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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We are proud to present he latest from Turbo Recordings Executive Honcho Tiga, a massive ode to passive-aggressive income remixed by Héctor Oaks, Der Zyklus, and Decius.
“No one wants to work their body anymore,” says the Montreal merrymaker from atop a throne in the exact shape of a digital wallet. “I get it. Who wants their surplus sweat equity vacuumed up off the dance floor by corporate parasites when the real future’s in decentralized skanking? But that’s why people in my position - the top one-percent in terms of nightlife and hospitality take-home pay - have to offer real benefits to risking it all in the clubs. I’m talking dance-move insurance, competitive drink ticket packages, and - most of all - the kind of brick-and-mortar bangers Rhythm Nation was founded upon back in 1814.”
While gratingly content with the original version, Tiga has nonetheless chosen to flood the Marketplace of Ideas with a plurality (3) of voices he feels will optimally position this release in today’s unforgiving Neo-Centrist landscape. This stunning grassfed vinyl 12” opens with a remix by Berlin-based vinyl-only DJ Héctor Oaks, who has been described as “operating at the absolute vanguard of rave.” Please remember that describing people this way is basically injecting them with Imposter Syndrome.
The release also features a remix by Der Zyklus, an alias of Gerald Donald, the epochal genius from Drexciya, Dopplereffekt, Japanese Telecom, Abstract Thought, Zerkalo, Zwischenwelt, and many other fantastic projects. Finally, Decius closes out the EP with all the British Mischief you might expect from UK luminaries from Trashmouth Records, Fat White Family, and Paranoid London.
"I’ve designed my entire life around the concept of ease,” adds Tiga. "I never wanted to work for a law firm. I wanted to make beats for a law firm. I’ve always been selfemployed, and that why my street cred’s off the street charts. And I’ve let as much of
that freedom trickle down to the audience as I can. Because when it comes to music,
there’s no such thing as an acceptable minimum wage. You gotta know that you gotta
give it all you got or you’re gonna get got.”

Los Angeles-bred "SoCal Country" singer Sam Outlaw will release a pedal
steel-stamped, new wave-inspired record titled 'Popular Mechanics'
Solely writing seven of the album's 11 tracks, Outlaw fuses the sounds of his
favorite artists of the '80s - Kenny Loggins, Cyndi Lauper, Tom Petty - with stories
influenced by the great innovators of the 20th century and the engineers that
make up his own family tree. The ambitious direction of 'Popular Mechanics' may
seem like a sudden shift from Outlaw's country-leaning albums, 'Angeleno' (2015)
and 'Tenderheart' (2017), which garnered appearances on CBS Saturday
Morning's Anthony Mason, NPR, The New Yorker, Wall Street Journal and more,
but the gears actually started turning in early 2018 after Outlaw shelved some
new material he recorded in Southern California. Following his cross- country
move to Music City that same year, Outlaw found unexpected inspiration during a
visit from his father, a mechanical engineer, and it prompted him to shift his focus
to the technological side of music creation. The epiphany came when he
connected industrial machines with the role technology plays in recorded music.
Growing up on the hits of the '80s, an incredible time of transformation in music
history, he remembers everything came into focus for the album once he
envisioned the title, 'Popular Mechanics`

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

El Goodo guitarist and songwriter 'Pixy Jones' has announced that his debut album entitled 'Bits n Bobs' is due for release on 16th of September via Strangetown Records. 
After 4 albums with El Goodo, Welsh psych scene stalwart Pixy Jones has himself compiled a truly remarkable collection of tracks that fluctuate from 60's harmony-rich psych pop, to Alt-Country with ringing tremelo guitar. 

The swaggering 'I'm Not There' is the first single to be taken from 'Bits n Bobs' accompanied by a magical version of Beatles track 'And Your Bird Can Sing' as it's B SIde, which will be released digitally on Friday 1st of July.

Pixy had this to say about the release: 
The album was originally intended as a solo project under the pseudonym of “Wallace Russell”. I recorded it alongside the recording of Zombie (El Goodo) whenever I could get in the studio. There are some really old songs that have always been overlooked for 'El Goodo' albums for one reason or another, a few new ones which I wrote specifically for this, and a couple that would have probably ended up on the intended double album version of Zombie if we’d kept going with the double album idea. I’ve since ditched the 'Wallace Russell' name and gone back to 'Pixy Jones' as I figured there’s no need to have a pseudonym if nobody knows who you are in the first place. Even though I dropped the name I’ve kept the walrus mask for now as it is more photogenic than my actual face.
I had no recording budget so I had to fund it by quitting smoking and saving the money up to pay for studio time. It took, I think, two and a half years to record, which is by far the quickest I’ve ever recorded an album.

Originally I wanted it to just be a quickly recorded slap dash and get it out sort of thing but I had a year and a half during Covid to think about it a bit more and ended up taking more care to get it done properly. It was just me there so I played most of it myself apart from Stephen Black (Sweet Baboo) who played brass and woodwind on one song and Rhodri Brooks (AhGeeBe) plays some pedal steel on a couple. 

Elliott and Canny from 'El Goodo' played drums and bass on Wind Street during the ‘Zombie’ recording sessions. 

The album was recorded and mixed in Aerial Studios with Tim Lewis, (Thighpaulsandra), a couple of songs were finished in the house during the lockdowns.

Slyder Smith first swaggered onto the stage as lead guitarist with glam-tinged power popsters, Last Great Dreamers. After releasing four studio albums and one live album on Ray Records & having toured extensively throughout the UK & Europe with LGD, Slyder now takes centre stage leading Slyder Smith & The Oblivion Kids (Tim Emery, Bass and Rik Pratt, Drums) in an honest outpouring of grit, glamour and emotion. Stepping out of the shadows and into the spotlight, the self-confessed ‘frustrated lead singer’ has been forced to delve deep into his own psyche, to carefully craft lyrics and melodies that speak from the heart. Slyder’s emotive vocals are powerful, yet melancholic, the perfect balance of light and shade sitting effortlessly within the sonic landscape of his varied rhythm guitar sounds and highly melodic & anthemic lead lines. “This album has been a real labour of love for me, I’ve really put my heart & soul into it. Over the last year or so I’ve been working very hard developing my guitar playing, music & lyric writing pulling myself in all sorts of directions, really stretching myself. I feel I have accomplished what I set out to do, create songs from the heart in no specific genre & perform them to the best of my ability on the record. I guess for years I have been a frustrated lead singer so I have relished the opportunity to showcase what I can do vocally too.” – Slyder Smith - Stage left, Slyder is joined by Tim Emery, a towering enigma, whose stylish bass lines are the only thing to outshine his impeccable apparel and at the back sits the Oblivion Kids’ powerhouse and beat master, Welshman, Rik Pratt. A man of few words but whose presence is palpable in this rock steady rhythm section. But this is no ordinary guitar-based rock album; together with producer Pete Brown (George Harrison, Siouxsie & the Banshees, Marc Almond, The Smiths and Sam Brown), Slyder has allowed the songs to dictate the direction they have gone in; discovering melodies and hook lines along the way. Making use of Hammond organ and piano with the help of Neil Scully (Richard Davies & the Dissidents), a 1950s Phillicord organ, lap steel guitar & even a bit of banjo. A chocolate box of sonic sensations offering up a little something for everyone - from heavy riffage with walloping drums akin to the brothers Young to the anticipated sleaze rock shades of Hanoi Rocks. However, this band is not afraid to step away from their rock roots, instead, with nods to the likes of The Doors, Velvet Underground, The Stranglers and The Kinks from the past and the alternative rock sound of Manic Street Preachers, The Oblivion Kids have reimagined an 80s synth pop classic and mastered singalong pop, gothic, dark Americana, and dare I say it, funk rock?! There are a few firsts for Slyder on here too in the form of an instrumental track with a western feel and to a duet featuring the ethereal vocals of Nina Courson (Healthy Junkies). The result is an idiosyncratic 14 track album of outstanding versatility. A Charming debut, I’m sure you’ll agree.

After creating a stir online with 2021’s outstanding collaborative project "Tha Wolf On Wall St", independent hip-hop titans Your Old Droog and Tha God Fahim are back with an official follow-up.

