Suche:the narrator

Felicia Atkinson’s music always puts the listener somewhere in particular. There are two categories of place that are important to »Image Langage«: the house and the landscape. Inside and outside, different ways of orienting a body towards the world. They are in dialogue, insofar as in the places Atkinson made this record—Leman Lake, during a residency at La Becque in Switzerland, and at her home on the wild coast of Normandy—the landscape is what is waiting for you when you leave the house, and vice-versa. Each threatens—or is it offers, kindly, even promises? —to dissolve the other. Recognizing the normalization of home studios these days, she revisited twentieth-century women artists who variously chose, and were chosen by, their homes as a place to work: the desert retreats of Agnes Martin and Georgia O’Keefe, the life and death of Sylvia Plath. Building a record is like building a house: a structure in which one can encounter oneself, each room a song with its own function in the project of everyday life.

At times listening to »Image Langage« is immediate, something like visiting a house by the sea, sharing the same ground, being invited to witness Atkinson’s acts of seeing, hearing, and reading in a sonic double of the places they occurred. In an aching moment of clarity in »The Lake is Speaking,« a pair of voices emerge out of the primordial murk of piano and organ, accompanying the listener to the edge of a reflective pool that makes a mirror of the cosmos. "I open my feet to fresh dirt, and the wet grass. I hold your hand. You hold his hand. In the distance without any distance. The comets, the stars." At other times, listening to »Image Langage« is more like being in a theatre, the composition a tangle of flickering forms and media that illuminate as best they can the darkness from which we experience it. On »Pieces of Sylvia,« a noirish orchestra drones and clatters beneath and around a montage of vocal images, stretching the listener across time, space, subjectivities. Atkinson says that "Image Langage" is like the fake title of a fake Godard film. There is indeed something cinematic about Atkinson’s work—not cinematic in the sense that it sounds like the score for someone else’s film, but cinematic in the sense that it produces its own images and langage and narratives, a kind of deliberate, dimensional world-building in sound.

»Image Langage« is built from instruments recorded as if field recordings, sound-images of instruments conjured from a keyboard, instruments Atkinson treats like characters, what she calls “a fantasy of an orchestra that doesn’t exist.” And then, speaking of Godard, there are the monologues, operating as both experimental-cinematic device and a literary style of narration. Voice can be a writerly anchor or a wisp of a textural presence. Atkinson’s capacious and slippery speech plunges into and out of the compositional depths, shifting shapes, channelling the voices of any number of beings, subjectivities, or elements of her surroundings—not unlike her midi keyboard, able to speak as a vast array of instruments.

»Image Langage« is an environmental record, in the vastest sense of the world. It is about getting lost in places imagined and real; it registers, too, the dizzying feeling of moving between such sites. It puts forth a concept of self that is hopelessly entangled with the rest of the world, born of both the ache of distance and the warmth of proximity.

For Félicia Atkinson, human voices inhabit an ecology alongside and within many other things that don’t speak, in the conventional sense: landscapes, images, books, memories, ideas. The French electro-acoustic composer and visual artist makes music that animates these other possible voices in conversation with her own, collaging field recording, MIDI instrumentation, and snippets of essayistic langage in both French and English. Her own voice, always shifting to make space, might whisper from the corner or assume another character’s tone. Atkinson uses composing as a way to process imaginative and creative life, frequently engaging with the work of visual artists, filmmakers, and novelists. Her layered compositions tell stories that alternately stretch and fold time and place, stories in which she is the narrator but not the protagonist.

"The letter X marks the spot, crosses over, literally with a cross. It’s the former, the ex-. The ex-lover known simply as “an ex”. Ex- is the latin prefix meaning “out”. Exterior, an exit. Extraordinary. Excellent. It’s exciting. Generation X. X-files. X is the unknown. X is Extreme“

Extreme is Molly Nilsson’s tenth studio album. Recorded in 2019 and throughout the 2020 global pandemic at home in Berlin, Extreme is a departure for Nilsson, an explosion of angry love. It’s an album of anthems for the jilted generation, soaked with joy and offering solace, bristling with distorted, Metal guitars and planet-sized choruses that bring light to the dark centre of the galaxy. It’s an album of the times, by the times and for the people. It’s a record about power. About how to fight it, how to take it and how to share it.

Absolute Power explodes with massive guitars, double kick beats and the instantly iconic line “It’s me versus the black hole at the centre of the galaxy.” Nilsson’s performance itself portrays absolute power in its confidence but the song is a call-to-arms, an entreaty to grasp the here and now, to take the power back. It’s Nilsson pacing the ring and we’re instantly in her corner. Earth Girls takes familiar Molly Nilsson themes - female empowerment and subverting the patriarchy - but casually throws in one of the choruses of her career. “Women have no place in this world” she sings, but it’s the world that isn’t good enough. Stadium-sized but still warmly hazy, Earth Girls has its fists in the air, glorifying in harmony, almost ecstatic in its feeling good. Nilsson’s Springsteen-level conviction and righteousness bleeds through the speaker cones, the cognitive dissonance between the song’s cadences and angry lyrics redolent of Bruce in his prime. Female empowerment isn’t always an angry energy on Extreme, however. On Fearless Like A Child, Nilsson’s anthem to the female body and women’s sovereignty of it, she croons over a mid-80s blue-eyed Soul groove. It sets a nocturnal scene as the narrator surveys her past and her surroundings. Before we’re fully submerged in a dreamlike, Steve McQueen-era Prefab Sprout poem to learning from your mistakes the song erupts into one of those lines only Molly Nilsson can get away with: “I love my womb, come inside I feel so alive” she fervently sings. Against the backdrop of ever-encroaching, conservative rulings on women’s reproductive rights in places like Texas, it’s simultaneously angry and full of love.

Every song on Extreme is a gleaming gem in a pouch of jewels. On Kids Today, Nilsson is the voice of wisdom, archly commenting on the eternal struggle between youth and authority. Wisdom infuses Sweet Smell Of Success with a transcendent love that forgives the narrator’s shortcomings and celebrates the moment, it’s a letter to the author from the author that asks “what is success” and concludes that this is it, this song, this moment. It’s a rare moment of simple reflection that is generous in its insight to Nilsson’s inner life. “Success” is a tool of power and we don’t need it… We need power tools and there are moments on Extreme where it feels like Nilsson is showing us how to find them. It's an open conversation through out Extreme. She’s a warm, comforting presence through out the album and specially on these songs of encouragement, songs perhaps sang to a younger Molly Nilsson or, really, to whomever needs to hear them. “They’ll praise your efforts, they’ll call you slurs a rebel, a master, an amateur / Merely with your own existence, you already offer your resistance.” On Avoid Heaven she’s even more direct, pleading with us to avoid concepts of purity and to embrace the glorious, ebullient, emotional mess we’re often in as a method of upending the power structures who need things to be perfect.

They Will Pay brings back the big, distorted power chords in the form of a agit-punk, pop slammer. Of course, when Molly Nilsson does punk pop we get the catchiest chorus this side of The Bangles or The Nerves. It’s rendered in an off the cuff, throwaway manner that is just perfect in its roughness. However, it’s on Pompeii that Nilsson delivers the album’s epic, emotional heartbreaker. Like 1995 on Nilsson’s album Zenith, or Days Of Dust on Twenty Twenty, the lyrics of Pompeii are heavy with a transcendent sadness, an aching poetry that cuts to the truth of the heart like the best Leonard Cohen lines, though here delivered with an uplifting, life-affirming love. It contains the most personal moments of Extreme, a song lit by the dying embers of romance. Yet it’s here where the alchemy at the base of all Nilsson’s best work is found. Turning small nuggets of personal truth into big, generous universal moments that invite everyone to cry, to love and to fight the power. In an album of jewels, it might be the shining star.

Molly Nilsson’s biggest, boldest and most vital album to date, Extreme is about power. Against the love of power and for the power of love.

After turning heads with the densely orchestrated Riddles, produced by Dan Deacon, the Baltimore-based duo Ed Schrader’s Music Beat have given us another giant leap forward with their fourth record Nightclub Daydreaming. The whiplash-inducing stylistic shifts between aggressive noise rock and operatic gloom pop that have become the band’s trademark have given way to a single aesthetic that fuses both impulses. On Nightclub Daydreaming, menace teems just below the surface as propulsive, stark arrangements leave space that Schrader fills with strident, reverb-soaked narration.

LIMITED GOLD VINYL w/ Download Card

When Ed Schrader and Devlin Rice began writing the record in 2019, the idea was to make a fun, danceable album, but an underlying moodiness proved unshakeable. As Schrader puts it, “The cave followed us into the discotheque.”

The duo road-tested the songs “This Thirst,” “Echo Base” and “Black Pearl” with drummer Kevin O’Meara on tour with Dan Deacon in February 2020. COVID restrictions cut the tour short, squashed plans to go immediately into the studio and sent the touring party on a sprint from LA to Baltimore. “We broke down outside Roswell,” Schrader recalls. “And these cops laughed at our dumb asses as we used all our pent-up stress and fear to propel our half-submerged bus out of the muck, yelling epithets to the sky.”

It was one of the last experiences they had with O’Meara, whose death in October 2020 weighed heavily on Rice and Schrader’s minds as they worked on the record. It was also a cathartic moment that presaged the aesthetic that would permeate the songs on Nightclub Daydreaming: “mad euphoria in the face of doom,” as Schrader puts it.

“This Thirst” is an alienation-fueled barn burner barely restraining itself through musically sparse, lyrically dense verses to culminate in a howling, synth-saturated chorus that beats horror punk at its own game. “Came from the north with a twisted planetarium, rock salt, nervous tic and novocaine,” Schrader sings, assuming the guise of a vagrant whose irresistible urges lead him through a fever dream of chemicals, back-alley bartering and existential threats.

The hyperactive “Echo Base” exudes agitated-cool, with breakneck drum fills and a relentless bass line. The narrator is stranded in a frozen landscape and running out of options. “She is just a night train away,” we are assured, and yet we sense that may not be an altogether good thing.

The band recorded and mixed Nightclub Daydreaming over a two-week period with Craig Bowen at Tempo House in Baltimore with David Jacober on drums, turning demos with artificial sounds and placeholder melodies into fully realized songs playable by a live band. The end result is not the album of “sunny disco bangers” that Rice says the band set out for, but something deeper, darker and more rewarding.

