Cerca:the whole truth

Back in 2020 The Whole Truth dropped a heap of gospel inspiration on Parkway in the shape of “Lord, Quench my Soul.” Three years later and they’re back stronger than ever.

The original Believe is an intense call for hope, featuring some amazing hooks and instrumentation that reference the sound of classics yet still bring new flavors.

Parkway boss Mark Seven has stretched the piece out into two further mixes, injecting time and space to create club friendly mixes that are high on hope!

Altogether it’s more timeless magic from the label you rely on

For any collaborative project to succeed, the artists involved need a creative unifier – a meeting point, if you will, of their disparate interests and experiences. In the case of Mondo Love & Betrayal, the joint project of Nottingham musical mainstays Neil ‘Nail’ Tolliday and Henry Claude Scott, there were two creative unifiers: a mutual love of classic 1980s synth-pop, as well as shared admiration for each other’s work.

Even so, such shared interests and respect for prior mutual endeavours is no guarantee of success. Yet as their eponymous debut album emphatically proves, the duo’s disparate experiences, characteristics and musical strengths have not only dovetailed beautifully, but also resulted in serious sonic gold. Put simply, Mondo Love & Betrayal is a stunning debut album rich in emotive songs, colourful melodies, atmospheric chord progressions and infectious grooves. Throw in the sun-splashed warmth and saucer-eyed, loved-up tactility of late 80s dance beats, and you have a breakthrough album whose timelessness is evident from start to finish.

The project’s roots lie in Tolliday’s desire to work with Scott, a virtuoso guitarist, talented producer and secret songwriter best-known for his work alongside Huw Costin as Torn Sail, and John ‘Ming’ Thompson as Brown Fang – both projects known for prioritising organic instrumentation and sunset-ready soundscapes over dancefloor-rooted beats.

Tolliday, of course, is one of British electronic music’s true polymaths – a long-serving house producer best-known for his long-running Bent project alongside fellow Nottingham resident Simon Mills. He initially approached Scott with the idea of providing vocals on a house track he was working on, but quickly suggested something else: an exploration of a classic synth-pop sound inspired by his love of Pet Shop Boys, New Order, Depeche Mode and the producers who worked with them – the likes of Martin Hannett, Arthur Baker, Stephen Hague and John Robie.

Scott accepted the invitation, seeing it as an opportunity to explore a different side of his musical personality. Their first recording session resulted in the ear-catching and memorable brilliance of ‘Correspondence’ – a tongue-in-cheek breakup song inspired by the death of landlines and the rise of mobile communications – and soon they were working on their debut album.

The resultant 10-track set is simply sublime, with Scott’s expressive delivery of his own lyrics on life, love, heartache and rejection working in perfect union with Tolliday’s kaleidoscopic and pleasingly authentic backing tracks – gorgeous and beautifully rendered instrumentals rich in memorable melodies, bittersweet chords, and subtle nods to ‘80s and early ‘90s dance-pop culture, from Shep Pettibone style remixes and Bernard Sumner guitar licks, to Beloved-esque piano parts and Chris Lowe chord progressions. Some listeners may also draw favourable comparisons with 21st century synth-pop practitioners, particularly Parcels, Private Agenda and the deeply emotive songs showcased by Junior Boys.

For proof, wrap your ears around such album highlights as opener ‘Boo Boo’, where Scott warns that “love and betrayal will haunt you” atop sparkling synths and Vince Clarke style grooves, the Behaviour-era PSB melancholy of recent single ‘Your Latest’, the mid-tempo dreaminess of ‘Beyond The Rainy City’, the early Depeche Mode chug of ‘Whatever Happened To Me’ and the tactile warmth of ‘Across The Plane’.

We could go on. In truth, the whole album is – in Scott’s words – “magical musical alchemy”. Wherever they choose to go next, Mondo Love & Betrayal is a seriously good sonic statement of intent.

Sadurn’s sophomore album The Underworld is a collection of heart-rendingly personal and instantly relatable songs, due out this fall on Run For Cover Records. Following years of lingering vocal issues for guitarist G DeGroot, the album is the culmination of an emotion- al and spiritual journey and a a deeply personal meditation on loss, healing, and transformation.
Sadurn began in 2017 as a solo project for G DeGroot, and from the start their approach to songwriting was informed more by emotional intuition than any kind of real ambitions to be heard. “I discovered songwriting as an outlet for processing my reality,” they explain. “A lot of times when something is hard to say, it flows more easily in songwriting. It’s a place where you can circle back to your own truth.” After moving to Philadelphia, DeGroot was joined by gui- tarist Jon Cox, drummer Amelia Swain, and bassist Tabitha Ahnert. The group recorded Radiator, a debut that immediately connected with listeners and was met with critical acclaim.

Throughout The Underworld, the rawness of DeGroot’s lyrics are matched by Cox, Ahnert, and Swain’s evocative playing. Stunning opener “the weight” describes the early stages of a relationship deteriorating, with brilliant soloing from Cox and DeGroot’s warm voice intertwining through its widescreen outro. Highlights like “mess,” “never tell me,” or “whole thing” strike a perfect balance be- tween lush arrangements and intimate performances, while tracks like “why does my heart” or “can’t stop” add unvarnished, single take moments of spontaneity, or GarageBand demo looseness that perfectly compliment the unabashed longing in the songwriting.

Sadurn’s sophomore album The Underworld is a collection of heart-rendingly personal and instantly relatable songs, due out this fall on Run For Cover Records. Following years of lingering vocal issues for guitarist G DeGroot, the album is the culmination of an emotion- al and spiritual journey and a a deeply personal meditation on loss, healing, and transformation.
Sadurn began in 2017 as a solo project for G DeGroot, and from the start their approach to songwriting was informed more by emotional intuition than any kind of real ambitions to be heard. “I discovered songwriting as an outlet for processing my reality,” they explain. “A lot of times when something is hard to say, it flows more easily in songwriting. It’s a place where you can circle back to your own truth.” After moving to Philadelphia, DeGroot was joined by gui- tarist Jon Cox, drummer Amelia Swain, and bassist Tabitha Ahnert. The group recorded Radiator, a debut that immediately connected with listeners and was met with critical acclaim.

Throughout The Underworld, the rawness of DeGroot’s lyrics are matched by Cox, Ahnert, and Swain’s evocative playing. Stunning opener “the weight” describes the early stages of a relationship deteriorating, with brilliant soloing from Cox and DeGroot’s warm voice intertwining through its widescreen outro. Highlights like “mess,” “never tell me,” or “whole thing” strike a perfect balance be- tween lush arrangements and intimate performances, while tracks like “why does my heart” or “can’t stop” add unvarnished, single take moments of spontaneity, or GarageBand demo looseness that perfectly compliment the unabashed longing in the songwriting.

Sadurn’s sophomore album The Underworld is a collection of heart-rendingly personal and instantly relatable songs, due out this fall on Run For Cover Records. Following years of lingering vocal issues for guitarist G DeGroot, the album is the culmination of an emotion- al and spiritual journey and a a deeply personal meditation on loss, healing, and transformation.
Sadurn began in 2017 as a solo project for G DeGroot, and from the start their approach to songwriting was informed more by emotional intuition than any kind of real ambitions to be heard. “I discovered songwriting as an outlet for processing my reality,” they explain. “A lot of times when something is hard to say, it flows more easily in songwriting. It’s a place where you can circle back to your own truth.” After moving to Philadelphia, DeGroot was joined by gui- tarist Jon Cox, drummer Amelia Swain, and bassist Tabitha Ahnert. The group recorded Radiator, a debut that immediately connected with listeners and was met with critical acclaim.

Throughout The Underworld, the rawness of DeGroot’s lyrics are matched by Cox, Ahnert, and Swain’s evocative playing. Stunning opener “the weight” describes the early stages of a relationship deteriorating, with brilliant soloing from Cox and DeGroot’s warm voice intertwining through its widescreen outro. Highlights like “mess,” “never tell me,” or “whole thing” strike a perfect balance be- tween lush arrangements and intimate performances, while tracks like “why does my heart” or “can’t stop” add unvarnished, single take moments of spontaneity, or GarageBand demo looseness that perfectly compliment the unabashed longing in the songwriting.