Blending Droog’s relentless punchlines with Fahim’s streetwise folk tales, "Tha Wolf On Wall St 2: The American Dream" highlights the duo’s undeniable chemistry, as this Brooklyn to Atlanta connection remains as potent as ever. While their styles differ, Your Old Droog and Tha God Fahim instill the collection with a shared vision, centered on overcoming adversity and attaining success against all odds. Featuring beats by Nicholas Craven, Messiah Music, Fortes, and Conductor Williams, “Tha Wolf On Wall St 2: The American Dream” is another stellar effort from two of hip-hop's most consistent artists.

Nach den Split-EP´s (unter anderem mit Spider Crew oder den großartigen Day Drinker) erscheint das erste Album der italienischen Streetcore / Oi Spezialisten! Druckvolle Härte, rotzige Mittelfinger-Attitüde und eine perfekte Mischung aus rough´n tough Oi-Shoutern, fetten Gitarren und peitschenden Drums mit ein bisschen oldschool NYHC-Anleihen, vielen Versatzstücken des klassischen UK-Streetpunks....dabei aber immer mit fetten Chorals und Bombast-Refrains versetzt ist "Stand your Ground" ein richtig großartiges Debüt-Album geworden. Sei es der grandiose Opener "No Restraints", oder "the flame still burns" oder die United-Hymne "Streetcore Worldwide" (den auch Agnostic Front hätten schreiben können)…. die Italiener haben ihre Hausausgaben gemacht, singen ausschließlich in Englisch und geben einen Scheiss auf Befindlichkeiten in ihren Texten. "Back to the Wall" und "They will never get us" ist keine aufgesetzte Attitüde, dies ist "the real Deal"! Für Fans von Lion´s Law, Last Resort, Hatebreed oder Agnostic Front eine sichere Bank.

Rock'n'Roll hits adapted and sung in Italiano to seduce an exotic and difficult music market. A tradition that saw many stars (Mick Jagger, Françoise Hardy...) test their pronounciation skills with swinging (but always very fun) results. Now its The Courettes' turn, to translate two of their newest songs for a special limited single 7'', released in time for their southern Europe tour and the Record Store Day 2022. Anzi, LE FAVOLOSE COURETTES, volevamo dire “the real deal” (Vive Le Rock, UK) “the real sound of now busting through your door” (Rolling Stone, USA)! “the world’s greatest two person rock n’ roll ensemble” (The Next Big Thing, UK) “Your new favourite band once you ve heard them!” (Louder Than War, UK) The Courettes. “A force to be reckoned with. Matching the garage rock ferocity of The Sonics to prime early 60s girl group, the band’s output is utterly feral in the most addictive possible way. Reminiscent of The Ronettes given a Ramones style overhaul, their evil charms arrive covered in blood-soaked glamour. Twanging guitar and raucous percussion, a wild head-long charge into the unknown.” (The Clash Magazine, UK) The Courettes is an explosive rock duo from Denmark and Brazil who found the perfect blend between garage rock, 60s Girl Group, Wall of Sound, surf music and doo wop. Like The Ronettes meet The Ramones at a wild party at Gold Star Studios echo chamber. Praised by the biggest music magazines around the world, in 2020 the band signed with legendary British label Damaged Goods, putting them on the same roster as top international rock icons like Buzzcocks, Manic Street Preaches, Atari Teenage Riot, New Bomb Turks, Amyl and the Sniffers, Billy Childish, Captain Sensible and many others. Their last and third album, “Back in Mono” was released in the Fall 2021 and is a truly milestone in the career. The album brings the band in top form, showing great songwriting skills and with broader nuances, influences and sound qualities to their garage rock recipe. Their last singles, “Want You! Like a Cigarette”, “Hop The Twig” and “R.I.N.G.O.” all got airplay at BBC 6 Radio in England and radio stations in Europe and the USA. “Back in Mono” got top reviews in the main music magazines like Mojo, Classic Rock and Shindig and was featured in countless Best Albums of 2021 lists: “Exuberant third release, a giddying rush of noise” (MOJO, UK) 4 out of 5 stars “Seems like the best record you’ve ever heard. A rock n’ roll sacrament from your new favourite band.” (Classic Rock Magazine, UK) 9 out 10 stars “Sensational good album!” (Ox Magazine, Germany) 9 out of 10 stars “Just keeps getting better and better” (Shindig!, UK) 4 out of 5 stars “Fantastic album” (Louder Than War, UK) 4,5 out of 5 stars “A complete riot” (The Arts Desk, UK) 4 out of 5 stars “14 new original tracks–all killer” (Add to want list, UK) “The whole album is one long highlight” (UK Rock n’ Roll) “Exciting combination of Wall of Sound and Fuzz” (El Periodico, Spain) 4 out of 5 “A collection of perfect songs, full-blown instant classic” (Triste Sunset, Italy)

A 28 track 2LP release to be released on 20th May longside the 2CD set. This is not the first 10cc Hits collection, but it is definitely the most comprehensive TV Ad package. The CD set has aready been sold in. Promo will feature TV This Morning interview and performance, Radio R2 Johnnie Walker Sound of the 70's, , R4 Front Row, SaturdayLive, Gold, Greatest Hits Radio and a major BBC local radio campaign, plus features in Taboids and Broadsheets (We have already confirmed The Telegraph feature The Story Behind 'I'm Not in Love'). All this will be backed by a National TV campaign.

What would you do if a never before released jazz funk album from 70s Yugoslavia had dropped suddenly into your arms? An album which sounds like a crate diggers holy grail!? Album full of heavy drum breaks, repetitive bass grooves, superb sax solos and world class jazz arrangements finely intertwined with Yugoslavian folk music elements?! - “PRESS IT!” ~ That’s what we said always striving to present the future of unheard sound of Yugoslavia! With the help from Mr. Cosmic himself (Željko Kerleta), Jovan Maljoković and his wife Nevenka and, of course, Radio Belgrade who provided the recordings buried deep in their library, here we present Jovan’s first vinyl release since 1989 and his album nr. zero. If this LP was released in 1976, sounding this clear and impressive as it sounds today, it would be up on the pedestal with cult Yugo jazz-funk releases such as Sećanja by Miša Blam (also released on Everland) – and believe me – it would burn a whole through your wallet. Don’t allow me to get started on the Jovan’s ensemble personnel here, represening the crème de la crème of jazz and funk instrumentalists of Yugoslavian Jazz (Goce Dimitrovski, Miloš Krstić, Kire Mitrev, Miodrag Maljoković, Aleksandar Sanja Ilić, Miša Blam, Uroš Šećerov...). The raw execution, top recording and compositions resembling but not imitating the greatest contemporary western jazz-funk ides of the time, that sound like something that could have been easily released on Mainstream, Columbia, MPS or even be an authentic Kudu hit record if it had been released at the time by Creed Taylor. Just listen to the track A1 Ponor Naviše with a whirlwind of big band arrangement turnovers or track B1- Uspomena (hint: Sećanje...) where Jovan takes on the ‘Lame donkey’ in a strong downbeat rearrangement released just two years after Volker Kriegel published it on his album Lift! (MPS/BASF 1973.). You’ll be blown away by the instrumental prowess of the ensemble and Jovan’s ideas! ~ Dr. Smeđi Šećer

Reissue of the Count Basie Orchestra's 1970 album 'High Voltage',
arranged by Chico O'Farrill and featuring Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis, Cecil
Payne, Joe Newman, Freddie Green and Harold Jones among others
When in January, 1970 Count Basie entered the studio with his 17-piece big band
to record 'High Voltage', he ushered in the last full decade as bandleader of his
Orchestra. The Orchestra had left its imprint on the sixties by recording with the
likes of Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald. There would be more great albums with
star vocalists in the seventies, but the band's purely instrumental works, which
had begun in 1965, would also continue. Back then Basie had engaged acclaimed
Cuban composer/arranger Chico O'Farrill to arrange the music for such concept
albums as "Basie Meets Bond" and "Basie's Beatle Bag", transforming them into
crossover gems.
On 'High Voltage' O'Farrill demonstrates his affinity to Basie's big band sound, this
time with a repertoire of standards. For this album, Basie specifically chose
pieces the band had never recorded in their more than 30-year existence. This is
saying something, since the band covers such an impressive span of jazz history,
from the beginning of the swing era to the bop-influenced bands of the 50's on
through to the present album.
The Count's new drummer Harold Jones propels Fred Fisher's "Chicago" with a
tremendous drive. The Rogers and Hart classic "Have You Met Miss Jones"
features beguilingly dense deep- register horn lines and an almost languorous
piano, and Eric Dixon's tasty flute solo spices up "The Lady Is A Tramp". With its
smoky sophistication, Eddie Lockjaw Davis' Tenor dominates "Bewitched",
whereas guest trumpeter Joe Newman's muted tongue-in-cheek solo highlights
"Day In Day Out". Of course, Basie himself also steps forward: for instance, on the
Fats Waller-like intro to "I'm Getting Sentimental Over You", and with the playful
grace notes on "If I Were A Bell"." Reminiscent of the Las Vegas shows the band
performed with Frank Sinatra, "Get Me To The Church On Time" is also a
masterful dialogue between the horn sections.

