Buscar:ten words

Album "My Life - Preisner's Music is a live recording from a concert held in November 2024 in Bielsko-Bia?a, marking the occasion of Zbigniew Preisner receiving Honorary Citizenship of his hometown, Bielsko-Bia?a.
This year, on May 20th, Zbigniew Preisner will celebrate his 70th birthday, and the album is a his gift he made to himself.

The album includes 17 iconic themes composed by Zbigniew Preisner among others from Three Colours, Decalogue, The Secret garden, The double life of Veronique, Damage, When a man loves a woman, Eminent Domain, Aberdeen, Mouvements du desir, Lost and Love, but also Lacrimosa from Requiem for my Friend in the interpretation of Dominik Wania.

Few words from Zbigniew Preisner:
"For years, I've been thinking about reducing my orchestral themes to a single instrument. As a composer, I pay special attention to melody-each of my compositions always has melodic themes.
Ten years ago, I met Dominik Wania, now a jazz star and a brilliant pianist who records albums for ECM. I knew he was the perfect person to bring my idea to life.
The concert you are about to listen to is the result of our collaboration, which has given me great satisfaction. Dominik Wania's interpretation went beyond my wildest expectations. I hope you will enjoy the album."

Reviews of the album:

"When I teach the films of Krzysztof Kieslowski at Columbia University, I always mention that Zbigniew Preisner is one of the world's greatest film composers. He has many fans among my students. And now there is a new album, a haunting distillation of his movie scores into solo piano performances. It demonstrates how he is the master composer of the tritone, trill and tremolo. Listening to his compositions in their own terms - separate from the cinema screen - foregrounds his distinctive and often plaintive melodies.
Because orchestration, lyrics and narrative function are absent, the listener can focus on the richness of the "standalone" music, beautifully performed by Dominik Wania. For example, the memorable score from Kieslowski's "Double Life of Veronique" now feels more ominous than lyrical. From "Mouvements du desir," the tinkling piano sounds grow into cascading notes that envelop the listener. Whether classical (as in "When a Man Loves a Woman" and "The Waltz from The Funeral") or jazz ("The Secret Garden"), the music reigns when there is no movie screen to distract us. This is equally true of the minor-key gems like "Dekalog" and the briskly upbeat "Transient from Twilight" (which invokes for me the joy of Jon Baptiste's compositions).
In addition to Preisner's scores, the mournful "Lacrimosa" is stripped down from a public performance - which included a choir - to a more personal evocation of grief via solo piano. Finally, listening to "Lost and Love" suggests that if Frederic Chopin and Keith Jarrett had an heir together, it would be Zbigniew Preisner".
Annette Insdorf, Film Professor Columbia University

1000 copies pressed on Black vinyl & DL card. First time on vinyl for 10 years .The poems of iconic 19th century American writer Emily Dickinson crafted into the esoteric sounds of Josephine Foster. Originally released in 2009, this highly collectable record is now back on vinyl for the first time in over a decade.

"After a first appearance on the "Various 1" EP, Oshana now makes her full release debut on Altered Circuits. The "Origins EP" is, in the artist's words, a collection of old-meets-new four-to-the-floor club flavours. Originating from her live set practice, it's a proper representation of where she's currently at: making a push for the bigger and bolder. Her obvious talent for meticulously stacking textures doesn't stop her from shifting to the stripped-back and straightforward when needed. The constant throughout is a sensibility for the dancefloor, which never lets anything get in the way of groove and rhythm. "Above We Soar" drops right into the action with a menacing bassline and equally gloomy synthesizer layering. The cut's gothic-black palette works a charm merging palpable tension with restraint. It builds for 4 minutes towards a drop - and then a slamming acid line succeeds in cranking the energy even up another notch. "Space And Time Dimensions" is a loopy roller which, by the sound of its reverb levels and ambient noises, might have been recorded at a missile silo. The stretched vocal samples and ever-evolving drums propel it forward in a vintage, Chicago house type way. There's a moment of calm when those briefly fall away; one of its quirky basslines subsequently makes room for a slick little polyrhythm sine, and everything clicks even more. On the other side, "Girls In The Front" doesn't loosen the reins either, as hefty kicks and another sturdy bassline immediately set the tone. The air appears charged with static electricity, and Oshana's way of niftily adding and subtracting seamlessly draws the listener into a groovy trip. 5 minutes fly by, and then the lead still has to emerge. The one that eventually comes in is huge and hypnotic. Topped off with a selection of vocals that burst with impatience, the track hints at the anthemic. Closer "Origins" taps into a more progressive and trance side with its modulated formant bassline, jittery arpeggiator lead and heavily flanged flourishes. A gust of electronic flutes and sleek chords take a turn for the - almost - idyllic. Not for long: not uncharacteristically, it switches back to the main beat and back into more ambiguous yet familiar territory."

Classic RootsReggae is the definitive influence on the music of Vibronics .. so it has been a true labour of love to bring together the powerful voice of Jospeh Lalibela, the intricate playing of the Mafia & Fluxy Band and the deep production skills of Vibronics to make this homage to classic Jamaican Roots Dub Reggae music.
The LP is a fine body of work with full production featuring live bass, drums, horns, guitars & flutes as well as up to the minute studio trickery to produce an album that is rooted in reggae history but sounds relevant right now.
5 vocals and 5 dubs - this album is original showcase style !
Vibronics is one of the most established names in UK Dub/Reggae music achieving millions of views on YouTube, millions of Spotify streams and many tens of thousands of vinyl record sales. Collaborators include Michael prophet, Macka B, Iration Steppas, Soom T, Aba-Shanti and more.
Joseph Lalibela is a Birmingham born UK vocalist who found fame through his work with OBF & King Earthquake
Mafia & Fluxy are the UK’s leading Reggae riddim section and recording artists working with Eek-A-Mouse, Jah Shaka, Luciano and the cream of worldwide Reggae artists.

The Ibex Band, with Giovanni Rico and Selam Woldemariam at the creative helm, provided the musical backbone for legends like Aster Aweke, Girma Beyene, Tilahun Gessesse, Mulatu Astatke, and Mahmoud Ahmed, including the iconic album Ere Mela Mela, shaping modern Ethiopian music as we know it today. This 1976 album (Ge’ez Year 1968) played a pivotal role in that legacy and has now resurfaced to set the record straight.

There’s a tendency to talk about the seventies as a golden age of Ethiopian music. There are good reasons for that, and just as good reasons against it. However, the notion of a golden past privileges the role of Western explorers and suggests that the pinnacle of Ethiopia’s musical culture is something only a foreigner can appreciate and unearth. It downplays the complexities of Ethiopia’s culture and history, creating an artificial divide between then and now. And it underestimates the constantly evolving sound that has followed.

The legendary musical outfit The Ibex Band, later metamorphosed into The Roha Band, has played a central role in defining the sound of many of the greatest stars on the music scene of Ethiopia from the mid-seventies onwards–but their golden output has never really waned. The story of the origins of the band that provided the musical backbone for greats such as Aster Aweke, Girma Beyene, Tilahun Gessesse, backing the solo career of group member Mahmoud Ahmed as well as backing Mulatu Astatke and many others has yet to be properly told.

Two misconceptions plague the image of Ethiopian music, one is that the music is pure because it is, by some notion, unexploited, the other is that it is all traditional. To begin with, a combination of political changes between the late sixties and the mid-nineties created an environment where only the most dedicated and skilled musicians struggled on and pursued a musical career against fierce odds. The whole Ibex Band, with Giovanni Rico and Selam “Selamino” Seyoum Woldermarian at the creative helm, are arguably the origo of the vibrant scene in the mid-seventies, and the said pair are foremost responsible for not only navigating the band through troubled times, but also modernizing the 6/8 chickchicka rhythm to a contemporary form. Giovanni laid the rhythmic foundation with heavy looped basslines that reinvented traditional melodies as dance music, and with Selamino’s innovative guitar work they influenced scores of musicians from Abegaz Kibrework Shiota to Henock Temesgen. Even Giovanni’s Fender bass and Selamino’s Gibson guitar inspired younger musicians in their choice of instruments. Not only in choice of instruments but also in sound–even as the digital revolution hit Ethiopian music, a lot of popular music still took its cue from the masters from Ibex and Roha.

Ibex emerged out of the ashes of the sixties group the Soul Echos band, adding Giovanni and Selamino to their ranks and taking their cues from a slew of influences, such as Motown and The Beatles, fused with traditional music. A tighter-knit unit than most bands at the time – Ibex has remained six to seven members throughout their whole career, compared to many bands that were as large as fifteen or sixteen men strong when Ibex set out. Their playing has been viciously focused, economical yet heavy. Just a year before the recording sessions of the album in your hands, Giovanni and Selamino made a contribution to the popular musical lexicon of Ethiopia that was simply defining the popular sound: their arrangement and recording of bandmate Mahmoud Ahmed’s solo effort and real commercial breakthrough tune and eponymous album, Ere Mela Mela, from 1975.

Selamino has never limited himself to being an adroit lead guitarist, but has always been a scholar of history, and as such he has probably contributed as much to modern Ethiopian music with his guitar playing and compositions as with a deepened understanding of modern or contemporary – Zemenawi – Ethiopian music. Selamino’s contributions serve as a metaphor for those of the whole band, at one and the same time creating and defining a new, danceable and updated sound anchored in Giovanni’s bass, whilst also elevating the broader scene through their support for others on the scene and on top of that, increasing the understanding of the music.

There is an understandable desire to romanticize the musical heyday Ibex and Roha were at the forefront of, because so much of the output is sorrowfully hard to come by. Ibex creativity was nothing short of ridiculously fierce compared to many of their Western contemporaries. Based on their sheer recorded output alone they could have usurped the title “hardest working in show business” from James Brown, recording more than 250 albums or 2500 songs in the seventies and eighties. Some only surface as cassettes today, others were never given full LP release, and some are simply impossible to find today. In the light of that, it’s nothing short of a miracle that the recording Stereo Instrumental Music from 1976 (Ge’ez Year 1968) has resurfaced. Unearthed in perfect condition on a chrome cassette, this is musical history comes alive–to set the future straight. Stereo Instrumental Music was recorded in collaboration with Karl-Gustav Lundgren, a Swedish national working for the Radio Voice of the Gospel. It took two sessions at the Ras Hotel ballroom in Addis Ababa. The Ibex Band was the first band in Ethiopia to employ a four-track recorder for their recording (the first available in the country, lent by Karl-Gustav). Later the same week, Giovanni and Selamino realized that, lengthwise, the recorded material fell short of what they wished for, so they recorded four more tracks in one more session on a single-track recorder. The Ras Hotel and Ghion Hotel, where the Ibex Band held musical residencies were to Ethiopia in general and Addis Ababa in particular what Motown was to the USA and Detroit a few years earlier – a hotbed of musical creativity and showmanship.