There is a hush most of us only knew as children, the warm drift between familiar household sounds and being carried to bed, a place that belongs to you and to some self you have not met yet. June McDoom’s debut full-length, Follow the Light, lives in that dream space and then keeps walking, slipping out of time and waking somewhere new, barely familiar enough to feel like home yet wholly your own. She came up in a Jamaican household on the edge of the Florida Everglades, an existence built of extended family, communal care, bass and harmonics. Her father, a carpenter and a student of sound, built his own speakers and kept three sound systems going across as many rooms. His low end would rise through her bedroom floor like some wayward cat while she lay above it with folk records, finding harmonies that were new and hers alone. Two musics in one room. Lushness as past and premonition. She found folk on her own, somewhere between the cast recording of The Sound of Music and Simon and Garfunkel, while everyone around her called it sleepy music. She did not mind being the only one. The solitude let her fall for harmony first, before words, before anything else, and harmony is still the thing she reaches for. Generationally speaking, the music was already in the air. Her grandfather, Colin Smith, is a distinguished mento man who played banjo and guitar and built his own rumba boxes, worked to keep Jamaica’s oldest acoustic folk form alive. Mento is the root of all of it: ska, rock steady, reggae, dub and everything after. He is the one who put a guitar in her hands. An inheritance, a gift and a map. Even her name is part of it, though she will tell you she landed on it more by feel than reason. She records as June McDoom, born Alyssa, June being a nickname one of her grandmothers, Joan, went by, a name she thought was cool to carry and simply liked the sound of. An etheric channel that reverberates all the same. A dub all its own.


Made slowly and by hand with her longtime partner Evan Wright, Follow the Light lays the harmony of folk over the rhythm of dub, with Dionne Warwick, Minnie Riperton, Pentangle and the washed guitars of Cocteau Twins haunting its outer edges. Voice and guitar seeking each other out first, then everything else stacked across long days in the studio they keep at home, restraint kept on purpose. The lead single “Without You” is the whole method surfacing, split open and sparkling like a geode in a creek bed. Angelic heroics, and nothing less.


At the heart is family. Her grandmother Aggie, the light behind “Memory,” guiding still. And underneath, the quieter truth the record keeps: none of us are only one person, but a continuum of selves, the ones who shaped us and the ones we have yet to meet. Future you is an ancestor your current self gets to greet. Press play and the same invitation is yours: A few minutes out of time, a place that turns familiar the longer you stay until you surface somewhere new and find it was yours all along

There is a hush most of us only knew as children, the warm drift between familiar household sounds and being carried to bed, a place that belongs to you and to some self you have not met yet. June McDoom’s debut full-length, Follow the Light, lives in that dream space and then keeps walking, slipping out of time and waking somewhere new, barely familiar enough to feel like home yet wholly your own. She came up in a Jamaican household on the edge of the Florida Everglades, an existence built of extended family, communal care, bass and harmonics. Her father, a carpenter and a student of sound, built his own speakers and kept three sound systems going across as many rooms. His low end would rise through her bedroom floor like some wayward cat while she lay above it with folk records, finding harmonies that were new and hers alone. Two musics in one room. Lushness as past and premonition. She found folk on her own, somewhere between the cast recording of The Sound of Music and Simon and Garfunkel, while everyone around her called it sleepy music. She did not mind being the only one. The solitude let her fall for harmony first, before words, before anything else, and harmony is still the thing she reaches for. Generationally speaking, the music was already in the air. Her grandfather, Colin Smith, is a distinguished mento man who played banjo and guitar and built his own rumba boxes, worked to keep Jamaica’s oldest acoustic folk form alive. Mento is the root of all of it: ska, rock steady, reggae, dub and everything after. He is the one who put a guitar in her hands. An inheritance, a gift and a map. Even her name is part of it, though she will tell you she landed on it more by feel than reason. She records as June McDoom, born Alyssa, June being a nickname one of her grandmothers, Joan, went by, a name she thought was cool to carry and simply liked the sound of. An etheric channel that reverberates all the same. A dub all its own.


Made slowly and by hand with her longtime partner Evan Wright, Follow the Light lays the harmony of folk over the rhythm of dub, with Dionne Warwick, Minnie Riperton, Pentangle and the washed guitars of Cocteau Twins haunting its outer edges. Voice and guitar seeking each other out first, then everything else stacked across long days in the studio they keep at home, restraint kept on purpose. The lead single “Without You” is the whole method surfacing, split open and sparkling like a geode in a creek bed. Angelic heroics, and nothing less.


At the heart is family. Her grandmother Aggie, the light behind “Memory,” guiding still. And underneath, the quieter truth the record keeps: none of us are only one person, but a continuum of selves, the ones who shaped us and the ones we have yet to meet. Future you is an ancestor your current self gets to greet. Press play and the same invitation is yours: A few minutes out of time, a place that turns familiar the longer you stay until you surface somewhere new and find it was yours all along

SKYLAX RECORDS proudly unveils the final chapter in its monumental 4-part saga — SKYLAX BLACK 4: Enlightenment Theory. This visionary series, bringing together two of France’s most iconic electronic artists — ARNAUD REBOTINI and ACID WASHED — was never just a collection of records. It was a journey through the deepest layers of the underground — a conceptual project where each release was a coded message, each track a fragment of a greater whole. On the A-side, Enlightenment Theory explodes with fierce urgency — an anthem forged in the spirit of Underground Resistance, echoing the soulful intensity of early ’90s Detroit without imitation. It’s bold, emotional, and militantly underground — a future classic cloaked in defiance and elegance. On the B-side: B1. Space Is The Place channels the weightless gravity of dub techno at its purest — all echo chambers and endless delay, a direct line to the Berlin school of Basic Channel, Maurizio, and Deepchord. B2. Beyond Current Biological Constraints closes the chapter in deep space — an electro masterwork evoking Drexciya, full of aquatic melancholy and cybernetic funk. It’s not retro — it’s timeless. With this last installment, the puzzle is complete. The meaning is revealed: R.A.V.E. — four records forming one powerful word. One timeless idea. A tribute to everything this culture stands for: raw energy, emotional truth, sonic innovation, and spiritual depth. This project could only be born on SKYLAX RECORDS — a label that has always stood apart. Uncompromising. Devoted to physical formats. Fiercely loyal to the culture. While others chase trends, SKYLAX continues to chart a different course — one rooted in the sacred codes of house, techno, electro, and beyond. It is no exaggeration to say that SKYLAX is one of the last true purist strongholds of underground music — and this series, with its layered meanings and fearless artistry, is proof. From Redshifts to Blueshifts to Artificial Darwinism then Vision Quest, every chapter has pointed toward this moment. Now, with Enlightenment Theory, the full vision is revealed. RAVE is not just a word — it is the truth. A philosophy. A myth reborn. The circle is complete. The message endures. The legacy lives on.

2026 Repress

Akusmi is the project moniker of French-born, London based composer, multi-instrumentalist and producer Pascal Bideau, who signs to the new Tonal Union imprint for the release of his album 'Fleeting Future.' With its hallucinatory, genre-defying blend of minimalism, cosmic jazz and Fourth World influences, and in its quest for optimism in the face of unknown and limitless possibility. 'Fleeting Future' stands apart as an inventive and inspirational debut.

The creation of the album's richly colourful and multi-layered sound world was originally inspired by Bideau's journey to Indonesia, where he immersed himself in traditional Gamelan and gong music. Many of the themes, motifs and melodies on 'Fleeting Future' seed from the 'Slendro' scale, one of the essential tuning systems used in Gamelan. However it is not musical scales, but scales as in the size or extent of things that most fascinates Bideau, specifically he explains; "the compelling way things dramatically change when you shift from any given scale to another."