Ten years into his role as poster boy for pop soul and peak-hour R&B, Syl Johnson did an unlikely about-face and cut the most inspiring and powerful song he'd ever touch. Issued on 45 in September of 1969, "Is It Because I'm Black" struck an immediate chord within the black community, forcing the song up the charts by sheer volume of call-in requests. It would be Syl's biggest hit for Twinight, climbing as high as #11 on the Billboard R&B chart during its 14-week stay, marking the defining moment of what had become more than just an occupation. Syl had his hands on a career and worked tirelessly rehearsing his next opus, an album of songs reflective of the changing times. With "Is It Because I'm Black" still bolding the pages of Billboard, the coming LP's title appeared to Syl plain as day _ or, in this case, black as night. Issued in April 1970 _ a full 13 months before Marvin Gaye's What's Going On _ Is It Because I'm Black can rightly be called the first black concept album, a distinction few give it credit for. But that factoid, whatever its meaning then or now, failed to inspire music buyers: Johnson's record never got a whiff of the two million copies Gaye's did in its first year of availability. Syl lays the blame squarely on the record's lack of marketability to a white audience. The album's cover didn't exactly move units either. Photographer Jerry Griffith dragged Syl to a burned-out building on 43rd Street to shoot the back cover image, and he finger-painted the iconic title over a stock photo of an eroding brick wall. The title track, coupled with the politically charged "I'm Talking About Freedom" and ghetto conscious "Concrete Reservation" sealed the album's cool reception as the work of an "angry black man." Which is unfortunate, as "Together Forever," "Come Together," and "Black Balloons" are positively uplifting, forming their own pot of gold at the end of a grayscale rainbow. The album's closer burns the brightest. "Right On" devolves into a full-on party track, ending with Syl riffing on the line "I'm gonna keep on doing my thing," as if to answer his critics before their needles reached the run-out groove.

re-release Find the Greatest Movie Scores selected by CINEZIK in an new Wagram Vinyl Collection!

Originally released on CD in 2000, the expanded soundtrack edition of John Carpenter's classic 1981 thriller included over 20 minutes of previously unreleased music plus music from scenes deleted from the final print. The masters were re-mixed from the original multi-track session tapes by long-time John Carpenter associate Alan Howarth.This is the first time the expanded edition has appeared on vinyl in its complete form, including original dialogue highlights

Take the freaked-out punked up soul of The Stooges and MC5 mix that with 60s garage trash, blend in Sabbath, AC/DC and heavy rock n roll and then hot wire that sound to a handful of freaks located in Fredericton, New Brunswick. Here it is that The Angered Wrecks were located - in an old Victorian style house in downtown Fredericton. It was here they set up a permanent rehearsal space on the main floor taking up the dining room and living room area with a full P.A. system and the long parties would begin as the Angered Wrecks cranked out an unholy primal serving of mind-numbing, eyeball-popping guttural pure rock and roll.

Lucky for us the Angered Wrecks had a primitive DIY recording set up as they recorded live off the floor with one cardioid mic taped to the ceiling to capture the entire room sound and straight into a cheap Alpine cassette deck. The results of these previously unheard recordings capture the essence of trashy rock’n roll at it’s finest, delivered with pure dereliction, and always a side of extra sleaze.
Keeping warm in the winter at another old salt box style house they would later rehearse and play gigs in, a large circle was cut in the floor so that the rising heat from the pottery kiln downstairs would (along with the right mixture of beer and ‘Purple Jesus’, weed and often speed and hot dogs) keep these boys fuelled long enough in sub zero temperatures to keep pumping out the rock’n roll savagery.
The last show they played was in the fall of ’81 at the Bug Shack after the household was served an eviction noticed with the house to be entirely demolished (just like Stooge Manor aka The Fun House).

They got a gig together the weekend before demolition, packed the bottom floor and played a blazing set. At the very end, walls were kicked apart, old cans of paint strewn about, general wanton destruction to furniture, doors, windows etc…insane. The bug shack had come to an end and shortly thereafter, The Angered Wrecks.
That these tapes have survived to this day is all thanks to John Westhaver’s archival hoarding (even though the loss of a 90 minute session of the Angered Wrecks still haunts John to this day).
So CRANK these tracks as loud as you can – these audio tapes are not for the faint of heart

A LOST RECORDING OF UNTAMED APPALACHIAN MUSIC.
160 gram black vinyl LP in gold & black color reverse-board jacket. Co-release with Jalopy Records.
In 1972, the renowned and singular folk musician Roscoe Holcomb left his home in rural Daisy, Kentucky and embarked on a west coast tour with Mike Seeger in 1972, which included a performance at The Old Church in Portland, Oregon - a beautiful Carpenter Gothic church built in 1882. Decades later, two particular reels were discovered deep within a pile of 1/4” tape in a shadowy corner of the KBOO Community Radio archives in Portland. Incredibly, those tapes contained the sole surviving evidence of a strikingly intimate and raw performance by Roscoe Holcomb, whose cascading and haunting banjo, guitar and voice echoed and saturated the room and hushed audience.
In contrast to Roscoe’s rarely documented (and at times restrained) live performances at folk festivals and television programs, Roscoe seems to have felt more familiar and spiritually moved in the old church that night. Heard here are standout versions of Appalachian folk-blues classics such as Single Girl, John Henry, East Virginia Blues, Swanno Mountain and more. Once cited as Bob Dylan’s favorite singer, Roscoe Holcomb appears at the peak of his powers here, showcasing his immense vocal talents on an extended acapella version of “The Village Churchyard”. The recording itself is warm and mysterious, sounding like the room itself is alive with the spirit, while the rumbles of trucks and hints of city sounds peek through the walls from the outside streets.

Back in 2004, Vampisoul was extremely honoured to play a role in the return to recording of the legendary Joe Bataan, which fully materialized in the lauded 2005 album "Call My Name", written and produced by Daniel Collás.After being out of print for a while, the LP has now been revamped featuring new artwork and liner notes written by Andrew Mason and Daniel Collás, plus photos from the sessions.

“This whole project grew out of a song called 'Cycles Of You', which I had written around 2000-2001 with the guitarist and bassist of my band at the time, Easy. The chord progression and vocal melody really reminded me of Bataan, and it occurred to me that it wouldn't be impossible to get him into the studio to do a guest vocal if we ever recorded it. I had met Bataan a few years before at a small, family-reunion style show at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe in my neighborhood, where he not only still sounded great, but was also gracious and easy to talk to.

He was agreeable, so we decided to turn it into a Joe Bataan session and do 'Cycles Of You'. The funny thing is, 'Chick-A-Boom', a live favorite with Easy, was hastily added so we could have a B-side, but it ended up chosen to be the A-side of the single. When I got the opportunity from Vampisoul to do a full album, I was hoping Bataan and I could write some songs together, but our schedules proved tough to coordinate. I figured the best way to go about it was to do most of the work and just have him come sing on it. I thought this might be a little weird for him, since he is used to writing and producing most of his own records, but he was open to it.

The reactions to this album were gratifying. Diehard fans accepted it as a welcome addition to the canon and regularly compared it to some of my favorite records of Bataan's. At one point a New York radio station's listener poll listed two songs off of the album in the top ten of all-time best-loved Joe Bataan songs, and Ry Cooder enthusiastically mentioned "Call My Name" in a Wall Street Journal interview.” Daniel Collás, producer of "Call My Name".