The most astonishing thing about Ethiopian music of the last half century is how tradition and modernity are intertwined. Because of this feature, it’s kind of hard to tell when there ever was or when we are in a “golden age”. So much of music from the past has been criminally neglected, but because of the hardships in the past, it would be an oversimplification to say that said past was a golden age. Probably, the golden age is what we are approaching, because for the first time both the past and future are accessible, and the monumental contributions from before can lay a firm foundation for a thriving music scene today. The Ibex Band stands firmly in the past, present and the future. That, if anything, is golden.

The detailed history of Stereo Instrumental Music is in many ways unique. To begin with, it couldn’t have been recorded earlier (there were no four-track recorders available) and it really couldn’t have been recorded afterwards either, at least not in the years directly following, because of the toll the musical scene took from the unfavorable political climate that followed when the nascent Derg regime and rival groups tried to assert themselves, the musical equipment lent from The Voice of Gospel Radio simply disappeared from Ethiopia when the radio station folded in 1977. Karl-Gustav Lundgren,
the Swedish foreign national who assisted during the recording, worked with the Ethiopian Evangelical Church Mekane Yesus at the time, recalls how they only had about fifteen minutes to get the microphones in place for the recording as to not alert neither the management at Ras Hotel nor the authorities and most importantly, to complete the recording before the curfew came into effect at midnight. In leaping to the opportunity to use previously unavailable equipment to push their sound forward and improvising to meet the logistical challenges, the Ibex Band displayed the very avant-gardism and adaptability that explains their longevity as a band through the years. The recording of Stereo Instrumental Music is from a given time in history, but it sounds as beyond time.
Much of the energy that burst out of the scene that Stereo Instrumental Music came out of dissipated or got sidetracked during the societal changes Ethiopia went through in the 1970s and 80s. Whilst leaders might have professed to be revolutionary, the work ethic of the Ibex Band can truly be described as that. They never called it quits, but adapted, toured extensively abroad in Africa, Europe, and the Middle East, and found ways to work even in the face of the curfew that curtailed a lot of musical life. They even played major arenas in the nineteen eighties, despite said curfew and restrictions. The whole extent of their legacy has never been told, but their music speaks louder than words, so therefore… tune in to the Ibex Band’s Stereo Instrumental Music.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sprawling patchwork of the artist’s dreams and fears, Parannoul’s third album After the Magic explores the enigmatic solo artist’s life in the wake of his second album’s overnight success.

Expanding on the shoegaze-shaded emo that made Parannoul’s To See the Next Part of the Dream so beloved by lo-fi and indie rock fans alike, After the Magic sees the anonymous auteur striving to write a follow-up as worthy of acclaim as the last.

Across the album’s ten songs, Parannoul plunges yet deeper into his diverse pool of influences, coming back to the surface with a record that captures and extends the magic of its predecessor. Unexpected flashes of orchestral ambient and glitched-out electronica meld seamlessly with Parannoul’s signature passages of noisy, distortion-laden shoegaze, offering a real time glimpse into the maturation of one of indie rock’s most exciting artists.

In the artist’s own words, “This album is not what you expected, but what I always wanted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

compiled by tsunaki kadowaki
artwork by yoshirotten
mastering by kuniyuki takahashi

Tsunaki Kadowaki, a staff member at Kyoto’s record store Meditations, the supervisor of "New Age Music Disc Guide", and the founder of Sad Disco, curates the fourth installment of "Midnight in Tokyo" themed around Ambient Kayō.

The Midnight in Tokyo series by Studio Mule focuses on Japanese music, serving as a soundtrack for Tokyo nights—whether for home listening, club play, or as a driving BGM, transcending location and space. After a six-year hiatus, the fourth volume takes "Ambient Kayō" as its new perspective, compiling genre-defying tracks released between 1977 and 1999 to explore the intersection of Japanese ambient and pop music.

For this long-awaited fourth installment, selections were made regardless of record label status (major or independent), era, format (vinyl or CD), original release price, or prior reissues. Instead, the focus was on music that deeply moves the listener, is open-minded and evocative, brims with inspiration and spiritual insight, and embodies the "utagokoro" (singing heart) of Japanese artists.

Opening the compilation is "Umi e Kinasai" by Yōsui Inoue, a legendary Japanese singer-songwriter whose works have recently gained renewed interest as hidden gems of Walearic and ambient pop

Composed and arranged by Katsu Hoshi—who is also known for his arrangements on Inoue’s masterpiece Ice World—the track features renowned players such as Masayoshi Takanaka, Hiroki Inui, and Shigeru Inoue. The song embodies a yearning for Balearic horizons, tinged with youthful vibrancy and sentimentality.

Next, "Oritatamu Umi", compiled from Keiko Nosaka, a 20-string koto player, and George Murasaki, a pioneer of Okinawan rock, is an instrumental track from their album "Niraikanai Requiem 1945". As the title suggests, it carries themes of requiem and remembrance, conveying poetic lyricism even without words. Blending Ryukyuan/Okinawan harmonies and indigenous elements, it unfolds as an intimate and nostalgic piece of progressive rock.

Also featured is "Natsu no Kowareru Koro" by Higurashi, a folk-rock band led by Seiichi Takeda, formerly a guitarist of The Remainders of The Clover, the predecessor of RC Succession. Like the opening track "Umi e Kinasai", this song was also produced by Katsu Hoshi. It stands as a folk/new music piece that takes a step into an "otherworldly" realm, recommended for fans of Twin Cosmos and Masumi Hara.

From the enigmatic Blue, the only work left by the mysterious composer S.R. Kinoshita, comes "Mangrove", a hidden treasure of Japan's ambient/new age scene from the CD era. With an oriental and enigmatic atmosphere, the track evokes a mystical world of deep, uncharted jungles, unfolding as an otherworldly New Age Kayō.

"Yaponesia Sakura", selected from Rehabilual’s sole album New Child, is a masterpiece of Japanese new age music. Produced by Swami Dhyan Akamo, a disciple of Indian meditation teacher Osho and a renowned balafon player, the track features Michio Ogawa (Chakra) and Atsuo Fujimoto (Colored Music). Their collective artistry creates an exquisite spiritual ambient pop sound.

"Asa no Hitoshizuku", the opening folk song from Sachiko Kanenobu’s album Sachiko, is also included. Known for her legendary folk album Misora, produced by Haruomi Hosono, Kanenobu’s fourth album after resuming her career was inspired by her experiences living in San Francisco and revolves around the theme of "love." This track carries the same intimate poetic world as Misora, imbued with a pure, crystalline innocence.

From the synth-pop band E.S. Island, known for the Haruomi Hosono-produced *Teku Teku Mami", comes "Yume Fūrin ", selected from their long-lost new age classic Nanpū from Hachijo. Created while the band’s core duo was living in Hachijō Island, the album aimed to sonically capture "the high and happy vibrations of everyday island life." This track offers a dynamic, tribal-infused New Age Kayō experience.

Dubbed "the world's first Min’yō House Mix" "Esashi Oiwake (Maeuta) " comes from Kanazawa Akiko HOUSE MIX Ⅰ, a collaboration between Japanese house music pioneer Soichi Terada and Akiko Kanazawa, a renowned min’yō singer. Through the prism of club music, Hokkaido's Esashi Oiwake, one of Japan’s most iconic folk songs, is transformed into a futuristic ambient pop piece with intricate sound design.

The compilation also includes "Sweet Ong Choh", a track from Voice From Asia, a group active between 1989 and 1992 featuring vocal artist Shizuru Ohtaka. Taken from their imaginative minimal work Voice From Asia, released under Aoyama Spiral’s music label Newsic, the song presents a tranquil, tribal-minimal soundscape enriched by ethnic instruments.

Hailed by Haruomi Hosono as having “a shaman residing in her voice,” singer-songwriter Nami Hōdatsu also appears in the selection. Known for her collaborations with Henry Kawahara, her debut album featured "Asa-Hikari-Ame-Yume", a track that now stands as a precursor to modern vocaloid/synthesized vocal music—a hidden gem of post-choir aesthetics that deserves rediscovery.

Likewise, "Tennessee Waltz", from Naomi Akimoto’s album One Night Stand, supported by members of Mariah, serves as another early prototype of vocaloid/synthesized vocal music. The track weaves fragmented vocal samples, pastoral yet sweetly minimal synth sounds, and mechanical beats into a strikingly unconventional piece in the history of Japanese music.

Closing the compilation is "Heaven Electric", a track from Nav Katze’s album Gentle & Elegance, which featured remixes by Autechre, Seefeel, and Sun Electric. Merging elements of IDM, ambient techno, and chillout, the song embodies an optimism reminiscent of space music while seamlessly blending a mystical Japanese aesthetic—an ambient pop masterpiece.

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The album presents 12 exquisite pop tracks infused with an ambient feeling, resonating deeply with the evolving landscape of the mid-2020s—a time of post-hyperpop and Y2K revival.

Tsunaki Kadowaki (Compiler)

Born in 1993 in Yonago, Tottori, Tsunaki Kadowaki is a staff member and buyer at Kyoto’s Meditations record store. He is the editor of New Age Music Disc Guide (DU BOOKS) and a contributor to Music Magazine, Record Collectors' Magazine, ele-king, and more. Kadowaki has written liner notes for multiple Japanese releases (Brian Eno, Masahiro Sugaya etc.) and runs the Sad Disco music label under Disk Union. He also curates Spotify’s official New Age Music playlist and performed as a DJ at YCAM’s Audio Base Camp #3 in 2024.