The album connects directly to nature and the wider world in its evocation of perceptive shifts and transitions from microscopic to macro scale, as evidenced by the opening title track 'Fleeting Future', on which a simple dotted saxophone line morphs and billows into synths, brass and strings, indicating the musical voyage that lies ahead. Like the start of a journey or adventure it is full of anticipation, its arborescent growth conveying the optimism of the unknown and of limitless possibility. The album centrepiece 'Neo Tokyo' is a vibrating, ebullient mass of colliding elements which feels like zooming in to the electron level, as it teeters on the edge of chaos. The title is a reference to Katsuhiro Otomo's Akira, a dizzying work of art set in a sprawling futuristic metropolis.

'Yurikamome', meanwhile, is an imaginary soundtrack inspired by Bideau's yearning to visit Japan which he fuels by watching Youtube videos of drives and rides through Japanese landscapes and cities. "It's amazing" he adds, "that we have the ability to access almost anywhere in the world and see what it's like, that people document it and upload it. It's never going to be any replacement for the real thing, but with places that really touch you, it works." The track is named after a Japanese monorail train line which rides from Shinbashi to Toyosu, a last journey that feels like a new beginning.


'Fleeting Future' was composed and recorded by Bideau between 2017 and 2019 in his North London studio and features additional contributions recorded in Berlin by Florian Juncker (trombone), Ruth Velten (saxophone) and regular collaborator Daniel Brandt of Brandt Brauer Frick (drums / electronic percussion). Having been living through uncertain times, one thing that keeps spiralling into the unknown is the future, about which Bideau leaves us with a final thought:

"The future is fascinating: It is constantly readjusting to new events. I feel we left a linear approach to the future to enter an arborescent one where all the data and information we have about what could happen is exponentially ever-growing. Following a branch might allow you to glimpse into what it may become, but the evolution of the whole picture might very well render the prediction totally obsolete, and even meaningless. In that sense, there is not one future but innumerable ones all cancelling each other. That's what makes it fleeting."

Sounds Over Seas is ready to release its very first LP by label founder Julian Bainbridge. The album covers aspects of the Deep House genre in its classic definition, pushing certain boundaries, whilst maintaining the spirit of the genre through feeling and utilising melodies and rhythm to evoke emotions which go beyond the dance floor. Keeping it raw throughout the nine tracks, each one incorporates different elements of the music spectrum. Implementing jazzy tweaks, minimalistic rhythms, haunting melodies as well as ambience and global sounds in a full dancing and listening experience.

Mr Bongo proudly presents the third album by Melbourne/Naarm multi-instrumentalist, Don Glori, entitled ‘Paper Can’t Wrap Fire’. A kaleidoscopic genre-surfing odyssey that brings together the worlds of jazz, soul and funk. Feeling both contemporary and classic, familiar yet novel, it’s an assured third release that sees an artist in full flight, showcasing their creative prowess and the uniqueness of their musical voice.

Steering in a new direction, Don Glori (aka Gordon Li) has delved headfirst into his songwriting with ‘Paper Can’t Wrap Fire’. Deftly showcasing his talents as a writer and bandleader, he brings with him a whole host of friends from the creative crossroads that is Naarm. It’s an album enriched with more soul, R&B, and funk-oriented songs than his previous jazz-rooted productions, yet there’s still plenty of jazz material for those familiar fans of Don's earlier works.

The album’s title is an old Chinese proverb, roughly translated as 'you can’t deny the truth'. This underlying thread is woven between the songs. “A lot of them are in some way about truth-seeking, observations and the masks you put on to deal with life (hence the cover art)”, Don mentions. Take, for instance, the sensational soul single 'Brown Eyes' featuring silky lead vocals by ML Hall. A dissection of the minority experience, and the power and comfort in building those communities. Elsewhere, 'Disaster' is a satirical take on the structures serving everyone but the artists, and 'Flicker' tackles notations of truth and clarity after introspection.

To marry that meaning with the level of musicianship on these tracks is what really stands out. Don has set out his stall here as an artist who can write songs that hit home in the heart, as much as they do in the head. It’s a journey infused with a glistening jazz finesse, layered with nourishing vocal harmonies and powered by an instantly relatable human soul.

Recorded over two hot summer days in Rolling Stock Studios in Collingwood, Naarm, the lineup of musicians is built up of Don's friends and family. Featuring the backbone team of Tim Cox, Al Kennedy, Joel Trigg, Robyn Cummins and Lachlan Thompson, who were part of Don's touring band before he relocated to London, and a stunning selection of vocalists in the form of ML Hall, Ruby Dargaville, Isadora Lauritz, and Bianca Kyriacou. Also gracing the album are trumpeter extraordinaire Audrey Powne, saxophonist Joshua Moshe, and Alcides Neto who sprinkles some Brazilian magic into the record.

Taking influence from artists including Azymuth, SAULT, Jordan Rakei and Lynda Dawn, as well as from London musical beacons such as NTS and Total Refreshment Centre, Don has run with this, leaned in and come out with a record truly unique to himself and his distinctive core, with no mask necessary.

Originally released in 1978. A Classic Reggae album re-released on 180 gram vinyl and produced by Linval Thompson with extensive sleeve notes.
Recorded at Channel One Recording Studio & Harry J's Recording Studio.
Cornell Campbell is one of an elite group of Jamaican reggae singers who has weathered the changes throughout the music's development - in his case, from the ska era to right up to date - whilst retaining their relevance. Witness his recent alliance with UK Afrobeat/reggae band The Soothsayers or Jazmine Sullivan's R & B hit Need U Bad, which sampled his classic 'Queen Of The Minstrel' -a song that still sounds fresh more than thirty years later.
Sweet Baby was pressed on bright red vinyl, which only added to the excitement when you saw the selector position it carefully on the deck.
On the LP cover was a painting of Cornell wearing an emerald green shirt and framed by a lurid sky, which might have left some people wondering if it was a soul album. It wasn't, although there is certainly soul in the grooves, and especially on R&B covers like Gonna Take A Miracle - first recorded by the Royalettes -and Darling You Send Me, which Sam Cooke had introduced to the US Billboard charts some twenty years earlier.
Both are among the highlights but then the whole album is good in truth, and a heartfelt I Need Somebody and My Sweet Baby, plus the two-step favourite Just Enough were regularly played on sound system. Blinded By Love, I Didn't Know and Can't Hide My Love are tinged with melancholy and like the seductive Whenever You Need Me, display all the hallmarks of a classic Cornell Campbell side -swooping vocals, a driving rhythm and seductive lyrics included.

Nearly forty years later, it is gratifying to know there is still no mistaking him when his records are played in a dance. That relaxed vocal style draws you in but it's his falsetto, quivering with understated emotion that hooks you and turns you into a lifelong fan.

It’s no disrespect to the man to not believe, in part or in whole, every word that Ray Wylie Hubbard writes, sings, or speaks — and frankly, he’d probably respect you a little less if you did. As celebrated songwriters of the outlaw poet/down-home-country-blues persuasion go, Hubbard’s credibility is unimpeachable. And to be fair, even as a somewhat notorious raconteur, his overall truthiness is a lot more bankable than your average politician or fundamentalist grifter.

But fold your cards every time he goes all in across a table from you, or swallow as fact every nugget of wisdom he sharpens into verse or stretches into a yarn without catching the gleam in his eye or wry tell between the lines, and odds are you’ve been played. But honestly, that’s all just part of what makes Hubbard so damn fun. “You know, a lot of artists when they put out a record, they go, ‘This is the best record I’ve done up to this point,’” the Americana legend considers sagely after a pause when asked how to best sum up Reel 2 Reel 4 Real, his 20th album in a recording career stretching back to the mid-70s. “But I’m not going to say this is the best record I’ve done. I’ll say it’s the best record I’ve ever heard.” No matter how many awards and Hall of Fame inductions others might honor him with (he’s a member of both the Austin Music HOF and the Texas Heritage Songwriters HOF), Hubbard never swaggers or sings his own praises without keeping his tongue planted firmly in cheek.

