Buscar:under the counte

Bruno Silva, operating here under his restless Serpente alias, returns with Visita do Fogo — a sharp, stripped-back and incendiary counterpoint to the drifting, dream-jazz abstractions of Dias da Aranha. If that record floated like smoke, this one crackles and snaps like dry wood.

Visita do Fogo finds Silva stepping back into the heat of his beat-driven origins, embracing a raw, forward-leaning approach that feels closer to his live detonation than a studio construction. The record is built on stark materials — drum fragments, percussive jolts, scorched-earth loops — all manipulated with his unmistakable “screw” instincts: micro-cuts, sudden pivots, rhythmic false floors and the sense that the track might turn itself inside-out at any moment.
Rather than smoothing edges or leaning into atmospherics, Serpente doubles down on urgency. Each piece moves through the record with a chop-and-go physicality, a kind of ritual propulsion that never settles into comfort. Silva’s rhythmic language remains entirely his own: crooked but precise, feral yet meticulous, rooted in dance structures but constantly mutating away from them.

Visita do Fogo is less a sequel to Dias da Aranha than a flare shot into the same night sky — brighter, hotter, and designed to leave afterimages. It captures an artist burning forward, shedding everything unnecessary, trusting the flame.

France's near-revolution of May '68 was the zenith of that generation's struggle for a new kind of life. It kicked the country's small, but vibrant, counter-culture into overdrive, and birthed a local underground music scene. The bands it spawned made music with much less rock purity than groups from the UK and US. Their musical and cultural influences foregrounded improvisation, disjunction, and genre-blending: Soft Machine, Pink Floyd, Frank Zappa, free jazz, and radical politics. The introduction of the synthesiser in the early 1970s added fuel to the fire.

This collection of French underground music inaugurates a series to accompany "Synths, Sax & Situationists", the first English-language book to investigate this movement. It focuses on the music of the second wave of bands that emerged in 1972/3, which saw radicalised psychedelic and jazz influences merge with the future-music possibilities offered by new technology. The next volume will investigate the politically-charged bands that erupted in immediate aftermath of May '68.

AICHER is the work of longtime label veteran Liam Andrews (My Disco, EROS), with additional production from his My Disco spar Rohan Rebeiro – an experimental percussionist and erstwhile collaborator of Roland S. Howard and HTRK. Together, they make resoundingly coarse, bullish industrial musick, distilling fascinations with tone and space through eight gristly and darkly sublime cuts, sharpened by production from Boris Wilsdorf of Einstürzende Neubauten and Swans fame.

Through eight cuts, »Defensive Acoustics« reveals a clammy touch of reverberant buzz and below-the-belt shudder, with a creeping, sensual signature of authority that strongly recalls Alan Wilder’s Blasphemous Rumours-era sound design for Depeche Mode, stripped to absolute skeletal fire. Tectonic plates of sound are pushed to an extreme biting point in a sort of structural stress test that feels like an oil rig in action—or perhaps more acutely, junked at harbour.

We go from the lurching buckle of »Ascertain« and the bilious atonality of »Harness Pleads« to the vertiginous scale of the title piece and the brutal momentum of »An Exhausted Image«—almost collapsing under its own bass weight—while the pranging girders of »Constriction« make us think of that 101 version of »Stripped«: propulsive, full of primal energy, and clanging, clipped reverb. »Possessions« ends the album with a passage of bleakly romantic ambience, a judicious emotive counterweight to the preceding gnarl.

Death Is Not The End reissue Mark Vernon's sought-after 2013 collection Sounds of a Modern Hospital on vinyl & cassette formats.

Whilst every effort has been made to record the subject in as great a degree of isolation as possible, the sound recordings you will hear on this record were made in a real working hospital and not under controlled conditions. Therefore, on occasion, you may hear some unavoidable background noise, conversations and other extraneous sounds.

All recordings were made by Mark Vernon at Forth Valley Royal Hospital, Larbert, Stirling Community Hospital and Falkirk Community Hospital between 2011 and 2013.

Siren Selector presents the first voyage of Remy Solar, as the producer takes a break from composing sound system exclusive dubs to expand his horizons with this by-turns lush, textured, menacing and plaintive album.

‘Heavy Terrain’ emerges from the depths of a lifetime inside the dub fraternity: reared on a potent diet of Lee Scratch Perry and Augustus Pablo, The Disciples and Digital Mystikz, it’s an album which stuck its head in a bass bin in an abandoned bingo hall in north London before striking out on a musical road-trip to imbibe sounds and rhythms from further afield.

The album opens with the militant drums and ethereal pads of 'Sound in the East' before being bookended by two mixes of 'Star Trail', where unformed musical space and time cross uncharted distances to coalesce into the beginning of direction and rhythm. The lush deep house chords and drilling synths of 'Lila #3' summon ghostly presences, while in its counterpart 'Lila #7' layers of melody rise and hang like mist before dissipating in percussive heat. 'Dakhla's’ swelling and retreating drones fade into swirls of drums. In the eponymous 'Heavy Terrain', off-beat keyboard chops respond to each other from uncertain depths while electronic horns pulse across miles of open space. 'Empty City 'sees walls of sound coalesce and fragment, falling into bursts of white noise.

Remy Solar explores a deliberately constrained hardware set-up to create the primordial conditions of trance, locking down a rhythmic foundation while semi-improvised excursions form and reform above it. It’s an album that takes the listener on a journey between order and chaos, past and future, all the while underlaid by a counterpoint of cavernous bass lines and echoing percussion, yang and yin, shade and light.

Very limited numbers, orders will need to be confirmed.

For his new album, Irreparable Parables, Andrew Wasylyk felt a strong desire to write a set of songs featuring an element hitherto rare in his work: the human voice. Equally strong was the conviction that he did not want to sing them himself.

The Scottish multi-instrumentalist and composer set about assembling a group of guest singers, sending out the songs to wherever they were in the world. The vocals were recorded remotely and then, like migrating birds, winged their way back to Scotland. The result is an album of great beauty which, perhaps preeminently in Wasylyk’s work, expresses the vulnerability and resilience of the human spirit.

Six singers appear on the record, represented by six songbirds illustrated on the sleeve by Clay Pipe Music’s Frances Castle. The cuckoo is a nod to Belle and Sebastian’s 2004 single ‘I’m A Cuckoo’, that band’s Stuart Murdoch being the first voice you hear on the new album. When the vocal for ‘Private Symphony #2’ arrived, says Wasylyk, “it was everything that I was looking for and more. But this is Stuart Murdoch. Of course he’s going to make something incredibly beautiful and thoughtful.”

The song lyrics were, for the most part, written by the singers. The music is Wasylyk’s creation. He navigates a sound world that lies somewhere beyond the borders of classical and jazz, ambient and abstract. It is difficult to describe, but easy to understand, which is to say to feel. That is the way Wasylyk’s work is experienced: as a feeling. It takes you back to childhood, perhaps, to feelings of comfort and safety, or to memories of walks at sunrise and sunset, or to the way a shadow falls on a particular field in a particular place at a particular time in your life. This is consoling music. That is why, though pretty, it is not merely pretty. These are songs to shore up the soul.

Wasylyk writes in a room, in his native Dundee, full of “half broken” instruments. He picks these up, plays a little, seeking an idea, a feeling, a door that lies ajar. The musical palette of Irreparable Parables includes brass and woodwind, a six-piece string section, guitar, bass, drums, vibraphone, Mellotron, Fender Rhodes, tape loops, synthesisers and percussion. The strings were arranged by the cellist Pete Harvey, a long-term collaborator.

Among the other guest vocalists are Gruff Rhys of the Super Furry Animals, Saya Ueno from Japan’s Tenniscoats and Peter Brewis from Field Music. Wasylyk himself takes the lead vocal on the title track, though a throat infection and touch of pitch-shifting have altered his singing in a way that even he, having fallen out of love with his own voice, finds acceptable.

The heart of the record can, arguably, be found in two tracks, ‘Love Is A Life That Lasts Forever’ and ‘Spectators In The Absence of God’, sung respectively by Molly Linen and Kathryn Joseph. The former, bright with trumpets, was inspired by the writing of Derek Jarman. “I was feeling deeply upset about the world and wanted to try and write some- thing that was obviously hopeful,” Wasylyk says.

‘Spectators …’ offers an emotional counterpoint. It is an “apocalyptic hymn” that seems to grapple with watching human suffering from afar, too distant to be at physical risk, but experiencing the psychological wounding, and feelings of helplessness, even complicity, that come with constant awareness of other people’s pain. “Kathryn’s a pal, I love her dearly, and she’s a brilliant artist who really feels what she writes,” Wasylyk says. “The cracked tenderness of her voice is spellbinding.”

The album closes with an instrumental piece, ‘Soul Enters The Ocean Sun Climbs Out Of The Sea’, all piano and strings, that offers a sense of resolution and ascension. A good moment, too, for Wasylyk to reflect upon the artistic companionship that he enjoyed while making this record – the songbirds that answered his call: “These humans are incredible at what they do. I’m deeply grateful and feel so lucky. It blows my mind.”

Matryoshka has already built a reputation as a producer for DJ Loser's Magdalena's Apathy imprint as well as work for the Nostalgians, an under-the-radar ambient rap collective featuring Yungwebster, Mdb, tnotsobad, Nopaprr and ogpra1. Her musical roots – dubstep, trance and hard dance – tell some of the story here, but she transmogrifies those influences into haunted, Basinski-esque memories like the gaseous traces and decelerated remnants of the club.