Limited vinyl release for aya's 2021 Hyperdub-debut album, a one-time pressing on Ecomix random colour-mix recycled vinyl. Originally released in 2021 as a book and digital album, im hole is now presented on ecomix splatter-effect vinyl. A welcome reminder ahead of new aya music in 2025. On im hole, aya distilled the incisive sonic experimentation of her early run of releases, the tongue-in-cheek giggles of her DJ sets and edits, and the identity-fluxing lyricism of her live shows. The album was immediately championed from all corners, 'Best New Music' in Pitchfork to DJ Mary Anne Hobbs Album of the Year, followed by incredible live shows which drew new listeners further into the net. Contorting language, dialect, gender and sexuality between intermittently controlled bursts of rhythm, noise and aural goop, aya sculpted a set of autobiographical vignettes that challenge established norms, question supposed truths, and affirm a spectrum of interlocking experiences. But while it's wide open and personal, im hole also challenges queer art's tendency to veer towards repetitive solipsism. Even the title itself references the unwieldy mix of self-actualization and sexualization that bogs down cultural perceptions of the trans experience. It's neither one thing nor t'other, just as much a sly nod to dissociative afterparty sloppiness as it is any self-congratulatory pinkwashed grandstanding. The music follows suit, fragmenting familiar sounds, twinned with familiar words, assembled in unfamiliar ways, full of sharp humour, even in the middle of despair. Stories are muddled with phonetics just as dubstep is macrodosed with microtonal drone.










j B4. If [redacted] Thinks He's Having This As A Remix He Can Frankly Do One

Samuel Locke Ward and Jad Fair are two of the most prolific musicians working today. Fair is a founding member of the band Half Japanese, and has released over 200 albums, including albums with Yo La Tengo, Daniel Johnston, Moe Tucker, Kramer, Teenage Fanclub, The Pastels, R. Stevie Moore, DQE, Tenniscoats, The Tinklers, Naomi Ishimaru, Jason Willett, Mosquito, and Strobe Talbot. Samuel Locke Ward has released over sixty solo albums as well as a myriad of collaborations with Bob Bucko Jr, Miracles Of God, SLW cc Watt (with Mike Watt) and the cult new age noise group Boundless Relaxation (with Joe Jack Talcum and The Bassturd). He is a cartoonist for Little Village magazine and like Jad Fair, his style musically and visually is wholly his own Pure Candy is the pair’s third album together following 2023’s Happy Hearts and Destroy All Monsters, both issued by Kill Rock Stars. Pure Candy is an album of love songs and is the feel good album of the Summer, Winter, Spring and Fall. The music was composed and performed by Ward who’s love of pop music and avant stylings offer seventeen unexpected turns over the course of a three minute song. The vocals and lyrics are by Fair, lyrics overflowing with words of love, joy, happiness, tenderness, hope and inspiration. Uplifting words for a time dearly in need of some upliftings. As with the previous two albums by Fair and Ward, this album was mixed and mastered by Jonathan Hansen and is being co-released on LP by Shrimper Records (who last worked with Fair on his collaborative three cassette box set Wonderful World) and Chicago’s Stationary (Hearts) Recordings.

The Seeds of love is the third studio album by Tears for Fears.The album was released in September 1989, entering the UK Album Chart at No.1 and would be certified Platinum by the BPI within three weeks. In the US, the album peaked at no.8, and was also certified Platinum. The album also reached the top ten in various other countries around the world.

The album contained the Singles: Sowing the Seeds, Woman in Chains, Advice for the Young at Heart and Badman’s song, upon release it was seen (and still is) as one of the greatest albums of the 80’s

Loyle Carner will release his highly anticipated sophomore record, 'Not Waving, But Drowning' on 19 April via AMF Records.

'Not Waving, But Drowning' follows Loyle's BRIT (Best Male, Best Newcomer) and Mercury Prize nominated, top 20 debut 'Yesterday's Gone'. The bedrock of honest and raw sentimentality that you heard on 'Yesterday's Gone' left an inextinguishable mark on music in general and UK Hip Hop in particular, standing out as an ageless, bulletproof debut.

'Not Waving, But Drowning', Loyle's new album, gives yet more evidence - as if it were needed - of his razor-sharp flow and his unique storytelling ability. Yes, he can rap, but he allies that with the sensitivity of a poet, the observational skills of a novelist, and warmth of your best friend. The album opens with 'Dear Jean', a letter to his mother in which he's telling her that he has found the love of his life, 'a woman from the skies', and he's moving out.

It goes without saying that Loyle's music is hard to categorise, but what is even more impressive is that for someone who grew up listening to Mos Def, Biggie Smalls, Roots Manuva, and Wu Tang Clan, he doesn't sound like any of them. Although he might from time to time give lyrical nods to them, he's no imitator.

Loyle loves cooking. There are two tracks on this album named after chefs. The British-Israeli chef Yotam Ottolenghi, and the now deceased Italian chef Antonio Carluccio. 'Ottolenghi' the first single from the album was featured on the BBC Radio 1 B-list, BBC 6 Music A-list and has already been streamed over 5 million times.

Loyle refers to real life for everything, the title of 'Yesterday's Gone' came from a song of his step father, the title of his new album 'Not Waving, But Drowning' comes from a poem by his grandfather, which in turn came from a Stevie Smith poem. What you hear on the track 'Krispy' is real. He is pouring his heart out to his best friend Rebel Kleff after their relationship went downhill, he invites him on the track to say his piece but he doesn't turn up, so we get a flugel solo instead.

Loyle also has his own personal black consciousness movement. When he refers to his 'fathers' in the track 'Looking Back' he really is referring to two fathers. His biological father, a black man who he knows, but knows very little of, and his step father, a poet and musician who happens to be a white man but died a sudden unexpected death from epilepsy (SUDEP). With no real emotional ties to his biological father, but a deep connection with a deceased step-father, where does a young child turn He succinctly captures many of the great, unspoken, cultural and historical paradoxes of multicultural Britain on 'Looking Back'.

An album like this is hard to find. It is for those who like their Hip Hop to have soul, and their soul to have spirit. This is because it works on so many levels, but it is reflecting the personality of its creator. There are a host of collaborators here, Jorja Smith, Rebel Kleff, Kiko Bun, Kwes, Jordan Rakei, Sampha, Tom Misch and more, but none are overpowering. They blend righteously into place.
Loyle is not bitter with people who have let him down, or a society that lets so many down, but the combination of anger and love he has gives his voice the perfect blend of strength and vulnerability. This might be a coming of age album, but it's also a coming of ageless album. Loyle's 2019 Spring tour - which includes London's Roundhouse - sold out within 20 minutes of being on sale.

Not Waving, But Drowning



A rapper that raps about family is hard to find. The boys in the 'hood' tend not to be that interested in how much a 'brother' loves his mother, or how much he misses his dad, or even how much he misses his best friend. The boys in the 'hood' tend to be obsessed with the size of their cars, girls, bank accounts, and other personal 'possessions'. Loyle Carner's Mercury and BRIT Prize nominated debut 'Yesterday's Gone' (Released 2017), made it clear that he wasn't that kind of rapper. In fact, every time I talk to him about his work we talk about the world, and we tended to confuse ourselves by calling his work rap, poems, or songs, sometimes in the same sentence. They are in truth all of these things.



Here's some poetry.



Honestly I need them.

I hate them but I grieve them

I think I've finally found the reason

Trust

Like the fire needs the air.

I won't burn unless you're there.





'Not Waving, But Drowning', Loyle's forthcoming new album, gives us yet more evidence, (if it were needed), that he still has what rappers call, flow, but he hasn't lost any of his story telling qualities. Yes, the boy can rap, but a rapper with the sensitivity of a true poet, the observational skills of a novelist, and warmth of your best friend. The album opens with 'Dear Jean', a letter to his mother in which he's telling her that he has found the love of his life, (a woman from the skies), and he's moving out. He really loves the woman from the skies, but he still loves his mum, and so he reassures her that there is no competition, and tells her that 'She's not behind me or behind you, but beside we and beside two', his words. Or to put it another way, moving out without moving out. My words.



It goes without saying that Loyle's music is hard to categorise, but what is even more impressive is that for someone who grew up listening to Mos Def, Biggie Smalls, Roots Manuva, and Wu Tang Clan, he doesn't sound like any of them. Although he might from time to time give lyrical nods to them, he's no imitator. He says finding his own voice was something he always found easy. Although young, (in terms of a musical career), he has confidence in his own words and his own voice, and has never been tempted to sound like he's been hanging out in the USA, or rolling in 'Grime' on the mean streets of East London. And so when it comes to the creative process he doesn't simply find a beat to jump on and ride. Beats are important, but they are tenderly layered with samples, keyboards, or live drums, all imaginatively assembled for the laying on of words. Some tracks start with the idea, some with poetry, and some with a verse from a singer or some other melodic inspiration, but there is no formula.



Here's some poetry.



Don't hold any memories of us

Rather hold you everyday until the memories are dust

Yo we only caught the train

Cos you know I hate the bus





A prolific reader, who has dyslexia is hard to find. Add ADHD (Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder) to that and life should become even more difficult. To deal with your difficulties you devise coping strategies, which can differ from person to person. Loyle loves cooking. There are two tracks on this album named after chefs. The British-Israeli chef Ottolenghi, and the now deceased Italian chef Antonio Carluccio. Loyle describes himself as 'weird' because he is happy to read a cookbook as if he was reading a novel or a book of poetry. He has opened a cookery school for young adults not just because he loves food and wants to make more of it, but because it is one of the few things that can focus the ADHD mind. And when it comes to his other love, football, his approach is the same. Focus. He wanted to be a striker he says, up front scoring goals, but found his best position was in midfield because he was able to focus, check options, and see passes ahead of time, providing passes for other players just when they needed them. He says, 'You don't grow out of ADHD, you grow into it.' Loyle is also working with Levi's® on their music project where he is mentoring young musicians over a six month period, culminating at Liverpool Sound City festival.



More poetry.



When the going is tough

I wait till it falls on deaf ears

Hearsay

Without the boundaries of love



He also said, 'Ask most people and they will say that they love their mothers, but most are not going to rap about her'. On his first album Loyle's mum Jean wrote about the 'scribble of a boy' that growing up would take things apart to see how they worked. On this album she speaks with pride about a man who has found his place in the world.



Yes, poetry.



I'm still looking for the answers

Trying to find the right questions

Still waiting for my fathers

But can't break them in to sections



This poetry is serious. Loyle has his own personal black consciousness movement. He told me that he always felt safe at home, and being the darkest one in the family never meant a thing, but then when he had to face the outside world he felt hostility. It shook him up. Now he had to start asking questions, but what were the questions. This is serious. When he refers to his 'fathers' in the verse above taken from the track 'Looking Back' he really is referring to two fathers. His biological father, a black man who he knows, but knows very little of, and his step father, a poet and musician who happens to be a white man but died a sudden unexpected death from epilepsy (SUDEP). So to whom would a young black (or mixed race) kid turn He succinctly captures many of the great, unspoken, cultural and historical paradoxes of multicultural Britain when he says, 'My great grandfather could of owned my other one.' We are a people descended from enslaved people on one hand, and enslavers on the other, something we are still struggling to come to terms with, and this can be apparent in one family. A big book could have told you that, but here we get it in one line on the track, Looking Back.