But after brushing aside his bluff with a chuckle, Hubbard gets real. “I am very proud of it,” he answers sincerely. “Everybody that played on it put a lot of work into it, and it just felt right doing it. I’m very grateful.” Set for release August 21, 2026 (with the first taste, “Cassette Mix Tape,” dropping May 29, followed later this summer by a second single, “Dog or Wolf”), Reel 2 Reel 4 Real marks Hubbard’s return after a two-album major-label joyride on Nashville’s Big Machine Records. “They treated me great, and did everything they could,” he says, “but it was kind of limited because I’m an old guy. I’m no longer a country hunk, you know?”

BLUE & WHITE COLOUR IN COLOUR VINYL

In the culinary arts, it’s easy to overcomplicate the final product. Theme, presentation, texture…they’re important but should work to complement the raison d'etre of any food. At the end of cooking a dish, it should taste good and feed people. Some dishes, like barbeque or provoleta, resist the tendency towards hollow showmanship. One of their expressions can be more or less aesthetic, but the first purpose is to be simple and tasteful. Argentinian provoleta goes so far as to blur the line between ingredient and dish. It relies on the inherent flavor of provolone being heated at the right speed for the perfect amount of time. You can add garlic or chives or red pepper to the slice, but ultimately they serve to bring out an essence that’s already there.

Los Angeles’ Cousin Feo has developed his rapping acumen in the five years since releasing Provoleta, but returning to the project today shows that he always had the penmanship, grit and delivery that christens an emcee worthy of remembrance. Like the bubbles rising up in the appetizer that is the album’s namesake, Feo showed that true profundity is found in the simple gestures.

Since dropping the project in 2019, Cousin Feo has expanded his vision of a world where hip-hop and football, two proletarian art forms, mingle in creative and compelling ways. He has collaborated across multiple continents, chronicled football histories, aided in canonizing legends, kept the flames high in age-old rivalries and constantly forced his audience to search for the last time they heard bars this hard. In anyone else’s hands it would be too great a task.

The maturity he showed on Provoleta wasn’t nascent, it was an inherent quality forcing itself to the surface. The songs refract his experience as a working class Angeleno through the archetypes of Argentinian football legends. The kernel that unites the two worlds is hustle. When Feo was coming up, missteps had greater consequences than crashing out in the group stage and street deals had the weight of a Boca-River Plate match.

Each track uses slightly different ingredients to let Feo’s underlying talent shine. “Maradona” feels salvific, fitting for a football legend canonized from the Andes to the Alps and a Los Angeles rapper looking to inspire similar hope in the neighborhoods that raised him. On “Di Stefano” Feo massages the instrumental with the same composure of the late forward, until he pierces through the headphones like one of Di Stefano’s arrows. It’s also refreshing to hear a song celebrating Messi before his meme-ification, focusing on the universal truths contained in his footballing talent instead of using number 10 as a stand-in to make a point in a fruitless argument. And he still finds space to show deference to Batistuta, Kempes and other members of the Argentinian pantheon who’ve been erased from the popular imagination by the national team's contemporary success.

Real ones know that true players, true rappers, and true artists will always stand the attacks of time and consensus. In Provoleta’s first verse, Cousin Feo says he moves with the hand of God. Maybe one day he’ll tell the whole truth and let us know how he was able to wrestle the pen away too. Limited edition of 300 hand-numbered copies.

THE RAPPER ANDPRODUCER"S NEW ALBUM
Palmier is producer and rapper Rocé"s new album. At the crossroads of Sade and Rakim, the album unfolds an impeccable flow over gentle melodies, the mellow sound of the saxophone softening the sharpness of the spoken truths. Rocé delivers a melody of hope, and appreciation of determination in the face of the impossible. "La Voie Lactée" features the captivating voice of Natacha Atlas and the sublime orchestrated violins of Samy Bishaï, the whole thing wrapped up in the style reminiscent of Isaac Hayes" soul and Portishead"s trip-hop. "Laisse les enfants courir" reveals a soulful hip-hop,between powerful groove and relentless flow, where Rocé blends political lucidity and poetic verse while Cisko"s subtle arrangements sculpt an organic, sensitive landscape, poised between tension and serenity. On "Lunaire", Rocé surprises us right away, with a sharp and melodic flow. Driven by powerful imagery and sharp lyrics, the track transforms anger into creative energy. It portrays an artist outsidethe mainstream, awareof the world"s failings but determined to create his own haven. Palmier embodies the melancholy of unfinished struggles, perseverance, and the promise of a brighter dawn.

Coming out of some serious health issues which undermined his singing capacity, Jon came back with this solo album which can easily be rated among his best ever. The album has a convincing spiritual mood enriched by means of an intelligent variety of tunes, from the most religious ones, to more symphonic compositions à-la "Jon & Vangelis”. His old buddy Rick Wakeman appears on this album along with other brilliant musicians who are able to create a very organic work as a whole. It is a wonderful, a hugely enjoyable musical, spiritual, and vocal journey with one of rock's most important contributors.

Palmier is producer and rapper Rocé's new album. At the crossroads of Sade and Rakim, the album unfolds an impeccable flow over gentle melodies, the mellow sound of the saxophone softening the sharpness of the spoken truths. Rocé delivers a melody of hope, and appreciation of determination in the face of the impossible. "La Voie Lactée" features the captivating voice of Natacha Atlas and the sublime orchestrated violins of Samy Bishaï, the whole thing wrapped up in the style reminiscent of Isaac Hayes' soul and Portishead's trip-hop. "Laisse les enfants courir" reveals a soulful hip-hop, between powerful groove and relentless flow, where Rocé blends political lucidity and poetic verse while Cisko's subtle arrangements sculpt an organic, sensitive landscape, poised between tension and serenity. On "Lunaire", Rocé surprises us right away, with a sharp and melodic flow. Driven by powerful imagery and sharp lyrics, the track transforms anger into creative energy. It portrays an artist outside the mainstream, aware of the world's failings but determined to create his own haven. Palmier embodies themelancholy of unfinished struggles, perseverance, and the promise of a brighter dawn.FEAT. NATACHA ATLAS & LE VIOLONISTE SAMY BISHAI

Other Stories, born from the collaboration between Pablo Bolívar and Alexandra Savvidi, blends the elegance of downtempo with the depth of deep house. Across its eight tracks, the album explores immersive atmospheres, where gentle pianos and Alexandra’s evocative vocals intertwine with broken rhythms, creating a unique listening experience. Set to be released on vinyl, this record gathers the best of the duo’s joint journey, offering a perfect blend of introspection and subtle energy.

US Black Friday 2025 Release. There are very few albums in the psych/punk/hard rock/private presses strata that garner the sort of universal awe and accolades that Fraction’s almighty Moonblood LP does, and even fewer records in the world that could be dubbed ‘Christian Rock’ incur such fierce devotion. Indeed some records just meteorically lift themselves out any genre tag with brilliance and sheer defiance--and Moonblood is surely one of them. Based in LA, Fraction was a ragged collection of working-class musicians--the line-up was ringleader Jim Beach--vocals; Don Swanson--lead guitar, Curt Swanson--drums, Victor Hemme--bass, and Robert Meinel--rhythm guitar. Beach himself describes those early days: “The guys met through various acquaintances that we had in LA. All of us had been in bands before, but were seeking something with more teeth. We had a small studio in an industrial complex in North Hollywood and started practicing sometimes as early as 4:30 AM. We all had day jobs, so we did what we could.”

Amazingly the recording sessions for the album were recorded similarly on the fly, as Beach further states: “The Moonblood recording took place at Whitney’s Studio in Glendale, CA, early in 1971. On a strict budget, these songs were recorded in less than three hours—all of them “one takes.” We played, all 5 of us, simultaneously-- there were no studio effects, no overdubbing or any additional sound effects added. Basically what you hear is considered ‘old school’ recording.”