On album opener »Lifelover«, Burial's hazed interludes spring to mind, or perhaps the 4am cityscapes of Space Afrika's now mythical »Somewhere Decent to Live«. Background ambiance simmers below Lawson's pensive FM pads, but once she establishes the mood, things take an unexpected turn with a pitch-bent bassline that might have been lifted straight from a 6LACK loosie, and a rhythmic pulse that traces the thin red line of Shinichi Atobe. If it's dub techno, it's a strand that hasn't been codified quite yet.

»Surface Tension« uses deep, Maybach Music-coded bass womps to twist through her skittering slow rhythms and sadcore pads. But it’s Matryoshka’s harmonic instinct that stands out; if you heard the airy »otr« or »fantasize« from Yungwebster's '»II' you'll know exactly what we mean«, and she takes it even further here, weaving cinematic, languid harmonies that bridge the gap between Steve Roach and Future.

Check »Where the Dancers are Spinning« with its levitational, almost orchestral sweeps that Lawson counterbalances with thudding subs, or the brief title track, an Akira Yamaoka-style save room loop that dissipates into a dreamy, dissociated fog, for further proof. Then there's the second side's centrepiece »Parted by the Sea«, where a ratcheting Chain Reaction-style rhythm builds to a tense crescendo only to get splintered unrecognisably in the second half, its broken pieces pillowed by Lawson's billowing time-stretched chords.

Death Is Not The End reissue Mark Vernon's sought-after 2013 collection Sounds of a Modern Hospital on vinyl & cassette formats.

Whilst every effort has been made to record the subject in as great a degree of isolation as possible, the sound recordings you will hear on this record were made in a real working hospital and not under controlled conditions. Therefore, on occasion, you may hear some unavoidable background noise, conversations and other extraneous sounds.

All recordings were made by Mark Vernon at Forth Valley Royal Hospital, Larbert, Stirling Community Hospital and Falkirk Community Hospital between 2011 and 2013.

West Mineral returns with lushly amorphous actions by Shiner, Pontiac Streator & Ben Bondy aka Shinetiac; together fused for an immersive flux of vapoured dub, chopped and droned Billie Eilish, and fidgety algorithmic jams.

There's not a single, specific sound you can peg to the West Mineral axis at this stage in the label’s evolution - it's rather a set of shared aesthetics that freely bend into various interconnected shapes. Shinetiac's contemptuous, critic-baiting gear is the ideal example; on their last album, 2023's 'Not All Who Wander Are Lost', skittery, ketamized IDM sparkled over Spice Girls samples and the Foo Fighters' 'Everlong' was transmuted into Sneaker Pimps-style trip-hop. 'Infiltrating Roku City' might be a little less blatant with its out-and-out poptimism, but it takes a similarly dim view of conservative "big ambient" snobbishness. Just a few minutes of 'Bluemosa' should be enough to let you know what's up; the overall character of the sound is hazed, with frozen pads and garbled, dubbed-out voices smudged into a mess of effects and samples. But it sups up different nuances as it wriggles, absorbing scampering breaks, dizzy acoustic guitar strums and half-heard wordless vocals, flipping in the third act to emerge from its shell as minimalist balearic folk-pop - something like Bon Iver doing 'Electric Counterpoint'.

Brooklyn's Shiner, Philly's Pontiac Streator and Berlin-based Ben Bondy navigate the labyrinthine streaming landscape, guided by their own private experiences of mindless doom-scrolling and cruising the darkest corners of YouTube. They formulated 'Infiltrating Roku City' while they were rehearsing last year and spent the winter stitching together various recordings and jams into a layered, dry-witted commentary on our algorithmic reality. Laden with inside jokes and refried memes, it's surprisingly elegant gear; handling the most unseemly elements like sonic recyclers, earnestly repurposing pop and nostalgia to create an atmospheric echo of contemporary reality.

Screwing Chief Keef's enduring 'Citgo', 'Clublyfe (hulu)' emphasises the original's AFX-pilled euphoria with Robert Miles-style piano hits, replacing Young Ravisu's brittle 128kbps trap rhythm with a glitchy rattle that picks up dembow spikes as it rolls. 'I Hate Being Sober' vaporises the Chicago drill pioneer's 'Hate Bein' Sober', blocking out his voice with glitchy, downsampled interference and elasticated Rhodes. The trio team up with Orange Milk's goo age on the sublime 'Crisis Angel', catching a ray of Malibu's sunshine in the process, and reduce Billie Eilish's voice to a Romance-does-Celine cinder on 'Billie', stretching it to fit next to gassed Future ad-libs and swooping 808 Mafia sub womps. And although the album takes a murky diversion on 'Roku Axes Ultra’, and a cloud-stepping centrepiece ‘Purelink’ in homage to the eponymous dubbed ambient dynamos, it's back on course with 'Jiafei (NETFLIX)', taking aim at TikTok bot videos and welding screams from Florida metal band Underoath to AI-strength vocal curlicues.

A chance meeting in Mexico City set Points of Inaccessibility into motion. When Ibero-American composer Rafael Anton Irisarri crossed paths with Dutch media artist Jaco Schilp at MUTEK in 2024, a conversation about how technology shapes perception revealed an unexpected common ground. Schilp invited Irisarri to a spring 2025 residency at Uncloud, the Utrecht-based collective he co-founded, where Irisarri's sound began to take form amid an environment shaped by Schilp’s visual research.

The Uncloud studio was located inside the former Pieter Baan Centre, a forensic psychiatric prison where suspects of violent crimes were once confined. Its long history of silence and containment shaped the atmosphere in which the project developed. Within this setting, Irisarri coaxed long bowed-guitar tones through a network of pedals and looping systems. The raw gestures thickened into a vaporous and architectural field of sound. Schilp processed the material through a custom point-cloud software patch that produced images in continuous flux. The visuals flickered, dissolved and reformed like memories that resist coherence, functioning as a digital Rorschach that reflected the observer’s own perception.

Amid these spectral echoes, the project evolved into an examination of how the past persists within present signals. Memory endures as residue and interference, continually shaping perception even when its source has faded.

Schilp’s visual process required a continuous stream of sound in real time. Irisarri improvised throughout the residency, generating material that allowed the visuals to develop in parallel. Once back in his New York studio, he began shaping the recordings by carving pathways through the improvisations and mapping selected passages into MIDI. This process allowed him to build outward from the bowed-guitar material with minimal overdubs, adding Prophet 5 textures, Moog bass and strings that expanded the harmonic field while keeping the original performances at the center. To refine the structure, Abul Mogard provided editorial input, working with Irisarri’s stems to guide transitions and strengthen the overall pacing. The material, originally created under conditions of immediacy and constraint, evolved into a fully realized work through careful revision, patience and sustained reworking.

The title engages the geographic concept of the Poles of Inaccessibility, locations defined solely by their distance from all surrounding points. Irisarri adapts this idea to the conditions of digital life, where new forms of inaccessibility arise through the informational enclosures that structure perception. What appears to be a fully connected network often produces a deeper kind of separation, one shaped by the filtering logic of the systems that mediate experience. In this sense, the digital sphere mirrors its geographic counterpart. We inhabit spaces saturated with signals, yet the possibility of genuine contact becomes increasingly remote.

At its core, Points of Inaccessibility considers what can be understood as the new rituals of capitalist realism. Irisarri uses the term digital shamanism to describe the forms of simulated connection that organize contemporary life. These systems promise comfort through algorithms, influencers and AI interlocutors, yet they often reproduce the same conditions that generate loneliness in the first place. What appears as connection becomes the echo of connection, a sequence of gestures that imitate solidarity while withholding it. Like the geographic poles, these rituals are defined by distance. They pull us into environments where everything is illuminated, yet meaningful proximity becomes increasingly rare. In this sense, the work approaches a hauntology of the present, a reflection on futures that have stalled and intimacies that have been thinned by the algorithmic infrastructures that surround us.

This thematic tension unfolds across the album’s four movements. Faded Ghosts of Clouds introduces the work with textures that rise and dissipate in slow cycles, creating an atmosphere that resists clear definition. Breaking the Unison occupies a pivotal position in the sequence and focuses on the moment when the individual and the system fall out of alignment. Its shifting patterns trace the scattering of signals that once suggested connection, revealing the instability at the heart of contemporary perception. Signals from a Distant Afterglow forms the center of the album and features vocals by Karen Vogt, whose presence enters the sound field like a fragile transmission shaped by distance and delay. The closing piece, Memory Strands, follows motifs that appear, recede and briefly intersect before returning to quiet. Across these movements, the album outlines a landscape in which emergence and disappearance continually inform one another.

Listening to Points of Inaccessibility is an encounter with a sound field that is constantly in flux. Elements surface briefly, shift position and recede, creating a sense of motion that resists stable interpretation. The music moves between closeness and vastness, carrying traces of memory while withholding a clear point of resolution.

The album’s visual identity completes the project’s conceptual arc. In Mexico City, where Irisarri and Schilp first met, Daniel Castrejón transformed stills from Schilp’s point-cloud visuals into the cover image. The final artwork captures a single suspended frame of the digital material, a moment extracted from a field that is normally in constant motion. Its surface recalls the texture and abstraction found in the work of Catalan artist Antoni Tàpies, where material presence and erasure coexist within the same plane.

What emerges is a work that examines the tension between technological systems and human presence. Points of Inaccessibility asks whether connection is still possible within environments shaped by mediation and delay, or whether we have become isolated points within the very networks that promise proximity. What possibilities for relation persist within environments organized by algorithms and interruption? And how are we meant to understand presence when so much of it is constructed at a distance?

Points of Inaccessibility will be released on BioVinyl on February 6, 2026, with audiovisual performances planned throughout 2026.

Mastered by Stephan Mathieu
Artwork by Jaco Schilp
Design and layout by Daniel Castrejón
Artist photo by Iulia Alexandra Magheru.