Does returning to a place have a sound? Can the ear have a memory? And what if places which we return to are just empty shells? Choreographed rooms which we need to play, fill from scratch each time with fragments from the past and present, layer upon layer, familiar and still somehow always new and differently assembled. Paula Schopf’s Espacios en Soledad are acoustic walks around present day Santiago de Chile, the city where she was born - which she always left, had to leave and to which she always returns - but more than anything also through her own memories which resonate throughout the public places, squares, streets though still in their own way remain strange.

„Every immigrant in the world has a piece like this - a kind of missing link, something which is incomplete. And every time one returns to the home country you are looking for it. For me it was a matter of sound.“ (Paula 2019).

In the mid 70s leaving Santiago was a flight of exile as a child with her family. Leaving in 1990 was an autonomous decision to head for Europe, Berlin, where the wall fell, where the heavens opened up all at once and electronic music became a kind of new home to so many. Paula Schopf belonged there. For her the Ocean Club at Tresor club was a central place where friends and mentors like Gudrun Gut and Thomas Fehlmann made it possible for her to get really into it. Dancing, being and feeling your body, forgetting oneself in the bass and beats, who one is and where one’s from, to becoming the DJ Chica Paula. Chile was very far away during this time, Latin America was more just a code, a musical and habitual cliche to be cautious of. This was especially true for the culture of the Chilean exile, the pathos of the “Canto Nuevo”, the sound and ideologically charged instruments of the „música andina“, for example the Zampoña, Quena or Charango. Techno was the greatest thinkable alternative to this even if or perhaps because so many kids exiled from Chile became key figures in the German and European scene: Ricardo Villalobos, Dandy Jack, Cristian Vogel, Matias Aguayo and many more.

How does returning to a place sound? Does the ear have its own memory? The field recordings which were recorded in Santiago de Chile in 2016 and form the central sonic material for Espacios en Soledad represent the paradox for Schopf’s return to her home country after emigrating: the inevitable drifting apart of her own lived time from that of her former home. Already the Venezuelan and Colombian hawkers are unmistakable signs of the deep change in Chilean society which has happened in recent years due to immigration. Which is in contrast to the old lady who sits on the floor in a pedestrian zone and without break sings the same three songs by Violeta Parra and then keeps falling asleep while doing so. The fragile presence of her voice is joined with a repertoire which is almost mythologically timeless in Chile in a particularly moving way.

By layering, ordering and conjoining such found sounds from modern day Santiago this piece become about the urban sound of Chile’s present. But more than anything by doing this Paula Schopf becomes an arranger of her own sonic memory or sound-triggered memories of returning to this city. Just as techno and Berlin helped her for such a long time to get away from too strong of an identification as a Chilean in exil, now with Espacios en Soledad she has found a way to bring these two seemingly disparate lives and remembered worlds together.

Matthias Pasdzierny

Siv Disa, the Chinese-American New York singer currently residing in Iceland has announced her debut album, Dreamhouse on UK based label Trapped Animal. Dreamhouse is available on Sky Blue 180GSM vinyl with a printed inner sleeve including song lyrics. The outer sleeve is printed uncoated high-quality card. Also available on Digipak CD and via Digital streaming and DL. The artwork was conceived and built by Siv Disa. It features a dreamy hand-painted dollhouse—the front image is a photograph of a tangerine sherbet living-room-in-miniature, complete with a teacup table and a glowing salt shaker lamp. The artist herself is hanging on the wall ensconced in a gilded frame overlooking the tableau. The back cover explores the same dollhouse, from a distance: there’s a garden in the basement, a maze of threads in the gallery, and a small ocean in the bathroom. A callback to the intricate maximalism of 70’s psychedelia and Neo-art nouveau, there are layers of details embedded into each room for the viewer to discover. Dreamhouse is a wild journey through its creator's psyches. It moves from gentle break-up songs to dark nights out in the fluorescent haze of nighttime New York and Reykjavik city filled with deep hallucinogenic beats... before it finally closes on a song infused with the isolation of 2020. The first part of Dreamhouse was recorded in upstate New York with collaborator and producer Sam and the sea, they both chose to relocate when the pandemic hit the US – and regrouped at a studio cabin in the wilderness to complete Dreamhouse and take time to escape the ensuing storm we all faced. It’s important to understand, whilst a product finalised during lockdown – this album was largely conceived way before the lockdown or pandemic, this is Siv Disa’s debut album and it was always going to be luminous and otherworldly, as with its creators. Quotes : “psychedelic pop that converges the encompassing textures of Broadcasts with Joanna Newsom’s pleasantly off-kilter melodies” - Line Of Best Fit // “...a haunting feel, while her warm, soft voice invites the listener into even the darkest of stories…Fear is an embodiment of this distinct sound she’s mastered.” Audiofemme // “profound lyrics flow from an ethereal plane, it’s an utterly captivating offering” Get In Her Ears

"You ever wonder what Keith Morris does at the end of the day? Does he maintain that wide-eyed stare, the one that pins audiences to the floor with its very intensity, while he’s putting on his pyjamas? Does he continue spitting venom from that heroically ragged throat of his while he’s making his cocoa? Does he lay his head on his pillow with the same righteous fury that launched thousands upon thousands of moshpits? Hey, I’m just wondering. Y’see, all that intensity and venom and fury… it has to go somewhere while he’s otherwise occupied with mundane tasks like taking off his socks or brushing his teeth, right? And listening to the thrilling racket conjured up by Vancouver’s Chain Whip, you’d be forgiven for thinking that they have somehow become vessels for that energy. I mean, they’re Morris’ spiritual successors - if their 2019 debut ‘14 Lashes’ wasn’t enough of a clue, then this six-song blast of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it brilliance should leave you in no doubt. This is hardcore punk as it was originally conceived, and it slays. ‘But who are Chain Whip?’ I hear you ask. Well, they’re a bunch of dudes from British Columbia who’ve also served time in bands like The Jolts, Fashionism and Corner Boys (among others). They’re the ones who are gonna have you slashing the seats at your local cinema, or taking potshots at lines of empty bottles on street corners, cuz they make you feel so damn tuff. OK, I’m just goofing around here - whereas Chain Whip are serious business. No, really. I dare you to listen to the Germs-go-nuclear b(‘)last of ‘Laguna Bleach’, or the garage-slop-at-200-mph rush of ‘Fresh Paint And Philanthropy’, and not want to launch a stink bomb into your teacher’s car. Or, failing that, to bring about the extinction of global capitalism. If that fails, you’ll just end up wearing out the grooves of this very fine six-song EP while bouncing between walls like the DRI logo guy if he wore jet heels and spring-loaded shoulder pads. Jeez, imagine Keith finishing the night shift and giving these guys a handover. As if they’d even need to be told. Look, Chain Whip are the best straight-up old-skool punk band you’ll hear today. You know what to do. Trust your instincts. Dance that two-step to hell with ‘em. This. Is. The. Shit." Will Fitzpatrick.

On Fast Idol, LA-based Black Marble reaches back through time to connect with the forgotten bedroom kids of the analogue era, the halcyon days of icy hooks and warbly synths. Harmonies are piped in across the expanse of space, and lyrics capture conversations that seem to come from another room, repeat an accusation overheard, or speak as if in sleep of interpersonal struggles distilled down to one subconscious phrase. At the same time, percussive elements feel forward and cut through the mix with toms counting off the measures like a lost tribe broadcasting through the bass and tops of a basement club soundsystem.

Over nearly 20 years, Howlin Rain may have become the quintessential independent American rock ’n roll band: a steam-spitting Hydra of cranked guitars, kicking asphalt dust through a kaleidoscoping travelogue of desert motels and dives, volleying forth transmissions of sci-fi poetry from the blacktop veins of this cracked and aching country.

Now, in America 2021, capping these strangest and sorest of times, the band returns with The Dharma Wheel, a six-track, 52-minute dive into a joyous fantasy realm of exaggerated present.

“I wanted The Dharma Wheel to be a portal from our everyday world, the one from which you stand on hard ground and hold the album in your hands and peer into the artwork, and into another universe,” says songwriter, guitarist and vocalist, Ethan Miller. “You enter into that universe with your eyes and ears and mind and take a ride through free-form meditation on these ideas — from big, fundamental concepts about our existence right down to the grease that rolls down the arm of a pulp novel killer as he eats a gas station hot dog in an old Dodge in an alleyway.”

