970s British TV hangs off the recordings like net curtains, and his atmosphere loops into experiments that weave through bare traces of industrial music, blank-faced electro pop, and hedonistic Brummie techno, all reduced to a cinder. 

The mood is set on the bellyaching resonance and crawling walls of the title tune, while 'Through Beaked Fog Horns' is drowned beneath morning mists: lopsided synth drones choke and drift, percussion mutates into inebriated bubbles, and tape-f*cked environmental whirrs create an atmosphere that’s hard to decipher in one take. 

‘Moss Spines Clenched’ follows cryptic stains on peeling flocking, and the icy creep of ‘Tense Branches Waver’ quivers beyond a cracked windowpane. The artist’s voice appears from beneath a cardboard box fort in the imaginary world of ‘Cornered Into Sleat’ as a distant drum beats out a marching thud and traffic squeals are sculpted into chirpy whistles, before ‘Bri Dun’ resolves the eerie tension in an OOBE-like ascent above the dado-rail and across the tracks, watching himself fade into a dissociative bliss.

"All chatter falls quiet…” Salter murmurs thru saturation and white noise. It’s a sound that’s gonna stick with us for a while.

With I was born by the sea, Richie Culver brings to a close a period of intense introspection and emotional reckoning with a debut album that serves as both an optimistic statement of intent and a final glance back at the painful places it explores. Following recent work with Blackhaine and Pavel Milyakov, I was born by the sea picks up where Culver’s EP for Italian label Superpang, Post Traumatic Fantasy, leaves off, painting an unabashed portrait of contemporary malaise, detailing a life lived behind closed doors, pinned under the crushing weight of austerity, sapped of the strength to do anything other than gaze out to sea and all the grey possibilities it represents. Where Post Traumatic Fantasy saw Culver returning to his hometown of Hull after a period spent entangled in London’s relentless sprawl, his first full length project reaches further back to his formative years working in a caravan factory and going to raves in and among Hull’s outskirts. Unspooling like a fever dream, I was born by the sea is the anxious clutter of a racing mind spoken clearly, a stark reflection on how it feels to have too many ideas and too much time to act on them.

Though unquestionably a snapshot of a time of significant difficulty, Culver reflects on this period with tender empathy and pitch-black humour, stitching together unflinching observations from England’s neglected corners, ‘there’s more mobility scooter repair shops and bookies than there are bookshops,’ and devastating vignettes of everyday struggle, ‘tears on the tin foil’, with surreal depictions of industrial grit, ‘skimming stones in a small pond by the slaughterhouse’. His DIY approach to production stretches the rough sinew that connects these fragments of memory, a process he describes as using a paired back collection of synths and drum machines to the best of his ability, ‘but to the least of their capabilities,’ wringing out visceral sound with self-taught urgency. During the album’s most impressionistic passages it’s as though Culver has transposed past internal turmoil into powerfully resonant noise, the Sisyphean sonics of ‘Create A Lifestyle Around Your Problems’, which evokes in its concrète clatter and MRI machine barrage the sound of making the same mistake again and again, or the stuttered jumble of ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You,’ its garbled vocal modulation and frayed edges of distortion channeling the paranoia of somebody listening to muffled voices through thin plaster, climbing the walls of their bedroom with the curtains closed, a nervous breakdown in stereo.

In counterpoint to this glides the ever-present spirit of the dance floor, which haunts the record from the moment it is invoked in its first few seconds. Opening onto a sea wall of bright synthesis, the stuttering vocals and bass tone chops of ‘Nervous Energy’ dump us directly into post rave ecstasy, the echoing cry of a voice amplified by loudspeaker carrying the loose energy and surge of crowds moving in darkness. The incessant, dead phone line beep of ‘Pigeon Flesh’ builds to a pulse that suddenly swells into an anxious technoid surge, shapeshifting at lysergic speed into head shrinking audio hallucinations, a descent into the void of the present via machine music hypnosis. Even ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You’ summons the ego death drive of hardcore techno within its scorched textures, flickering indiscernibly between attritional noise and frazzled hardware stomp. Paying homage to both the parties of his youth and a countless succession of Sundays spent offering himself up within Berghain’s hallowed architecture, Culver’s experiments in addressing his formative relationship with rave provide an energetic glimpse at where he might take his sound next.