Barry Adamsons Original-Soundtrack versetzt uns in die Unterwelt des nächtlichen Londons – ein lebhafter Soundtrack zum Underground-Kino und zur kulturellen Rebellion.



Barry Adamson, Gründungsmitglied von Magazine und Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds sowie gefeierter Solokünstler und Komponist, kehrt mit dem Soundtrack zu „SCALA!!!“ zurück, dem vielgelobten Dokumentarfilm über die Geschichte des berüchtigtsten Independent-Kinos Londons. Adamson, bekannt für seine Filmarbeiten, darunter Kooperationen mit David Lynch, bringt seine charakteristische Mischung aus Noir, Jazz, Funk und Atmosphäre in eine Filmmusik ein, die ebenso bewegend ist wie das Scala selbst.



Das Album fängt den Geist des Kinos ein: lange Nächte, klebrige Böden, schäbige Underground-Vorführungen und die berauschende Welt subversiver Kunst. In den 22 Titeln zaubert Adamson Stimmungen, die von grüblerisch und cineastisch bis verspielt und chaotisch reichen und die wilde Programmgestaltung und kulturelle Rebellion widerspiegeln, für die das Scala stand.



Der Film unter der Regie von Jane Giles und Ali Catterall erzählt die Geschichte des legendären Repertoirekinos King's Cross (1978–1993). Mit Interviews mit Mitarbeitern, Stammgästen und Ikonen wie John Waters, Mark Moore, Mary Harron, Isaac Julien und Ben Wheatley sowie seltenem Archivmaterial feiert er einen Ort, der zu einem Schmelztiegel für Gegenkultur, Sexploitation, Horror, Kung-Fu, LGBTQ+-Kino, Live-Musik und Kult-Doppelvorstellungen wurde.




Barry Adamson’s original score plunges us into the underworld of late-night London - a vivid soundtrack to underground cinema and cultural rebellion, available on vinyl and CD via Mute.



Barry Adamson, original member of Magazine and Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, and a celebrated solo artist and composer, returns with the soundtrack to SCALA!!!, the acclaimed documentary chronicling the history of London’s most infamous independent cinema. Known for his film work, including collaborations with David Lynch, Adamson brings his trademark blend of noir, jazz, funk and atmosphere to a score that’s as evocative as the Scala itself.



The album captures the cinema’s spirit: late nights, sticky floors, sleazy underground screenings, and the intoxicating world of subversive art. Across its 22 tracks, Adamson conjures moods that shift from brooding and cinematic to playful and chaotic, echoing the wild programming and cultural rebellion the Scala embodied.



The film, directed by Jane Giles and Ali Catterall, tells the story of the legendary King’s Cross repertory cinema (1978–1993). Featuring interviews with staff, regulars and icons including John Waters, Mark Moore, Mary Harron, Isaac Julien and Ben Wheatley, alongside rare archival footage it celebrates a venue that became a crucible for counterculture, sexploitation, horror, kung-fu, LGBTQ+ cinema, live music, and cult double bills.

For 20 years Bart De Paepe has carved a distinctive trace in the realm of psychedelic underground and counterculture. With several outstanding solo albums on a.o. Astres d’Or, Ultra Eczema, No Basement Is Deep Enough and with many studio and concert ventures with Sylvester Anfang’s funeral folks, Louise Landes Levi, Timo van Luijk, Raymond Dijkstra to name a few, Bart De Paepe developed a wide and sharp spirit within the orbit of psychedelic improvisation. Since 2007, Bart also curates the Sloow Tapes and Sloowax labels with an impressive catalog of music and poetry by a wide range of resonating artists. Bart’s visual work (drawing and painting), parallel to his musical universe, has been used on many of these releases. He is a genuinely curious traveler, always discovering new dimensions, which is clearly to be heard on the four tracks of this album.

Zürahümnah is an immediate and immersive dive into solitary inner and outer worlds of light and darkness. Zürahümnah is a floating vibration of flickering twilight. Zürahümnah is a mysterious journey through detached time and space. Equipped with Hawaiian guitar, piano, organ and cymbal, Bart De Paepe sets the controls for the heart of the sun.

"I want nothing more than to be a loner," Emily Kempf sings early on Flower of Devotion, the new album by Chicago trio Dehd. It's a startling admission coming from a songwriter who, just a year ago on Dehd's critically acclaimed Water, wrote eloquently about the joys and pains _ more than anything, the necessity _ of love, compassion, and companionship. But then, "admission" isn't really the right word here, given the stridency of Kempf's tone. "Loner" is a declaration. The record ups the ante on Dehd's sound & filters in just enough polish to bring out the shining and melancholy undertones in Jason Balla and Emily Kempf's songwriting, even as it captures them at their most strident. Balla's guitar lines at times flirt with ticklish cosmic country, while at others they reflect the dark marble sounds of Broadcast. Kempf, meanwhile, establishes herself as a singer of incredible expressive range, pinching into a high lonesome wail, letting loose a chirping "ooh!," pushing her voice below its breaking point and letting it swing down there. When she and Balla bounce descending counter-melodies off one another over McGrady's one-two thumps, or skitter off over a programmed drum pad, they sound like The B-52s shaking off heartache. What makes Flower of Devotion so impressive is how its creation seems to have strengthened its creators, both as individuals and as a unit, even as they've stared down their own limitations. It's also striking just how much fun they seem to be having in the process. "It's okay to be lighthearted in the face of despair," Kempf says. It's a theme that runs through the album, from the opening back-and-forth build of "Desire" to the click-clacking chorus of "Haha," which finds them deflating their own history. Flower of Devotion was recorded in April and August of 2019 in Chicago. It will be released on Fire Talk Records on July 17th 2020.

Tina Records presents the apocalyptic visions of Nokuit. Constructing a hellish diorama across six tracks of industrial electronics, Gates of Horn and Ivory uses biblical allegory to map out our current End Times. With sleeve notes by Andy Sharp a.k.a The English Heretic.

Eurosleaze film composer by day, Nokuit has developed a distinctive cosmology over a mutating series of releases on underground labels including wannamarchi club and NKT. Alongside Cut Hands (William Bennett of Whitehouse), he remixed Roberto Musci on the inaugural Tina Records release, as well as having been remixed himself by schuttle, Kinn and Sonae. He has performed internationally, including at Cafe OTO alongside Mun Sing as part of a lineup curated by Flora Yin-Wong and has received radio support from Ad93's Nik Tasker and Ana Quiroga of Editions Mego's LCC, amongst others.

English Heretic is an autonomous creative research project helmed by writer, occultist and multimedia artist, Andy Sharp. Having released over a dozen albums and booklets since it's inception in 2003, the project culminated with the publication of The English Heretic Collection in 2020 by Repeater Books. Friend and collaborator of the late Mark Fischer, Andy has talked at academic conferences and counter-cultural events on a wide range of subjects drawn from his research.

This is the second release from Tina Records, following Cargo Cult by Roberto Musci. Featuring remixes from Cut Hands and Nokuit, that record received airplay from the likes of Surgeon and Not Waving on stations such as NTS, Noods, Resonance and Intergalactic FM. It was also named one of the best releases of 2024 by Bleep. Tina Records is based in London and Rome.

A glimpse through the window into the mind of Ox Omni, No Prayers to the Devil is a declaration of war against all things ungodly—an unflinching, uncompromising statement from an artist who refuses to bow. Fully produced by 94Maax and mixed/mastered by Shiggy, the album weaves razor-sharp lyricism through haunting samples, crisp drumwork, and cinematic textures. Ox Omni blends street wisdom with introspective storytelling, delivering a project that is both raw and thought-provoking.

The album features carefully curated guest appearances that enhance its immersive atmosphere. RocxNoir joins on “Paid in Full,” Rome Streetz lends his presence to “Kitchen Counter,” and Daniel Son adds his touch to *“Favorite Episode.” Each collaboration amplifies the album’s dynamic range, seamlessly shifting between moments of darkness and revelation.

The striking album artwork, created by Stab Master Arson, reinterprets Friedrich August Moritz Retzsch’s classic painting Checkmate, reinforcing the album’s core themes of power struggles, fate, and the fight for one’s soul. Just as the painting portrays a man locked in a high-stakes chess match against the devil, No Prayers to the Devil finds Ox Omni navigating the trials of life with unwavering conviction.

With its eerie production, calculated lyricism, and masterful sequencing, No Prayers to the Devil is a gripping body of work that cements Ox Omni’s place in the modern underground scene.

As trans-Atlantic alchemists pulling from a shared dialectic that somehow encompassed both postmodern deconstructionist tendencies and a delightfully subversive sense of poptimism, it’s easy to see how David Cunningham and Peter Gordon immediately hit it off upon initially meeting each other back in the late-1970s at the height of their youthful transgressions. Having initially worked together on the second Flying Lizards’ LP fourth wall, with its ingenious fusion of dismantled rhythms and rearranged melodies juxtaposed against the slyly sultry singing of Snatch’s Patti Palladin— with Gordon adding a few sprinkles of mischievous sax in the mix— it’s no wonder the collaboration would lead to further musical adventures.

Which leads us directly to the genesis of The Yellow Box. Embarking on a collaborative exercise in the structural repurposing of music as untethered puzzle pieces in need of rearrangement with no predetermined outcomes, the duo gave birth to a project that would see them move through both time and recording studios across Europe, taking nearly two years from 1981-1983 to complete. Enlisting the great Anton Fier on drums from The Feelies/Lounge Lizards nexus and John Greaves on bass from Henry Cow/Soft Heap lore to round out their dueling creative counterparts, the album would be something of a lost treasure until its eventual release on Cunningham’s Piano imprint in 1996.