Loyle refers to real life for everything. The album is peppered with captured moments that he records on his phone. These moments can range from conversations with taxi drivers, to capturing the moment when England scores a goal in the world cup. The title of 'Yesterday's Gone' came from a song of his step father, the title of his new album 'Not Waving but Drowning' comes from a poem by his grandfather, which in turn came from a Stevie Smith poem. What you hear on the track 'Krispy' is real. He is pouring his heart out to his best friend after their relationship went downhill, he invites him on the track to say his piece but he doesn't turn up, so we get a flugel solo instead. Yes people, this is real.



An album like this is hard to find. It is for those who like their Hip Hop to have soul, and their soul to have spirit, this is an album for those who have, (I'm sorry, I'm going to say it), emotional intelligence. This is because it works on so many levels, but it is reflecting the personality of its creator. There are a host of collaborators here, Jorja Smith, Rebel Kleff, Kiko Bun, Jordan Rakei, Sampha, Tom Misch and more, but none are overpowering. They blend righteously into place. Loyle is not bitter with people who have let him down, or the society that has let him down, but the combination of anger and love he has gives his voice the perfect blend of strength and vulnerability. This might be a coming of age album, but it's also a coming of ageless album. His first album worked, and this second album is a continuation of that work. Not creating a form, but being formless, as someone like Bruce Lee once said.

And here's some poetry from mum.



We talked long in to the darkest hours

Until we saw the burnished sky

And our eyes stung

As our words blurred and became thoughts

As we were silenced by the dawn

We clung to each other like sailors in a storm

Free jazz poetry by a spry, 85 year old Joe McPhee, adapting his renowned improvised practice to words - juxtaposed with Mats Gustafson’s sparing brass and electric gestures. It’s an utterly timeless and transfixing salvo, another shiny notch for Smalltown Supersound’s Le Jazz Non Series.

As a common ligature to the OG free jazz scene of ‘60s NYC, with formative binds to its European offshoots and the experimental avant garde, Joe McPhee is a true force of nature who has represented jazz at its freest over a remarkable lifetime. In duo with Swedish free jazz and noise standard bearer Mats Gustafson, he upends expectations with an astonishingly vivid and upfront example of his enduring contribution to freely improvised music. In 11 parts he variously reflects on everything from the neon sleaze and scuzz of NYC to contemporary US politicians and laugh out loud imitations of his previous sparring partners such as Peter Brötzmann, with a head-slapping immediacy that leaves you reeling, spellbound.

McPhee’s flow of rare, organic cadence, ranging from urgent to contemplative and dreamlike, is blessed with a unique turn-of-phrase that surely mirrors his decades of instrumental work. Gustafsson, meanwhile, dextrously takes up the mantle with a multi-instrumental spectrum of sounds, leaving McPhee unbound and able to float and sting on the mic. There’s obvious wisdom in his perceptively penetrative observations, as derived from a rich cultural life well spent, but also a playful naivety and levity in his ability to veer from almost melodic speech to explosive aggression and a knowing, bathetic wit. It’s perhaps hard to believe that McPhee only started incorporating and performing spoken word in his work in the past ten years, a half century since his declaration of “What Time Is It‽” announced his arrival on a legendary debut ‘Nation Time’ (1971), ushering in one of free jazz’s most singular characters in the process.

Oscillating between discordant reflections on life as a touring musician, set to Gustafsson’s skronk and culminating in a snort-worthy imitation of Peter Brötzmann’s gruff German accent, on ‘Short Pieces’ or the glowering growl and noise exhortations of ‘Guitar’, he evokes a more sweetly consonant calm in ‘When I Grow Up’ and eerie threat of ‘The Dreams Book’, and viscerality of ‘Disco Death’, where Gustafson’s tonal versatility comes into hugely mutable play, whilst McPhee’s extraordinary, unaffected voice is a constant. It’s perhaps McPhee’s balance of cool measuredness and wellspring of barbed energies that allows us, at least, to get the most out of this one; not stifling with mannered or manicured enunciation that can trigger certain icks; keeping close to the nature of spoken word in a way that avoids cliche and becomes inherently critical of it within his purposeful, non-hesitant clarity and unflinching approach.

Needle Mythology, the label founded by music writer, author and broadcaster Pete Paphides, is thrilled to announce the release of SENSITIVE the first ever vinyl anthology to cover the indiepop scene of the 1980s. SENSITIVE features 30 songs in total by artists who defined the indiepop aesthetic, among them The Jesus & Mary Chain, The Sea Urchins, Primal Scream, The Pastels, Talulah Gosh, Orange Juice, The Field Mice, The Primitives, The Wedding Present, Miaow, Razorcuts, Dolly Mixture, The Bodines, Shop Assistants, The Soup Dragons, The Loft, The Chills, That Petrol Emotion and The Railway Children. SENSITIVE takes its name from the single released by The Field Mice, and marks the first time that The Field Mice have allowed one of their songs to be used on a compilation released by any label other than Sarah Records, who released all their records at the time. Also features on SENSITIVE is Dying Day from Orange Juice’s hugely influential debut album You Can’t Hide Your Love Forever – marking the only time that Edwyn Collins and his wife and manager Grace Maxwell have given permission for an Orange Juice song to be featured on an anthology. Many of the records featured on SENSITIVE have become highly sought-after collectors’ items since their original release. The Sea Urchins’ Pristine Christine changes hands for up to £400. Original mint copies of April Showers’ only single Abandon Ship command up to £380. If you were to try and individually buy all the records featuring the songs on SENSITIVE, you can expect to pay something around £1150. SENSITIVE features 10,000 words of extensive track-by-track notes and an essay by Pete Paphides, who was and remains an avid proponent of the indiepop scene that this collection chronicles. All the songs on SENSITIVE have been newly mastered at Abbey Road by Miles Showell. SENSITIVE will be released on double LP and double CD Needle Mythology Records.

The New Duo Album by Piers Faccini & Ballaké Sissoko: Our Calling Two decades after their very first collaboration, British-Italian folk songwriter Piers Faccini and Malian kora virtuoso, Ballaké Sissoko return with a mesmerizing album: Our Calling. Set for release in February 2025, this fascinating dialogue between a virtuoso instrumentalist at the peak of his powers and an inspired songwriter and wordsmith, succeeds in creating new song forms with a lightness of touch that bridges continents and plays with tradition.Through ten exquisitely crafted tracks, Our Calling is a sonic and narrative praise song for migration in all its forms. The two friends"s entirely acoustic dialogue was recorded in Paris side by side and live in the studio over five days. The album"s originality is that it feels deeply Malian at i s musical core, all the while being seamlessly infused with an essence of folk songwriting, sung in the English language. Recorded by Frédéric Soulard (Shapes of the Fall), the album unites an extraordinary cast of musicians, including Vincent Segal, Badjé Tounkara, and Malik Ziad.

The first-ever vinyl reissue of the classic 1986 debut album from perennial pop icon and pin-up Samantha Fox. The only British female solo artist to score three Top Ten hits on both sides of the Atlantic in the 1980s, Samantha made her name as the nation’s favourite Page Three girl before launching an enviable music career.

Touch Me features four hit singles: the international smash ‘Touch Me (I Want Your Body)’ (#3 UK and #4 US), ‘Do Ya Do Ya (Wanna Please Me)’ (#10 UK), ‘Hold On Tight’ and ‘I’m All You Need’. Immediately establishing Samantha’s signature pop-rock sound, on its original release the album hit #17 in the UK, going silver, before reaching #24 in the US with a gold certification. Pressed on striking black vinyl with white and pink splatters to complement the original aesthetic, this edition boasts painstakingly rebuilt artwork and a newly designed inner bag featuring full lyrics. A strictly limited-edition picture disc is also available. Touch Me is reissued alongside Samantha’s self-titled second album and 1989’s I Wanna Have Some Fun.

Emmanuel Mario returns to Karaoke Kalk with his third album under his Astrobal moniker for the Berlin-based imprint. »L’uomo e la natura« (»Man and Nature«) sees the prolific drummer and producer, who has worked with artists such as Laetitia Sadier and label mate Pink Shabab, take a different musical route than before. The French electronic music composer pays homage to the spirit of library music while also making concessions to different strains of pop and even classical music. With only two of the ten songs putting words to the music, »L’uomo e la natura« is a masterful exercise in the evocation of atmospheres: expressing much while saying very little outright—show, don’t tell.

The album was born out of a desire to push the envelope. »I wanted to make music that was both pop and ambitious in its chord progressions as well as surprising in its construction,« explains the Paris-based artist. Taking inspiration from library music artists such as Alessandro Alessandroni or Bruno Nicolai as well as the more cosmic strains of electronic instrumental music, he strove »to create a soundtrack that would immediately bring to mind outer space.« The first of the three singles released ahead of the full album, »L’abeille pourpre,« captures this spirit with funky rhythms and an overjoyed interplay of different melodies, all tied together by wordless yet terminally catchy vocals.

The second single, »Miami 2064,« traverses through many different moods in its six-minute run-time: Starting off as neo-noir synth-wave piece, it then proceeds to pay its dues to the masters of the cosmic music tradition such as Tangerine Dream or, of course, Jean-Michel Jarre before slowly descending back to Earth with guitars and dreamy synthetic vocals, playfully punctuated by a plethora of wistful melodies. It is the perfect encapsulation of the open-ended approach Mario follows throughout the entire album, taking full creative licence in regards to songwriting and arrangements. »I wanted to surprise myself,« he shrugs. He succeeded.

»L’uomo e la natura« rewards multiple listens not only emotionally, but also intellectually. »I also wanted to talk about politics and ecology, because it’s impossible not to,« Mario notes. Some of the track titles express this more openly than others and the two title tracks sung by Mario and Nina Savary use French and Italian lyrics, respectively. However, as a whole the album leaves things open to interpretation. Does »The End of Capitalism« sound elegiac or triumphant? And what do you actually make of this musical vision of the Floridian metropolis, whose mere existence is threatened by climate change already today, four decades from now? Mario doesn’t necessarily answer these questions—he doesn’t tell, he shows.