Between spikes of propulsive energy and grim mood pieces Culver returns to suspended passages of aching, glacial drift, the cold swell of the North Sea, accompanied by some of his heaviest testimonials. The gauzy ebb of ‘Daytime TV,’ its tumbling loops reminiscent of boats bobbing off a distant shore, sees the artist at his most checked out, slumped in front of his television, seven days a week. ‘I used to dream of doing something,’ he admits, ‘anything to get out of this town.’ ‘Love Like An Abscess’ pairs swirling currents of ambient shimmer with violent images of baseball bats lying next to beds and blood-stained mattresses, next to which Culver pleads in a desperate mumble, ‘let our love grow, like a broken abscess.’ Yet it’s with the album’s final word and title track that Culver reveals a glimmer of cautious optimism, a parting gesture of exposition and closure. ‘I knew I had to get away,’ he asserts, ‘so I did and I never looked back.’ What follows builds from a low throb, the flutter of a tiny heartbeat, to a resonant glow, embellished with unfurling synthetic burbles, oil rigs sparkling in the distance, golden light spilling across the sea. In reckoning with the place he had to escape, Richie Culver is now free to look towards the promise of something new, something hopeful.

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

As this album represents a spiritual return to a foundational past, sonically this record is likewise about going back to our fundamentals and our roots; when Eon and I were two kids with guitars in a bedroom figuring out some songs. Our last album, Mass, featured so many parts. We recorded it in New Orleans at Preservation Hall with a thirteen-piece horn section, percussionists, strings, etc. For the most part, it’s tough to find any guitar on the record. So we decided to simplify and reconnect with what inspired us. We kept the ingredients limited, the palate simple. We went back to our beginnings and rediscovered the joy of just playing on an acoustic, and a bass through a small amp, with a vocal. We spent our days like we used to when we were younger. We hung out and talked about music. If it was sunny we went to the beach. We played some tennis. Then in the afternoon we might play through some ideas. If it sounded good in the front room of the house, we took it to the studio.

Drawing the night in around his private, unnerving vigil, Ellis Swan returns to Quindi Records with an album of cracked beauty and haunted balladry. The Chicago-based singer-songwriter debuted on the label last year with a collaborative project called Dead Bandit, a vividly produced instrumental set in thrall to the badlands and a laconic, languid Americana.

Under his own name, Swan records intimate, poetic songs in a stark fashion, so fragile they might disintegrate in between your fingers were you to pick them up. He draws the microphone close to pick up every whisper and drags the music through layer upon layer of tape fuzz, leaving room for atmospheric impressions which loom out of the walls like the ghosts of past misdeeds. These pieces play on the natural distortion and delirium which occurs at the farthest end of the night - the hour before dawn might hope to break the veil of darkness.

Swan's is a hauntological sound, but like the late Israeli rockabilly icon Charlie Megira his process strikes a spooked tone past revivalism and out of time or place. The only anchor which places Swan anywhere is the subtle presence of Katherine Swan providing lyrics to '3am' and lyrics and backing vocals to 'It Could Be Worse'.

The impression cast is of one man and his guitar, but there are other textures tucked into the music - the muffled murmur of a drum machine or a low frequency organ hum, some desolate piano, other treated percussive impulses which might well have been the work of incidental sprites while the four-track was rolling.

There are fuller cuts like 'Evening Sun' and the title track '3am' which play with structural dynamics and creep out of the shadows a touch, while passages of plaintive, instrumental unease such as the hypnotic, mantra-like 'Chinatown' protract the space between songs. 'Swing' lolls between moments of bottomless silence and a discernible, rickety funk, and 'Puppeteers Tears' teases out a buried drama. But primarily, it's the light touch of 'Horses Bones' and tin can tenderness of 'She's My Sweet Summer Storm' which spell out the spellbinding character of 3am; a singular creation fusing the best qualities of folk, blues and Americana with a fearlessly experimental sound palette.