Cinematic in scope, and filled with drifting drones, beautiful counter-melodies, eery minimalism, Kraftwerkian synthesizers, looped voices, skronky interludes, and other shifting undercurrents of sound, it was an album that utilized both a diverse array of expressive languages, as well as early sampling techniques and prepared instruments, well before most people were thinking in such expansive, integrated terms at the dawn of the 80’s. But such is life at the vanguard of new music. And one of the reasons that it likely sat on the shelf for so long before finally being released well over a decade later. Like a sparser, less groove-oriented version of My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, or a more radical take on the experimental work of Can’s Holger Czukay, The Yellow Box stands at the crossroads of time and technology, fusing multiple strands of musical thought and compositional techniques into a disjointed whole that somehow still comes off as a conceptually complete record.

Now, here it is again, over 40 years later, with perhaps even more historical resonance than it had before, remade and remodeled just waiting to be rediscovered again.

Munich-based duo Glaskin, brothers Jonathan and Ferdinand Bockelmann, have become pivotal voices in modern techno, known for their residency at the legendary Blitz Club and standout releases on labels like Mutual Rytm and Figure. Their live sets channel dynamic, forward-thinking energy, and now they bring that momentum to FJAAK's ever-expanding CROWD family. With the Blue Light EP, Glaskin deliver four impeccably groovy tracks that balance stripped-down flair and shimmering texture. "Blue Light" opens the EP with mellow synth tones, a lean, hypnotic beat and a vocal loop murmuring 'here we go' that signals the underground journey ahead. Next up is "Captcha", releasing as the single, where a spoken female voice is layered atop rhythmic percussion, marrying atmosphere with groove-driven momentum. On the B-side, "Tape", digs deep into rolling uncompromising techno territory, strict in structure yet irresistibly danceable. The EP rounds out with "Prophat Tool Board", stepping slightly into house-leaning warmth, its broader rhythm and melodic warmth offering a fitting counterpoint to the brooding energy before it. The Blue Light EP is Glaskin's debut on CROWD and a shrewd expansion of the label's sound palette: richly textured techno made for both peak-time impact and immersive listening. To celebrate the release on the label, Glaskin will join label-founders FJAAK for a CROWD night at Nitsa Club in Barcelona on October 10, an event primed to showcase the raw energy and precision behind their studio work. Don't miss this one!

Modern ambient minimalism with early music/baroque influences. Minimal and nuanced, Diary of a Candle is a consoling, melodic suite from acclaimed experimental composer, musician, and producer Faten Kanaan. On this album Faten uses counterpoint as a narrative tool to create music that is mysterious, smudgy, and deeply melodic. From the repetitive structures of modern minimalism and early music/baroque influences - to more languid textural ebbs and tides, there's a warmth in her use of synthesizers that gives her work a curiously timeless feel. Composing intuitively, her music creates its own world - one that isn't easily categorised. Diary of a Candle is punctuated with tender woodwinds and richly-layered strings, touched by the hazy atmospheres of 1970s/1980s films. Its understated heart-on sleeve romanticism follows the rhythm of nature: it bends in the breeze, drifts through the air, and settles on the ground. The ambiance is not an escapism, but the re-focusing of a lens through which humans are no longer the protagonists. Instead, a landscape's intimate details become the central figures. With the sparseness of Hiroshi Yoshimura's 1982 album 'Music for Nine Post Cards' as a starting-point influence, Faten's music exudes a wistful yet hopeful sentiment, honouring moments of beauty in the world around us. Some of the album titles are inspired by East-Asian rites and folkloric superstitions, often related to nature. All music written performed and mixed by Faten Kanaan. Mastered by Heba Kadry(Björk, Bon Iver, John Cale, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Deerhunter, Cate Le Bon, & many more). For fans of Kali Malone, Steve Reich, William Basinski, Sarah Davachi, Stars Of The Lid, , Mary Lattimore and Oneohtrix Point Never.

Talulah’s Tape is the debut offering from magnetic Midwest-jangle collective Good Flying Birds. Across a patchwork mixtape of stripped-down home recordings that span the independent-guitar spectrum, the band delivers colorful, intricate pop songs perched between the immediacy of DIY punk and the intimate sweetness of twee. Breakbeats, memes, and noise glue everything together, making the album feel as chronically online as it is timeless.

Originally released on cassette in January 2025 by Midwest-punk legend Martin Meyers’s Rotten Apple label, the tape sold more than 300 copies in under a month and quickly became an out-of-print and coveted item. Meyers called it “certified catnip for popheads.” Now, with a refined track list and a fresh master from Greg Obis, Talulah’s Tape returns on LP and CD via Carpark and Smoking Room in October 2025.

While production and approach vary, a through-line of sensitive self-contemplation rests on bright, scrappy guitars and hyperactive melodic bass. Opener “Down on Me” rides a buoyant bass line while jangling guitars frame reflections on overcoming trauma: “I see you in the mirror every time I cry / I hear your voice every time I try.” Next, the guitars trade twinkling counter-melodies on “I Care for You,” pairing sugary, lovestruck lyrics with effervescent strums: “You catch me when I fall / You build me up so tall.”

The rosy grin occasionally twists into a wicked smirk. “Dynamic” warns, “You used to paint the face, but now you’re just the clown,” while “Glass” asks, “Is it lonely at the top when everyone follows the trend, and you hold the pen?” Both tracks brim with sparkling guitar interplay. By the closing, nearly five-minute “Last Straw,” Good Flying Birds stand far beyond conventional indie-pop or 4-track punk, unveiling a roller-coaster of unpredictable changes, vocal harmonies, and instrumental cross-talk.

Altogether, Talulah’s Tape is a pastel-yellow, candy-coated shell filled with thoughtful juxtapositions and melodic experiments. Standing on the same ground as idiosyncratic songwriters like Connie Converse and Daniel Johnston, Good Flying Birds find sweetness in sadness, tear stains on a colorful flower-print couch. Simultaneously, it’s packed with the scratchy guitars and vibrant rhythms of Scottish guitar groups like The Pastels, Orange Juice, and Josef K. It’s a tremendous opening statement from a band just getting started.

Talulah’s Tape is the debut offering from magnetic Midwest-jangle collective Good Flying Birds. Across a patchwork mixtape of stripped-down home recordings that span the independent-guitar spectrum, the band delivers colorful, intricate pop songs perched between the immediacy of DIY punk and the intimate sweetness of twee. Breakbeats, memes, and noise glue everything together, making the album feel as chronically online as it is timeless.

Originally released on cassette in January 2025 by Midwest-punk legend Martin Meyers’s Rotten Apple label, the tape sold more than 300 copies in under a month and quickly became an out-of-print and coveted item. Meyers called it “certified catnip for popheads.” Now, with a refined track list and a fresh master from Greg Obis, Talulah’s Tape returns on LP and CD via Carpark and Smoking Room in October 2025.

While production and approach vary, a through-line of sensitive self-contemplation rests on bright, scrappy guitars and hyperactive melodic bass. Opener “Down on Me” rides a buoyant bass line while jangling guitars frame reflections on overcoming trauma: “I see you in the mirror every time I cry / I hear your voice every time I try.” Next, the guitars trade twinkling counter-melodies on “I Care for You,” pairing sugary, lovestruck lyrics with effervescent strums: “You catch me when I fall / You build me up so tall.”

The rosy grin occasionally twists into a wicked smirk. “Dynamic” warns, “You used to paint the face, but now you’re just the clown,” while “Glass” asks, “Is it lonely at the top when everyone follows the trend, and you hold the pen?” Both tracks brim with sparkling guitar interplay. By the closing, nearly five-minute “Last Straw,” Good Flying Birds stand far beyond conventional indie-pop or 4-track punk, unveiling a roller-coaster of unpredictable changes, vocal harmonies, and instrumental cross-talk.

Altogether, Talulah’s Tape is a pastel-yellow, candy-coated shell filled with thoughtful juxtapositions and melodic experiments. Standing on the same ground as idiosyncratic songwriters like Connie Converse and Daniel Johnston, Good Flying Birds find sweetness in sadness, tear stains on a colorful flower-print couch. Simultaneously, it’s packed with the scratchy guitars and vibrant rhythms of Scottish guitar groups like The Pastels, Orange Juice, and Josef K. It’s a tremendous opening statement from a band just getting started.

Returning to Die Schachtel with his fourth full-length with the label, the Genoa born, Bologna based, guitarist and electroacoustic composer, Stefano Pilia, delivers “Lacinia”, a new, immersive cycle of compositions, delving deeper into the realm of metaphysical, spiritual, and divine meaning, weaving astounding arrangements of sonority from a palette of synths, strings, brass, organ, various electroacoustic instruments, and percussion. Resting at a refined intersection of the acoustic and electroacoustic, drone, and chamber music - overwhelmingly beautiful, delicate, and bold, - “Lacinia” stands as a high-water mark in Pilia’s already remarkable and forward-looking career.

Since its founding in Milan during the early years of the new millennium, Die Schachtel has occupied a singular place in the landscape of experimental music, issuing a carefully curated body of reissues and archival releases by historically significant figures and projects like Christina Kubisch, Luciano Cilio, Marino Zuccheri, Prima Materia, Claudio Rocchi, Lino Capra Vaccina, Gruppo di Improvvisazione Nuova Consonanza, Roland Kayn, and numerous others, balanced against bristling contemporary counterparts by the likes of Jim O'Rourke, Giovanni Di Domenico, Nicola Ratti, Luigi ArchettI, Valerio Tricoli, etc. Running like a spine through the label’s output is a deep dedication to the work of the Italian guitarist and electroacoustic composer Stefano Pilia. Now Die Schachtel returns with “Lacinia”, Pilia’s forth full-length with the label and their first release of 2024. Building on the ground of deeply personal engagement with metaphysical, spiritual, and divine meaning, explored within his previous LP with Die Schachtel, 2022’s “Spiralis Aurea”, “Lacinia” encounters the composer working in close calibration with various ensembles, including the Bologna based Ensemble Concordanze and Comunale di Bologna String Orchestra, weaving synths, strings, brass, organ, various electroacoustic instruments, and percussion into an astounding reconfiguration of immersive, contemporary minimalism that stands among Pilia’s most noteworthy releases to date. Issued by Die Schachtel in two special double vinyl editions and a CD edition, “Lacinia” features artwork by Bruno Stucchi/Dinamomilano, and is an absolute marvel that draws you in and doesn’t let go.