Lyrically, Miller has completed his evolution into a mushroom-plucking Whitman of the West, singing outlandish tales in a topographic blend of Humbead’s Revised Map of the World and an inverted U.S. where downtrodden bodhisattvas roam the back streets and moonless country roads.

“Down in Florida swamps, run by nature’s law, standing in the water, Eden gone. Two men loading rifles, beasts making time, they shot a boy from an orange tree and watched the colored birds take flight, watch the colors as they soar and dive.” — ‘Under the Wheels.’

The band, Jeff McElroy (bass, backing vocals), Justin Smith (drums/percussion, backing vocals) and Dan Cervantes (guitar, backing vocals), again sounds hardwired into Miller’s vision, building tracks that swagger and sway in response to his verse. Lending a hand this time around is the legendary Scarlet Rivera (Bob Dylan’s Rolling Thunder Revue) on violin, and the endlessly inventive Adam MacDougall (Chris Robinson Brotherhood, Circles Around the Sun) on keys.

Songs were shaped via the blast furnace of endless gigs, then recorded often mere hours after the band slipped the stage.

“The captured sonic fact about this record is that it’s the sound of a band that rehearsed this material a lot and put a ton of work into its construction and was on the road a lot and recorded on days off in the tour schedule,” Miller says. “In some cases we were on stage on Saturday night playing these songs at quarter-to-2 in the morning and by Noon the next day we were sipping coffee in the studio playing them for the machine.”

Rivera’s violin is the first sound heard as the album dawns on the instrumental “Prelude.” Soon, the band joins, twirling the theme into a psychedelicized awakening. “Don’t Let the Tears” brings the boogie, with MacDougall’s madcap synth work and wah-wah guitars showering 70’s glitter upon a parquet dance floor of the mind. “Under the Wheels” and “Rotoscope” center the album with taut, compositional epics populated by murdering drifters and fuzz pedal explosions. The blue hour comedown of “Annabelle” meditates upon the weariness of lost love, with Rivera again amping the heartache via her violin strings.

“In the evening the trains go by, and shake the dust from dirty walls, sometimes I feel like a spider in an old mason jar, who threatens only convex light from down the hall. I’ve been lost to the world since the photos of the black hole, landed on my desktop screaming, perhaps the all and nothing all-in-one is just too much to take, for particles and matter that never found their way.” — ‘Annabelle’

The record closes with the 16-minute title track, a multi-movement suite which cycles from Crazy Horse-meets-Traffic jams through colossal, mass-moving funk stomp, eventually cresting and washing into a sing-along gospel lament.

The Dharma Wheel is an album of great depth, and one steeped in good vibes: a rich, glistening world of the ultra-vivid. As illustrated in Arik Roper’s cover art, the grand dharmachakra has been set in motion, churning off the California coast.

“We were trying to build a world big enough that the imagination won’t go soft on you after just a few listens and where our love for this music, and music in general — along with a good dose of audacity — create a magic carpet ride through the world of The Dharma Wheel,” Miller continues. “In pursuing that I think we also managed to make a record that has a lot of joy in it: the joy of playing music, the joy of experiencing music, the joy of storytelling and poetry, the kind of singular joy and extended ecstatic moment that only a real ‘band’ can express in just that way.”

And it’s this joy, this exuberance and dedication to the lines of cosmic expression — all centered in the exalted art of the everyday — that constructs the heart of the record. At its core, The Dharma Wheel is the triumph of a working band, a transmission from a never-paused before arriving for our strange, bruised, spectacular now.”

Over nearly 20 years, Howlin Rain may have become the quintessential independent American rock ’n roll band: a steam-spitting Hydra of cranked guitars, kicking asphalt dust through a kaleidoscoping travelogue of desert motels and dives, volleying forth transmissions of sci-fi poetry from the blacktop veins of this cracked and aching country.

Now, in America 2021, capping these strangest and sorest of times, the band returns with The Dharma Wheel, a six-track, 52-minute dive into a joyous fantasy realm of exaggerated present.

“I wanted The Dharma Wheel to be a portal from our everyday world, the one from which you stand on hard ground and hold the album in your hands and peer into the artwork, and into another universe,” says songwriter, guitarist and vocalist, Ethan Miller. “You enter into that universe with your eyes and ears and mind and take a ride through free-form meditation on these ideas — from big, fundamental concepts about our existence right down to the grease that rolls down the arm of a pulp novel killer as he eats a gas station hot dog in an old Dodge in an alleyway.”

Lyrically, Miller has completed his evolution into a mushroom-plucking Whitman of the West, singing outlandish tales in a topographic blend of Humbead’s Revised Map of the World and an inverted U.S. where downtrodden bodhisattvas roam the back streets and moonless country roads.

“Down in Florida swamps, run by nature’s law, standing in the water, Eden gone. Two men loading rifles, beasts making time, they shot a boy from an orange tree and watched the colored birds take flight, watch the colors as they soar and dive.” — ‘Under the Wheels.’

The band, Jeff McElroy (bass, backing vocals), Justin Smith (drums/percussion, backing vocals) and Dan Cervantes (guitar, backing vocals), again sounds hardwired into Miller’s vision, building tracks that swagger and sway in response to his verse. Lending a hand this time around is the legendary Scarlet Rivera (Bob Dylan’s Rolling Thunder Revue) on violin, and the endlessly inventive Adam MacDougall (Chris Robinson Brotherhood, Circles Around the Sun) on keys.

Songs were shaped via the blast furnace of endless gigs, then recorded often mere hours after the band slipped the stage.

“The captured sonic fact about this record is that it’s the sound of a band that rehearsed this material a lot and put a ton of work into its construction and was on the road a lot and recorded on days off in the tour schedule,” Miller says. “In some cases we were on stage on Saturday night playing these songs at quarter-to-2 in the morning and by Noon the next day we were sipping coffee in the studio playing them for the machine.”

Rivera’s violin is the first sound heard as the album dawns on the instrumental “Prelude.” Soon, the band joins, twirling the theme into a psychedelicized awakening. “Don’t Let the Tears” brings the boogie, with MacDougall’s madcap synth work and wah-wah guitars showering 70’s glitter upon a parquet dance floor of the mind. “Under the Wheels” and “Rotoscope” center the album with taut, compositional epics populated by murdering drifters and fuzz pedal explosions. The blue hour comedown of “Annabelle” meditates upon the weariness of lost love, with Rivera again amping the heartache via her violin strings.

“In the evening the trains go by, and shake the dust from dirty walls, sometimes I feel like a spider in an old mason jar, who threatens only convex light from down the hall. I’ve been lost to the world since the photos of the black hole, landed on my desktop screaming, perhaps the all and nothing all-in-one is just too much to take, for particles and matter that never found their way.” — ‘Annabelle’

The record closes with the 16-minute title track, a multi-movement suite which cycles from Crazy Horse-meets-Traffic jams through colossal, mass-moving funk stomp, eventually cresting and washing into a sing-along gospel lament.

The Dharma Wheel is an album of great depth, and one steeped in good vibes: a rich, glistening world of the ultra-vivid. As illustrated in Arik Roper’s cover art, the grand dharmachakra has been set in motion, churning off the California coast.

“We were trying to build a world big enough that the imagination won’t go soft on you after just a few listens and where our love for this music, and music in general — along with a good dose of audacity — create a magic carpet ride through the world of The Dharma Wheel,” Miller continues. “In pursuing that I think we also managed to make a record that has a lot of joy in it: the joy of playing music, the joy of experiencing music, the joy of storytelling and poetry, the kind of singular joy and extended ecstatic moment that only a real ‘band’ can express in just that way.”

And it’s this joy, this exuberance and dedication to the lines of cosmic expression — all centered in the exalted art of the everyday — that constructs the heart of the record. At its core, The Dharma Wheel is the triumph of a working band, a transmission from a never-paused before arriving for our strange, bruised, spectacular now.”

Forty years ago, on July 8th and 9th in 1981, a group formed by the splintering of some of Bristol’s essential post punk bands, entered the hallowed studio at Berry Street in London to record their debut single. What would emerge was not only an exuberant post funk classic on the A-side, but also a wildly influential dub workout on the flipside, whose reverberations can still be heard today. Both songs have proven essential in very different ways.