This workmanlike description in no way prepares one for the pure tortured genius the session wrought. Particularly noteworthy is Beach’s vocals—as commonly stated, the spirit of Jim Morrison is conjured in his deep baritone, which gives way to unparalleled pained howls, at times bathed in delay which trails into the abyss. Fascinatingly enough, Beach cites the much punker Love as his fave LA band over the Doors, and also gives influence-nods to proto-everything rockers The Yardbirds and to Dylan, whose dark word tapestries surely inspired Beach’s lyrics (though lines from The Doors’ “L’America” pop up on the LP) Whatever the case, the man clearly has a vision, as even the stark sleeve concept is Beach’s own. Equally as integral to the Fraction sound is lead guitarist Don Swanson—his blown-out fuzz riffs set a template for what is now commonly known as “stoner rock” or “acid punk,” and his solos consist of jagged, wah-wah-ed shards of notes, with his amplifier clearly pushed to the limit.

Beach says: “Don’s guitar was always my driving force and he did everything he could to keep it over the top. You’d never know that (his sound) was coming from an old, broken down Esquire. Don kept it alive!” The other members contributions shouldn’t be underappreciated though-- drummer Curt Swanson keeps things at a constant simmer, and then boils over when the whole band launches into snarling glory. The band and LP as a whole equals something indescribably intense from start to finish—comparisons to the Detroit late 60s high-energy bands like The Stooges and MC5 abound, as well as the sort of late 60s damaged spirit lurking in biker clubs and disgruntled Vietnam vets. The song cycle on side 1 of the LP in particular cuts to the emotional core, with severely charged dark lyrics like “Extend your thumbs and burn the darkness out of her.” Which brings us to the Christian aspect--it often can confuse listeners. The Fraction/Beach world of religion is complex and perhaps a bit pagan/sinister than most---fire and brimstone, temptation, and the truth-seeker being burned by this hell on earth—or perhaps as Beach himself best put it: “Speaking for myself, as a believer, it’s been a progressive experience since my childhood.

I think we’re all basically driven to live more than religion.” The album was pressed in a run of but a few hundred to little attention in the day, but now inferior bootlegs flood the marketplace, and originals of Moonblood command thousands of dollars. So enjoy this all-inclusive reissue, which also features for the first time on vinyl, 3 lost tracks-- like the more acoustic-minded “prisms” and “dawning light,” as well as the proto-metal choogle of “Intercessor’s Blues.”

Fragments was a completely new way of working for us. We’ve always worked with an internal brief, creating documents, pictures and videos, simply because keeping an idea on track with three individuals can be difficult. It's easy for someone to be edged out of the creative process when the focus is not clearly defined.
It’s a formula we’ve used since the early 2000s, but things have changed a lot since then, particularly when we decided to dip our collective toes into supporter memberships with Patreon. It made us think about what we could do directly for our support- ers rather than just the next album or project. At first, the whole thing felt odd and uncomfortable, but we decided that we’d try a few things and ask for feedback.
"Fragments" was initially a way for us to see how we could include others in an ongoing creative process. There was no over-arching concept, no defined characteristics or purpose, just the promise that there would be at least one new track for members to download every month. Consequently, we never knew what was coming next, so the old, very focused working method was irrelevant. It was difficult for us to let individual tracks go without knowing what was coming next, but this also made the project more interesting.
And then C19 hit and we were forced to continue the project remotely from our home studios. As difficult as the disruption was, it was during this period that we realised we could re-organise and remaster the individual tracks into a coherent album, captur- ing a specific moment in time and drawing a line under the first phase of the project.
Like our "Allegory" EPs, we’ve tried to keep everything stripped back. We used to hide many subtle elements within the layers, but not so much this time.
Fragments is our journey through many changes, both self-im- posed and those imposed upon us, and it ultimately led us to create things differently. We hope you like it.




b A2















r D1 b Yes Hello (Remastered BONUS) 1:53
s D2 No JuJu (Man Power Version - Remastered BONUS) 4:27
t D3 Cup Noodle (Unemployed Youth Version - Remastered [BONUS]) 5:43
[u] D4 Black Smoke (They Never Got Started) (Remastered [BONUS]) 2:18
[v] D5 Concrete Concentration (Remastered [BONUS]) 3:21
[b] They All Live In The Past (Remastered [BONUS]) 1:06

Thank You For Almost Everything is the sophomore album for Headache, a collaboration between writer and poet Francis Hornsby Clark and music-producer Joseph Thornalley aka Vegyn. This new album follows on the surprise underground success of their debut: The Head Hurts But The Heart Knows The Truth (released 31 May 2023) releasing on Vegyn's own PLZ Make It Ruins label. The debut record has streamed over 19.4 million times on Spotify alone and sold over 8,000 physical copies worldwide. The debut gained its popularity entirely organically with zero marketing or PR spend. Since its release, Headache has built a dedicated global fanbase, with several fans even going so far as to get lyrics or the project's logo tattooed on themselves. Thank You For Almost Everything continues the original's distinct style of Trip-Hop / Downtempo Electronica but combining with its own unique (and now imitated) AI-voiced spoken word. For this new album, Headache steps away from the hum-drum of Blighty and instead focuses his gaze to sunnier shores. Recalling personal histories of ruffled hair and school cafeterias, ancient unsolved Albionic riddles, Rome's changing seasons and its poignant graffiti, arguments with girlfriends at luxury hotel beachfront restaurants, and what it truly feels like to be alive in this inscrutable but beautiful world. The project features a further collaboration with artist Cali Thornhill DeWitt who returns to design the packaging and cover for this new album. This double 12" vinyl release, like the first, includes the instrumental versions exclusive to the vinyl version. The album, mixed and mastered by Margo Broom at RAK Studios, will use a similar surprise drop strategy as with the first album. "Follow up to the 2023 debut that gained its popularity entirely organically with zero marketing or PR spend. "Total Streams Since Release (31 May 2023): 19,413,173 (Spotify alone) "Previous vinyl album sold over 8,000 physical copies worldwide. "2nd Disc contains instrumental versions exclusive to vinyl format

Two years after their formation, the English power pop band The Only Ones released their self-titled debut album in 1978.
The Only Ones played not-so-fast guitar rock that sounded deeply indebted to the New York Dolls and other mid-70s proto-punks.
Their debut album The Only Ones is regarded as a classic of the first wave of UK punk and features the brilliant hit

“Another Girl, Another Planet”, which is their most successful track and has since been covered by many other performers.
Since the Nineties, the album has appeared on several all-time greatest albums lists, including the book 1001 Albums
You Must Hear Before You Die in 2006. This edition of The Only Ones features remastered audio and is available on black vinyl.

Los Angeles trio Faetooth sophomore album Labyrinthine is a deeply felt exploration of emotional weight: grief, memory, uncertainty, and the quiet work of growing around your own wounds. Following the band's 2022 debut Remnants of the Vessel, which introduced the band’s signature blend of heaviness and mysticism, Labyrinthine pushes further inward. True to its name, the album winds through a maze of feeling and form, where meaning is never handed over easily. It’s rooted in self-discovery through disorientation, the idea that understanding comes not from escape, but from getting lost. Ari May (guitars and vocals), Jenna Garcia (bass and vocals), and Rah Kanan (drums) manage to stay grounded in the immediate in parallel with fantasy themes of the band's namesake. Labyrinthine holds space for this contradiction; tenderness and intensity, restraint and release. The band's self-branded “fairy doom” sound fits between shoegaze, doom, and grunge. It isn’t just texture; it’s a framework for navigating the unsaid. Like the myth that inspired its title, Labyrinthine doesn’t end in victory, but in confrontation—not with escape, but with the Minotaur. Only here, the Minotaur isn’t a monster. It’s something quiet and more familiar: unresolved feelings, old memories, and sadness that refuse to stay buried. The album winds like a maze, sometimes heavy, sometimes hushed, always intentional. Faetooth isn’t chasing catharsis. They’re creating space to reflect, to feel, and maybe to get a little lost along the way.
Artist quote: "White Noise" emerged from a diary entry, and is a relentless and intense reflection on inner turmoil. We’re often drawn to the familiar, even when we don’t realize we’re reaching out for it. It is an emotional upheaval, carrying harsh truths that weigh heavily on the heart. Guitarist, Ari May mentions, “Performing the song always takes me back to a specific place, even if just for a moment.”
“Riffs and melodies brimming with loneliness and longing… this band’s incantations affect my mood the whole day after listening.” — The Sleeping Shaman
“Bringing otherworldly hazy doom goodness… dreamy clean vocals, echoing harsh vocals, entrancing riffs, meditative shoegaze melodies.” — Nine Circles
“Slow, lumbering behemoths of great weight… couched in a melancholy atmosphere and explosions of crushing heaviness.” - Where Strides The Behemoth