The Durutti Column, Linda Perhacs, Penguin Cafe Orchestra, Judee Sill. Hello and welcome to Decide Which Way The Eyes Are Looking, the new record by Lina Tullgren. It is a deeply gorgeous intervention, a carefully ornamented dilemma, the most inviting crisis. Made with a host of Los Angeles musicians, Decide exposes Tullgren's daring and trust. Each song is a ring of curious sound: the skip of harp strings, the flutter of woodwinds, the ratchet of percussion, the euphonium's sigh. And at the center of each wreath, Tullgren sings, finding this space between Judee Sill and Sam Jayne. It's a tone that signals weariness, but a weariness hand-in-hand with tenacity. There's a clarity, a kind of immovability. Lina Tullgren's first record came in 2016, a homemade, under-the-skin set of laments. Subsequent LPs and constant touring cemented Tullgren's reputation as a composer of "wide-eyed wonder paired with a resonant despair." 2019's Free Cell showed Tullgren lingering in the margins of their songs, finding places both aloof and spare. Floodgates opened; Tullgren spent the subsequent years exploring deep listening, improvised music, and extended technique. They developed a patience and faith in cooperation that ranged at the far edge of song. Collaborations with Mayo Thompson and Claire Rousay furthered this development. This was not a break with the past for Tullgren, rather it was an opportunity to see how far a song could go. And from that distance, deep in a landscape of drone and tension, Tullgren returned to the bright vulnerability of a lyric and a hook. Weaving together the affective and the radical, Tullgren took the quiet isolation of a shoreline cabin to write the songs that would become Decide Which Way The Eyes Are Looking. For Tullgren, Decide is a culmination of all the work they've done throughout their life: the melodic, the dense, the confessional, the unknowable. It's also a tribute to collaboration. Describing the sessions as having "a lot of space and a lot of ease,"" Tullgren invited musicians from a vast field of songmaking to play on the recording: Leng Bian, Zach Burba, Luke Csehak, Corey Fogel, Jenny Hirons, Tara Milch, Tim Ramsey, Michael Sachs, Jude Tedaldi, Marta Tiesenga and Ben Varian. Jonny Kosmo's backhouse was offered as a cozy, easygoing space for the players to create their parts together, and the record was completed by Tullgren and Luke Csehak together at their Los Angeles home. In Tullgren's words: "I feel really strongly that this album is a portrait of the community I found in Los Angeles." Decide Which Way The Eyes Are Looking is a quiet masterpiece: a generous, memorable journey. It is the result of five years of labor, the product of abandoning the pop song entirely and starting over. Whatever wanderings or doubt fueled it, Decide is also entirely at ease: a record on which Tullgren sings "and I know/what to do now" and "I know exactly what to do" in subsequent songs, clear in the revelations this path has given the

Cello player and electronic artist Martina Bertoni returns with her 2nd album for Karl: Hypnagogia delivers six new, masterfully crafted tracks between experimental ambient, drone and modern composition.

Cellist and composer Martina Bertoni started playing the cello at a very young age. Classically trained, her career further developed around experimental and film music, for which her cello has been featured in numerous records, works and soundtracks for films and series. After two EPs and her debut full length All The Ghosts Are Gone (2020), Bertoni joined the Karl roster where she released Music For Empty Flats in January 2021 to critical acclaim (a.o. one of the Top Ten drone albums of 2021).

On her new album Hypnagogia she continues to explore the sonic possibilities of her cello which she uses as primary source for composition and sound processing through reverbs, feedbacks and sub-bass frequencies, thus crafting sonic sculptures, rich of atmospheres and frictions, fed by ambient as much as drone and modern composition.

In the words of Martina Bertoni:
"The six tracks that constitute Hypnagogia have been written during 2021 and partially inspired by the reading of Stanislaw Lem's book Solaris. The title refers to a transitional state of consciousness from wakefulness to sleep, during which one might experience sensorial hallucinations and lucid dreaming, and can tap into the pristine structures of the subconscious. Hypnagogia portraits an imaginary cosmic journey of the Self that crash ends into a blinding sun."

Vibraphonist Milt Jackson and tenor saxophonist John Coltrane make for a surprisingly complementary team on this 1959 studio session, their only joint recording. AllMusic notes that with fine backup by pianist Hank Jones, bassist Paul Chambers, and drummer Connie Kay, Bags and Trane stretch out on two of Jackson's originals (including "The Late Late Blues") and three standards: a romping "Three Little Words," "The Night We Called It a Day," and the rapid "Be-Bop." The highlight of the set is the eponymous opening track, which just oozes late-night cool.

This deluxe 180-gram 45 RPM 2LP reissue from Analogue Productions (Atlantic 75 Series) is a gem and will be a must-have for all jazz music fans.

Maverick musician and artist Edvard Graham Lewis returns with ‘Alreet?’: an exciting album of majestic, experimental pop. Yet, the cheery North Eastern greeting of the album’s title belies the tension and drama that lies within. Here, you’ll find visceral rhythms, warm electronics and multiple melodic layers, with words that are sometimes sung, sometimes spoken. Lewis’s deep, distinctive voice has matured into a rich baritone: portentous yet immediate - and it serves his material exceptionally well. Although he is perhaps best known as bassist/ vocalist/lyricist with post-punk titans Wire, Lewis’s solo work is equally powerful. Lyrically he remains one of our finest wordsmiths. His desire to edit his text to its essentials is smartly counterbalanced by an ability to seed double or triple meanings in his phraseology. Consequently, the whole enterprise is studded with lines and couplets that snare our attention with unexpected hooks and barbs. The album is co produced with Swedish songwriter, producer and musician Max Lorentz, who has worked with everyone from acclaimed composer Magnus Lindberg to ABBA’s Agnetha Faltskog. As ‘Alreet?’ clearly demonstrates, Lewis is still firmly facing the future and determined to unearth new sonic treasure. Indeed, this is one of the most starkly original albums you will hear all year

Label and collaborative musical collective, +33JOY announce their debut release, this first one from Bopperson & Bikbaye.

Born out of a meeting at New York’s annual Winter Jazz Festival, back in 2020, this 4 track EP entitled ‘The Wellness Project’ is a very personal project.

Neil Bopperson is a DJ, musician and producer originally from Yorkshire. Having travelled the world working as a DJ and chef, he landed in London for a while where he remixed afrobeat legend Dele Sosimi for Wah Wah 45s. Now residing in Paris, France, a sharer and carer of music in every aspect, he chooses not to follow trends but instead follow his heart, with variety being an essential part of his musical DNA.

Based in Los Angeles, Bikbaye Inejnema works as a cultural activist, writer, teacher, counselor and spoken word artist. He has a bachelor’s degree in Sociology boasting over ten years experience in social work. He works as a A.T.O.D. (alcohol, tobacco & other drugs) prevention specialist for Homeless Healthcare in L.A. He is also the Executive Director of The Conscious Youth Global Network (CYGN)

Bikbaye strives to utilize art to equip the youth with the skills to become positive, productive citizens. Focusing on diverse topics ranging from leadership development to financial literacy to health and nutrition, Bikbaye gives youth the tools they need to create empowered and enlightened content.
As Bikbaye says, “The goal is to flood the airwaves, the media, everywhere with enlightened art.”

This first release on +33JOY comes in the form of a collaborative project, with music coming predominantly from Neil, with a little help from some additional players - Sam Crowe; keys (Lianne La Havas, Little Simz & Native Dancer) and the saxophone of Nick Briggs; (Joel Culpepper, Poté & The Last Skeptik). All words and vocals are from Bikbaye.

After a chance meeting in NYC, where Bikbaye was hosting talks at The Winter Jazz Festival, speaking mainly about mental health and wellness in the music industry. His words really resonated with Neil, they connected and this EP is the outcome.

Sitting somewhere in the alternative hip hop world, music is used as a vessel for Bikbaye’s words to ring out. Upon being presented with Bikbaye’s recordings, Neil composed music and collected sound design accordingly.

Starting out the set is the stripped back ‘Wellness Is A Practice’, as the opener to proceedings the vocals take forefront and the message is clear. Found sound, an old crunchy keyboard and some guitar pulses keep the poem afloat.

‘Who Are You?’ raises important questions, directed at other artists and music industry professionals. Flute, choirs and spacy drums come together for an eerie and dubbed out moment.

Third track ‘Consumption’ conveys perhaps the most important memo on the release. Sam Crowe’s grand piano floats beautifully over the reading, really highlighting Bikbaye’s statements.

Finally, and with a more hopeful feel, ‘Changes’ was the last addition to the recording sessions. A sketch Neil had been sitting on for a while, DJ Bobafatt added some cuts and Nick Brigg’s sax solo opens this track out to a goosebumps inducing ending. The most upbeat of the four tracks serves as a perfect prelude to the club-ready remixes that will follow this release.

Who is Isabelle Lewis, anyway?

What kind of music does she make? Is she an opera singer? Does she write pop songs? Does she compose ethereal ambient soundscapes? Does she play chamber music on the violin? Is she producing dark, electronic beats?

Well… yes. But Isabelle Lewis is not so much a person as a project. Isabelle’s debut album, Greetings, credits a trio of composer–performers at its heart: producer Valgeir Sigurðsson, vocalist Benjamin Abel Meirhaeghe, and violinist Elisabeth Klinck. The sound of the elusive Isabelle Lewis is heard most clearly in the push and pull between them, the three-way tension that gives the album its musical and emotional drive.

Each of the three brings more to the collaboration than those epithets might imply. Elisabeth’s solo performance practice incorporates composition, improvisation, live electronics, and a close command of bowing and fingering techniques that make her fiddle sing, whisper or whistle as required. Benjamin is a self-taught countertenor - keening, crooning, and swelling to a voluptuous sensuality—but also an interdisciplinary stage director and performer. Well known for his work as a producer and studio collaborator, and as a composer of scores for film and stage, Valgeir’s solo discography interweaves meticulously crafted electronics, drones, noise, and other digital elements with acoustic instruments and vocals recorded with naked, unflinching clarity.

But the extravagant theatricality Benjamin brings to the aptly titled “Drama”—also featuring a heroic violin solo from Elisabeth—grapples against the thudding bass of the implacable digital backdrop. On “Mother, Shelter Me” Valgeir’s austere and detailed production throws the hushed violin and vocals into stark relief. The result is an exquisitely uncanny juxtaposition of past and present, human and mechanical, like a Rococo treasure viewed under cold fluorescent lights, or an 18th-century automaton slowly opening its clockwork eyes.

Even the lyrics seem somehow out of time. On “O Solitude,” Benjamin goes so far as to quote an entire song by the first great English opera composer, Henry Purcell, verbatim. No stranger to Purcell’s music, which has made its way into Benjamin’s theatrical productions as well, here Isabelle Lewis removes Purcell’s melodies and harmonies and sets the text, Katherine Phillips’s 17th century translation of a poem by Antoine Girard de Saint-Amant, to new music whose heightened, archaic character nevertheless seems haunted by Baroque ghosts.