First emerging during the early 2000s, over the past two decades – via solo releases and numerous collations with artists like Oren Ambarchi, Valerio Tricoli, Alessandra Novaga, Z'EV, Andrea Belfi, David Grubbs, and numerous others - the Genoa born, Bologna based, guitarist and electroacoustic composer, Stefano Pilia has presented a singular voice within Italian experimental music, harnessing visceral energy and hands-on immediacy within delicately woven tapestries of sonority, each investigating the sculptural properties of sound and illuminating its relationship to space, memory, and the suspension of time. “Lacinia”, Pilia’s forth solo venture with Die Schachtel, encounters the composer reentering his longstanding practice of collaboration with various ensemble forms, including the Bologna based Ensemble Concordanze, for the albums central piece, “Lacinia Off Axis”, spinning stunning string confirmations by Pietro David Carami and Elena Maury on violin, Alessandro Savio on viola, and Mattia Cipolli on cello.

A new, important cycle of compositions by Pilia, “Lacinia” (meaning "lace" in Latin) builds upon the exploration of the metaphysical, spiritual, and divine dimensions through numbers, geometry, and the creation of tonal forms explored by 2022’s “Spiralis Aurea”, mirroring archetypal, immutable forms at the juncture of the abstract realm of mathematics and architectural structures in the physical world, expands the poetics and compositional ideas featured in its predecessor. Regraded by Pilia as both a series of individual compositions and a single work, “Lacinia” was conceived to “define a circular path (a sort of "rhizomatic lace") where the beginning and end touch, suggesting the concept of time not only as linear but also cyclical and ritualistic—an eternal return, a process of transformation where matter changes, its state changes, but without altering the invisible internal principle of mutation”, embarking upon a a series of “steps, degrees, and energetic quanta in a progression of archetypal whole numbers and transcendent creation.”

The resulting 16 tracks unfold as a series of complex sonic meditations. While deeply resonant with the minimalism of composers like Arvo Pärt, LaMonte Young, Pauline Oliveros, and Eliane Radigue, Pilia digs deep and moves far beyond the predictable tonal relationships and structures of that idiom, echoing the ancient liturgical and devotional music of composers like Gesualdo da Venosa, Monteverdi, and John Dowland, at a refined intersection of the acoustic and electroacoustic, drone, and chamber music.

Fascinatingly structured as a whole to include a number of motif returns, across which we encounter works like “Lacinia Off Axis” appearing in slightly different rendering, states, or evolutions three times, and compositions like “Eve” appearing twice in subtly different forms and arrangements - first for four oscillators, guitar and voice and then for string orchestra - as well “Maris Stella”, which similarly makes two appearances, first for horn trio, organ and percussion, and then for string orchestra, with “Lacinia” Pilia delves further into the world of chamber music than ever before, creating a deeply inward, mediative body of work the totality of which, guided by its rich string arrangements of arching, sorrowful tone, feels almost like a mass for some unproclaimed loss; simultaneously locked in the nuances of a moment, while managing to suspend time.

Perhaps most remarkable is Pilia's ability to create a remarkable sense of sonic cohesion while using such a varied number of ensembles and instrumentation. From the sprawling string arrangements delivered by Comunale di Bologna String Orchestra, under the direction of Paolo Mancini, and Ensemble Concordanze, and a flute trio (Cadux / Plectere) brilliantly played by Manuel Zurria, to pieces for sax, organ and percussion, violin duo and percussion, organ and percussion, Pilia manages to create a sense of singular, encompassing world that flows forward like a shifting stream.

Overwhelmingly beautiful, delicate, and bold, “Lacinia” is unquestionably a high-water mark in Stefano Pilia’s already remarkable, forward-looking career. Nothing short of a marvel of contemporary Minimalism that, through its shifting arrangements of harmonics, tonality, and texture draws flickering images of ancient forms of music into the present day, “Lacinia” is Issued by Die Schachtel in two special editions on double vinyl and a CD edition, featuring artwork by Bruno Stucchi/Dinamomilano. This is an immersive all-consuming listen that can’t be missed.

The Pitch is a quartet made up of Boris Baltschun, Koen Nutters, Michael Thieke and Morten Joh. Founded in Berlin in 2009, they play a hypnotic form of structured improvisation full of acoustic exploration and electronic intervention. On Neutral Star, The Pitch are joined by Australian guitarist/composer extraordinaire Julia Reidy for a record of star gazing electro-acoustic jazz.

Reidy's playing and compositional technique between Takoma-style fingerpicking and Glenn Branca'esque microtonality, perfectly complements the loose improvisational framework The Pitch is providing. Endless ≠ Limitless, a recent piece by Reidy and Joh, is transformed from a washed-out/obscured tape delay composition into a colorful, meandering ensemble piece with a swarming character - blooming with intrigue for the patient ear. The B-side strikes a more gentle tone: the 24-minute Neutral Star begins with a siren-like overtone whose drone-like flowing slowly morphs into a deterritorial modality with jazzy undertone. Accompanied by constant eruptions of vibraphone, clarinet, electronics and double bass punctuation – while permanently questioned by Reidy's drippingly pearly steel guitar work. Slowly evolving into new territories through the expansive instrumentation and keen listening between the players.

The fact that Neutral Star was recorded in one take (by Rabih Beaini in his Morphine Raum studio/venue) in front of a live audience and without overdubs is hard to believe, even for the trained ear. The recording appears to be too multilayered for a single snapshot, with its compositional structures constantly shifting and moving against themselves, counterintuitively and anti-cyclically. Reidy´s playing has been described as "unstable harmonic territory, and the collaboration with The Pitch interprets this concept brilliantly - adding further non-places to the territory. And the listener, however, is never left alone in the process of tectonic shifts - at least as long as their listening is attentive and contemplative at once.

Back in the early 1990s as Acid Jazz began a period of extraordinary commercial success where acts like the Brand New Heavies and Jamiroquai sold millions of records, and US groups such as A Tribe Called Quest, The Roots and Digable Planets were actively influenced by what was being played in London, the whole scene was being fuelled by a small number of clubs, led by Gilles Peterson’s Sunday afternoons at Dingwalls but taking in nights in Leeds, Bari, Munich, Tokyo, Stockholm and New York. In those clubs funky jazz, latin boogaloo and 70s soul soundracks competed for time on the dance floor with import records from New York, and the latest sounds coming out of bedrooms and makeshift basement studios that created contemporary sounds out of the past.

Acid Jazz’s Eddie Piller and Dean Rudland have put together this compilation of the sort of sounds that we were playing at the time. They are releases on Acid Jazz and other label’s that surrounded the scene and they were mainly made by people we knew from either around the club scene, behind the counters of our favourite record shops, or from trips to New York or Europe. They range from The Ballistic Brother anthem ‘Blacker’ to the jazz house of A-Zel - a Roger Sanchez mix that still sounds fresh today. We have the Humble Soul’s instrumental version of ‘Beads Things And Flowers’ which at the time was only available as a DJ special on Acetate. There is the presence of A Man Called Adam before they went to Ibiza, and the early Mo’ Wax (before they went Trip Hop) single by Marden Hill ‘Come On’.

These records could fill a dance floor in seconds and we feel that they are today largely forgotten, as they were non-album, underground club records. It’s time to celebrate them!

“'Lyceum' is a fountainhead of unqualified greatness. It’s a strange, sad sound harking back to old school tunesmanship – Aztec Camera, ‘Rattlesnakes’, prime-time Felt – but the whole affair is permeated with a resonant, almost tearful quality. ‘Lyceum’ is reminiscent of Galaxie 500’s ‘Today’ in that it sounds like it cost less than a round of drinks to produce. But the lo fi sound merely enhances the misty glazed-pop sound and raises the hallelujah choruses to the forefront. Rather than drowning them in production mush. Don’t pass it by”.
– Bob Stanley, Melody Maker 1989
Hailing from the suburbs of Glasgow, this five-piece are best known for their three starry-eyed albums on the renowned Sarah Records - this being an expanded version of their first (an eight-track 10” at the time).
By the tail end of the 1980s the independent music scene in the UK was turning its back on the polish and over-indulgence of the mid-80s with its gated drums and wallpaper production. And those who weren’t stretching the boundaries of sonic innovation had tuned back to the post-punk ethos of ramshackle charm and zealous melody, even dousing the spirit with some political fervour once more. Influences were more likely to be Television and the Television Personalities than MTV.
The Orchids and The Sea Urchins were the first two bands to release 7” singles on the Sarah label having previously begun their recording existence on a shared flexi disc in 1987 (The Sea Urchins went on to become Delta, whose classic album ‘Slippin' Out’ from 2000 will be the second release on Circuitry). The Scottish five-piece released ‘I’ve Got a Habit’ and ‘Underneath the Window, Underneath the Sink’ as EPs before really finding their feet with ‘Lyceum’; the tracks, remastered from the original Toad Hall tapes are included on this reissue as are the three songs from the ‘What Will We Do Next?’ 7” (this collection closes with the frazzled stretch that is ‘Yawn’). 'Lyceum' was originally released in August 1989.
The album opens with ‘It’s Only Obvious’ and its gloriously youthful chorus of “who needs tomorrow when all I need, all I needed was you”. James Hackett somehow appears both forthright and rejected, something that one of their musical heroes The Go-Betweens also had down to a fine art. It barely takes a breath until midway through side two where ‘Hold On’ (sounding suspiciously like an unlikely objective) descends into the intro of ‘Blue Light’, the counted-in ‘1, 2, 3, 4’ whispered like the most hopelessly dejected rally. If that sounds depressing it isn’t. This record by The Orchids was a spirited source of comfort for an 18 year old at the time and still shudders with the best type of melancholy, one that’s spirited not indulgent. If you’re not familiar with the band’s charm, this is where you should begin.
'Lyceum' is released on double black vinyl by new label Circuitry.