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

On the 10th anniversary of their eponymous debut release, The Oh Hellos put forth a limited-edition, vinyl-only reissue of The Oh Hellos EP. The package has been thoughtfully produced to celebrate the occasion, including new album art, embossed cover, 180g etched vinyl, hand-written lyrics, and individual numbering.

The album also includes a new, stripped-down acoustic version of “Hello My Old Heart” as a bonus track. Surrounded by the warmth of a crackling fireplace, The Oh Hellos invite you in for an intimate performance of their signature song.

"Listening to this EP is like time traveling, for us. Suddenly we’re back in the house we grew up in, all the furniture shoved up against the walls of an old bedroom so the guitars and drum set would fit.

WARTHOG always takes their time with releasing new music, but you know it will always be worth the wait. Marking their ten year anniversary as a band, Larry and Co finally bring you their long awaited fifth EP. Written in Brooklyn last winter, the new ep delivered three tracks of their trademark sound. Everything is fine-tuned and sounding stronger than ever. Digital Tumor might even be their best track yet. You didn’t think that they would let you down, did you? The EP comes in a pocket sleeve with brand new artwork from longtime collaborator Alex Heir and lyric sheet. Recorded by Sasha Stroud, mixed by Will Killingsworth and mastered by Arthur Rizk.

Soundtrack from Academy Award-nominated actor Ethan Hawke’s 2001 film Songs written by Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy with the score performed by Tweedy and Glenn Kotche Featuring two previously unissued bonus tracks and available on CD and (for the first time) Vinyl. Includes performances by Wilco, Billy Bragg, Robert Sean Leonard, “Little” Jimmy Scott, and more Packaging features new liner notes from Ethan Hawke, Glenn Kotche, and a conversation between Jeff Tweedy and Grammy®-winning set producer Cheryl Pawelski “It was pivotal for me. There was a burst of creativity that continues to this day because I took the last remaining guardrails off of what I’d been willing to allow myself to do.” –Jeff Tweedy The same year of his Oscar®-nominated performance in Training Day, Ethan Hawke made his full-length film directorial debut with Chelsea Walls (starring Kris Kristofferson, Uma Thurman, Vincent D’Onofrio, Robert Sean Leonard, and more). A fan of Wilco, Hawke approached Jeff Tweedy about scoring the film, and Tweedy agreed. Around this time, Tweedy had collaborated with musician and producer Jim O’Rourke (Sonic Youth, Stereolab) for a special live performance. As fate would have it, O’Rourke had been working with Glenn Kotche, and O’Rourke introducing Tweedy to Kotche would lay the groundwork for the trio’s work together on the debut album by their band, Loose Fur. Tweedy also asked Kotche to work with him on an improvised soundtrack to the movie he had agreed to score.













[m] 13. Finale (Extended) [Bonus Track]
[n] 14. Promising [Bonus Track]

Seit ihrer Gründung im Jahr 2008 hat sich die moldawische Progressive Modern Metal-Macht INFECTED
RAIN rund um Multi-Talent und Frontfrau Lena Scissorhands zu einem der aufregendsten Szene-Acts
entwickelt. Mit ihrem frenetisch gefeierten 2019er Album „Endorphin“ gewann die Band weltweit eine
treue Fanbase für sich, welche sich nun mit Spannung auf den heiß erwarteten Nachfolger, „Ecdysis“,
freuen darf. Vom ersten Ton an elektrisiert das Album mit messerscharfen Riffs, kosmischem Elektro,
Lena‘s Schatzkammer an stimmlichen Fähigkeiten sowie lyrisch tiefgehenden Themen, die von Depression
und Verlassenheit bis hin zur allumfassenden Realität reichen. Die Band scheint eine Metamorphose zu
durchleben, während sie gekonnt Extreme Metal mit progressiven Groove und dunklen, eindringlichen
Melodien verbindet.
Erneut von Voluta Valentin produziert, demonstriert „Ecdysis“ auf sehr erfolgreiche Weise ultramoderne
Brutalität, ohne dabei auf Emotion und Melodie zu verzichten – und präsentiert INFECTED RAIN auf
einer neuen Ebene, der sich langjährige Anhänger der Band und zahlreich neue Fans ebenfalls anschliessen
dürften