Throughout the album, the outsized emotions and timeless archetypes of Benjamin’s lyrics feel like relics from some half-forgotten past—from the neatly rhymed couplets of “Fisherman,” a seemingly straightforward (but still somewhat askew) character study, to the abstraction of “Moonshell,” whose words seem like the fragments of some ancient, lost lament. It is just another of many ways in which Isabelle Lewis carefully distorts the listener’s notions of time. On a more micro level, time can stop for a moment of weightless, drifting ambience, and then plunge forward as the cloud of harmonies suddenly lock into tempo with the drop of the bass or the change of a chord. Or else that weightless moment is allowed to be, as in the aptly named prologue and epilogue to these Greetings (“Voicemail”/“…and farewell”), or in the interstitial tracks that bind the album together, connecting its dramatic peaks with expanses of meditative stasis.

The album as a whole is elegantly shaped, swelling from an intimate, interpersonal statement into something deeper and more spacious. The first half of the album leans slightly towards self-contained pop songcraft and ticking beats, while side B jumps off from “O Solitude” into the almost symphonic grandeur of songs like “Moonshell” or the instrumental “Not the water, air, or the dirt.”

But as it progresses, the contrasts only grow more sublime: antique and postmodern, human and machinelike. The ominous weight of the droning sub-bass and trombone (guest player Helgi Hrafn Jónsson) only makes the interplay between vocals and violins (guest player Daniel Pioro joining Elisabeth) seem more delicate and vulnerable. The ethereal string tremolos of “Moonshell” seem to pull against the heavy, shuddering electronics and layers of crooning vocals.

And that, in short, is where you will find Isabelle Lewis. Like an ancient stone archway, or a delicate house of cards, the architecture of Greetings is held together by the tension between opposing forces. Not just in Elisabeth’s playing, Benjamin’s singing, or Valgeir’s arrangements and production but in the conflict and contrast that generates the synergy between them.

Oh—Isabelle says hi, by the way. She’s looking forward to meeting you.

'Mei Semones' sweetly evocative blend of jazz, bossa nova and math-y indie rock is notonly a way for her to find solace in her favorite genres, but is an intuitive means ofcatharsis. "Blending everything that I like together and trying to make something new -that's what feels most natural to me," says the 23-year-old Brooklyn-based singer-songwriter and guitarist. "It's what feels most true to who I am as an artist." Plinking guitar tones and asymmetrical time signatures exemplify her forays intoangular indie rock more now than ever before, especially on her debut Bayonet Recordssingle "Wakare no Kotoba"_its wide-interval arpeggios in odd meters being some ofthe most technically difficult guitar work Mei has ever implemented in her songwriting.Translated to "parting words'' in English, the self-described "anti-love song" serves as afarewell to a toxic friendship, complete with orchestral swells and crashing guitars. Originally from Ann Arbor, Michigan, Semones began playing music at a young age,starting out on piano at age four before moving to electric guitar at age eleven. Afterplaying jazz guitar in high school, she went on to study guitar performance with a jazzfocus at Berklee College of Music. College is where she met her current bandmates,including string players Noah Leong and Claudius Agrippa, whose respective viola andviolin add softness and multidimensionality to Mei's intricate guitar work. After releasinga slew of singles and an EP in 2022, coinciding with her move to New York City, Mei andher band have since gone on to collaborate with post-bossa balladeer John Roseboroand embark on their first-ever tour with the melodic rock outfit Raavi. Semones chronicles infatuation, devotion, and vulnerability in her songs, complete withsweeping strings, virtuosic guitar-playing and heartfelt lyrics sung in both English andJapanese, that have all become part of her sonic trademark: ornately catchy, genre-fusing compositions serving as the backdrop to tender lyrics touching on theuniversalities of human emotion.

A1 Northern Lights
Darkly, tense tones take center stage as Northern Lights kicks the LP off, introduced with an eerie synth before classic, striking old school breaks that aficionados will recall from the likes of John Bs Secrets drop, chopped expertly by our Spatial duo to create a quietly vengeful beat pattern with heavy kicks and a unique stuttering detail. Circling menacingly around the mix we are treated to swathes of choral detail, subtle vocal samples and shimmering ambience..

A2 Sunset on Mars
Showcasing the strengths of both producers through a delightfully rich atmosphere, Sunset on Mars opens with soothing echoed effects that ooze a welcoming sense of wonder. Delicate in composition yet still packing a punch, the breaks sit over a sumptuous deep sub bassline which carries our journey through simple key melodies, vivid mood-changing synths superbly to create a pure, wholesome atmospheric bliss.

B1 Totality
Dominant hats and cymbals surf the peaks of the mix early in Totality, detailed old school breakbeats quickly seizing our attention constructed with an effortless attention to detail. A stark, thick atmosphere is carved from a broad backdrop of sound blending vocals and synths, enveloping the listener with a dense, bleak soundscape that develops continually as the breaks roll on with memorable intent.

B2 Reincarnation
A deeply evocative, interstellar intro opens Reincarnation, generating images of lonely spacewalks with trademark Spatial aplomb. The vibe continues through a barrage of heavy analogue amens which crush the mix, edited with a chunky, commanding panache. The listener can picture pillars of isolation and thundering defiance dancing in duality as the elements weave their way fluidly throughout.

C1 Seraphim
Into an intense, epically atmospheric piece next as Seraphim channels the spirit of yesterday for a journey into the souls core via scene-trademark Hot Pants breaks, a moody 808 bassline and swirling atmospheric pads, melodies & synths. Layered with detailed FX demanding repeated listens to soak it all in, Seraphim is a special track which will take over your setlist and the journey home.

C2 Prism of Light
Sit back and relax to another slice of classic atmospheric bliss with Prism of Light, opening with a DJ-friendly hi hat intro before melodic synths generate an instantly unforgettable late-90s vibe. Hot Pants breaks drive us forward with a wondrously simple yet effective mix of 2 step and double kick edits, as blissful ambient washes and vocal hits are drizzled over the mix. Delightful.

D1 Harmonic Function A uniquely constructed beat pattern guaranteed to move you opens Harmonic Function, building up from rushing cymbals and hats intertwined with a fantastic crunchy, metallic half-time snare. Throw in a slew of mournful melodies and blanketed pad work around the mix and youre left with a superbly laid back yet danceable piece from ASC & Aural Imbalance, continually innovating in their music as ever on Spatial.

D2 Fade to Grey
Old school rhythms are on the agenda as our duo close out the album with a tense, meandering exploration through space, circling the planets through mellowed out beats before a layer of dense, analogue breaks are added to the mix as the atmosphere escalates. Exquisitely programmed vocals provide texture and feeling, while an understated bassline rumbling on below, completing a timeless collage of sound.

Words by Chris Hayes (Spatial / Red Mist)

»Nuts of Ay«, the thirteenth album by the Berlin-based electronic pop duo Tarwater (Ronald Lippok and Bernd Jestram), is their first in a decade, since 2014’s »Adrift«. Beautifully poised and smartly dressed, it's an album that draws Tarwater’s various pasts into a high-definition present, while bringing the duo, yet again, into productive dialogue with all kinds of fellow travellers.

Tarwater’s music has always been marked by a hypnotic pop-ness, but that’s particularly evident on »Nuts of Ay«, where a song like »Hideous Kiss« weaves together jangling guitar, pastoral flute, and flittering electronics into a gem-like construction. While the lyrics of »Hideous Kiss« are written by the duo, »Nuts of Ay« also continues a longstanding Tarwater tradition of recasting the words of others in their own mould. This time, their remit is broad: poetry from Derek Jarman (»All Nuns«) and Millner Place (»Trapdoor Spider«); lyrics from Jean Kenbrovin (»I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles«), the late Shane MacGowan (»USA«) and, again, John Lennon (»Everybody Had a Hard Year«).

This cast of found and borrowed lyricists also finds collaborative echo in the guest musicians dotted throughout »Nuts of Ay«. Schneider TM turns up on the lovely, Felt-like »Spirit of Flux«, where guitars channel the tangled reveries of Vini Reilly and Maurice Deebank into lush pop. Carsten Nicolai joins, as Alva Noto, dappling »On Waves and Years« with intimate glitching textures; he also provides the album cover art. Elsewhere, Masha Qrella appears on »Down Comes the Goose«, and actor Lars Rudolph pitches in for »USA«.

It may have been ten years since the album's predecessor, but Lippok and Jestram have kept active with other projects. They’ve collaborated with Masha Qrella, Immersion, and Iggy Pop; worked on radio plays with Kai Grehn, some based on the writing of Nick Cave (»The Sick Bag Song«, featuring Tilda Swinton, Paula Beer and Alexander Fehling) and William S. Burroughs (»The Cat Inside«); and made music for several radio-tatorts (radio plays based on »Tatort«, a long-running German police TV series) by playwright Tom Peuckert.

Both voracious and committed in their creative energies, Jestram and Lippok report back from these experiments with »Nuts of Ay«, one of their most compelling, deeply lustrous, dreamlike albums yet. They say there was no concept for the album, which is surprising, perhaps, given its holistic mood, explaining it »grew together like a coral reef in the studio over a period of several years«. There’s something to be said for letting an album gather and mutate naturally, without an overarching framework in place, and »Nuts of Ay« certainly feels like an unforced collection of material that nonetheless inhabits a similar space, one where guitars twist like driftwood next to amorphous, aqueous electronics, Lippok’s droll yet completely convincing vocal delivery riding songs that pulse and plume with curious, unpredictable rhythms.

But you can also hear elements – submerged but still present – of other music that’s inspired the duo: they’ve drawn some connections for us with psychedelic folk, Bowie in Berlin, Burial, and the film music of Popol Vuh and Krzysztof Komeda. This music shares a strong sense of place – whether in the world, or the mind – and the twelve songs on »Nuts of Ay« have such similar presence; a shared mood, a shared world, a shared sense of the possibilities of what electronic pop music could, and should, be. A bold and brave pop experiment.