Tripe. It’s what graces the cover of Cassels’ third album, A Gut Feeling. It looks gross. And Cassels are a rock band who’ve often sounded gross. You know the adjectives. ‘Discordant’. ‘Angular’. ‘Cynical’. Shellac quickly mentioned. I’ve done it already, see?Listening to A Gut Feeling, though, Cassels sound different. Not too different – the molten riff of advance single ‘Mr Henderson Coughs’ puts paid to the idea that the London-based duo have taken a hard 180. But instead of writing as quickly as possible, riding the churn forced on DIY bands by an indifferent ecosystem, the Covid-19 pandemic gave the brothers Beck (Jim, guitar/vocals, and Loz, drums/BVs) some time to mull things over. Instead of sticking with the stripped-back recording approach of previous LPs, Jim and Loz spent time at Tom Hill’s Bookhouse Studios in South London, considering tone, layering tracks, and bringing new instruments into the fold. Lyrically, the approach has changed too. Rather than presented as personal experience, Jim notes that his words this time around “are an intentionally muddy mix of experience, opinion, red herrings and fiction,” adding, “I found that setting myself the brief of writing character pieces offered a nice way of sneaking quite personal things into the songs without being explicitly autobiographical.” The result is the most satisfying and unexpected collection of songs in the Cassels catalogue. Instruments at turns razor-sharp and bludgeon-blunt provide the backing track to a savage, hilarious, and tender collection of short stories. Jim notes that “writing can be a great way of unearthing hang-ups and becoming acquainted with your own anxieties”. Hardly new ground for a rock band, but presented in this third person format – unbiased and filled to the brim with human warmth – these songs are more empathetic than anything the band have written before. You might have been Michael on his daily commute. Perhaps you’re Sarah, or have a mum like her. And many of us will recognise ourselves in the heart-breaking ‘Family Visits Relative’. It’s clear that the band still aren’t afraid to tackle weighty subjects too, with A Gut Feeling picking up where their previous album, The Perfect Ending, left off. ‘Charlie Goes Skiing’ pulls a similar trick to Future of the Left’s ‘Goals in Slow Motion’ – setting a screed against consumerism to one of the most propulsive, catchy tracks on the record. It’s followed by ‘Dog Drops Bone’, a rustling loop overlaid with sad, simple chords reminiscent of a Sparklehorse tune, which uses the internal monologue of a beloved canine companion to question the true depth and sincerity of human relationships. This kicks into the breakneck ‘Beth’s Recurring Dream’ – a track exploring a sexual identity crisis which owes as much to early Los Campesinos! as it does Steve Albini. Of ‘Your Humble Narrator’, the album’s punishing, pulsing opener and A Gut Feeling’s thematic frame, Jim explains: “I liked the idea of introducing an unreliable narrator who frames the album as an exercise in manipulation for personal gain. When a person engages with a piece of art they are invariably being manipulated by the artist to some degree – that’s part of the fun. The artist aims to elicit some sort of emotional response, the audience buys into the conceit at the promise of experiencing some form of escape.” as listeners, we experience that manipulation first-hand on A Gut Feeling. But the fact Cassels have packaged it up as offal feels like another bleak wink. This is far from a stinking by-product, salvaged and sold to maximise profit. It’s nothing less than the most complete, relatable, and fully realised piece of art the duo has produced to date. Emotional response elicited. Conceit embraced.

As funny as it may sound, Anaïs Mitchell has spent the past 15 years in some kind of hell. OK, not actual hell, but the multi-faceted world of Hadestown, a musical project she began in Vermont in 2006 that has grown into a Tony®- and Grammy®-award-winning Broadway phenomenon with touring editions now delighting audiences as far away as South Korea.

“I experienced so much joy working on Hadestown, but it just kept ramping up and up and requiring more and more attention,” Mitchell admits. “I had to become so single-minded and really put blinders on to my other creative life.” As it did for many artists, the COVID-19 pandemic unexpectedly offered Mitchell a blank slate to reconnect with her own music. The result is a new self-titled album made with close collaborators from Bon Iver, The National and her own band Bonny Light Horseman, Mitchell’s first collection of all-new material under her own name since 2012’s Young Man in America.

“I was nine months pregnant when the pandemic reached New York, so we made an 11th hour decision to leave and have the baby in Vermont,” Mitchell recalls. “We left the city and had the baby a week later, and then like everyone, we were in the midst of this unprecedented stillness. It felt like I could see behind me: oh, there’s New York City. There’s Hadestown. There’s my life with just one kid. A certain kind of stress and expectations. In Vermont, we moved onto my family farm and lived in my grandparents’ old house, with a new baby. I’d look at pictures on my phone from a few months earlier and wonder, whose life was that? This record, and the songs that are on it, came out of that time. I got into a flow again that I hadn’t felt in a really long time.”

Dubbed by NPR as “one of the greatest songwriters of her generation,” Mitchell is a master of the worlds of narrative folksong, poetry and balladry. Those talents are evident from the first moments of the new album, as Mitchell narrates what she calls “an unbearably romantic” trip over the Brooklyn Bridge colored by Bon Iver member Michael Lewis’ heartstring-tugging saxophone accompaniment. “Having left New York, I was able to write a love letter to it in a way I never could when I was living there,” she says. “It was like, fuck it. This is how I feel. There is nothing more beautiful than riding over one of the New York bridges at night next to someone who inspires you.”

Produced by Mitchell’s Bonny Light Horseman bandmate Josh Kaufman, the album proceeds to chronicle Mitchell’s reconnection with the Vermont roots that have been so formative in her life and music. “Bright Star” finds her making peace with the idea of being at peace in the familiar setting of her grandparents’ house, while “Revenant” was inspired by paging through a box of journals and letters belonging to herself and her grandmother — “a very pandemic activity,” she says. “That house is literally my happy place. I can picture myself as a kid, in this house, laying on the carpet with a sunbeam coming through the sliding glass door. There’s something about it that is really connected in my mind to my childhood and a very free, imaginative, creative time. “Revenant” has a lot to do with that house and reconnecting with my childhood self.”

Mitchell concedes that she tends “to be someone who thinks it has to be hard in order for it to be good or beautiful,” but that feeling has changed, partly thanks to her deep connection with musicians she’s met through the 37d03d collective established by The National’s Aaron and Bryce Dessner and Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon. During the pandemic, some of those artists participated in a “song a day” writing group — an idea Mitchell says is usually “totally opposite of how I roll. But it really helped me to gain access to some kind of trust and intuition and flow. I began a bunch of these songs while doing that.”

“It unlocked something that allowed me to finish a bunch of songs I’d been sitting on, and feeling a bit paralyzed about how to finish them,” she continues. “Because no one was touring, it’s not like I was playing them for anyone before we were in the studio. In other times, I’ve trotted things out in advance. Here, it was like, here’s all these brand new songs. Let’s discover what they can be. That was really exciting.”

That discovery process took flight at Dreamland Recording Studios outside Woodstock, N.Y., which Mitchell describes as “this weird, janky, beautiful church - it’s my favorite studio in the world.” Kaufman, Lewis and Big Red Machine drummer JT Bates formed a core band around Mitchell, while Aaron Dessner and Thomas Bartlett joined the sessions mid-week on guitar and piano, respectively.

After the appropriate COVID tests came back negative, “it was a pretty extraordinary feeling to hug, kiss and share the same space playing together,” Mitchell says. “We went into that world for a week and didn’t leave the studio for any reason. I felt very safe with all those guys. It was warm and joyful.”

Mitchell says this environment brought out unexpected details in the material, which was recorded almost entirely live together in the room. “Sometimes we tried separating things out, like vocals, but we always ended up back in the room together,” she says. Indeed, after spending the better part of a day recording overdubbed versions of “Little Big Girl” that nobody loved, the musicians gave up and tracked it again live. “We got so frustrated that we went in and I was like, I’m just going to sing this as hard as I fucking can. It felt like that’s what the song wanted to be,” Mitchell says. “It felt like all those songs wanted to be recorded as live as possible.” The exception to the rule was Nico Muhly's arrangements for strings and flute, which were added from New York City afterward.

Mitchell will debut the new material during various headline tours in the U.S. and Europe in 2022, at which she’ll be accompanied by players from the album. On stage, she can’t wait to further hone the sights, sounds and scenes that bring the songs to such vivid life. “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to write in the voice of other characters, especially with Hadestown. It’s fun for me, but these songs are not that,” she says. “Weirdly, they’re all me. The narrator is me. That’s why it felt right to self-title the album. It felt like after so many years of working on telling other stories, now here are some of mine.”

As funny as it may sound, Anaïs Mitchell has spent the past 15 years in some kind of hell. OK, not actual hell, but the multi-faceted world of Hadestown, a musical project she began in Vermont in 2006 that has grown into a Tony®- and Grammy®-award-winning Broadway phenomenon with touring editions now delighting audiences as far away as South Korea.

“I experienced so much joy working on Hadestown, but it just kept ramping up and up and requiring more and more attention,” Mitchell admits. “I had to become so single-minded and really put blinders on to my other creative life.” As it did for many artists, the COVID-19 pandemic unexpectedly offered Mitchell a blank slate to reconnect with her own music. The result is a new self-titled album made with close collaborators from Bon Iver, The National and her own band Bonny Light Horseman, Mitchell’s first collection of all-new material under her own name since 2012’s Young Man in America.

“I was nine months pregnant when the pandemic reached New York, so we made an 11th hour decision to leave and have the baby in Vermont,” Mitchell recalls. “We left the city and had the baby a week later, and then like everyone, we were in the midst of this unprecedented stillness. It felt like I could see behind me: oh, there’s New York City. There’s Hadestown. There’s my life with just one kid. A certain kind of stress and expectations. In Vermont, we moved onto my family farm and lived in my grandparents’ old house, with a new baby. I’d look at pictures on my phone from a few months earlier and wonder, whose life was that? This record, and the songs that are on it, came out of that time. I got into a flow again that I hadn’t felt in a really long time.”

Dubbed by NPR as “one of the greatest songwriters of her generation,” Mitchell is a master of the worlds of narrative folksong, poetry and balladry. Those talents are evident from the first moments of the new album, as Mitchell narrates what she calls “an unbearably romantic” trip over the Brooklyn Bridge colored by Bon Iver member Michael Lewis’ heartstring-tugging saxophone accompaniment. “Having left New York, I was able to write a love letter to it in a way I never could when I was living there,” she says. “It was like, fuck it. This is how I feel. There is nothing more beautiful than riding over one of the New York bridges at night next to someone who inspires you.”

Produced by Mitchell’s Bonny Light Horseman bandmate Josh Kaufman, the album proceeds to chronicle Mitchell’s reconnection with the Vermont roots that have been so formative in her life and music. “Bright Star” finds her making peace with the idea of being at peace in the familiar setting of her grandparents’ house, while “Revenant” was inspired by paging through a box of journals and letters belonging to herself and her grandmother — “a very pandemic activity,” she says. “That house is literally my happy place. I can picture myself as a kid, in this house, laying on the carpet with a sunbeam coming through the sliding glass door. There’s something about it that is really connected in my mind to my childhood and a very free, imaginative, creative time. “Revenant” has a lot to do with that house and reconnecting with my childhood self.”