White vinyl. The record is housed in a gatefold jacket, designed as your own personal treasure chest. Akupara Games and Black Screen Records are over the moon (and down in the crypt) to announce the soundtrack release of the game hit Cryptmaster on vinyl. For the music, sound expert Surasshu, part of the duo Aivi & Surasshu (i.a. Steven Universe), has teamed up with Stemage and Catton Arthur to virtuously solve the puzzle of a perfectly fitting game score. SAY ANYTHING in this bizarre dungeon adventure where words control everything. Fill in the blanks with text or voice to uncover lost abilities, embark on strange quests, and solve mindbending riddles. Can you conquer the crypt and uncover the mystery at the heart of Cryptmaster? In the ancient past, four brave heroes banded together to destroy a terrible evil, giving their lives to save countless others. But now their eternal rest has been disturbed by the Cryptmaster, a capricious necromancer in whose thrall they must ascend through the buried strata of the city above them - the gloomy Bonehouses, mysterious Sunken Sea and freakish Downwood. With the enigmatic Soulstone in hand, the four adventurers must recover their memories, solve whimsical puzzles and defeat outlandish enemies. From fishing and card games to bardic rap battles, finding the right word is the key to success. Who knows, maybe you'll even remember a little more than you bargained for. Surasshu, veteran of television and game music, brings out the best in the Cryptmaster soundtrack, featuring his peers Catton Arthur on bass and Stemage on guitar. From laid back accordions of the Bonehouses, to the shredding guitar of battles, to the piper's haunting melody, this album features enough musical morsels to keep all kinds of dungeon-crawling deviants tapping their toes.

Wax Digits hits release number five with a tight and tidy two-tracker from the late veteran Robert Ouimet who passed a couple of years ago. Before then he cooked up these gems with his pal and production partner Dave Godin. They are being released as a tribute to the memory of Ouimet and a fine one they are too. 'Plenty' has a raw groove and big chords with jangling guitars adding hints of melancholy that counter the big stabs. Soulful vocals are a great finishing touch then 'Funky Together' is more loose and strident with big horns leading the way under psyched-out chords. Two quality party starters.

For many bands, having all their gear stolen would be catastrophic. For Third Ear Band, this unfortunate 1968 incident opened a portal to beneficial change. Leader/percussionist Glen Sweeney viewed the heist as a sign to alter Third Ear Band's approach, and they switched to exclusively using acoustic instruments. With electrified psychedelia in full bloom, Sweeney, Paul Minns (oboe, recorder, whistles, flutes) and Richard Coff (violin, viola) struck out on an individualistic path, blending Indian raga with chamber music – without plugging in.

Third Ear Band's 1969 debut album, Alchemy, established them as a solemn, powerful force in the global underground. On Alchemy, Sweeney laid down a steady pulse on hand drums, while Minns and Coff wove in melismatic patterns on oboe, recorder, violin and viola. This approach carried over to Third Ear Band's self-titled sophomore album, often called Elements due to its track titles being named after the four basic components of medieval European alchemists' doctrines.

On this 1970 LP, Third Ear Band sounded at once ancient and contemporary, yet they turned on the hippies with their epic, trance-inducing jams that suggested secret knowledge of infinity. Although Third Ear Band flourished during the West's countercultural zenith, they were peculiarly estranged from it on a sonic level. Even outré contemporaries such as Comus and Jan Dukes De Grey sounded like pop groups compared to TEB. Having no traditional front person or electric instruments, Third Ear Band forged a singular path that flowered most vividly on Elements.

The long songs here stream forth from their skilled hands, evoking a communal transcendence in sound – a hypnotic swirl that doesn't swing, but rather wafts and undulates with cloistered beauty. TEB's music exists in an eternal now, a perpetual wow. It is an ouroboros of organic textures, seemingly magicked into the air spontaneously, yet possessing a rigor that suggests long hours in the lab. Without electricity, it somehow burrowed deeper into your consciousness.

– Dave Segal (excerpt from the liner notes)

The Gospel is back. “We have our pair of scissors. And we cut into the world.”

Label-owner Tro presents yet another diverse EP filled with hypnotic grooves straight from the patchbay.

“Sauna of Bitch” kicks things straight into high gear, weaving together hard-hitting drum machines with meandering acid lines and celestial pads. Next-up, “Maybe European” sees things take a darker turn, with a raw blend of electro and progressive elements, dilated with haunting spoken-word.

On the flip, Toronto veterans Cosmic JD and Aaron Santos deliver a lush, ethereal remix of “Lost in Tres Leches” under their ‘Los Primos’ alias, countering the original’s trippy minimalism with analogue warmth.

A small package that delivers a serious wallop, “Try No More” by Glitterin is guaranteed to provide some heat on dancefloors this Summer. From the juddering throb of the opening kicks to the ricocheting rhythms, the track fixes itself directly under the mirrorball from the outset. Produced by Jason Core, this is late night lover affair material that is brimming with energy. When the firework melody bursts, it ignites. Sharp and warm synth stabs are left smouldering by the driving and impassioned voice of Sandry Sanz. A tale of unrequited love unfolds between the cymbal crashes and spiralling synthines, lines that grow ever bolder through Tony David’s emotive guitar solo. The flip is dedicated to Core’s instrumentation with the range of analogue sounds and synthesizer intensity coming to the fore. Intricate patterns and counter melodies are woven, key shifts and pulsating percussion imbibe this dub mix with all the spirit of the original. Fierce and fiery from beginning to end.

After two decades, the indietronic veteran returns with a powerful sonic reflection on today’s sociopolitical climate and a poignant reminder of music’s enduring ability to heal, unite, and inspire. Blending experimental electronics with krautrock sensibilities, the album thrives on spontaneity, collaboration, and the beauty of ‘happy accidents’.

While many of Nitrada’s sonic trademarks remain — intricate, rickety beats; enigmatic field recordings; and gut-punching string melodies — EVERYTHING THAT IS NOT COUNTED WILL BE LOST marks a shift in approach. Experimenting with different constellations of musical machines, Christophe Stoll, the mind behind Nitrada, recorded hours of improvisations (some shared on his Instagram). These sketches became the raw material for more elaborate, carefully structured arrangements.

True to his collaborative spirit, Stoll brought in like-minded artists to shape the final album: Jan Sturm (aka STURM) lends his touch to the shimmering FRAGMENTS OF LIGHT. The euphoric dystopian WE DANCE IN THE CHAOS features Landobe (Marco Heinle) and Patrick Siegfried Zimmer on vocals. Luca di Mira (of Giardini di Mirò fame) contributes synths, cello, and delicate textures to some tracks, while Johannes Schardt’s guitar work brings a visceral, post-rock edge to NO HYMN FOR NOBODY and IL ROMANTICISMO DELL’APOCALISSE, nodding to Stoll’s roots in punk and indie.

“The goal is to take listeners on a journey through different timbres and sonic landscapes — a collage of diverse ideas and inspirations,” says Stoll about his album which effortlessly juxtaposes experimental ambient soundscapes, heavy jagged guitars, and minimal techno pulses, making them feel as though they’ve always belonged together. Because, in the end, they do – all part of the shared vocabulary of our universal language: MUSIC.

After the explosive Comme à la radio, infused with the free jazz energy of the Art Ensemble of Chicago, Brigitte Fontaine and Areski Belkacem released six albums together or separately between 1972 and 1977. Their music, often stripped down to voice, guitar, and percussion-or performed a cappella-stood in stark contrast to the orchestrated French pop of the time. This minimalist and spontaneous approach highlighted the poetic power of the lyrics and the intimacy of the melodies, earning them recognition in the counterculture and underground scenes. By the end of the 1970s, Fontaine sought to make her work more visible without losing its originality. The Baraka album marked this transitional moment, initially recorded in a home studio without external musicians. Its title (meaning "blessing" in Arabic) hinted at a desire for success. Mixing introspection, absurd humor, and bold stylistic choices, the album was technically ambitious, featuring stereo duets and layered vocals, and lyrically rich, tackling everything from metaphysical themes to playful nonsense. However, the project ultimately veered off course. After moving the recordings to the massive Studio Davout and bringing in producer and guitarist Martial "Mimi" Lorenzini, the album lost its original intimacy. Overproduced arrangements clashed with the simplicity of Fontaine and Belkacem's initial intent, resulting in an album-renamed Les églantines sont peut-être formidables-that the artists later disowned, refusing to allow its commercial release. Recently rediscovered demo tapes, stripped of their bombastic layers, reveal the raw, emotional core of the songs-showcasing the duo's voices with a rare authenticity. These recordings bridge a missing link in their discography, between their experimental lo-fi years and their later, more accessible work. Decades on, Fontaine and Belkacem remain defiant originals, never settling into a formula, always evolving, and continuing to shake the foundations of French chanson.