Artwork by Carsten Nicolai
Mastering by Bo Kondren, Calyx Berlin

»Trapdoor Spider«, »On Waves and Years« & »Breaking Day«: lyrics by Milner Place
»All Nuns«: lyrics by Derek Jarman
»USA«: lyrics by Shane MacGowan
»Down Comes the Goose«: lyrics from a traditional song
»Forever Blowing Bubbles«: lyrics by Jaan Kenbrovin
»Everybody Had a Hard Year«: lyrics by John Lennon

Dischi Fantom’s Sussurra Luce series, blurring the boundaries between text, music and voice, returns with their fifth instalment, an expanded version of Hanne Lippard’s “Talk Shop”. Sculpting a fascinating bridge between radically experimental sound practice, conceptual art, and sound poetry, across its two sides the Berlin based multidisciplinary artist taps an almost dada sensibility, delivering a suite of poems and texts where singular words and sentences are looped and repeated creating a sensory experience of the efficiency and stress found in our private as well as public life.

Roughly a year ago, we had the pleasure of exploring the first two releases from Dischi Fantom’s emerging Sussurra Luce series, Ginevra Bompiani, Caterina Barbieri, and Tomoko Sauvage’s “Il Calore Animale” and Francesco Cavaliere’s “Zoomachia Disc 1”. An extension of the Milan based cultural platform Fantom’s broad and diverse activities (exhibitions, installations, performances, etc.) across numerous artistic disciplines, the series, curated by Francesco Cavaliere and Massimo Torrigiani, delves into the “science of imagination”, working with contemporary authors to explore and blur the boundaries between text, music and voice. Now the brilliant series returns with its latest entry, the Berlin based multidisciplinary artist Hanne Lippard’s “Talk Shop”. Released in a limited edition of 200 copies and coming with an LP-sized booklet, it combines orality and textuality with the idea of loop and repetition to explore the notion of time, and it’s a stunning gesture of performative poetics that plums a startling range of subjects through its sonorous forms.

Working across the fields of text, vocal performance, sound installation, printed objects and sculpture, for more than a decade Hanne Lippard has deployed language as the raw material for her work. Working within a practice that rests at the juncture of the spoken and written word, drawing upon content appropriated from the public sphere (found text) intertwined with her own words, Lippard’s work investigates how the rise in digital communication and mediation reprograms our relationship to language, presenting the subsequent fragility of language - its flaws, oddities, and potential for misinterpretation - and its attempts to convey meaning and sense.

“Talk Shop”, the fifth instalment of Dischi Fantom’s Sussurra Luce series and Lippard’s third recorded release - building upon the ground of 2020's “Work”, issued by Collapsing Market, and 2021's “PigeonPostParis”, released by Boomkat Editions - began as a live performance. Combining orality and textuality with the idea of loop and repetition to explore the notion of time, its relationship with the world of work today, and its personification through the experience of the human body - anonymity as the spearhead of the digital economy - the conceptual underpinnings of the piece depart from the notion that the human voice has become commodified by the ubiquitous nature of contemporary productivity, and intertwined with the mechanics of capital - the voices of satnavs, smart speakers and voicemail systems - while the written word has become increasingly anonymous online.

Addressing vocal anonymity as a spearhead of the digital economy, Lippard’s “Talk Shop” - regarded by the artist as “a compilation of poems and texts where singular words and sentences are looped and repeated creating a sensory experience of the efficiency and stress found in our private as well as public life” - taps an almost dada sensibility through its unexpected layers of meanings drawn from a maximalized approach to the potential of the human voice, creating an engrossing and challenging listen from the first sounding to the last, that continues to reveal itself and unfold with every return.

Sculpting a fascinating bridge between radically experimental sound practice, conceptual art, and sound poetry, it culminates as one of the most strikingly singular creative gestures we’re likely to encounter this year. Highly recommended and not to be missed.

Hanne Lippard (Milton Keynes, 1984) explores the social forms that govern discourse. Her artistic practice, which mainly takes the form of reading and sound installations, investigates the voice as an instrument of emancipation and alienation in times of hyper-connectivity. By mixing personal thoughts and appropriating texts from advertising, slogans and newspaper articles, the text becomes a mix of private and public that regains inventiveness and authorship through the use of the voice, becoming a body of its own. Her recent artistic research has focused on the use of the female body as a container of sounds, on the conscious and unconscious automation of speech and language.

Equal parts soft and sorrowful, Myriam Gendron’s stunning Not So Deep As A Well LP became something of a sleeper hit upon its initial release back in 2014. Her debut album shone a warm lamp-light glow upon a curious and captivating new voice in the Quebecois folk world.
Nearly ten years on from its release in her native Canada and America, Not So Deep As A Well gets a European release for the first time this autumn, with a new pressing on the Basin Rock label (Julie Byrne, Aoife Nessa Frances, Trevor Beales, Juni Habel) which features two tracks not included on the original release - ‘Bric-à-brac’ and ‘The Small Hours’ - both written and recorded in the early days of 2014.
Recorded alone in her apartment, with no knowledge of sound engineering, it could almost be a lost artefact, a dust-lined document of a forgotten time and place. Taking the poems of Dorothy Parker, whose work Gendron stumbled upon by chance in a Montreal bookstore, she imbues the words with a graceful, gentle expression, a lingering sense of sorrow always present.
A stark, spellbinding collection, Not So Deep As A Well is raw and unyielding in so many ways we no longer expect to hear. As if sitting in the room with her, Gendron’s voice is cracked and unadorned, quietly forced into a push and pull between

Here, gleaming tensile techno forms clean, straight lines while scratchy acoustic guitars scuff up edges to produce

ghostly audio. Poetry is snatched from the overhead, removed from the overheard; words borrowed from the ether are

spun into dizzying new shapes, sometimes reappearing in new settings, twisted back to front, side to side. Each track a

very different room - some soundtracked by little more than metronomic kick drum and robotic voice, others deep in

layer upon layer of melody and euphoric noise - and each room unmistakably, uniquely Underworld. The only advice

from Underworld’s Rick Smith and Karl Hyde upon entering: “Please don’t shuffle.”

Strawberry Hotel features the singles ‘and the colour red’ and ‘denver luna’, as well as new release ‘Black Poppies’ - a

celestial love song, a hymn to the universe and to boundless, positive change. Ambient and beatless, Black Poppies is

a celebration of full dancefloors and the beauty of life itself.

Underworld are Rick Smith and Karl Hyde. Their peerless first album - dubnobasswithmyheadman - was released to universal acclaim in 1994. In the thirty years since that mould breaking debut, the band have established their reputation as one of the most groundbreaking and important electronic acts of all time, one that constantly pushes creative boundaries, twists genres, and refuses to stay still. In those thirty years, their music has soundtracked approximately 100,000,000 nights out, and the mornings after. In the past year alone, Underworld have played live in front of over half a million people across the globe.

Joni Mitchell Gets Jazzy, Counterbalances Love and Trust with Freedom and Confusion on Court and Spark


Mobile Fidelity's UltraDisc One-Step 180g 45RPM 2LP
Plays with Definitive Detail and Clarity: Pressed on MoFi SuperVinyl Strictly Limited to 5,000 Numbered Copies
Box Set Features New Liner Notes
1/4" / 15 IPS / Dolby A analogue master to DSD 256 to analogue console to lathe


Court and Spark, the most commercially successful album of Joni Mitchell's trailblazing career, arrived after a year in which she took some time to breathe and kept a low profile. The pause led to more breakthroughs for the singer-songwriter. Marking Mitchell's increasing drift toward jazz (and affinity for Miles Davis and John Coltrane), Court and Spark garnered four Grammy nominations, earned the Best Album of the Year vote in the prestigious Pazz & Jop poll, and ranks #110 on Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

Sourced from the original analog master tapes, pressed at Fidelity Record Pressing on MoFi SuperVinyl, strictly limited to 5,000 numbered copies, and featuring new liner notes, Mobile Fidelity's UltraDisc One-Step 180g 45RPM 2LP box set presents the 1974 classic with definitive detail, tonality, and directness. Marking the first time the revered LP has received audiophile-quality treatment, it's one of six iconic 1970s Mitchell records Mobile Fidelity is reissuing on vinyl and SACD sets.

Benefitting from a virtually nonexistent noise floor, dead-quiet surfaces, and superior groove definition, this collectible edition reproduces without compromise the textures, details, and breathtaking craftsmanship that help make Court and Spark into what many fans believe is the Canadian native’s finest hour. Notes bloom and decay as they do amid an acoustic live environment. Soundstages extend far and deep, with black backgrounds and balanced tones adding to the uncanny realism.

The reference-grade presence and openness put in transparent view Mitchell’s incisive words and unique phrasing, as well as the contributions of her prized support musicians — including Tom Scott and the L.A. Express as well as guest turns by the likes of David Crosby, Graham Nash, Jose Feliciano, and Robbie Robertson. Mitchell, experimenting with the melodic parameters of guitar and piano, is rightly found at the center of it all. The jazz-rock rhythms of drummer John Guerin, slippery guitar lines of Larry Carlton, vibrant horns and reeds laid down by Scott — crucial to the songs’ shape-shifting arrangements — can now also be heard with fresh ears.

Visually and physically, the packaging of the Court and Spark UD1S set complements its distinguished status. Housed in a deluxe slipcase, both LPs come in foil-stamped jackets with faithful graphics that illuminate the splendor of the recording. This reissue is for listeners who desire to engage themselves in everything involved with the album, including Mitchell’s “The Mountain Loves the Sea” painting — a picture of waves embracing and receding away from a mountain, a metaphor for the record’s lyrical themes — on the cover art.

Pitching deceptively light compositions against underlying tensions, Court and Spark witnesses the singer-songwriter finding her footing with a group of top-shelf musicians who seemingly understand her visions as well as expanding her lyrical palette and venturing further into territory no artist had dared explore. Mitchell’s accessibly complex structures, beat-propelled rhythms, and spirited interplay with Scott & Co. both give the music a different identity than her prior efforts and point in the directions she soon headed.

Lyrically, Court and Spark matches the wit, integrity, originality, and intellect of anything in Mitchell’s oeuvre — no small feat. Offsetting positives with negatives, and considering circumstances from multiple angles, Mitchell explores issues connected to love and freedom, certainty and confusion, and trust and fear with unfettered boldness and introspective empathy. She teeters between surrender and retreat, and spends a majority of the record sussing out the complications and sacrifices involved with such actions.

Mitchell addresses the transactional nature of desire (the intimate title track, the upbeat “Raised on Robbery,” complete with rock ‘n’ roll pep from Robertson and zesty sax from Scott); anticipation and disappointment of romance (“Car on a Hill,” “”Down to You); fame and celebrity (“A Free Man in Paris,” “People’s Parties”); and sanity (the dark and stormy “Trouble Child,” a satirical cover of Annie Ross’ “Twisted”). Throughout, she sings with an emotionally penetrating beauty and devastating honesty that teaches about ourselves.