Mitchell concedes that she tends “to be someone who thinks it has to be hard in order for it to be good or beautiful,” but that feeling has changed, partly thanks to her deep connection with musicians she’s met through the 37d03d collective established by The National’s Aaron and Bryce Dessner and Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon. During the pandemic, some of those artists participated in a “song a day” writing group — an idea Mitchell says is usually “totally opposite of how I roll. But it really helped me to gain access to some kind of trust and intuition and flow. I began a bunch of these songs while doing that.”

“It unlocked something that allowed me to finish a bunch of songs I’d been sitting on, and feeling a bit paralyzed about how to finish them,” she continues. “Because no one was touring, it’s not like I was playing them for anyone before we were in the studio. In other times, I’ve trotted things out in advance. Here, it was like, here’s all these brand new songs. Let’s discover what they can be. That was really exciting.”

That discovery process took flight at Dreamland Recording Studios outside Woodstock, N.Y., which Mitchell describes as “this weird, janky, beautiful church - it’s my favorite studio in the world.” Kaufman, Lewis and Big Red Machine drummer JT Bates formed a core band around Mitchell, while Aaron Dessner and Thomas Bartlett joined the sessions mid-week on guitar and piano, respectively.

After the appropriate COVID tests came back negative, “it was a pretty extraordinary feeling to hug, kiss and share the same space playing together,” Mitchell says. “We went into that world for a week and didn’t leave the studio for any reason. I felt very safe with all those guys. It was warm and joyful.”

Mitchell says this environment brought out unexpected details in the material, which was recorded almost entirely live together in the room. “Sometimes we tried separating things out, like vocals, but we always ended up back in the room together,” she says. Indeed, after spending the better part of a day recording overdubbed versions of “Little Big Girl” that nobody loved, the musicians gave up and tracked it again live. “We got so frustrated that we went in and I was like, I’m just going to sing this as hard as I fucking can. It felt like that’s what the song wanted to be,” Mitchell says. “It felt like all those songs wanted to be recorded as live as possible.” The exception to the rule was Nico Muhly's arrangements for strings and flute, which were added from New York City afterward.

Mitchell will debut the new material during various headline tours in the U.S. and Europe in 2022, at which she’ll be accompanied by players from the album. On stage, she can’t wait to further hone the sights, sounds and scenes that bring the songs to such vivid life. “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to write in the voice of other characters, especially with Hadestown. It’s fun for me, but these songs are not that,” she says. “Weirdly, they’re all me. The narrator is me. That’s why it felt right to self-title the album. It felt like after so many years of working on telling other stories, now here are some of mine.”

When the world shut down in March 2020, Charlotte Cornfeld was in the
middle of an artist residency in the Rocky Mountains, hunkered down in a
hut with a baby grand piano, sketching ideas for a followup album to her
Polaris-Longlisted 2019 LP The Shape of Your Name - In a matter of
hours, she found herself back home in Toronto with months of touring
cancelled and a wide swath of time ahead of her
She began to write feverishly, mining her memories and dreams and recounting
them with vivid detail. When the songs were fnished, she headed to Montreal to
record with producer/ engineer Howard Bilerman (Arcade Fire, Leonard Cohen),
drummer Liam O'Neill (Suuns), bassist Alexandra Levy (Ada Lea), and guitarist
Sam Gleason (Tim Baker). The group tracked the album in 5 days, mostly live off
the foor, seeking to capture the raw emotion of the songs. The result is Highs in
the Minuses, a memoir in fragments. Here Cornfeld fully embraces the role of
narrator, moving from one vignette to another in a colourful collage. We see her at
21, heartbroken and lost, carrying a friend's 3-legged cat back to her apartment in
a box; then as a teenager, playing a new song for a group of friends on a
trampoline. She sings of a magical frst date, an ex with a mean streak, two
skateboarders gliding in a lakeside parking lot. The brutal honesty in her lyrics
brings to mind writers like David Berman and Adrianne Lenker, while musically
she conjures a Zuma-era Neil Young, leaping from crunchy guitar rock to piano
ballads with effortless grace. Highs in the Minuses is Charlotte Cornfeld's
strongest offering to date, each song a gem in and of itself.

Six years on since his latest appearance on the label's main series, Stroboscopic Artefacts boss Luca Mortellaro, aka Lucy, returns with 'Dyscamupia' - an introspective, multisensory techno triptych revolving around the core sequence of Albert Camus' classic existentialist novel, 'The Stranger'. Also known as the 'killing of an arab', this pivotal moment in Camus' seminal book - which also inspired The Cure their song 'Killing An Arab' back in the day, is here evoked through three variedly intense, deep and hypnotic techno variations - flexing from 120 to 130, onto 140 BPM - each of them translating a particular step in the author's minute, focal-shifting depiction of the unknown man's murder on the beach.

Embodying Meursault for a minute, Jason Snell lends his voice to the narrator and his inner demons, casting a strange, ominous spell on the club and its crowd. Willing to explore and dig up further into the textural wealth and crucial warmth of organic sounds and synthetic treatments, Lucy made wise use of the binaural microphones technology during the vocals recording process, greatly enhancing the immersive force of his compositions to create thoughtful, dystopic narrative bubbles that stand in their own right.
The first number, ' Dyscamupia (Forward)', happens before and right until the actual killing - hence time flowing at a metronomic, heartbeat-like tempo; the second cut 'Dyscamupia (Pause)' takes place right after the nameless man's death, when the narrator enters a kind of existential 'pause' and a whole new flow of consciousness begins; the third sequence, 'Dyscamupia (Backward)', plumbs the depths of the action itself as played backwards, like an equally hazed-out and dizzying reminiscence of the sad encounter's mechanism. Don't let its seemingly conceptual framework fool you though, like most of his past output 'Dyscamupia' also aims to bring dancefloors to a steady simmer, whilst maintaining Lucy's ascending momentum towards an all-round genre-busting, thought-provoking apex.

In 1972, Australia’s Albert Falzon made a film that would forever change the way the world thought about surfing. The film was Morning of the Earth. For many people it was the very first time they came to recognise surfing as a complete lifestyle. This recognition, coupled with mind-blowing, innovative surfing made the film a classic that has remained vital for over 50 years. Albe’s portrayal of all things pure and simple influenced generations, and passed on an enduring sprit to our Australian culture, our music, and our lifestyle.

Morning Of The Earth’s ethos of soul and spirit in surfing representing surfing as a lifestyle rather than a commercial entity. Not only did it show that these opportunities were open to everybody on their own doorstep, but it also showed for the first time the new exotic frontiers of Indonesia and Hawaii, in which you could further your adventures that encompassed the realm of spirituality and soulfulness.

Morning of the Earth took a unique approach to music. G Wayne Thomas’s selection of performers, songs and songwriters along with his own writing and performance created a warm blend of country soul and pop that helps carry the film to an esoteric level. For the first time, music was not treated as a background or incidental to the vision on the screen. The music was the narrator, with each track played in its entirety. The original soundtrack produced the Australian #1 single Open Up Your Heart and was the first Australian soundtrack to achieve gold sales. It was also recently included in the 100 Best Australian Albums.

The movie and the soundtrack have gone on to become legendary within the Australian surf history so we will be re-issuing the original 12 track soundtrack on black vinyl to commemorate the 50th Anniversary.

There’s an element of emotional abstraction and also something very intimate simultaneously on ‘Break into Blossom’. The stories find characters experiencing (and trying to make sense of) certain circumstances, but there’s at the same time a kind of distance from those experiences — a kind of cognitive reckoning that eventually gives way to understanding and actually feeling them.
Like picking up a tiny stone from the bottom of a riverbed. Turning it over in your hand. Holding it up to the sun. Inspecting it from every angle. But instead of a rock, it’s memories, dreams, relationships, losses, desires, anxieties, triumphs.
I took the title of the record from a poem called “A Blessing” by James Wright (1927-1980).
In the poem, the narrator is experiencing a moment of sublime beauty that’s also colored with a tinge of loss and of loneliness. The poem ends with, “Suddenly I realize That if I stepped out of my body I would break Into blossom.”
When you’re wading in the river, it may be gold… or it may just be a plain old rock. And that’s okay. Sometimes the loss itself creates a space for something profoundly beautiful.
So you keep going out and digging around, nonetheless. That’s the important thing.

 In 2011, Toronto’s Fucked Up delivered an album
that chafed the edges of punk rock’s conceptual
boundaries - a set of songs that splayed freely into
unexpected instrumentation, psychedelic drift, and
situationist philosophy. Its ambition was limitless
and its run time opulent. Which is to say, they
made a concept album.
 Matador Records celebrate the 10th Anniversary of
Fucked Up’s titanic 78-minute early ‘10s
masterpiece, ‘David Comes to Life’, with a special
edition double LP reissue on lightbulb-yellow vinyl.
 ‘David Comes to Life’ is a story of lost love, global
meltdown, depression, bombs, guilt and madness.
Or is it? A modern-day morality tale set amid the
dour backdrop of a British industrial town in the
late ’70s, it’s a four-part play that follows the dark
moods and inner psyche of the titular hero. At the
same time, the reliability of the narrator gets called
into question. The tables are turned, responsibility
shifts, and the story goes meta. Of course, you
could always ignore the backstory and just listen to
a fiercely imaginative double album of blistering,
melodic rock ‘n’ roll shot through with all manner of
psychic weirdness.

REPRESSED !!

Wolfsheim are a synthpop duo from Hamburg, Germany consisting of Markus Reinhardt (music) and Peter Heppner (lyrics and vocals). The band was founded in 1987 by Markus Reinhardt and Pompejo Ricciardi and was named after Meyer Wolfsheim, a fictional character from F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel 'The Great Gatsby'. Ricciardi soon left the band and was replaced by Peter Heppner, a childhood friend of Reinhardt's. Together they produced their first demo tape, Ken Manage', in 1988.

After making a second demo tape, Any But Pretty', in 1989, Wolfsheim applied at various labels until they caught the attention of independent record label Strange Ways Records. They are best known for their debut breakthrough single, "The Sparrows and the Nightingales', the first single to be released on Strange Ways in 1991. The band's musical style takes cues from the 1980s New Romantics, new wave, synthpop, and darkwave. The track's sombre synths were produced by Carlos Peron of Yello. Reinhardt says the lyric was inspired by 'The Great Gatsby', "in the 'onomatopoeic tension' between predator and security." Over six minutes, the narrator describes being lost, unsure of where his life is heading, using highly metaphorical language. On the flip is a brand new remix by German producer Ancient Methods, a pseudonym of Michael 'Trias' Wollenhaupt, who provides a driving, EBM-leaning, amphetamine-laced club ready cut.