A focal point for the unique punk-funk that was coming together in Bristol as the bridge from the 70s to the 80s arrived, Maximum Joy was formed by Glaxo Babies multi-instrumentalist Tony Wrafter and 18 year old vocalist and multi-instrumentalist Janine Rainforth. Soon they drafted in additional Glaxo Babies in the form of drummer Charlie Llewellin and bassist Dan Catsis, along with guitarist John Waddington, fresh from The Pop Group. The group set about making a one-of-a-kind mix of funk, punk, pop, jazz, dub, soul, afrobeat and reggae; creating a brilliant charge of danceable tunes wrapped around elastic basslines and complex percussion, punctuated by melodic horns and stabs of guitar, all of it highlighting Rainforth’s naturally enthusiastic vocal style.

Bursting at the seams, “Stretch” feels like it can barely be contained within the studio walls. Rainforth delivers a vocal performance that can only be found within the freedom of someone recording their first ever single. I’m not lying when I say there isn’t another song that sounds quite like it. The group’s love of funk is evident on “Stretch”, but the heavy influence of dub and reggae from their surroundings shapes the moody skitter of “Silent Street”. Here, the sing song vocals seem to drift across the heavy late night air. The two songs are wildly different, yet both could only have come from this key collection of players. Paired with the likes of The Pop Group, The Slits, The Raincoats and the On-U-Sound collective, Maximum Joy still stands out as a unique voice in the movement.

Y Records head Dick O’Dell would join the sessions and give the release a warm home in the UK while legendary 99 Records in New York took on the US release since Maximum Joy made perfect sense being equal parts ESG and Liquid Liquid. This 12” has been a staple for DJ’s in the know since day one.

Born in Brixton, a child of the Windrush Generation, Letts’ slippery and unorthodox career is somewhat hard to define, without taking a few detours around London, New York and Jamaica. He began his working life managing the dauntingly hip Acme Attractions on Chelsea’s Kings Road, where he made a mark with his attitude, dress and, especially, the pounding dub reggae that vibrated the shop’s walls. His first gig as a DJ at the short-lived Roxy in Neal Street, became mythical for turning a generation of punks on to reggae. They in turn hipped him to their DIY ethos resulting in his reinvention as a filmmaker. This led to a shed-load of music videos (Linton Kwesi Johnson, The Clash, Bob Marley) not

to mention documentaries on the likes of Gil Scott-Heron, George Clinton and Sun Ra.



In the ’80s, he was part of Mick Jones’ new venture, Big Audio Dynamite and his innovative use of samples were a core part of their sound. Listeners of his weekly 6 Music radio show are taken on a musical safari that moves seamlessly between time, space and genre. It’s not called Culture Clash Radio for nothing. So this latest bulletin from Letts HQ is merely one angle of a multifaceted personality, his take on the JA tradition of the cover version.



The history of Caribbean music owes a debt to R&B as many of the early island releases were cover versions of US 45s. Ska’s breakthrough commercially, Millie Small’s ‘My Boy Lollipop’, was originally recorded by Barbie Gaye in ’50s New York. Cover versions became quite a thing in Jamaica and Don, following in that tradition, has dug deep with a selection of interesting dubbed out covers including thirteen exclusives.



“A disciple of sound system, raised on reggae n’ bass culture my go to sound was dub. Besides being spacious and sonically adventurous at the same time, its most appealing aspect was the space it left to put yourself ‘in the mix’ underpinned by Jamaica’s gift to the world - bass. But that’s only half the story as the duality of my existence meant I was also checking what the Caucasian crew were up to not to mention the explosion of black music coming in from the States. That’s why this version excursion crosses time space and genre, from The Beach Boys to The Beatles, Nina Simone to Marvin Gaye, The Bee Gees to Kool & The Gang, The Clash to Joy Division and beyond. You’d think it impossible to draw a line between ‘em but not in my world. Fortunately, the ‘cover version’ has played an integral part in the evolution of Jamaican music and dub covers were just a natural extension.”



There’s a diverse mix of classic and new, with legendary figures like John Holt, The Tamlins and Cornell Campbell, mixed in with British veterans Mad Professor and the irrepressible Dennis Bovell, while (relatively) young striplings Kiko Bun, Emily Capell and Prince Fatty deliver the goods, with laidback Texan groovers Khruangbin also offering an exclusive bass heavy-delight.



The song choices are diverse, from French dubsters’ OBF’s renditions of ‘Sixteen Tons’, the miners’ paean popularised by Tennessee Ernie Ford in the 1950s, to Ash Walker’s refix of Omar’s ‘There’s Nothing Like This’ and ‘All I Do Is Think About You’, immortalised by the ill-fated Tammi Terrell and preserved here by Quantic (the latter two both exclusives). Being a Rebel Dread compilation, there’s a cover (by Wrongtom Meets The Rockers) of The Clash’s ‘Lost In The Supermarket’ while Don’s exclusive, naturally, is a rendition of Big Audio Dynamite’s debut hit, ‘E = MC2’.



“Truth be told I’ve wanted to work with the Late Night Tales crew from the get go. We’re talking nearly two decades such was the allure of their musical aesthetic typified by curators like Nightmares on Wax, The Flaming Lips, MGMT, Trentemoller, Khruangbin and countless others. Now being as old as rock n’ roll (born in ‘56) and having nearly 20 years of Culture Clash Radio under my belt I figured I was tooled up to musically juggle with the best of ‘em. But I wanted to carve out a space that was distinctly my own - something that reflected my musical journey and the culture clash that’s made me the man I am today.”

Vanguard captures the iconic Bristol Sound.

The early days of the iconic Bristol Sound are captured in a new album including an exclusive re-release of the very first track from Massive Attack and tracks from Smith & Mighty, Purple Penguin and more.

The curated tracks are also linked in that all were originally released with bespoke original covers from legendary Bristol street artists, including Banksy and Will Barras, tying its release toVanguard’s current exhibition Bristol Street Art: The Evolution of a Global Movement at M Shed, Bristol, running until October.
Compiled by DJ Boca 45 (Scott Hendy), Vanguard brings together the seminal tracks that defined the rebellious era which saw the birth of the Bristol Sound for the first time. Featured tracks include an exclusive re-release of Any Love - the first ever track by Massive Attack released on Massive Attack Records in 1988, Smith & Mighty’s breakout hit Walk On, Purple Penguin’s downtempo classic Memphis and other trip hop classics.

The LP celebrates the globally recognised Bristol Sound whose experimental breakbeat rhythms and influence still dominate the scene today. Along with classic tracks from the ‘90’s into the ‘00’s and beyond, the album uncovers lesser known cuts by some of Bristol’s pioneering musicians such as One Cut and West Country hip hop’s finest Aspects.

The explosion of the Bristol Sound coincided with the boom in UK street art which led to fruitful collaborations between artists and musicians. Finding inspiration in each other’s work, street artists frequently designed rave posters, logos and cover art while DJs provided the beats to accompany street artists’ clandestine painting.
Vanguard The Album pays homage to these relationships with a beautifully put together gatefold LP featuring iconic cover art designed by some of the biggest names in street art such as Inkie, Dicy, Will Barras and Nick Walker. These early works capture the boisterous energy of the era and confirm Bristol’s status as an extraordinary cultural melting pot.

The double vinyl record also features extensive sleeve notes written by Bristolian writer and curator Jamie Hombre as he reflects on these ground breaking cover art collaborations.

Originally released in 1975, Force It is UFO’s fourth studio album. Produced by Ten Years After’s Leo Lyons, it was their first album to chart in the US and enabled the band to kick up a rockier gear.
Containing many classic tracks still in their live set today, such as “Shoot Shoot” and “Let It Roll”, this newly remastered 2LP gatefold deluxe version includes the Record Plant live set from 1975.
This limited-edition version is pressed on clear vinyl.

UK South coasters relocating from West to East, Katja
Rackin and Sam Stacpoole have been grafting and
honing alone, away from the expertise of music
producers and other governors since 2016. The result
is unadulterated and unclean, unabashed and
uncompromised.
Through their love of artists such as The Kinks, Alex
Chilton and The Nerves, or any other artist who
spends less time with the polishing cloth and more
time with the power shower, Holiday Ghosts make
music with a lean and primitive rock ‘n’ roll spirit.
Drums are stripped naked to the point of metronome
status and no stomp boxes, nor cajóns or didgeridoos
are found to obscure the energy of guitars at their
rawest.
In stories of landlords, steady jobs, wrong turns, short
straws, sunny moods and city life, Kat and Sam share
lead vocals alongside returning bandmate and
songwriter Charlie Murphy and a host of other
musicians from Falmouth, Cornwall where the band
began.
Two albums in with Punk Slime Records and Holiday
Ghosts are back with their third full length, ‘North
Street Air’, their first for FatCat Records. Twelve songs
of love, hate and everything in between.
For fans of White Fence, Goat Girl, Porridge Radio,
Juan Wauters, Yo La Tengo, Total Control, Terry,
Chubby and the Gang, Uranium Club, The Velvet
Underground, Violent Femmes, Modern Lovers.