Or, as Mitchell relays on “People’s Parties”: “Laughing and crying/You know it’s the same release.”

Limited Edition Picture Disc. Including Silver/Chrome Obi Sticker and Silver Postcard with album titles and info in English and Bengali. Housed in PVC sleeve.

ICCHĀ is an international collaboration project that originated in 2023 in Dhaka, Bangladesh. The work "Chant For Hope" was realized by Miet Warlop and created on site with local performers while Micha Volders composed the musical context. The performance acts as a monumental living sculpture, in which the physical process of casting hundreds of Bengali words in plaster becomes the driving force to create a playing field between performers, public space, and participation. Woven through this performative context are more complex relationships that explore the tension between humans and language. As the words become so visible and tangible, an image of their inner bearing and our dealings with them emerges.

The recordings of this performance have been adapted and enhanced to create an album that reflects the energy and expands upon the sound created in Dhaka. ICCHĀ is the Bengali wording of "desire," and reflects the eagerness and urgency felt within the process of this collaboration. In conjunction with the seven performers, a sonic adventure emerges that thrives on the energetic rendering of the Bangla language through transient patterns and snappy melodic figures. The album will be released on 24.05.24 as vinyl picture disc and digital, and will be available as a pre-order online and in local selected record shops.

Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"

. For Fans Of: The Weather Station, Weyes Blood, Adrianne Lenker, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Shelley, Lana Del Rey, Cass McCombs, Angel Olsen & Neil Young. Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur’s court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word “Camelot” accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of “utopia.” In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson’s 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python’s 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armoured knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys’s profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy’s White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle’s Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one’s own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. “Back in Camelot,” she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, “I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry.” The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping “in the unfinished basement,” an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above “sirens and desert deities.” If she questions her own agency whether she is “wishing stones were standing” or just “pissing in the wind” it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of “multi-felt dimensions” both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of “Camelot,” with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to “Some Friends,” an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises—“bright and beaming verses” versus hot curses which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020’s achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory “Earthsong,” bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to … a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?). Those whom “Trust” accuses of treacherous oaths spit through “gilded and golden tooth” cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in “Louis”: “What’s that dance / and can it be done? What’s that song / and can it be sung?” Answering affirmatively are “Lucky #8,” an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the “tidal pools of pain” and the “theory of collapse,” and “Full Moon in Leo,” which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and “big hair.” But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle’s confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on “Lucky #8,” special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle’s beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia’s FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad “Blowing Kisses” Pallett’s crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX’s The Bear Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: “No words to fumble with / I’m not a beggar to language any longer.” Such rare moments of speechlessness “I’m so fucking honoured,” she bluntly proclaims suggest a state “only a god could come up with.” (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the “charts and diagrams” of “Lucky #8,” a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in “Full Moon in Leo,” the bloody invocations of the organ-stained “Mary Miracle,” and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with “Fractal Canyon”s repeated, exalted insistence that she’s “not alone here.” But where is here? The word “utopia” itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek “eutopia,” or “good-place” the facet most remembered today and “outopia,” or “no-place,” a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary

After working within various collectives, rapper Davodka is celebrating his ten-year solo career with the album "Heritage." With a myriad of concerts in France and Europe, 6 solo albums, and features with the entire French independent rap scene (Demi Portion, Melan, Dooz Kawa, 3ème Œil, Swift Guad...), Davodka is known for his incisive words and the speed of his flow, making him one of the leading lyricists.

This new album is the heritage of the past ten years, where the artist takes a step back and captures the universe in which he has evolved, paying homage to it through music. The rapper's lyrics have never been more personal. He addresses rarely discussed topics in rap, such as his depression in the track "Arc en ciel," his relationship with his autistic child in "Enfant bulle," and his awareness of the difficulty in having completely selfless relationships as an artist in "On naît seul, on meurt seul."

"Heritage" attests to Davodka's undeniable place in conscious rap, notably with the track "Avec des mots," where he shares the mic with Sinik, an emblematic artist of the golden age of French rap. Although Sinik, a French artist with countless certifications, had announced the end of his career two years earlier, he makes an exception for Davodka and records a powerful track in homage to all those who come from the bottom.

Davodka, true to himself and his audience, primarily raps over boom bap and trap beats; however, he ventures into unknown territories, notably in "On naît seul, on meurt seul," where he adopts a ragga flow, and "Feuille froissée," with its auto-tuned chorus. He also takes the time to pay homage to the beginning of his career, when he was part of the MSD collective, by reprising a verse written at the time in the track "Les minots dorment – Remix."

Join him on October 25, 2024, to discover "Heritage," Davodka's 7th album. He will be touring throughout France, Switzerland, and Belgium, and in Paris at the Cabaret Sauvage on December 5, 2024, for the release party.

Psych, space, kraut and drones from songwriter Julius Lind and his trio with members from Action & Tension & Space, The Megaphonic Thrift and Gold Celeste. Arising from the Norwegian alternative scene they experiment with a vibrant mix of genres and refer to many golden eras on the history of pop and rock music! The album was recorded in Studio Paradiso with Christian Engfelt (Cato Salsa Experience) as technician and co-producer in 2023.

"The Night The Zombies Came is Pixies’ tenth album, if you count their classic 1987 4AD mini LP Come On Pilgrim, and first new music since 2022’s acclaimed Doggerel LP. 13 new songs that find Pixies looking ahead to the most cinematic record of their career. Songwriter, vocalist and guitarist Black Francis explains: “Fragments that are related and juxtaposed with other fragments in other songs. And in a collection of songs in a so-called LP, you end up making a kind of movie.” Druidism, apocalyptic shopping malls, mediaeval themed restaurants, 12th century poetic form, surf rock, gargoyles, bog people, and the distinctive dry drum sound of 1970s era Fleetwood Mac are just some of the disparate wonders that inform the new songs. For the new album recording sessions the band returned to work with producer Tom Dalgety, who drummer David Lovering refers to as “a fifth Pixie” after producing 2016’s Head Carrier, 2019’s Beneath the Eyrie and 2022’s Doggerel. Early on in the recording process at Guilford Sound studio in Vermont, the band noticed the new songs were dividing into two camps: what they came to call the “Dust Bowl Songs” - country-tinged, ballad-esque numbers such as ‘Primrose’ and ‘Mercy Me’, and on the other side, the album’s furious punk numbers such as ‘You’re So Impatient’ and ‘Oyster Beds’. Only ‘Jane (The Night the Zombies Came)’ keeps its feet in both camps — reminiscent of early 60s Phil Spector, the band hitting the sweet spot between mushy and abrasive, it’s a track that Black Francis allegedly likened to being chased by a swarm of bees.
The Night The Zombies Came sessions also saw Pixies welcoming new bass player Emma Richardson (Band Of Skulls) to the line up; the first British band member to join the group. There’s also an expanded role for guitarist Joey Santiago. After contributing his first-ever Pixies lyrics on Doggerel, for the new record Santiago wrote the words to ‘Hypnotised’ by completing a complex lyrical riddle of sorts, known as a sestina.
The Night The Zombies Came is released via BMG on CD, black vinyl"

“Friends, they are my ticket out of this place I am in… feels like nothing more than a dirt bike vacation stop between Phoenix and San Diego.” Dirt Bike Vacation—for Worried Songs Records—explores the sonic world of the late amateur guitar player, Charles ‘Poppy Bob’ Walker, through a captivating set of instrumental songs made in the mid-1980s. Recorded on a single-track, Marantz field recorder, the project is a transportive document of Walker’s days spent as a meatpacking employee in Yuma, Arizona and the dailiness of that existence: driving to work, sitting in his backyard, walking around drunkenly, unwinding on the couch with a friend. These sketches, showing an experimental tendency, are surprisingly ahead of their time; some exhibit ad hoc tape delay (“Granite Bluffs,” “Goodbye YMCA”), while others make use of primitive overdubbing (“Continuation to Moon Doctor”). Not dissimilar to works such as Bruce Langhorne’s The Hired Hand soundtrack, Walker’s guitar playing is melodic, texturally rich and beautifully sober. On a musical tour from Nashville to Los Angeles, musician-archivist, Cameron Knowler, uncovered these songs from a series of dusty cassette tapes housed at a branch of the Yuma County Library. Originally tipped off by cryptic metadata entries found through an online finding aid, Knowler requested a sound sample and was immediately drawn in by their eerie, yet hopeful nature: “I didn’t care what they sounded like at first, but once I heard just a few seconds, I had to find out everything I could about Charles, who he was, and if he was still alive.” As it turns out, the two had miraculously crossed paths over 20 years prior when Cameron was a young boy accompanying his mother, a gem trader, on a biyearly sojourn to Quartzsite, a town 80 miles north of Yuma: “Charles, sitting down and smoking in a recliner, withdrawn, held what I now understand to be a mid-1990s Martin D-28 guitar. Unlike other old-timers, his instrument was sharply tuned and had a nice sound, even to my young and uncalibrated ears. Though his left hand showed signs of highly developed arthritis, his musical ideas were animated by a palpably deep understanding of fretboard anatomy, arrangement and harmony.” Sorting through the index cards associated with these tapes, Knowler was able to gain a detailed sense of most recording’s provenance, whereabouts and time: Walker’s Datsun pickup truck chugging along boiling hot Interstate 80, the Marine Corps Air Station parking lot, the Eastern Wetlands on the banks of the Colorado River, a fishing trip to Martinez Lake. Trying to reduce the amount of his own subjectivities coloring the work, Cameron constructed titles and track sequences by borrowing information gleaned from Charles’ handwritten notes: “I tried to organize everything by time of day, giving the listener the sense of how a Yuma day might sound and feel like, and each song title—even the record itself—is borrowed from his own words.” This proved no small task, as many notecards had to be deciphered and then coupled with their native tapes which needed extensive restoration treatments. The result is a project very much out of the blue, and one that is intensely personal to Knowler, having grown up in the same town under similar circumstances. “It feels like a part of my own journey as a guitarist reckoning with the defining marks of a gothic border town,” he remarks. “At the time I would’ve met Walker, I didn’t have much outside influence, but he has been in there all the while.” In their current form, the tracks combine to create a sonic journey that boldly contributes to the traditions of acoustic guitar soli, archival digs and field recordings all the same; most importantly, it is a creative document which shows a day-in-the-life of a man grappling with the human experience under a ubiquitous Yuma sun.