Los Angeles trio Faetooth sophomore album Labyrinthine is a deeply felt exploration of emotional weight: grief, memory, uncertainty, and the quiet work of growing around your own wounds. Following the band's 2022 debut Remnants of the Vessel, which introduced the band’s signature blend of heaviness and mysticism, Labyrinthine pushes further inward. True to its name, the album winds through a maze of feeling and form, where meaning is never handed over easily. It’s rooted in self-discovery through disorientation, the idea that understanding comes not from escape, but from getting lost. Ari May (guitars and vocals), Jenna Garcia (bass and vocals), and Rah Kanan (drums) manage to stay grounded in the immediate in parallel with fantasy themes of the band's namesake. Labyrinthine holds space for this contradiction; tenderness and intensity, restraint and release. The band's self-branded “fairy doom” sound fits between shoegaze, doom, and grunge. It isn’t just texture; it’s a framework for navigating the unsaid. Like the myth that inspired its title, Labyrinthine doesn’t end in victory, but in confrontation—not with escape, but with the Minotaur. Only here, the Minotaur isn’t a monster. It’s something quiet and more familiar: unresolved feelings, old memories, and sadness that refuse to stay buried. The album winds like a maze, sometimes heavy, sometimes hushed, always intentional. Faetooth isn’t chasing catharsis. They’re creating space to reflect, to feel, and maybe to get a little lost along the way.
Artist quote: "White Noise" emerged from a diary entry, and is a relentless and intense reflection on inner turmoil. We’re often drawn to the familiar, even when we don’t realize we’re reaching out for it. It is an emotional upheaval, carrying harsh truths that weigh heavily on the heart. Guitarist, Ari May mentions, “Performing the song always takes me back to a specific place, even if just for a moment.”
“Riffs and melodies brimming with loneliness and longing… this band’s incantations affect my mood the whole day after listening.” — The Sleeping Shaman
“Bringing otherworldly hazy doom goodness… dreamy clean vocals, echoing harsh vocals, entrancing riffs, meditative shoegaze melodies.” — Nine Circles
“Slow, lumbering behemoths of great weight… couched in a melancholy atmosphere and explosions of crushing heaviness.” - Where Strides The Behemoth

Los Angeles trio Faetooth sophomore album Labyrinthine is a deeply felt exploration of emotional weight: grief, memory, uncertainty, and the quiet work of growing around your own wounds. Following the band's 2022 debut Remnants of the Vessel, which introduced the band’s signature blend of heaviness and mysticism, Labyrinthine pushes further inward. True to its name, the album winds through a maze of feeling and form, where meaning is never handed over easily. It’s rooted in self-discovery through disorientation, the idea that understanding comes not from escape, but from getting lost. Ari May (guitars and vocals), Jenna Garcia (bass and vocals), and Rah Kanan (drums) manage to stay grounded in the immediate in parallel with fantasy themes of the band's namesake. Labyrinthine holds space for this contradiction; tenderness and intensity, restraint and release. The band's self-branded “fairy doom” sound fits between shoegaze, doom, and grunge. It isn’t just texture; it’s a framework for navigating the unsaid. Like the myth that inspired its title, Labyrinthine doesn’t end in victory, but in confrontation—not with escape, but with the Minotaur. Only here, the Minotaur isn’t a monster. It’s something quiet and more familiar: unresolved feelings, old memories, and sadness that refuse to stay buried. The album winds like a maze, sometimes heavy, sometimes hushed, always intentional. Faetooth isn’t chasing catharsis. They’re creating space to reflect, to feel, and maybe to get a little lost along the way.
Artist quote: "White Noise" emerged from a diary entry, and is a relentless and intense reflection on inner turmoil. We’re often drawn to the familiar, even when we don’t realize we’re reaching out for it. It is an emotional upheaval, carrying harsh truths that weigh heavily on the heart. Guitarist, Ari May mentions, “Performing the song always takes me back to a specific place, even if just for a moment.”
“Riffs and melodies brimming with loneliness and longing… this band’s incantations affect my mood the whole day after listening.” — The Sleeping Shaman
“Bringing otherworldly hazy doom goodness… dreamy clean vocals, echoing harsh vocals, entrancing riffs, meditative shoegaze melodies.” — Nine Circles
“Slow, lumbering behemoths of great weight… couched in a melancholy atmosphere and explosions of crushing heaviness.” - Where Strides The Behemoth

Connection is the new ten song LP from Los Angeles powerhouse Orgone featuring collaborations with Cyril Neville, Kelly Finnigan, Pimps of Joytime, and more. The album is the inaugural release on 3 Palm Records, distributed by Colemine Records and Secretly Distribution. A spiritual follow up to fan favorite Bacano, Connection is gritty, lean, and tight soul and funk at its best. It explores the invisible threads that bind us all, spiritually, emotionally, and artistically. Much like the collage that adorns the cover, this hard hitting collection of songs illuminates the essence of Orgone: a musical pastiche of different vocalists, heavy riffs, vintage production, and a core rhythm section that never disappoints. The synergy created in these songs demonstrates that the whole is truly greater than the sum of all the individual parts and players.

It’s very difficult to describe someone as prolific as Misha Panfilov. So, I feel the best way to define him is to think of a “Trivial Pursuit Playing Piece,” where each pie piece represents one of the bands he heads up, and each band has its own distinct style and genre. Yet, when looked at all together, create the whole musical persona of Misha. This is the lens I would like to view his latest endeavor, Days As Echoes.

The vibe on this sophomore release channels Krautrock philosophy and Library music, peppered with elements of jazz, Ethiopian, cinema, ambient and bits of everything between. This atmosphere is created from all the instruments Misha uses and the resulting compositions are heard as repetitive patterns that are forged from the multiple layering of melodies. Thus, creating six unique songs with emotional granularity, yet collectively encompass a genuinely positive “feel good” vibe…with a hint of nostalgia.

Moods of the day, moods like echoes say, A future of hope is yours, by following the Sun’s ray.

The opening track, “Days As Echoes,” is a dedication to a much simpler time when the sky was bluer and the snow was whiter…just like how you remember it when you were a child. A time when people honestly cared more about everything as a given, and not as a selfish accolade. A time when optimism seemed within reach. In other words, nostalgia marred by awareness.

…Leading to a path where the skies are not gray. Where dreams of castles in the air are the mainstay.

“In A Dream” has a style that pays homage to both spiritual jazz and ambient music. A simple theme is introduced and leads to the climax of this stormy dream, putting it all in perspective. That pivotal point when one realizes the truth by re-tracing the events, which led to the epiphany of how to find the answer while traveling within this airy soundscape.

…Diurnal or nocturnal, day or night, Traveling the path of truth must be done without fright.

One can’t help but feel a definite traveling vibe that comes from “Moonscape Waltz” To me, it has a dual-characteristic that can be visualized as a train trip, either at sunrise or sunset. Regardless, the time is not of major relevance, but the actual pursuit is. Lao Tzu said, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with that first step.” This track takes you beyond that initial step into this vast world toward your destination as you search for the truth.

…The unknown is real, but you know the deal. People need people to show which direction you point the wheel.

“Together” is the most peaceful and solo oriented compositions of this album. It shows how one cannot achieve happiness alone, but the importance of having someone special or a group of others to help along the way. Not only to help seek your goal, but also the ability to enjoy the scenery while on your journey

…The end of this tunnel has a light that’s so bright. Illuminating the trodden way, your destination, now in sight.