All songs have been remastered for vinyl by George Horn at Fantasy Studios in Berkeley. Designer Eloise Leigh has updated the record's original design with two sparrows enclosed in a blood moon circle against a deep black purple backdrop. Each copy comes with a black and white photo postcard notes by Carlos Peron and the song's lyrics. This release comes in time to celebrate the single's 25th anniversary.

Color Vinyl

'This is the story of a man, marked by an image from his
childhood.' Thus begins, with deceptive simplicity, Chris
Marker's La Jetée (1962). The film, by far Marker's bestknown
work, synthesizes many of the elusive filmmaker's
central preoccupations - time and memory, power and resistance,
the ephemerality and resilience of love - yet it also
undermines the very idea of film. Composed almost entirely
of still photographs, La Jetée quite literally pieces together
the tale of an unnamed, forsaken protagonist, drafted into a
series of time travel experiments in post-apocalyptic Paris.
While Marker creates some of the most hauntingly beautiful
imagery in cinema, what animates La Jetée's frozen
pictures is its sparse and unsettling soundscape. Whispers,
breaths and heartbeats offer an unnerving reminder of
bodily rhythms that, inside the film and out, will inevitably
cease. Fragments of symphonic music at once capture a
love affair and underscore the tragedy awaiting it. The poetic
momentum of the narrator's voice, our only guide: 'On
the tenth day, images begin to ooze, like confessions.'
Superior Viaduct is honored to present the first-time release
of the soundtrack from La Jetée. This vinyl album
features both French and English voiceover narrations,
along with organic textures and Trevor Duncan's impressionistic
score. More than half a century has passed since
La Jetée's theatrical release - now is the time to travel back
to the 'sudden roar' of this masterpiece in a completely
different light.

Operating on a plane between avant-garde indie, bubbling electronica and cosmic psychedelia, London group Voka Gentle have an addictive, amorphous sound. A three limbed beast made up of twins Ellie and Imogen Mason, and William J. Stokes, each is a multi-instrumentalist, songwriter and producer with an imperious understanding of three dimensional sound.

The newest single ‘Necrofauna / The Garden of Eden’ - features Wayne Coyne from The Flaming Lips.
The hallucinatory mix of squelching synth bass and rhythmic samples, three-tiered harmonies playing off against William’s sprechgesang, and a cutting, full-bodied drum beat is reflected in the oneiric themes.

“This song is a dream sequence about the narrator entering the Garden of Eden, the emblem of an idealised pastoral relationship with the natural world, and realising they can’t stand it and want t o consume and bring destruction to it (I see a deer pass me by and I break its neck / Rip off its hind leg and take a bite through fur, sinew and bone).”

‘Necrofauna / The Garden of Eden’ - recorded with neo - metal battalion Pigsx7 guitarist and producer Sam Grant - is the first release in earnest since 2019’s acclaimed debut album ‘Start Clanging Cymbals’, released via Nude Records. Having come through the dues - paying gestation period that leads up to a debut record, there’s a sense of liberation around this new phase for Voka Gentle - a subtle confidence in their craft. It’s well earned too - with high praise from the likes of UNCUT, MOJO and The Line of Best Fit at press. Support comes too from BBC 6 Music - including presenting an edition of Stuart Maconie’s Freak Zone - and Radio 1. Tracks from that album also featured on FIFA 19 and The Sims 2020, aiding in recognition.

A live set at the prestigious Pitchfork Avant Garde festival, as well as a clutch of tastemaker festivals in the UK (Dot to Dot , Live At Leeds, The Great Escape, Kendall Calling, Bluedot, Neighbourhood), alongside the serendipit ous shows with The Flaming Lips and













[l] d2 [When We Go, We’re Taking You All With Us!]

Have we ever needed great storytellers so badly? Voices to snap us out of our collective grey funk, to pull us out of our narrow, hemmed-in worlds and to lighten our days and enlighten us with their perspectives, Immersing us in their worldview and history. People who can make us laugh, cry, gasp or nod sagely, to see our world anew and not feel so alone. We need stories, vignettes, new windows to look out of, and narrators to help those new visions make sense.

In short, we need Scott Lavene. Born and raised in Essex, but a man of the world who has wandered far and wide, Lavene’s a storyteller who can capture all the madness, joy and frustration of life while singing about worms writhing in the ground. Lavene’s been in bands since his teens, but only really located the voice that makes his new album Milk City Sweethearts so remarkable – that combination of wry observation, humble wisdom, unguarded vulnerability and unpredictable humour – in a music workshop for alcoholics and addicts, long after he’d bid farewell to childhood dreams of pop stardom, and the ghosts and demons that accompany those dreams.

He released an album as Big Top Heartbreak, 2016’s Deadbeat Ballads, and followed it with his first album under his own name, 2019’s droll and marvellous Broke. “I was signed to a little label in Bristol, but then they went skint,” he remembers. This time, however, the disappointment didn’t shake his confidence or his resolve. “I started writing prose, like ‘flash fiction’, and I’ve begun a novel,” he says. “And I’ve started some creative writing workshops for people who’ve come out of my situation.”

Amid all this activity, the songs that became Milk City Sweethearts began to take shape. Lavene noticed the border between his prose and his songwriting beginning to become porous, and the album feels like a clutch of excellent short stories set to music. Without a label, he recorded the album at home, and assembled it in a week in his mum’s garage during lockdown’s heavy manners. It’s a warm, witty, charismatic record with a dark heart at the centre, Lavene sounding dislocated and therefore able to write his everyday stories with a left-handed brilliance and blunt honesty that keeps them so fresh, like classic Kinks, or David Bowie if he’d never had to go to space to feel otherworldly. His songs are talking blues, set to loose and minimal and excellent art-rock with a pop sensibility, the honk of Roxy sax and the guttural weird-funk of Ian Dury’s Blockheads haunting their grooves.

Have we ever needed great storytellers so badly? Voices to snap us out of our collective grey funk, to pull us out of our narrow, hemmed-in worlds and to lighten our days and enlighten us with their perspectives, Immersing us in their worldview and history. People who can make us laugh, cry, gasp or nod sagely, to see our world anew and not feel so alone. We need stories, vignettes, new windows to look out of, and narrators to help those new visions make sense.

In short, we need Scott Lavene. Born and raised in Essex, but a man of the world who has wandered far and wide, Lavene’s a storyteller who can capture all the madness, joy and frustration of life while singing about worms writhing in the ground. Lavene’s been in bands since his teens, but only really located the voice that makes his new album Milk City Sweethearts so remarkable – that combination of wry observation, humble wisdom, unguarded vulnerability and unpredictable humour – in a music workshop for alcoholics and addicts, long after he’d bid farewell to childhood dreams of pop stardom, and the ghosts and demons that accompany those dreams.

He released an album as Big Top Heartbreak, 2016’s Deadbeat Ballads, and followed it with his first album under his own name, 2019’s droll and marvellous Broke. “I was signed to a little label in Bristol, but then they went skint,” he remembers. This time, however, the disappointment didn’t shake his confidence or his resolve. “I started writing prose, like ‘flash fiction’, and I’ve begun a novel,” he says. “And I’ve started some creative writing workshops for people who’ve come out of my situation.”

Amid all this activity, the songs that became Milk City Sweethearts began to take shape. Lavene noticed the border between his prose and his songwriting beginning to become porous, and the album feels like a clutch of excellent short stories set to music. Without a label, he recorded the album at home, and assembled it in a week in his mum’s garage during lockdown’s heavy manners. It’s a warm, witty, charismatic record with a dark heart at the centre, Lavene sounding dislocated and therefore able to write his everyday stories with a left-handed brilliance and blunt honesty that keeps them so fresh, like classic Kinks, or David Bowie if he’d never had to go to space to feel otherworldly. His songs are talking blues, set to loose and minimal and excellent art-rock with a pop sensibility, the honk of Roxy sax and the guttural weird-funk of Ian Dury’s Blockheads haunting their grooves.

Dans le Sable is the first new album in over 40 years by composer, pianist, and digital audio pioneer Loren Rush (b. 1935). Active in the Bay Area new music scene since the late 1950s alongside composers such as Robert Erickson and Pauline Oliveros, he also co-founded the Stanford University’s Center for Computer Research in Music and Acoustics in 1975. His music has been performed by the Boston Symphony, the New York Philharmonic, and the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra amongst others.

The title piece "Dans le Sable" (1967-68, 70) covers the first side of the record, of which Charles Shere in the Oakland Tribune (1972) writes: “A surreal opera scene. A narrator dwells on the significance of passing time. A soprano sings Barbarina's cabaletta from Figaro, which describes her distraught search in the sand for a lost pin. The chamber orchestra—mostly solo instruments—plays soft, half-forgotten tunes reminiscent of the Parisian music hall. If Marcel Duchamp wanted to put painting once more at the service of the mind, so did Rush seem to want to make a composition that speaks directly to that thing behind the mind—the point where it connects with the soul. And he succeeded. But only because the work is so brilliantly constructed, so careful in its structure and the timing of its phrases, so well balanced in the disposition of its parts that it quite overcomes the audience.”

The second piece on the album “Song and Dance” begins with the watery held tones of “Song.” Melancholy phrases are deconstructed and stretched in different retellings, invoking a harmonic fog. We are then thrust into “Dance,” one of the first orchestral pieces to employ computer-generated digital synthesis. A hypnotic and percussive march is propelled into a storm of early computer-processed cannonades.

Recital is proud to now illuminate the deeply overlooked composer Loren Rush, whose meticulous attention to detail has perhaps kept his toiled-upon works in the shadows these past decades. Dans le Sable is among the most gorgeous records I have heard.

Cindy is a band built around the singing and guitar playing of Karina Gill. She became a musician only recently, having sat on the sidelines while ex-partners and friends made their stabs at it. Gill describes a chance encounter with an abandoned Squire Strat left in the basement by a previous tenant, “mummified in electrical tape with the remnants of a burrito on the head stock”, that led her to begin carefully strumming her way through simple chords and making her own songs. After one interesting self-released LP, still finding their footing, the band made the masterful and buzzed-about Free Advice, which went from a limited cassette on local SF label Paisley Shirt to vinyl pressings on Tough Love (UK) and Mt St Mtn (USA).