Clear / Orange Vinyl
Factory Benelux presents a remastered 2xLP coloured vinyl edition of Circuses and Bread, the seventh studio album by Manchester ensemble The Durutti Column. Originally released by Factory Benelux and Factory in 1986, the original 9 tracks have now been expanded with 6 bonus pieces.

The cover art retains the original design by 8vo. The remastered limited edition CLEAR+ORANGE vinyl set is housed in gatefold sleeve, with liner notes and rare band images. A CD version is also available (FBN 154 CD).

Self-produced by Vini Reilly at Strawberry and Revolution studios, the album saw Durutti playing as a quartet, with Reilly on guitar, vocals and keyboards, Bruce Mitchell in drums and percussion, John Metcalfe (viola) and Tim Kellett (trumpet).

‘The music ends up being very simple,’ Vini told NME. ‘People can dismiss it as being very simplistic, easy listening or whatever. It’s very honest, it’s very personal. People say it’s ambient, and it’s like Eno. I don’t like that, because the music’s made to be listened to, it’s not wallpaper.’

Of extended piece Blind Elevator Girl – Osaka, Vini adds: ‘The music really writes itself. For example, we’re in Osaka, in Japan, getting in this elevator. It’s very crowded with all these Japanese businessmen talking about distribution deals, and going on and on. On this lift was a beautiful Japanese girl, in an immaculate uniform. Each floor we arrived at, she’s starting talking Japanese, obviously saying what was on each floor. We went higher and higher, and finally we get to the top. And then, sort of walking out of the elevator, I suddenly realised she was blind... It got to me, this girl. It was incredible. So maybe a day later, I was thinking about that, and the whole tune came out. And every single piece of music is like that.’

Bonus tracks include Italian-only EP Greetings Three, scarce compilation track The Aftermath, and a previously unreleased working version of 1987 single Our Lady of the Angels produced by the late Stuart ‘Jammer’ James.

Breaking up South London soul man, Ashong’s vocals into a ghostly exchange with a mind-bending bass line and double-time rhythm, the 'Street Dub' is unmistakable Matthew Herbert quirkiness.

DJ, producer, songwriter & Femme Culture label founder, Elkka, brings her unmistakeable energy & power to Joyfulness. What was once a soothing, mellow-soul excursion is now a direct & inspiring dance-floor cut. Thumping kick drums, swirling hi-hat rhythms, jittery synth and robotic-steel-drum melodies reform Hector and Alexa's sublime production.

On the B-side, Broken Beat legend Daz I Kue delivers a squelchy sub-heavy workout, full of percussive punchiness and new orchestral dimensions.

Meanwhile south-London producer and DJ Shy One takes another Andrew Ashong collaboration, formerly playlisted on BBC Radio 6 Music, and goes deep, phasey and peculiar. Chopping outcuts of chat between Andrew and Hector, ethereal vocals and synths and delivering a heavy kick drum, with a touch of broken beat magic.

“I wanted to try and showcase as many people as I knew on this mix. My idea of Late Night Tales was to distil a series of relaxing moments; the whole conceptual sonic of relax- ation. So, I was trying to think of all the collaborators and friends that I knew, who’d recorded stuff with this horizontal vibe. Plus, I was also trying to help my friends' stuff get into the world. I know the story of Khruangbin blowing up after appearing on the series (in fact, I think that's how I discovered them). So, the main idea was to create a certain atmosphere, but also to help some of my favourite collaborators and bud- dies to give their songs a little push out into the world. Hope you like it” Jordan Rakei
Due for release on 9th April, Late Night Tales celebrate their 20th anniversary with the release of multi-instru- mentalist, vocalist and producer Jordan Rakei’s majestic compilation. The 28-year-old modern soul icon effortlessly stamps his own jazz and hip-hop driven sound all over this gorgeous array of handpicked tracks. A beautifully layered blend that is mirrored in the music he’s made, itcomes as no surprise that such a supremely gifted songwriter should deliver a mix that is all about the song.
Rakei, born in New Zealand, but raised in Australia, moved to the UK in 2015; he released his debut album, Cloak, with Oz label Soul Has No Tempo, but his two subsequentLPs, Wallflower and Origin, came out on Ninja Tune, the former#2 in Album Of The Year for Gilles Peterson’s Worldwide poll, while Origin was nominated for Best Album at the AIM Awards. Jordan had this to say on his upcoming mix:
As Jordan says,there’s so much more to the song selection on Late Night Tales’latest outing than a random collection of artists. Many have some sort of personal connection, so just as Bonobo provided a platform for the breakout of Khruangbin on a previous LNT, this may have the same ef- fect for Rakei’s friends. After a soothing opener from Fink, good friend and big influence Alfa Mist (part of the Are We Live collective) delivers ‘Mulago.’ “I want to champion their sound and show the world how good he is, and I thought it’d be fitting to start the mix with family,” says Jordan.
Next up is Charlotte Day Wilson with ‘Mountains,’ followed by ‘Count A Heart’ from Moreton, an exclusive collab- oration with Jordan, who grew up on the same street in Brisbane, Australia. “She was the first artist I ever collabo- rated with, and one of the first artists to be involved in mycareer,” he explains. Elsewhere we hear Scottish producer and multi-instrumentalist C Duncan’s haunting ‘He Came from the Sun,’ Barcelona collective Oso Leone deliver a dreamy ‘Virtual U’ and Bill Lauren’s ‘Singularity,’ which evokes a striking sense of time and place.
Snowpoet’s ethereal ‘Evitenity’ is a “long mediative nar- rative over a beautiful soundscape,” which at times seems chaotic, nicely juxtaposed with undeniable beauty, and Maro’s kooky songwriting shines on ‘Always And Forever.’ Long-time buddy Armon-Jones contributes ‘Idiom,’ and Jordan’s exclusive cover version is a two-for-one, Radio- head’s ‘Codex’ merging with ‘Lover, You Should’ve Come Home’ by Jeff Buckley and another exclusive,original com- position by Jordan, ‘Imagination.’ The latter works as a piece with the spoken (Spanish) word voiced by movie director Alejandro González Iñárritu (Babel, Birdman, and The Reve- nant,) who is a big fan of Jordan’s. “He messaged me when I went to L.A and asked to come to my show. I was in such shock and we hung out after. I thought it would be nice to get him to do this in his native tongue, because I don’t think that’s been done yet on the series.” It certainly is a familyaffair. Not theblood is thicker than water kind, but certainly musical kindred spirits.

Verisimilitude’ continues drummer/composer Tyshawn Sorey’s effort to shatter the jazz piano trio tradition by extending the form to encompass the influence of the likes of Feldman, Debussy and Xenakis.
Now available on vinyl for the first time.
One of the most in-demand drummers in improvised music - he has collaborated extensively with the likes of John Zorn, Vijay Iyer, Steve Lehman, Claire Chase, George Lewis, and Roscoe Mitchell, among myriad others - Sorey is also in the vanguard of artists working in that liminal space between spontaneous composition and notated music.
The New Yorker calls Sorey “among the most formidable denizens of that inbetween zone,” while The Wall Street Journal has called him “a composer of radical and seemingly boundless ideas.”
Featuring Cory Smythe on piano and Chris Tordini on bass, the trio’s first release, ‘Alloy’ (Pi 2014), was described as “shadowy and elegant” by The New York Times. His 2015 release, ‘The Inner Spectrum of Variables’, which also features the same group joined by a string trio, was called “devastatingly gorgeous” by The Chicago Reader and “a genuine masterwork” by Stereogum.
The new work utilizes a wide array of percussion, along with judicious use of electronics to explore a wider textural soundscape. The result is a far-reaching and intensely beautiful work that daringly blurs the boundaries between composition and improvisation.
Personnel: Tyshawn Sorey (drums, percussion), Corey Smythe (piano, toy piano, electronics), Chris Tordini (bass)