From the underground to festival main stages, they’ve built their reputation on sheer force of will, crushing live shows, and an unshakable foundation of heavy riffs and harder work.
Now, with their fourth studio album “Where Only The Truth Is Spoken”, Sheffield’s finest step into a new league. Recorded in California at Dave Grohl’s legendary Studio 606, the album was tracked through the iconic Neve 8078 console, the same desk that captured game-changing records like Nirvana’s “Nevermind,” Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumours,” and Tom Petty’s “Wildflowers.” For a band that’s always pushed forward without compromise, it was the perfect setting to carve out a record that represents everything Malevolence stands for.
The album marks a new level of songwriting precision without sacrificing the band’s trademark weight. Working alongside Grammy Award-winning producer Josh Wilbur (Lamb of God, Gojira, Trivium), the result is Malevolence at their most punishing, urgent, and anthemic.

From the underground to festival main stages, they’ve built their reputation on sheer force of will, crushing live shows, and an unshakable foundation of heavy riffs and harder work.

Now, with their fourth studio album “Where Only The Truth Is Spoken”, Sheffield’s finest step into a new league. Recorded in California at Dave Grohl’s legendary Studio 606, the album was tracked through the iconic Neve 8078 console, the same desk that captured game-changing records like Nirvana’s “Nevermind,” Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumours,” and Tom Petty’s “Wildflowers.” For a band that’s always pushed forward without compromise, it was the perfect setting to carve out a record that represents everything Malevolence stands for.

The album marks a new level of songwriting precision without sacrificing the band’s trademark weight. Working alongside Grammy Award-winning producer Josh Wilbur (Lamb of God, Gojira, Trivium), the result is Malevolence at their most punishing, urgent, and anthemic.

Pain Management welcomes London cult favourite DJ ojo, who arrives on the label with a hazy three tracker of trademark nether zone system music. On his most dubbed out full length to date, ojo span’s the full emotive spectrum of dub sonics with a range of both the eerie and more tender expansions of low end atmospherics, the resulting 12” equally suited for the club and the journey home alike.

‘Tongue Tied’ opens the record, a lysergic offering from the darker edges of dub music. A slippery fugue-state hit of narco-ambience built around a crooning, intelligible vocal refrain and chest shot sub weight. A real nightfall system pusher built to simmer in the early hours. It kicks off the EP on an amorphous, hypnotic note that sustains throughout.‘Oil Dub’ sinks deeper into the fog, melodic kinesis and expansive delays upholding an underworld of feedbacked percussion and tongue in cheek sub motion; a seven minute sound bath of ambiguous dub ASMR.

The B-side balances out the darker strains found on its counterpart with an overtly tender digidub closer. Clocking in at almost ten minutes long ‘Cloud Suck’ is a nebulous bliss of perpetually ascending late-summer warmth. The kind of liminal dream-state embrace that you wish would never end. True to the name, it evokes tender, dusk and dawn hued moments, a quiet ride-home flash of introspection on the way to or from some pursuit of meaning. Pain Management essential right here.

Limited run of 200 hand-stamped 12” records available now.

I must admit to being a sucker for two-guitar bands. Ok, Hendrix pulled off a trio. But I don’t care what anybody says: The Yardbirds were a better band than anything that came out of them (Ok, maybe not Zep. But Cream?).

Maybe the reason I go back so far in my references is that, within the two-guitar band format, original new roles are difficult and rare. There’s the classic (socially problematic and often boring) “rhythm/lead” solution. There’s the JB’s or Nile Rodgers’ chicken pickin’ vs comping solution (which avoids chordal clashes by relegating one of the guitars to the role of single-note percussion instrument). There’s Ornette’s Prime Time division between Bern Nix’s rolled-off “jazz” tone and Charles Ellerbee’s trebly wah. Almost everything else is a variation on one of these.


In Ches Smith’s record Clone Row, each piece is built around a different concept for guitar interaction. The delightful and gifted weirdness of Mary Halvorson’s playing is counterpointed, contrasted, unisoned with, played off, juxtaposed (that is to say, enters every relationship possible) with Liberty Ellman’s equally amazing sound palette, chops, and imagination. This definitely ain’t your father’s guitar band.
The overall vibe of the record—despite Halvorson’s occasional noise outbursts or Ellman’s distorted guitar lines (see Mixed Fridge) is neither punk/funk, nor Zorn-ish metal—and certainly not the looser parameters of Ornette’s improvised harmolodics. Smith’s vibraphone playing, Halvorson’s guitar tone (whammy pedal squiggles aside), the brilliant electronics, and (most of all) the compositions themselves are somehow strangely West Coast cool. It’s as if I’m hearing a Jim Hall concert in which one of us did a lot of mushrooms, or (dare I write this?) some post-punk post-Dave Brubeck post-trip-hop experiment with classical form.

This recording is, most of all, about Ches as composer. He’s picked up a lot on his long, strange trip of the last few decades. The Haitian funkiness of his work with We All Break is audible—but deeply buried, encoded in the polyrhythms (check out Heart Breakthrough). His long-running side musician collaborations with John Zorn and Tim Berne are also evident but sublimated here into something new.

Not that improvising is absent. Check out the compelling collective statements in Sustained Nightmare and Ready Beat. Check out the brilliant interplay and bass soloing on Abrade With Me (a Weather Report for the age of extreme weather?) Nick Dunston is my favorite bassist of the new generation, and he plays brilliantly throughout. And Ches’ drumming here has all the groove, energy, and incredible range that have kept him in demand from Saturday night Vodou services to jazz and new music recording sessions (…the thinking man’s rock barbarian?).
The sus chords in Abrade With Me do build, for a moment, towards a fusion type of climax...but just at the moment I was gritting my teeth in anticipated defense against some horrible synth solo, the drums drop out, and we’re transported to the ambient lounge at the rave, and we suddenly understand we’re in the hands of a composer with the power to transport us just about anywhere.
So, this is a composer’s record most of all; a composer’s record performed by musicians who happen to be great improvisers. Ches Smith builds here on his reputation as a gifted new voice with an important vision, while showcasing some of the most creative musicians of our time.

Mit 'Under a Familiar Sun' veröffentlicht The Vernon Spring alias Sam Beste ein faszinierendes Album zwischen Jazz, Ambient, experimentellem Pop und elektronischem Songwriting. Beste, einst Pianist in Amy Winehouse’ Band und Kollaborateur von u. a. MF DOOM, Joy Crookes und Beth Orton, entfaltet hier ein vielschichtiges Werk voller emotionaler Tiefe und klanglicher Finesse.

Entstanden in seinem Heimstudio in Brighton, verarbeitet das Album persönliche Themen wie Vaterschaft, Verantwortung und Selbstverortung in einer instabilen Welt - getragen von Beste’s charakteristischem, improvisationsnahem Klavierspiel und feinfühliger Produktion. Mitwirkende wie Autor Max Porter (Grief is the Thing with Feathers), Cellistin Kate Ellis und die in Brooklyn lebende Künstlerin aden verleihen dem Album zusätzliche Tiefe.

Ein durchkomponiertes, atmosphärisches Werk mit klarer Handschrift - für Fans von Bon Iver, James Blake, Nils Frahm oder Moses Sumney.

Corrosiv, the sophomore album from Orchestroll, reveals the duo at their most mature and vulnerable. Originally conceived as a reflection on hybridity and bastardization, the album deploys New Age and ambient compositional tropes as a launchpad, exposing their trite sanctity to the realities of corrosion. Having come of age in the 1970s and 1980s, the New Age movement perdures today as a domain of contradictions; its promise of transcendence riddled with the very commercialized dogma from which its adherents claim to flee. Healing modalities such as reiki, crystal therapy, and sound baths are simultaneously pathways to solace and sites of exploitation; their sonic counterparts—ethereal synth pads, shimmering textures, celestial drones—claim to facilitate meditation and enlightenment while devolving into empty signifiers of vitality. With Corrosiv, Orchestroll displays neither reverence nor disdain toward New Age: they exhume it instead, revealing the saccharine effervescence and commodified murk undergirding its aesthetics. The result is intoxicating—disquieting.

Born from a two-week residency at EMS Studios and expanded through a performance at MUTEK Montreal’s 25th anniversary, Corrosiv has since outgrown its original conceptual nucleus, taking on a broader scope. Its inquiry into New Age ideology’s voided rhetoric and aesthetic mysticism now informs a broader interrogation of cultural mediocrity, anti-authoritarianism, gatekeeping, music industry toxicity, and the crumbling edifice of late capitalism and techno-feudalism—all the mechanisms by which meaning is stripped from ceremony, and once-potent forms of knowledge are subsumed into the machinery of economic extraction, severed from their original essence, and transformed into hollow simulacra. Corrosiv distills these themes through a loose narrative: a soul, fixated on wellness as dictated by cosmetic economism, becomes ensnared in an endless afterlife, unable to transcend and shed its dilapidated consciousness.

Framed as an act of audio dissolution, the album thus engages in an alchemical process, whereby complex waveshaping, morphing synthesis, and distortion enact a ritual of fragmentation. There is also friction: between the rigid, mechanical imposition of systematized order and the untamed, chaotic force of organic metamorphosis. Here corrosion and confinement are not solely conceptual motifs; they are enacted in real time, sculpting the album’s terrain. Scraping, tarnishing, degradation—the languid wear of form and substance—become instruments in their own right: buffing as abrasion, entrapment as transformation, corrosion as a means of reconfiguration. The ‘protagonist,’ if there must be one, is the listener, caught within the throes of structural determinism and the potential for emancipation, unable to pass into something greater as the specters of collapsed futures accumulate in the margins.

Corrosiv extends its reach through collaborations with familiar voices: Heith (PAN), VISIO (Haunter), Femminielli (Drowned by Locals), Habib Bardi (Interzone), and Jiyoung Wi (Enmossed, Psychic Liberation, Doyenne) each leave their imprint on its sprawling landscape. At 1h16m, it is a procession, dense with earworms that burrow into the listener’s unconscious.