Cindy’s third LP arrives in quick succession, the quietly devastating 1:2. Jesse Jackson on bass, Simon Phillips on drums and Aaron Diko on keyboards weave the perfectly thin web behind Gill’s slow Velvety strums and murmured melodies. The rhythm section brings the crude flow, while the keys add subtle and surreal counterpoint to the withering world Gill depicts in her lyrics. “Songs tie together seemingly disparate things by the logic of mood,” Gill tries to explain. This isn’t dream-pop sunshine bliss; half-closed black drapes hang on the window where the narrator stares into the middle distance. “Sometimes you say you’re feeling small/You plan all day for your own funeral”, she intones in Party Store. Gill has a way of halting her phrasing that makes it feel like her thoughts are gently tumbling into the abyss. It’s this unsettling quality mixed with the hazy atmosphere that makes Cindy’s new LP 100% addicting and the perfect antidote to comfort listening. Glenn Donaldson, 2021

Simultaneously a tribute to depression & wellness, L’Orange’s “The World Is Still Chaos, But I Feel Better” shows a musical & emotional growth from the North Carolina producer. Tension is built & released throughout the 23 track album. The album features guest narration from comedian Nish Kumar & Jeremy Scott (CinemaSins) as well as musicians Marc Rebillet, Solemn Brigham (Marlowe) & Jeremiah Jae. As the narrator closes the album, “The world is the same as always is. The only difference is that I feel better.”

After the exploration of snowy mountains of Alpestres, released on Hands in the Dark in 2018, French composer Matthias Puech ventures into new territories, sketching a cartography of the invisible where the journey, in chiaroscuro, is announced as a rite of passage. A Geography of Absence, as introspective as unpredictable, immerses the listener into a unique sensory whirlwind where organic matter becomes almost palpable. A researcher in theoretical computer science and an engineer at GRM, Matthias Puech constructs a dialog between synthetic music and field recording, capturing sounds that surround him and creating his own sonic language with the help of synthesizers he designs and develops; notably the Oscillator Ensemble and the Tapographic Delay, made by the American company 4ms.

Composed during a moment marked by ordeal and mourning, A Geography of Absence retraces an inner journey where the physicality of sound leads the listener into an initiatory tunnel filled with apparitions, ghosts, visions. With sound oscillations as a navigational map, we progress, step by step, through the meanders of an unknown world, dazzled by the prospect of a new synthetic horizon, an electronic biotope teeming with life and incarnations. Playing with time, space and matter in an approach similar to that of musique concrète, Matthias Puech combines ambient and noise, floating sounds and electroacoustic experimentations, thus shaking up our listening perspective, which finds itself walking through a parallel universe, strata after strata, sequence after sequence.

The trip begins with “Hollow”, as if on board a night train travelling at full speed through ghost towns. Or is it a spaceship? Removed from their original habitat, sounds – picked up during walks or moduled by synths – are free to be interpreted differently by everyone, according to the memories that shape us. Granular and metallic, this first piece takes us to an elsewhere in orbit. "Work Song" is built around the pulsation of the void, of space, where strange creatures and liquid emanations abound. We become fetus, cocoon coiled in the placenta, heart beating to the rhythm of the gooey choreography of the human body. "Chrysalis" awakens the racket that lies dormant in us, when the skin changes, when the transition takes place. One seems to recognize certain sounds stemming from nature but they could also be mirages, imitating reality to render the barely perceptible engulfing. “Tunnel Vision” brings out a herd of haunted bells, slowly swelling in a pastoral maelstrom, ending in a deafening buzz. Further on, the chirping of an animatronic bird mixes with the hooting of an owl: "A Faint Beacon" invokes a nocturnal vigil that mixes the crackling of a fire and icy gusts of wind blowing everything away. Like an epic, sucking the listener into the breach of a black hole in the center of the Milky Way, it's up to "Homeostasis" to conclude in the high spheres and contemplative vapors, where the balance of dawn announces a rebirth.

A Geography of Absence is a meticulous and sensitive piece that constructs a delicate symphony of extremes, between introspection and desire for the unknown. Accompanied by the ink work of the artist Léa Neuville, whose folds of prints sketch this imaginary atlas, Matthias Puech becomes a narrator of mental adventures. And succeeds once again in transcending reality to dig a path to the unspeakable.

**LONG OVERDUE REPRESS - CLEAR VINYL 300 COPIES ONLY** “With Ela’s music I feel emotional, engaged… I can’t help but feel she’s always looking for a sense of belonging and it
seems to inform all the music that she makes. Glasgow must have more of that belonging feeling than most
cities because she’s spent the most time here, an exotic bird in a rainy city she maybe finds a lttle bit of comfort in. It’s
a pleasure to have her here, in this awful time to be living in Britain, her illuminations feel important and hopeful. A
stubborn light; someone making great timeless music out of the humdrum of the everyday.” - Stephen Pastel
Movies For Ears is a retrospective collection of works by Polish-born, Glasgow-based artist Ela Orleans which
navigates almost two decades of songwriting in the heart of the global pop underground. This remastered collection casts
an ear over what Orleans might call the ‘pop sensibility’ within her back catalogue. Released previously on a number of
small DIY labels, Orleans’ music coincided with the explosion of auto-didactic musicians finding their voice in the age of
the blogosphere, artists emboldened by the democratisation of music-making afforded by the internet. From the outset,
Orleans’ childhood studying formal music mixed with cut-up techniques, sampling, sound-art and experimentation to
create a distinctive signature cloaked in an innate melancholy and playfulness. Fully remastered by James Plotkin,
featuring extensive sleeve-notes and rare photos from Orleans’ archive, Movies For Ears presents an appraisal of the
musician’s work, painting a portrait of an artist with an uncanny ability to evoke emotions and ghosts of memories in the
listener.
Each song pulls sunshine from its surroundings, moments of pleasure plucked from eulogies. The Season employs a
hypnotic loop with Orleans’s prophetic voice heralding the season we’re doomed to repeat. In fact the singer is often cast
as the changing protagonist in her songs: on Walkingman, a hazy ballad heavy with ennui, the narrator is laden with the
world’s weight, forever pacing a groundhog day world blank, a pissed-off actor in a Kafka-esque melodrama. On Light At
Dawn we’re in a seedy kitsch bar-room go-go scene, a ghostly rock’roll romance with shimmering percussion, poledancing
in a Lynchian half-dream. Movies For Ears’ moods straddle memory and fantasy: scratchily invoking halfremembered
exotica, the flickering shadows of europhile cinemas screens, a delicately woven world anchored in Orleans
existential meditations on longing, intimacy, solitude and the search for love. These rich textures in every song don’t
overpower some crystalised moments of emotion however: on In Spring Orleans sings simply “I have been happy two
weeks together,” summarizing that feeling of elation when emerging from a depression, a long winter. It’s a moment that
perfectly illustrates the lightness of touch and clarity in the singer’s voice.
The power of the loop and Orleans’ weaving songwriting that breaks its spell is illustrated perfectly by I Know. Over an
aching chord progression, the vocal takes flight into bittersweet loneliness, Pachelbel’s Canon played at a wedding where
only one person shows up. The repeated refrain “I know, I know” ascends to the heavens as the chords descend to the
dumps and the listener is left in the middle, happy but not knowing why, maybe a little changed, two weeks together. On
Movies For Ears, Ela Orleans lets us into a secret: the rare moments of joy to be found in the joins of the loop, the spaces
between things, the spring after the winter are the moments that last after the day has faded.

In the beginning, there was just a box of tapes and “Fate’s Gentle Hand.”

It was the autumn of 2010, and an anonymous figure known only as the Head Technician, an employee of Pye Corner Audio Transcription Services (“Magnetically aligning ferrous particles since 1970”), found himself at an auction in the village of Coldred, pop. 110. He was on the hunt for tobacco pipes when he chanced across a trio of boxes listed in the auction catalog, which described their contents only as “archived magnetic recordings.” The sole bidder, he won the lot, and upon receipt of his purchase took possession of an unspecified number of mouldering cassettes and ¼" reel-to-reel tapes. The collection contained no identifying information save for a single phrase scrawled on each box: “Black Mill Sessions.” And so, armed with razors, eyedroppers, and a bevy of solid-state circuitry, the Head Technician sat down at his machines and got to work.

Whether anyone believed it or not, this was the framing device surrounding Pye Corner Audio’s Black Mill Tapes Volume I: Avant Shards, which took the mysterious tactics of artists like Boards of Canada and Burial and raised them exponentially. Much like the narrator of a 19th century novel, the anonymous Head Technician purported merely to be the messenger of secondhand sounds. These were not compositions, we were told; they were tape transfers—“transcriptions” of an unknown author, slathered

Tibor Szemző is not only a skillful and experienced Hungarian musician but also a media artist with a vast imagination. His last LP, ARBO X – Csoma Grooves, refers to his full-length film A Guest of Life released in 2006, for which he not only directed but also composed all the music. The film is inspired by the life of Alexander Csoma de Körös, a remarkable polyglot from the 19th century who set out from his native Transylvania to central Asia on foot to look for the roots of the Hungarian language. He reached Tibet, dedicated the rest of his life to study of Tibetan manuscripts and finally became the founder of tibetology. After 14 years Tibor Szemző decided to explore the theme further and composed the cinematic performance, Silverbird and the Cyclist, where he as narrator presented the story of Csoma from a different perspective.

ARBO X is the music from this performance and it is based on the soundtrack of the original movie but the material has been restructured and enhanced by new layers. There are fourteen relatively short tracks on the album and each of them has a very specific character, sometimes mysterious as the titles of the tracks themselves. Their arrangement is ingeniously composed. Szemző’s typical bass flute and voice with percussion accompaniment on the first track Axis is a very impressive introduction to the whole album. The following tracks build up a series of colorful sound parables, which are in no way descriptive. Every element, whether it’s a double bass, viola, soprano voice, vocal trio or electronics, fits perfectly within the overall sound fabric with effective timing. Listening to ARBO X one unwittingly concentrates on interweaving details without loosing the sense of the whole. It’s certainly a great benefit, as in previous recordings, that most of the musicians participating in the recording of ARBO X are very familiar with Szemző’s music and his collaboration with some of them goes back to Group 180, a new music ensemble he founded in 1978 and soon earned international acclaim. This most recent album belongs among a long line of recordings that Tibor Szemző has released during his musical career and displays great compositional complexity and a keen sense of a perfectly balanced sound spectrum.