One is free from the chains of the unknown as you listen to a “Few Layers For Smith”, a dedication to a friend. A song that draws energy from the ECM works of Steve Reich, thats married with a primitive lo-fi basement setting. Its positive force breaks those encumbrances and gives you a glimpse of your prize. But you ruminate on this and come to the conclusion that the path that led you there is equally important as the goal itself. Question is, how do you share your realizations and experiences?

…The route was cast, the trials have passed. The glittering treasure you sought is yours now, at last.

“Ocean Song” meanders from the ritual rhythms of its shoreline to the crashing riptides of unbridled guitar feedback, creating this raging ocean atmosphere. However, its message is quite clear and states that people’s goals and experiences are not just meant for personal growth, but to be shared with
others, so that they too can live vicariously thru your story and somehow utilize it for their own.

…The prize has been won, but the journey is never done. You now have the responsibility to share everything under the Sun.

These six songs, each with its own sound, collectively comprise the vibe of this album. One cannot help but feel a sense of joy and fulfillment when listening to it. Each song has its own unique mood, yet together create an atmosphere of hope and happiness that has no choice but to spill out of the listener. I feel this was the ultimate goal of Misha’s on this record. Quite a challenge for the man who never sleeps, but is always searching for the perfect beat. One may not fully grasp his musical mind, but this album does give you a gateway into the moods and magic of Misha!

- Brent Sawicki

Second solo album by Arthur Satan, released on Born Bad, after 'So Far So Good', his pop solo debut, which was a pleasant surprise for fans of his notthat-garage group JC Satan 'A Journey That Never Was' is so big you'll need special furniture to accommodate this unreasonable, maximalist parade, crammed full with 1960s pop influences.

The record plays with heritage like a kid would unabashedly plan for a birthday party. No stupid treasure hunt, we're bowling with the heads of our foes, guitars are literally bleeding through the mix. T-Rex burgers, fountains of chocolate choruses dripping on Brian Wilson - shaped giant cookies: let's indulge. Each song is a musical family, each verse is an album, each riff is a title. In his Christmas gift list, Arthur probably circled absolutely every toy: his taste for completism never disappoints. He played almost every instrument, mixed the album and designed a whole graphic universe to go along with it. A visual artist by trade, also made a point of drawing a monumental fresco spreading out the fantasy landscape that haunts this album.

Mr Bongo proudly presents the third album by Melbourne/Naarm multi-instrumentalist, Don Glori, entitled ‘Paper Can’t Wrap Fire’. A kaleidoscopic genre-surfing odyssey that brings together the worlds of jazz, soul and funk. Feeling both contemporary and classic, familiar yet novel, it’s an assured third release that sees an artist in full flight, showcasing their creative prowess and the uniqueness of their musical voice.

Steering in a new direction, Don Glori (aka Gordon Li) has delved headfirst into his songwriting with ‘Paper Can’t Wrap Fire’. Deftly showcasing his talents as a writer and bandleader, he brings with him a whole host of friends from the creative crossroads that is Naarm. It’s an album enriched with more soul, R&B, and funk-oriented songs than his previous jazz-rooted productions, yet there’s still plenty of jazz material for those familiar fans of Don's earlier works.

The album’s title is an old Chinese proverb, roughly translated as 'you can’t deny the truth'. This underlying thread is woven between the songs. “A lot of them are in some way about truth-seeking, observations and the masks you put on to deal with life (hence the cover art)”, Don mentions. Take, for instance, the sensational soul single 'Brown Eyes' featuring silky lead vocals by ML Hall. A dissection of the minority experience, and the power and comfort in building those communities. Elsewhere, 'Disaster' is a satirical take on the structures serving everyone but the artists, and 'Flicker' tackles notations of truth and clarity after introspection.

To marry that meaning with the level of musicianship on these tracks is what really stands out. Don has set out his stall here as an artist who can write songs that hit home in the heart, as much as they do in the head. It’s a journey infused with a glistening jazz finesse, layered with nourishing vocal harmonies and powered by an instantly relatable human soul.

Recorded over two hot summer days in Rolling Stock Studios in Collingwood, Naarm, the lineup of musicians is built up of Don's friends and family. Featuring the backbone team of Tim Cox, Al Kennedy, Joel Trigg, Robyn Cummins and Lachlan Thompson, who were part of Don's touring band before he relocated to London, and a stunning selection of vocalists in the form of ML Hall, Ruby Dargaville, Isadora Lauritz, and Bianca Kyriacou. Also gracing the album are trumpeter extraordinaire Audrey Powne, saxophonist Joshua Moshe, and Alcides Neto who sprinkles some Brazilian magic into the record.

Taking influence from artists including Azymuth, SAULT, Jordan Rakei and Lynda Dawn, as well as from London musical beacons such as NTS and Total Refreshment Centre, Don has run with this, leaned in and come out with a record truly unique to himself and his distinctive core, with no mask necessary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In 2016 an internet user discovered Panchiko’s discarded 2000 demo CD, D>E>A>T>H>M>E>T>A>L, in a Nottingham charity shop and posted it to 4chan to intrigue and fanfare. It took four years for Panchiko’s legions of dedicated fans to find the people behind the music as millions of curious listeners were swaying to the band’s adolescent creations. Upon discovering their own virality, the band reformed with original members Andy Wright (keyboardist and producer), Owain Davies (vocalist and guitarist), and Shaun Ferreday (bassist) alongside new members Robert Harris (guitarist) and John Schofield (drummer), toured the world and wrote, recorded, and released their first album in 20+ years, 2023’s Failed At Maths. But after the thrill of the whirlwind came a new question. What comes next when your dreams come true? The answer is Ginkgo, a 13-track project that finds the band making some of their most introspective, cinematic, and moving music yet. “The whole production has gone up ten-fold,” says Wright of the new album.“ Standout track "Shandy in the Graveyard" feat. rapper billy woods sees the band channeling their youth and tapping into the typical audience at Panchiko shows. That youthful spirit can be felt in the song’s sonic world, as its production genre-shifts between trip hop and orchestral folk, creating a fresh juxtaposition of soundscapes. The same wrenching honesty that attracted legions of fans to their teenage demos is the same truthful ethos that keeps them listening to new material like title track, “Ginkgo.” On it, Davies sings “You command the leaves to fall/The Ginkgo bends at will.” A rumination on the limits of control, collaboration, and fate, the song is an apt meditation for a band whose resurgence came about through a mix of luck, artistry, and then clear-eyed energy.

While 1995's Washing Machine LP moniker was a thinly-veiled jab at the corporate aesthetic ("no, you cannot turn Sonic Youth into a household appliance brand", the band even considered changing its name to Washing Machine but settled on the album title instead), their major label relationship was indeed a curious buzzpoint of talk on the street after their intake to DGC in 1990. It wouldn't be fair to say that this state of existence propelled the band to reinforce its independent mindset by releasing a series of opaque-looking, French-language-dipping, highbrow-looking releases on their own that focused on the more abstract improv/compositional side of the band; in all truths they had been heavily steeped in self-releasing spillover material prior to that. But after a pressure pot of the early 90's indoctrination into a new operational mode for the band and its visibility, and the forces around it attempting to shape their direction, it seemed like a good time to create a strong show of radical concept.

The Anagrama EP became the first in a series of the SYR label's Perspective Musicales releases seemingly cementing Sonic Youth's connectivity to an increasing public awareness in experimental composers of the 20th century (French or otherwise). The irony was that many of those original avant composers being rediscovered by the indie audience (Partch, Neuhaus, Reich, Messaien) often found themselves on major labels anyway! So, perhaps this reverse approach was a necessary concept/comment given the music biz climate of the 90's. Regardless of how apples and oranges fell in Xenakian probability/theory, it was clear that both Sonic Youth's stature in progressive music, aided by now unlimited taperoll time thanks to a home base studio downtown established after their Lollapalooza stint, gave the band plenty of trailblazing time for their self examination of untraveled avenues.