Misshapen, broken-down metals leach copper into blood, acid reflux burning through the core. Psyche disaggregates into cosmic turmoil, drifting between planes—tongue on rustline, gullet laced with solvent hymns, molars unlatching, bitcrushed to marrowspill. A spasm of brine, ferrous scripture, venomtext blooming in leaden rivulets, cartilage smoldering in phosphor decomposition, synapses drowning in a quicksilver choir. Crest of bile, churning ore, breath clotting into arsenic mist, vein-thread cinched, a corrosive gospel, limb by limb, oxidized to silence.

Ultimately, as the music exhales its final breath, its residue refuses to dissipate—and stillness alone remains. There are no conclusions here—no resolution, no collapse—only the slow drift outward of a vessel unmoored, lost in the sea of symbolic souring. Corrosiv sings the song of a world barren of prophecy, littered with aesthetic detritus. Whether this magic has been transfigured or simply worn away is unclear: the last breath dissipates, but the oxidation does not stop. The silence, too, will decay.

Conceptualized, composed, performed, recorded, mixed, engineered and produced by Jesse Osborne-Lanthier, and Asaël Richard-Robitaille in 2023 and 2024 at Elektron Musik Studion (EMS) - Stockholm, Sweden and Landsc8pe Studio - Montréal, QC, Canada.
Artwork by Jesse Osborne-Lanthier.
Mastered by Stephan Mathieu @ Schwebung Mastering.

Fit for Consequences: Original Recordings, 1984–1987 is the first ever archival release from Repetition Repetition, the “two-man electric minimalist band” consisting of Ruben Garcia and Steve Caton hailing from Los Angeles in the mid 1980’s. Repetition Repetition’s unique blend of cosmic art-rock minimalism / maximalism was self-released across a series of cassettes produced in micro editions, and while garnering the attention and participation of luminaries such as Harold Budd, remained under the radar during the band’s existence. Fit for Consequences: Original Recordings, 1984–1987 collects select material from across the duo’s catalog.

It was over a plate of Mexican breakfast food when Ruben Garcia and Steve Caton first told Harold Budd of Repetition Repetition and the worlds they intended to explore by respective way of synthesizers and guitars --- a rendezvous instigated by the former’s fan mail to the legendary composer. If the upstarts entered this restaurant from a one-way street of admiration, they would leave with not only Budd’s interest but, sometime later, a blessing in the wake of many hours shared by the three in Garcia’s Los Angeles home recording studio: “This is going to be difficult, but God help them, I think they’re great,” noted Budd in a USC lecture in 1985. Now several degrees removed from prior rock music aspirations, the real game was afoot.

Between 1984 and 1988, Repetition Repetition operated within something akin to the underground of the experimental underground, although even that designation perhaps overstates the case. The duo’s sparse output consisted of three cassettes self-released on Garcia’s Third Stone Music label: Repetition Repetition (1985), Lakeland (1987), and The Machinist (1987). Their songs would also be included during this period on Trance Port Tapes’ vital scene-scanning compilations assembled by A Produce. Live performances occurred with similar infrequency, but Garcia and Caton counted converts in quality over quantity, numbering among them the aforementioned Budd, a Chambers Brother, and, judging by a memorably drop-jawed reaction following a rare Repetition Repetition gig, Jackson Browne.

Likewise, critical support materialized in the form of KCRW deejays Brent Wilcox and Dean Suzuki, whose steady airplay positioned Repetition Repetition’s music amidst fearless company like Jon Hassell, Hiroshi Yoshimura, and Richard Horowitz. Yet, to hear fellow Trance Port featured players like Tom Recchion and Bruce Licher of Savage Republic tell it, Garcia and Caton moved as ghosts --- a notion more vexingly endorsed by the silence of record companies that failed to come knocking --- and therein lies an overarching truth to the work itself.

Journey to the heart of Repetition Repetition and one discovers a collective ear impossibly attuned to the hypnotic possibilities of stylistic convergence, the resulting music possessed of seamless multimodalities which beckon to a glimmering plane of the disembodied. Where Caton sought his artistic fixes at an intersection of popular genres, Garcia zoned in on the sonically spare, drawing from the same wellspring as the Enos and Rileys of his personal avant-garde pantheon, and in their coming together the two tapped into a deeper cosmic source. Synthetic walls of keyboard sound in forever states of reprise met waves of shimmering --- and at times even punishing --- guitar in reply, their soundscapes hovering convincingly between, as suggested in fittingly dualistic fashion in a press kit assembled by Garcia, such disparate sensations as bird flight in one song and oil drilling in the next.

But don’t call it a push-pull dynamic, as this was a creative partnership founded upon fluidity and organicism by way of, naturally, repetition. In contrast to, say, the Bressonian ideal of repetitive motion as a great stripping away, the concept in the hands of Garcia and Caton equated to ascendancy via continuous unfolding, a maximal route to minimalism. To be sure, their recording philosophy morphed over the course of the act’s short history, and what started as a process defined by consistent in-person interplay developed into a more isolated method formulated by Garcia, who eventually took to his own one-man bedroom-studio sessions in order to fully chart any and all potential ostinato-loaded paths which he could travel down, the Tascam-captured resonances subsequently provided to Caton as blueprints from which to take flight himself, adding layer upon layer of steel to the proceedings.

If the practice and execution changed, however, the evidence certainly didn’t rest in the results: The seamlessness remained, and, despite the brevity of their time together, so has Repetition Repetition. With this finely calibrated collection of songs in Fit for Consequences: Original Recordings, 1984–1987, Freedom To Spend sees to it that the private worlds of Garcia and Caton can now be visited by all rather than just the count-‘em-on-both-hands lucky few whose musical endeavors or collector vocations carried them into this once-distant dimension.

Repetition Repetition’s Fit for Consequences: Original Recordings, 1984–1987 will be released on Freedom To Spend in vinyl and digital editions on May 30, 2025. The collection includes extensive liner notes from Bill Perrine, and wil be offered alongside Over & Over, a supplemental collection of music available exclusively as a mail order cassette from Freedom To Spend and RVNG Intl.

Angelo Debarre's extraordinary guitar technique has long been the tree that hid the forest of his profound musicality and above all, his talent as a composer. Belonging to the family of Django Reinhardt's heirs, Debarre has become a legend among Gypsy Jazz fans, one of those rare musicians, who can enchant a room and make hearts beat in unison.

The New Dictionary of Jazz (Nouveau Dictionnaire du Jazz) describes Angelo Debarre as supersonic, and indeed, he is with mad virtuosity. His left hand moves up and down the fine neck of his gypsy guitar, with speed but always with musicality. But it would be an understatement to speak only of his dexterity; he has a marvellous ability to play with subtlety, and his improvisational possibilities seem endless; all done with great ease and apparent composure. Solos, counterpoint, he's everywhere.

A child from the gypsy community, Angelo started playing guitar with his family at the age of eight. In 1984, he formed the first "Angelo Jazz Quintet". In 1985, he became one of the pillars of the famous Parisian cabaret, "La Roue Fleurie" and participated in numerous tours and recordings, including the famous Gypsy Guitars, a reference album of the genre.

Very comfortable in several gypsy styles, Debarre can be found alongside fellow guitarist Petro Ivanovitch and singer and balalaika player Raya from the group Arbat. As a guest, DeBarre can be heard with the band Bratsch, in dialogue with the pianist Bojan Z, percussionist Xavier Desandre-Navarre, the violinist Florin Niculescu and other leading figures of the gypsy guitar.

Angelo Debarre: guitar
Serge Camps: guitar
Frank Anastasio: bass

Spectral Bounce’s fifth instalment comes courtesy of L.A.’s rave archivist and dancefloor operative Dreams, A.K.A. Jesse Pimenta. Throughout his decade-long career the California native has inspected, dissected and concocted all manner of dance musics, leaving his mark with drops on Apron Records, Pinkman, BANK NYC and his own imprint Dance Data. On SPEC05 — Dangerous When Wet — he hijacks the synapses with 4 accomplished productions, plotting a high BPM course through manifold styles using the raw aesthetic that characterises his output.

“Losing Control” is a frenetic dancefloor invitation, immediately locking into a pacing groove. Beneath wild hand drums, Dreams plays with an insistent 303 bassline alternating between rasping buzz and oily squelch, while stern vocals are layered on top of breaks that have been processed to a viscerally satisfying end.

Taking things from delirious dance circle to underwater biosphere, the EP’s eponymous track explores a submerged 1980s Miami. Weighty & enveloping, “Dangerous When Wet” is pure aquatic pop-n-lock — hydraulic electro for a drowned world. Ocean floor caustics are transmuted into auditory form: arpeggios bubble up; drones shimmer mystically; hi-hats hiss like air from an open valve. Amongst the sonar bleeps, a barrage of pummeling low-end is sure to give subwoofers a workout.

“XTC Messenger” delivers an infectious paranoid dispatch, astutely balancing the sensual with the deranged. A slow-mo dial tone unfolds languidly, running counter to nervously twitching high frequencies. Its punchy percussion is tuned for maximum dopamine release; the track’s abrupt vocal chops and mechanical kick-snare pulsation evoke the leather jackets and jagged edges of 1980s industrial discotheque.

“Pressure Points” closes the EP on a heady and mesmerising polymetric trip. The parting track is a lithe yet spacious number, propelled by a rattling break. Here Dreams follows from track 2, creating an immersive environment in which sounds tightly twist and twirl. Shifting oscillators call out like tiny creatures as the bass throbs and wriggles further into your brain, long after the needle hits the runout groove.