Alexandr Krestovský

Squid announce their debut album, ‘Bright Green Field’, already one of 2021’s most highly anticipated releases.
Produced by Dan Carey, ‘Bright Green Field’ is an album of towering scope and ambition, it is deeply considered, paced and intricately constructed. With all band members playing such a vital and equal role, this album is very much the product of five heads operating as one.
Some bands might be tempted to include previous singles on their debut - and the band already released two more in 2020 via ‘Sludge’ and ‘Broadcaster’ - but instead ‘Bright Green Field’ is completely new. This sense of limitlessness and perpetual forward motion is one of the key ingredients that makes Squid so loved by fans and critics alike, from 6 Music, who have A-Listed previous singles ‘Houseplants’, ‘The Cleaner’ and ‘Match Bet’, to publications such as The Guardian, NME, The Face, The Quietus and countless others. The band was also on the longlist for the BBC Music Sound Of 2020 poll.
‘Bright Green Field’ features field recordings of ringing church bells, tooting bees, microphones swinging from the ceiling orbiting a room of guitar amps and a distorted choir of 30 voices, as well as a horn and string ensemble featuring the likes of Emma-Jean Thackray and Lewis Evans from Black Country, New Road.
Squid’s music - be it agitated and discordant or groove-locked and flowing - has often been a reflection of the tumultuous world we live in and this continues that to some extent. “This album has created an imaginary cityscape,” says Ollie Judge, who writes the majority of the lyrics and plays drums. “The tracks illustrate the places, events and architecture that exist within it. Previous projects were playful and concerned with characters, whereas this project is darker and more concerned with place - the emotional depth of the music has deepened.”
For all the innovative recording techniques, evolutionary leaps, lyrical
themes, ideas and narratives that underpin the album, it’s also a joyous and emphatic record. One that marries the uncertainties of the world with a curious sense of exploration as it endlessly twists and turns down unpredictable avenues.

Juan Wauters’ fifth solo album, Real Life Situations, is a multifaceted ode to sur- rendering control and taking life as it comes. References to radio abound on its 21 tracks, and with good reason - the album spans genres, narrators, languages, and perspectives with the ease of spinning a rotary knob. Mining older songs, phone notes, new material, and snippets from TV and YouTube, Wauters has crafted an aural document of the year through his eyes.

Despite the circumstances of its creation, Real Life Situations is not a quarantine record. In many ways it’s the opposite of one, taking togetherness as both its subject and its primary medium. Pre-lockdown collaborations with Mac DeMar- co, Peter Sagar (AKA Homeshake), Nick Hakim, Cola Boyy, El David Aguilar, and more playfully offset Wauters’ more pensive solo tracks, and even in its sparest moments the album pulses with life. This is due in part to an impressive array of interludes and samples, most of which are field recordings that Wauters collects on his phone, ranging from the innocuous (“A Peter Pan Donuts Conversation”) to the intense (“Crack Dabbling”).

Under his care, these small moments become coordinates for the peaks and valleys of human experience, coloring the album with Wauters’ unique shade of realism. “Some people think I’m an optimist”, he explains, “but I’m not. I’m always seeing all sides of things.”
Of course, Wauters himself never disappears in the boisterous crowd - he lends his chameleonic songwriting to experiments in hip-hop (“Unity”), lo-fi R&B (“Mon- soon”), and deft indie folk (“Lion Dome”). Themes of loneliness, personal growth, patience, and companionship arise again and again; we can feel Wauters navi- gating a rapidly-changing world in real time. Jubilant choruses and spoken word poetry bleed into city noises and overheard conversations. Real freedom, the album suggests, comes not from gaining control, but from accepting its artifice. Like the programming on a radio station, there’s something here for everyone. All you have to do is listen.

"We want to make people feel good about things that we feel terrible about." says David Brewis, who has co-led the band Field Music with his brother Peter since 2004. It's a statement which seems particularly fitting to their latest album, Flat White Moon released on 23 April via Memphis Industries. Sporadic sessions for the album began in late 2019 at the pair's studio in Sunderland, slotted between rehearsals and touring. The initial recordings pushed a looser performance aspect to the fore, inspired by some of their very first musical loves; Free, Fleetwood Mac, Led Zeppelin and The Beatles; old tapes and LPs pilfered from their parents' shelves. But a balance between performance and construction has always been an essential part of Field Music. By March 2020, recording had already begun for most of the album's tracks and, with touring for Making A New World winding down, Peter and David were ready to plough on and finish the record. The playfulness that's evident in much of Flat White Moon's music became a way to offset the darkness and the sadness of many of the lyrics. Much of the album is plainly about loss and grief, and also about the guilt and isolation which comes with that. Those personal upheavals are apparent on songs like Out of the Frame, where the loss of a loved one is felt more deeply because they can't be found in photographs and compounded by the suspicion that you caused their absence, or on When You Last Heard From a Linda, which details the confusion of being unable to penetrate a best friend's loneliness in the darkest of circumstances. Some songs are more impressionistic. Orion From The Streets combines Studio Ghibli, a documentary about Cary Grant and an excess of wine to become a hallucinogenic treatise on memory and guilt.. Others, such as Not When You're In Love, are more descriptive. Here, the narrator guides us through slide-projected scenes, questioning the ideas and semantics of 'love' as well the reliability of his own memory. The result is a generous record of bounteous musical ideas, in many ways Field Music's most immediately gratifying to date.

LTD EDITION TRANSPARENT VINYL

"We want to make people feel good about things that we feel terrible about." says David Brewis, who has co-led the band Field Music with his brother Peter since 2004. It's a statement which seems particularly fitting to their latest album, Flat White Moon released on 23 April via Memphis Industries. Sporadic sessions for the album began in late 2019 at the pair's studio in Sunderland, slotted between rehearsals and touring. The initial recordings pushed a looser performance aspect to the fore, inspired by some of their very first musical loves; Free, Fleetwood Mac, Led Zeppelin and The Beatles; old tapes and LPs pilfered from their parents' shelves. But a balance between performance and construction has always been an essential part of Field Music. By March 2020, recording had already begun for most of the album's tracks and, with touring for Making A New World winding down, Peter and David were ready to plough on and finish the record. The playfulness that's evident in much of Flat White Moon's music became a way to offset the darkness and the sadness of many of the lyrics. Much of the album is plainly about loss and grief, and also about the guilt and isolation which comes with that. Those personal upheavals are apparent on songs like Out of the Frame, where the loss of a loved one is felt more deeply because they can't be found in photographs and compounded by the suspicion that you caused their absence, or on When You Last Heard From a Linda, which details the confusion of being unable to penetrate a best friend's loneliness in the darkest of circumstances. Some songs are more impressionistic. Orion From The Streets combines Studio Ghibli, a documentary about Cary Grant and an excess of wine to become a hallucinogenic treatise on memory and guilt.. Others, such as Not When You're In Love, are more descriptive. Here, the narrator guides us through slide-projected scenes, questioning the ideas and semantics of 'love' as well the reliability of his own memory. The result is a generous record of bounteous musical ideas, in many ways Field Music's most immediately gratifying to date.

“This is the time. And this is the record of the time.”

Laurie Anderson’s 1982 debut album, Big Science, will return to vinyl for the first time in 30 years with a new red vinyl edition on Nonesuch Records. The release includes the re-mastered original album first released on CD for the 25thanniversary in 2007.

In the early 1980s, Laurie Anderson was already respected as a conceptual artist and composer, adept at employing gear both high-tech and homemade in her often violin-based pieces, and she was a familiar figure in the cross-pollinating, Lower Manhattan music-visual art-performance circles from which Philip Glass and David Byrne also emerged. While working on her now-legendary seven-hour performance art/theater piece United States, Part I–IV, she cut the spare ‘O Superman (For Massenet)’, an electronic-age update of 19th century French operatic composer Jules Massenet’s aria ‘O Souverain’, for the tiny New York City indie label 110 Records. In the UK, DJ John Peel picked up a copy of this very limited-edition 33⅓ RPM 7” and spun the eight-minute-plus track on BBC Radio 1. The exposure resulted in an unlikely #2 hit, lots of attention in the press, and a worldwide deal with Warner Bros. Records.

’Cause when love is gone, there's always justice.
And when justice is gone, there's always force.
And when force is gone, there's always Mom. Hi Mom!

At the time of its original release, the NME wrote of Big Science, ‘There’s a dream-like, subconscious quality about her songs which helps them work at deeper, secret levels of the psyche.’ With instrumentation ranging from tape loops to found sounds to bag pipes, Big Science anticipated the tech-savvy beats, anything-goes instrumentation and sample-based nature of much contemporary electronic and dance music. On the album’s 25th anniversary, Uncut noted, ‘The broader themes of alienation and disconnection still resonate, while Anderson’s use of loops and traditional/synthesized instrumentation is prescient.’

“In the ’70s I travelled a lot,” Anderson recounts. “I worked on a tobacco farm in Kentucky, hitchhiked to the North Pole, lived in a yurt in Chiapas, and worked on a media commune. I had my own romantic vision of the road. My plan was to make a portrait of the country. Big Science, the first part of the puzzle, eventually became part two of United States I–IV (Transportation, Politics, Money, Love). My goal was to be not just the narrator but also the outsider, the stranger. Although I wasfascinated by the United States, this portrait was also about how the country looked from a distance. I was performing a lot in Europe, where American culture was simultaneously booed and cheered. But the portrait was also a picture of a culture inventing a digital world and learning to live in it. Big Science was about technology, size, industrialization,shifting attitudes toward authority, and individuality. It was sometimes alarmist, picturing the country as a burning building, a plane crash. Alongside the techno was the apocalyptic. The absurd. The everyday. It was also a series of short stories about odd characters – hatcheck clerks and pilots, preachers, drifters and strangers. There was something about Massenet’s aria ‘O Souverain’ – which inspired ‘O Superman’ – that almost stopped my heart. The pauses, the melody. “O souverain, ô juge, ô père” (O Lord, o judge, o father). A prayer about empire, ambition, and loss.”

Laurie Anderson is one of America's most renowned – and daring – creative pioneers. Her work, which encompasses music, visual art, poetry, film, and photography, has challenged and delighted audiences around the world for over 40 years. Anderson released her first album with Nonesuch Records in 2001, the critically lauded Life on a String. Her subsequent releases on the label include Live in New York (2002), Homeland (2010), the soundtrack to Anderson’s acclaimed film Heart of a Dog (2015), and her Grammy-winning collaboration with Kronos Quartet, Landfall (2018). Additionally, Anderson’s virtual-reality film La Camera Insabbiata, with Hsin-Chien Huang, won the 2017 Venice Film Festival Award for Best VR Experience, and, in 2018, Skira Rizzoli published her book All the Things I Lost in the Flood: Essays on Pictures, Language and Code, the most comprehensive collection of her artwork to date.

Sun Milk was recorded in two months, a much quicker process than the three years spent on their previous release, Flowers. The band recorded the album at the Pharmacy, Vroom’s home studio in Toronto, located above an actual pharmacy. It was the first album to be recorded after Little Kid solidified their live lineup, with Boothby, Vroom, and Germain having played together for over two years. Every song except “Like a Movie” began as a full-band live take, with overdubs performed democratically, with both Boothby and Germain layering guitars. It was also the first record to feature Lunn’s vocals, who joined the band shortly after the album’s release.