"Anagrama" unfolds into nine minutes of delicate textures, starting with thick drone segueing into moments reminiscent of the post-crescendo flutter/comedown of "Marquee Moon's" trail-out; Thurston, Lee and Kim's guitars all circling round each other taking delicate pokes and stabs before drifting into some post-rock rhythmic moves tapered with delicate percussive guidance from Steve Shelley. "Improvisation Ajoutée" reaches further out into dissolve with whirring oscillations, guitars hissing and clanking radiator-style in a short blast format that continues into "Tremens" and a spooked-out landscape of gelatinous notes snaking up slowly. The sparseness of attack is colorful, textures emit and linger, silent spots shine, all flanked by tasteful drumming that provides the thread to all the abstraction. Shelley's approach here is interestingly sideways to any kind of usual rock action, it's tempered, mutant and metronomic simultaneously. The finale track "Mieux: De Corrosion" is a real pedal-palatte showcase. Here, Plutonian guitar wash flanges upwards to buoy a myriad of colorful eruptions of amp-spuzz, chopped up tone blasts and general confusion. Out of the blue, some metallic one-note choogle kicks in and threatens to explode into some Judas Priestly motion, before it all sputters into aural glass showers, clang, and finally a ferocious wave of more flange hiss that crashes down on a dime.

This initial foray into SY's Perspectives Musicales series continued onward with releases featuring other co-conspirators, peaking with the ambitious 2CD Goodbye 20th Century that finally connects the band into full-on interpretations of other composers' pieces (as well as displaying their own new ones). The whole series is not so much an outlet for another "side" of the band, but a run that went hand in hand building new approaches of songcraft onto their own, more overground direction which included Jim O'Rourke (who hopped on during SYR3), adding additional density to A Thousand Leaves and other LPs of his era. Fans of the '86 Spinhead Sessions as well as the recently-exhumed later jams of In/Out/In will take in the sounds of SYR1 with glee.

A collection of newfangled pagan hymns to coincide with the end of truth.

Recorded under a full flower moon at the Albion Rooms in Margate. The heartfelt, mystical ditties are accompanied by Matt Millership on an ancient piano, with no other instrumentation. The whole record is simply piano and voice.

These songs are about trading modern society for a wilder, more feral existence. Songs that dig deep into the meaning of life and our purpose on earth. They provide an exit strategy from boring dystopia by gambling the flood for a fairy tale.

This might sound pompous, but such is life, and such is the wild goose chase.

Horrible Occurrences is the title of the new Advance Base album, and there is truth in advertising. In these songs_all centered around a fictional town called Richmond and featuring an interlinked cast of characters_you will hear stories of death and disappearance, climactic confrontations and unsolved mysteries. "Richmond is just this place where all the bad memories live," Owen Ashworth explains, and nearly 30 years into his songwriting career, none of his records have packed quite the emotional intensity of this one. And yet something alchemical happens in the telling of these tales. Like a masterful short story collection, Horrible Occurrences is inspiring and alive, idiosyncratic and electric, pulling you closer with each word. In the six years since his last full-length collection of originals, 2018's Animal Companionship, Ashworth gathered ideas from performing live and traveling around the country, returning to cities that he once called home and revisiting old ghosts, memories, and fragments of unfinished ideas. Blending truth and fiction into a dreamlike composite, the songs convey the winding path our memory takes as the years go by, giving voice to a subconscious that is still unpacking old memories for new wisdom. Drawing inspiration from the otherworldly loneliness depicted on '80s masterpieces like Arthur Russell's World of Echo and Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska, the music never crowds Ashworth's detailed storytelling but it also never feels auxiliary. These are beautiful songs, but they stick with you for their ability to strike dissonant, unforgettable emotional chords. It is this pervasive empathy in Ashworth's songwriting_along with his writerly gift for clear settings and complex characters_that has made him a guiding light for so many independent artists. The things that happen throughout Horrible Occurrences are what we tend to call "unspeakable"_events that draw gut-level responses just from acknowledging that they could happen. But part of the triumph of the record is how simply and generously Ashworth finds the language to share them. For the characters in these songs who make it out okay, these are the types of memories they will be tossing and turning their whole lives, waiting for quiet moments to confide them among the people they trust. For the rest of us, they are signs of life along the highway on a dark, snowy night: reminders that, as isolated as we may feel, we are not alone on the road.

Dame Area's highly anticipated fourth studio album, "Toda la verdad sobre Dame Area" ("The Whole Truth about Dame Area"), a collaboration with the renowned labels Mannequin Records and Humo Records.

Formed in 2017 within the vibrant underground scene of Barcelona's Màgia Roja club, Dame Area comprises the Italian-Catalan duo Silvia Konstance and Viktor Lux Crux. They fuse industrial-tribal polyrhythms with minimalist synth basslines, drawing profound inspiration from avant-garde masters such as Esplendor Geometrico, Throbbing Gristle, Suicide, Einstürzende Neubauten, Can, Coil, Swans, Big Black, and Wolf Eyes.

This record represents a new phase in Dame Area's discography. It's a big step up in terms of sound, composition and ideas. This record it's the perfect representation of what they have been playing live the last three years and what most people know them for. Also it serves as a companion piece to 2022’s Toda la mentira sobre Dame Area ("All The Lies About Dame Area"), which had a stronger focus on melody, while this latest record is more aggressive and industrial-influenced, with a greater emphasis on percussion.

Tracks like the Suicide-influenced "Si no es hoy cuando es" and "Sempre Cambiare" are an onslaught of industrialism and experimentalism—formidable, volatile, and unpredictable avant-garde subversion. Silvia explains, "One of our biggest influences is doing what our influences wouldn't do. We're more into dynamics and structures atypical of electronic music, with changes in time signatures, starts and stops, and dynamics more typical of rock music. We use any musical idea from any genre. Some songs on the album are based on flamenco rhythms, others influenced by '60s experimental pop, heavy metal, or contemporary electronic music."

The confrontational "Vengo dall'aldilà" accelerates with heavy percussion, while "Tu me hiciste creer" builds into a rhythmic, transcendent noise of yelled vocals and hypnotic beats. Viktor adds, "This song took us more time to complete than any other we have recorded. It was a very organic process, evolving slowly from some instrumental percussive stuff we were doing live. Then we started using feedback as a rhythmic element (through a metallic sheet), and this was the first song where we incorporated this element, typical of noise-rock and experimental rock."

Elsewhere, "Esto Es Nuestro Ruido" represents a manic, eclectic form of contemporary industrial music, post-punk, and EBM. Silvia notes, "It's the first album we recorded outside a studio. Although we've been playing live with metallic percussion and floor tom from the very start, in the studio, with some exceptions, it was mostly sample-based until now. On Toda la verdad sobre Dame Area, all drums and almost all metallic percussion have been recorded live."

With a growing reputation as one of the best live bands around since their inception, Dame Area has toured extensively across Europe, performing at renowned festivals like Atonal, CTM, Nuits Sonores, Dour, and Fusion, as well as legendary clubs such as Berghain, Tresor, Apolo, and Spook Factory.

Recorded at Sol de Sants Studios and Estudio Hermetic between August and November 2023

Silvia Konstance: vocals, synths, percussions, electronics, production
Viktor L. Crux: synths, drums, percussions, electronics, production
Mixing and additional production by Guillermo Sánchez Rojo
Mastering by Paul Mac at Hardgroove Mastering
Designed by Leo Sousa
Photography by Fabio Calabretta
Photo concept by Dame Area

"Women + Country is the second studio album by singer-songwriter Jakob Dylan, son of the legendary Bob Dylan and frontman of The Wallflowers. The album is released in 2010 and produced by T Bone Burnett. T Bone, who has known Dylan since he was a kid, suggested the two make an album together after the singer played him the song “Nothing But The Whole Wide World"". Dylan recorded the album in less than a week in Los Angeles, with T Bone’s crack backing band, which includes Marc Ribot (a frequent collaborator with Tom Waits) on guitar and David Mansfield on fiddle and mandolin.

Women + Country is available as a limited edition of 1500 individually numbered copies on ash grey coloured vinyl and includes an insert with lyrics