The result is a deeply affecting document of personal crisis, mirroring the dramatic changes in Boothby’s life—a breakup, living alone for the first time, beginning a new career. The lyrics have less Christian content and more personal overtones than other Little Kid records. “It was a relief when these songs came out,” says Boothby, “processing recent changes in my life, trying to take ownership of my identity and choices.” This lends a confessional warmth to the songs, a feeling of reconnecting with an old friend, sharing stories. Highlights include the off-kilter opening track “The Fourth” and the lovely, meandering “Ugly Moon.” The centerpiece of the album is “Slow Death in a Warm Bed.” A meditation on why people stay in flawed relationships, the song builds in calming repetitions until the guitars explode in the last minute, climaxing in a full-fledged distorted freakout. It’s one of the most beautiful and harrowing songs in Little Kid’s catalog.

The drifting, gentle “Dim Light Coming Down” features some of Boothby’s best lyrics. The narrator describes a person seeing “the likeness” of their own dead father “floating high above the road,” a mystical encounter rendered in the most plainspoken of terms. But Boothby quickly undercuts the moment: “But you'd been drinking when you saw him/And your mind was moving slow/Like your ears were full of cotton/So what he said you'll never know.” It’s a thwarted encounter that becomes more powerful for that very fact. Just before the song reaches its slow-building climax, Boothby sings, “Coming down/There’s a bright light/A gentle sound/Opening wide.” The transcendence does finally arrive, but it’s in the coming down, the hangover, the regular life that comes after the big moment. There's little wonder why it's become a live staple for the band.

The record is a high point in a remarkably consistent career. Looking back at Sun Milk, Boothby believes it’s one of the strongest in Little Kid’s oeuvre. “It’s probably my favorite,” says Boothby. “In general, I love slow songs, and this album is full of them. I like the structure of seven long songs—can’t think of too many albums with only seven songs. It gives the album an interesting flow.”

Leeds-based art-rock trio Mush release their feverish second
album, ‘Lines Redacted’, via Memphis Industries. The new
release, which finds the group recruiting Lee Smith (The Cribs,
Pulled Apart By Horses) on mixing duties, arrives just under a
year after their debut, ‘3D Routine’, capping off what has been
an obviously tumultuous but remarkably prolific year for the
band. With any prospect of live shows decimated, the group,
led by songwriter Dan Hyndman, have found the time to
release two EPs (‘Great Artisanal Formats’ and ‘Yellow Sticker
Hour’) and now a duo of full-length albums.
Tipped previously by the likes of 6 Music, Loud & Quiet, Uncut,
Q, Stereogum, DIY, The Line of Best Fit, Dork and more, Mush,
comprised of Hyndman (guitar/vox), Nick Grant (bass/vox) and
Phil Porter (drums), present their own sonic idiosyncrasy. It’s a
sound that blurs the lines of abstract surrealism, existentialism
and social commentary; utilising guitars as tools in 2020 to
stave off malaise whilst simultaneously commenting on the
nation’s ability to fall into such dire straits. It’s a sensory
overload of wiry tones that zig-zag between punk, prog and
sardonic-funk with a relentless ability to reflect society’s faults
and apathy in a unique and acerbic manner.
Whereas the band’s debut was very much a product of its time,
something part-inspired by the political atmosphere of mid-
2019 and a genuine moment of optimism when the prospect of
a socialist government in the UK was on the cards, this new
record uses tongue-in-cheek cynicism as a coping mechanism
for the environment that we now find ourselves in. From one
song to the next, ‘Lines Redacted’ introduces a string of
different narrators with each providing a different reflection on
the Armageddon scenario that we are slowly entering, whether
that’s bemoaning it or gleefully willing it along. ‘3D Routine’
presented a bed of scathing political jibes latching onto themes
and decisions of the time. ‘Lines Redacted’ mutates these ideas
into something slightly more sinister whilst maintaining all of
Hyndman’s razor-sharp wit that permeates the album.

“The earth shall rise again...”
AMOR/LEMUR finds the Glasgow quartet AMOR in partnership with Norwegian improvising ensemble LEMUR to hopeful and ecstatic effect. Conceived before the onset of Covid 19 but finished during spring lockdown, their eponymous EP is the most loose, alive and elevated recording in AMOR’s catalog. AMOR/LEMUR takes the template of throbbing avant disco expanded upon on previous recordings for Night School and lifts it into new

territories, with new tonalities and unexpected turns on the journey. More than anything, the expanded, near- cinematic expression of human connectivity feels like a lightning new energy to grasp in the dark.

Following a revelatory concert in Glasgow in January 2020 wherein the two sets of musicians met and performed together for the first time, a recording session was arranged the following day, resulting in the most elevated permutation of AMOR’s art to date. Each track was built upon a rhythmic bedrock of percussion and drums performed by Paul Thomson and samples/synthesizer by Luke Fowler. Thomson used bamboo Javanese gamelan (most notably on For You) and scrap metal, as well as traditional percussion and drums while Fowler incorporated processed ambient field recordings recorded in enclosed acoustic spaces around Glasgow. Singer/pianist Richard Youngs contributes some of the most bright and mindful work of his career. Acoustic bass player Michael Francis Duch, whose lush playing as ever provides the elastic spine to each song, scored the string parts for LEMUR on piano at home in Norway. The addition of swelling strings and drones fills out the AMOR sound significantly, lending a sonorous tone to 8 minute, epic closer For You or an ascending melodic introduction to Stars Burst that feels like a new morning dawning on a world saved from certain death. With the circumstances of lockdown forcing the musicians to work differently, a thread of optimism and utopia grounded in the moment weaves through these tracks. Unravel reveals a spine tingling vocal from Youngs. It’s a song about the simultaneously grounding and ecstatic effect of love, feeling connected to others. It’s a simple message, “I’m finding myself in your smile, always unravels me” speaks of ego death, the dissipation of the material into a nirvana of pure energy, the power of surrender. This isn’t a quasi-religious message, this is the power of each other, a love song to connection in a temporary age of isolation. Stars Burst is a play on the inner and outer cosmos, with narrator Youngs exploring wonder to a pounding galloping rhythm and snake-charming synth. It’s an open dance, with the group locked in together for the wild ride. Fear is the centerpiece of the record, starting with drones and scraped overtones before swirling synth notes filter upwards to meet reverberating minor chords. Over 8 minutes of tight but loose playing, Youngs is the shaman instructing us to use Fear as a celebration of the moment, embrace it and jump into the unknown. The only way to overcome your fear is to feel it, use it as an energy. The use of the studio as an instrument throughout side 2 is particularly important, with the dubbing and mixing prowess of engineer Paul Savage (who mixed unattended due to lockdown restrictions) and tape manipulations performed by Jason Lescallet coming into play. For You closes out with a largely instrumental, evolving composition that uses many of the abstract and novel aspects of this permutation to aid the trance. It’s massive, an unfurling creature with unexpected tonalities and serious heft.

The debut album from writer and artist Holly Childs and artist Gediminas Žygus formerly known as J.G. Biberkopf.

Initiated in 2017, Hydrangea grew out of a series of performances emphasising conspiracies and the designer realities that they generate. Navigating a tangle of digitally induced subjectivities and relationships, Hydrangea sees Childs & Žygus amidst a continuously evaporating world in which narratives dissolve, leak, fold in on themselves and loop.

Childs & Žygus ask: As individuals are siloed online, can rifts in reality ever be reconciled? Is history a form of science fiction? And are narrators ever reliable? The process of creating Hydrangea was defined by the search for a form to bind fiction, poetry, and musical experience. Its narrative is influenced by technical instructions, lectures and whispered conversations, in which slippage and floating focus can create new meanings in the listener that weren’t intended by the speaker.

Aspects of physical and informational security including passwords, codes, locks and obstacles speak to the ways in which meaning or material can be locked, unlocked or instrumentalised for a range of potential outcomes. Hydrangea reflects on the Machiavellian strategies of political ideologists such as Steve Bannon, Aleksandr Dugin and Vladislav Surkov who have made use of contemporary and postmodern artistic strategies to design narrative uncertainty—covertly braiding together questionable truths, slippery narratives and bespoke reinterpretations of history for undisclosed political ends.

"Hydrangea’s Just the Password Though, Right?"

Childs & Žygus employ a musical language that layers their cumulative practices and experiences. The compositions are cinematic and spatial, working with the illustrative qualities of Disneyesque string melodies and taking cues from Maurice Ravel’s impressionistic piano works.

The work is also influenced by both artists’ lifelong experiences of rave culture, beginning for Žygus during childhood in newly independent Lithuania, spending time juggling Disney and happy hardcore cassettes on the family stereo, and for Childs as a preteen in Australia, tagging along with her sisters to doofs and warehouse parties. Initiated while the artists were both working between Amsterdam and Rotterdam in 2017, the work also draws on Dutch gabber music.

Hydrangea’s development has been influenced by collaboration with artists and filmmakers Metahaven, who created the album art.

Holly Childs is a writer and artist. Her research involves filtering stories of computation through frames of ecology, earth, memory, poetry, and light. She is the author of two books: No Limit (Hologram) and Danklands (Arcadia Missa); and has presented her work at ICA (London), Stedelijk Museum (Amsterdam), Trust (Berlin), Elam School of Art (Auckland) and more.

Gediminas Žygus is an artist working within the fields of sound, documentary and performance. Their practice assembles a spectrum of influences deriving from architecture, ecology, ethnography, science studies, and media theory. As J.G. Biberkopf, their releases have found homes on Knives and Danse Noire. Žygus has performed at Barbican Centre (London), Berghain (Berlin), Sonic Acts (Amsterdam), and Centre Pompidou (Paris), among others. credits

Be not afraid! Whether you’re simply sightseeing, enjoying temporary flights of fancy or considering a more permanent relocation, the all-new Spirit World Field Guide offers twenty-one insightful chapters of firsthand know-how into the terrain, wildlife, and social customs of our parallel universe. The narrator’s vast expertise of multiple global entry points and various modes of interdimensional transport informs a rich tapestry of tips, tricks and tools to unfailingly aid in your ultimate survival. If you are among the countless individuals who find themselves feeling both dead and alive at the same time, the information contained within may serve as an invaluable asset to your journey. Godspeed and good luck."

The sublime Time Capsule remains Weldon Irvine's most fully realized and influential recording. A supremely talented multi-instrumentalist and composer, Irvine had a musical vision that was unerringly soulful, spiritual, and funky. Assembled as a kind of musical scrapbook documenting the thought patterns and belief systems of the early '70s, it nevertheless boasts a surprising vitality and timelessness thanks to luminous funk grooves that anticipate the latter-day emergence of acid jazz. Irvine also rhymes over several tracks, further cementing his influence on successive generations of hip-hop. A profoundly righteous spirituality winds through all eight of Time Capsule's performances, assaying both the affection ("Soul Sisters") and anger ("Watergate") vying for control of post-Woodstock America. Irvine's searing keyboard and piano playing further capture the moment in question, deftly balancing between beatitude and bitterness. For fans of funk, soul and jazz, it doesn’t get much better than this 1973 classic.

a A1. Time Capsule - Electric Piano, Narrator Recitation – Weldon Irvine

On his new record "Companionship", London-based Soft-Rock, Soul and Disco artist Joel Sarakula keeps the mood easy and the grooves deep. Ten new songs see Sarakula develop a deeper, more introspective lyrical style from his previous works as he celebrates and laments friendships, love and loneliness. Interspersed with a few standout up-tempo tracks to keep the ship sailing, "Companionship" is a chill-out album and listening experience of the highest order.

"Companionship" opens with "Midnight Driver", a driving soft-rock fantasy where the narrator laments his partner's nocturnal habits: 'When she's coming up, it gets me down'. The Californian sun-kissed guitars, vocal stylings and percussion all help to set a cinematic mood which unsurprisingly also makes it a great driving song. On the introspective "King Of Clowns", Sarakula creates a pop song that calls to mind the craftmanship of Hall & Oates and Elvis Costello. Both an admission of guilt and an unapologetic statement of intent, his low vocal careens in the dangerous divide between self-pity and self-parody: "My bad decisions worked out for a while, I'd do my dance tried to make you smile, I'll never wise up it's just the way I am". These confessions all occur over a down-tempo funk groove complete with some vintage synthesizer musings that makes the track ready to be sampled for a hip-hop record.

"Sunshine Makes Me" steps straight out of its mid-1970s swimming pool, heavily dripping in jazz fusion to dry off in the cold light of today's sunshine. The chorus is a mantra of desire, needs and reality that sees Sarakula sing 'Sunshine makes me lose my mind, thirty degrees and my eyes get so wide. Dreaming big and living slow, don't you know that time is on our side". On "Companionship", Joel Sarakula, prolific writer, producer, performer and multi-instrumentalist finally unleashes his chill-out pretensions. In this follow up to the critically acclaimed "Love Club" (2018) he develops a deeper and more mature compositions and production style. His love of all things vintage extends to a devotion to analog synthesizers and on "Companionship" you can hear a genuine love of synthesis that at moments is reminiscent of 70s synth production pioneers Todd Rundgren and George Duke.

Joel Sarakula will tour "Companionship" through Europe and the UK this Spring and Summer 2020 with his musical companions. Born in Sydney, based in London and a true internationalist, Sarakula tours with pickup bands sourced from each territory he plays in: a Barcelona band for Spain, a Berlin band for Germany and so forth. This cross-cultural exchange is a sly nod to the golden era of the 1960s and 1970s when travelling US pop, soul and blues artists would do the same.

Unreleased album from 1981, a collaborative project by David Behrman, Paul DeMarinis, Fern Friedman, Terri Hanlon and Anne Klingensmith recorded at Mills College in 1981.

Previously known only to cognoscenti through an obscure self-released three-track 7”, this is the first publication of the complete album, an outrageous confection that mixes art-song and theatrical monologue with live electronics. Starting life as a performance art piece described by the artists as ‘Western Performance Noir’, the record centres on a series of texts written by Friedman and Hanlon in which female narrators comically embody a series of iconic roles (The Recording Artist, The Former Movie Star, and The Rancher). Other lyrical themes include recurring references to the notorious cannibal pioneers, the Donner Party, an ironic take on Japanophilia, and the luscious “Archetypal Unitized Seminar,” a satirical poke at self-help culture, whose lyrics are rendered in Indian raga style to the accompaniment of electronic glissandi and toy noisemakers. Delivered by Friedman, Hanlon, Klingensmith and special guest Maggi Payne in forms ranging from spoken monologue to Country & Western waltz, the texts are accompanied by instrumental and electronic contributions by Behrman and DeMarinis. Musically, She’s More Wild is truly unique, demonstrating these two pioneers of live-electronic performance adapting their signature processes to something approaching a ‘pop’ format: we hear the gliding, frequency-sensitive electronics familiar from Behrman’s classic On the Other Ocean and the mutant hacked Speak n’ Spell heard on DeMarinis’ Songs Without Throats propelled by drum machines and twisted into song forms. Perhaps comparable only to the David Rosenboom and Jacqueline Humbert’s contemporaneous Daytime Viewing in its interweaving of performance art tactics, high-tech electronics and pop sensibilities, She’s More Wild is an essential document, both immediately gratifying and ultimately thought provoking.

“…In The City Of Lights Where Nothing Is Grey…" In the City Of Angels by way of Prague, Pink Gloves channels classic Italo Disco on their Italians Do It Better debut. Petr Pliska weaves a tale of introspection on the neon soaked streets of Los Angeles.

Act 1 – Downtown. The title track is a hypnotic journey to the city center over a symphony of synthesis. He laments that he “Never Wanted To Come… Never Wanted To Stay… In The City Of Lights Where Nothing Is Grey”. It’s a place where nothing ever changes
& fantasy greets us in every direction. Beneath the sedated vocals, the synthesizers strike deep & dissolve quickly into a haze blanketing the strut of the heavy backbeat. The stage is set.

Act 2 – The Dancefloor. “Dancing on My Own” infuses Robyn’s four on the floor classic with it’s own cocktail of ethereal melodies & a rhythm section ala Ultravox. In the face of the Narrator’s lament, a mirror ball shimmers reflections of resilience.

Act 3 – The Highway. The downtempo “Wilderness” haunts us, bursting with silken synthesizers & spectral electronics reverberating like the ghosts of last night’s party. The tempered cinematic landscape blends with a mesmerizing sorcery as we drive into the unknown.

Act 4 – End Credits. Suddenly, the film is over. We hear the sunrise straight out of an ‘80s John Hughes film & the beautiful grit of Power, Corruption & Lies.

Produced By Johnny Jewel. Mixed By Lukáš Turza & Johnny Jewel. Mastered By Mike Bozzi At Bernie Grundman Mastering. Vinyl Cut By Bernie Grundman, Hollywood.

The larynx or voice box is a small organ located towards the top of the neck in humans and some other animals. Constructed largely of cartilage, it houses the vocal folds that allow for the manipulation of pitch and volume, which are essential for the phonation of spoken speech. It is also involved in bringing air to the lungs when we breathe and it protects the windpipe when we swallow. However, those unfortunate to experience the potentially fatal malignant tumours of laryngeal cancer will have their larynx removed, resulting in a traumatic loss of speech; thankfully, as this rare record issued by Smithsonian Folkways in 1964 demonstrates, removal of the larynx does not necessarily spell the end of speech for such blighted individuals. Instead, through developments in artificial voice creation, patients could learn to employ modes of vocal communication again. The album was recorded by physician Harm A. Drost at the Phonetic Laboratory of the Ear, Nose and Throat Dept of the University Hospital, Leiden, in the Netherlands, working under the direction of Professor H. A. E. van Dishoeck. As the advances were fairly new and surprisingly varied, Drost felt a phonograph album demonstrating the techniques would be useful for those in the field. The album thus features a narrator explaining aspects of several different techniques, followed by examples of patients employing them. Buccal speech (limited to certain consonants), parabuccal speech (collecting air in a space between the upper jaw and the cheek), glosso-pharyngeal speech (a method deemed obsolete where air is forced between the tongue and the palate), esophageal voice (made by reconditioning one’s esophagus via swallowing, suction or injection), various injection techniques and devices such as the larynxophone, pipa di tichioni and “western electric” are all explored here, along with other aspects of the larynx and its absence. Speech After The Removal Of The Larynx is definitely one of the strangest albums ever given a commercial release!

- One 140 gram RED Vinyl Disc in plain white paper inner sleeve

- 4/color Single-pocket jacket - shared with 093624903444

- 4/c over 4/c Lyric Insert - shared with 093624903444

- 2/c (PMS 186 + Black) 2.0' x 4.0' FYE Exclusive Marketing Sticker

- 1/c (Black) UPC sticker and affix directly on jacket over existing barcode.

Global superstar Michael Bublé is scheduled to release(pronounced love) as his first studio album in two years on November 16th following a two year break from public life to spend time with his family.

The Canadian singer-songwriter returned to the studio with a new perspective on life and a renewed commitment to honouring the music he has always loved.

I didn't anticipate returning to recording or performing and I was fine with that. My entire world view has changed completely these last few years. I wanted to spend all my time with my wife and kids. That was my focus. During that time, I also learned how much love and humanity is out in the world from the prayers and good wishes we received. But slowly, along with understanding what my priorities in life are, I began to feel a new commitment to express the emotions and lessons I've embraced. Whether I am the narrator, the observer, the main character, the dreamer, the broken hearted guy at a bar or having the night of a lifetime, I have stories to tell on this record. It's all there in the songs. I have had so many blessings in life and one of them is that I hold the torch to keep these songs alive for generations to come. I take the responsibility very seriously. My end game for the new record was to create a series of short cinematic stories for each song I chose and have it stand on its own. I'm so proud of what we accomplished,' commented Bublé.

Bublé co-produced his new album and brings new love to several rich classics from the American Songbook. The album opens with the idealistic and dreamy 'When I Fall In Love.' It also includes a haunting take on another Rogers & Hart standard, 'My Funny Valentine.' Other standouts are an ebullient 'When You're Smiling,' a swinging 'Such A Night' as well as Bublé's hand-picked favorites including 'Unforgettable,' 'Help Me Make It Through The Night,' and 'I Only Have Eyes For You.' Two standout tracks are Charlie Puth's swinging 'Love You Anymore' and an achingly poignant 'La Vie En Rose' -a Bublé duet featuring singer Cecile McLorin Salvant. A touching Bublépenned original 'Forever Now' demonstrates his songwriting skills, which were previously shown in such Bubléwritten hits like 'Home,' 'Haven't Met You Yet' and 'Everything.' The album closes with a show-stopping version of 'Where or When.'

was produced by David Foster, longtime collaborator Jochem van der Saag and Michael Bublé. The trio brought Bublé's visions to life with luscious arrangements surrounding his rich vocals. Michael Bublé has sold over 60 million records worldwide, performed hundreds of sold-out shows around the globe, and won four Grammys and multiple Juno Awards during the course of his extraordinary career.