Compilation of all the recordings by this legendary punk band prior to their LPs: the sessions for their single 'Mucha Policía', taken for the first time in 27 years from the original tapes, which has unearthed two studio recordings unissued until now; plus rehearsals, demos and live recordings. Completely remastered. A furious, noholds-barred sonic account of a period of immense changes for Spain and the Basque Country. The origins of the most important Spanish punk group, regarded as one of the essential bands of the genre all over the Spanish speaking world.It was a time when the walls were teeming with socio-political proclamations, where the hammer and sickle - alongside the illegal Ikurriña (the flag of the Basque Country) - were the most widely used symbols. A time of general strikes and protests on the streets that often ended in an ugly manner. A time also of smoky joints, where huge speakers played loud rock and there were dreams of strawberry fields. In Santurtzi, on the left bank of the Nervión estuary, a unique band was born: ESKORBUTO. Iosu Expósito and Jualma Suarez lived in working class neighbourhoods that had grown fast. Both Kabiezes and Mamariga were, in the 50s, mainly rural areas of Santurtzi. In the 60s, industrialization and rampant development transformed them into urban areas without any investment in urbanism. Some elements for the alchemy led to the explosion: intelligent young guys who were nevertheless incapable of adhering to school discipline, a country in full swing towards freedom after 40 years of dictatorship. It was a context very familiar with the turbulence of the "Basque conflict", with neighbours seduced by the "armed fight" and the "liberation of Euskal Herria", with the question of "identity" constantly present, traumatic episodes of killings, tortures and imprisonments .One day at the end of the 70s they decided to start a band. The first period of Eskorbuto's life, before the damage done by the needle became noticeable, was incredibly fruitful. They soon found a rehearsal space, thanks to their first drummer ("Gu"), and there the first songs were born: 'Enterrado vivo', 'Busco en la basura', 'Éste es el porvenir', 'Mucha policía, poca diversión'. It was a period of line-up changes. Iñaki Laiseka played bass for them, and that role was also taken by "Seni" and "Garlopa", two precursors of "left bank" punk. Later on they found Paco Galán, who also came from a similar neighbourhood to theirs (Repélega, in Portugalete). Paco always was the necessary engine, the piece around which the rest revolved, which guaranteed continuity. His drumming also added an apparently chaotic element to the already unbridled guitar melodies and visionary texts, halfway between dirty realism and Edgar Allan Poe's nightmares. These recordings are taken from those early times of excitement and vertigo, of journeys to Madrid under a train's seat and endless trips up and down the left bank looking for "someone that I've heard is selling an amp". Now the Reina Sofía Museum exhibits their "Impuesto Revolucionario" LP and there's no Spanish speaking country without legions of fans.

Outer Space, the 6-piece band from Barcelona is back with two original tracks, totally fresh and raw from the depths of the galaxy.

Dead Planet is a slow burnin' theme featuring Catalan guest singer Gemma Humet. A stunning young voice with an already extensive career that will transport you to the streets of Addis Abeba. On the flipside, Not Even Light, another original song where you can taste the distinctive flavour of Mulatu Astatke with extra added soulful grooves. On both tracks special guest percussionist Jesús Campos joins them with his fiery hands.

Once again, Outer Space bring you their characteristic approach to Ethiojazz that will strip paint off the walls.

The debut mixtape from Bad Boy Chiller Crew, includes the hits ‘450’, ‘Guns Up’ and ‘German Engineering’.
The debut mixtape from Bradford’s Bad Boy Chiller Crew (BBCC). With over 150 million+ organic streams on their own channels, a feature-length fly-onthe-wall VICE documentary and broadsheet tips for 2020 stardom, the group already have a formidable fanbase and infamy to be reckoned with. In fact, they’re already a fully-fledged organic phenomenon.
MCs Kane, GK, Clive are deeply influenced by the ‘bassline house’ clubbing heritage they grew up around in the North of England as well as emergent UK and US rap. The boys’ have created something of their own new sound, lacing pacey 4x4 bass-quakes with a frantic lyrical fire that veers from infectious
ear-worm hooks to wry observational punchlines. Think The Streets meet T2’s ‘Heartbroken’.
Embracing the term ‘charva’ as a way-of-life, together they channel the nuances and absurdities of northern street life into hugely addictive tunes. These lifelong friends are already celebrities around their Yorkshire locale, with a rabid social media following that devours both their singular brand of bassline-rap bangers.
12-inch gatefold LP on heavyweight 180-gram vinyl. Includes BBCC kingsize rolling papers. A2 fold out poster. Full lyrics and unseen images

Hunt & Gather’s debut vinyl release comes by way of Pezzner’s cryptic moniker “The Native Language”. Written as a quasi-homeless man living off the rich in the San Juan Islands who writes music once per year to suffice his own delusions.

Walking the streets in these damp, anxious days that all run together lately, I was approached by a man who would blend right into the neighborhood, layered in flannel and sweatshirts for sleeping.

Rough, but for his shoes. (Never cheap out on anything that separates you from the ground.) “Pezzner,” he called out, from a safe distance. “What did the mangrove say to the marauding hordes.” My soul left my body for a moment and my voice responded on its own. “Petrichor.”

He caught my eye, nodded, left a padded envelope on the ground and vanished. The envelope had passed through many hands, slipped into the bed of a ferry-bound truck, passed from one fellow traveler to another, stashed under the counters of anarchist bookstores, left tucked between books at Little Free Libraries. The greenish stains suggested that at one point it had been swum across a lake. Another DAT, contents encoded here unabridged, and a letter from someone who called himself The Sentinel.

The Vessel lived out his days on Shaw Island, under a canopy of trees that gets smaller and smaller every season. His condition the same, any electricity lit his brain on fire, could only bring himself to compose one day a year, only at night, out of sight. Until he met The Angel, an eccentric with means, who built for him a device.

A Faraday Cage to block all electromagnetic emissions. Burlap walls, for atmosphere. A system of pulleys and levers, wood and rope, all running into a box that sat outside. An entirely mechanical control surface. No electrons in here. The Vessel lit fires, watched the shadows dance, closed his eyes and disappeared into the motion for hours at a time. The Sentinel came every morning to change the tapes. The Angel watched and pondered, his plans unknown.

The box sat sealed, bare except for another set of ideograms, scratched in day by day over time. Inside, the usual bedroom-producer shit. Outside, the ideograms told a story, passed from the Vessel to the Sentinel and drawn by the Angel, of a man who became another creature. Alert to the lowest frequencies, feeling music deep in the soil below their feet. Music that brings messages, from distant friends, warning of new creatures and the danger they brought. Skin alive to the world, so sensitive it can detect the landing of a single fly. A mind capable of keeping a map of the world inside. A mind that can look in a mirror and see a soul it knows well. A mind that can grieve.

After processing its contents, I filled the envelope with granola bars and walked it down to the market. The clerk gave me a knowing look as I placed it on the counter behind a stack of pork rinds from the previous century. As I walked out, a young man carrying a plastic bag and wearing impeccable shoes walked in.

A folk/bluegrass troubadour from Vermont who delves into shape-note traditions and Appalachian ballads and makes it all beguilingly his own. His guitar lines have the fancy fingerwork of a crack banjo player and his banjo lines have the tugging suspensions of a jazzer.’ – Guardian

‘Amidon is a rare Americana artist whose … signature banjo-strewn style … and disparate mix of influences play into a sound that is at once archaically rootsy and savvily refined.’ – Wall Street Journal

Sam Amidon considers his new self-titled album the fullest realization to date of his artistic vision. It comprises his radical reworkings of nine mostly traditional folk songs, performed with his band of longtime friends and collaborators. Amidon produced the record, applying the sonic universe of his 2017 The Following Mountain to these beloved tunes, many of which he first learned as a child. ‘Pretty Polly,’ for example, was one of the first traditional tunes he learned to play, and ‘Time Has Made A Change’ is a song that his parents – singers who were on the 1977 Nonesuch recording Rivers of Delight with the Word of Mouth Chorus – sang around the house when he was young. Amidon will perform two concerts at Kings Place in London on October 3. A limited number of tickets will be available in the venue, as well as tickets to stream the event from home. Further details are available here.

Amidon and his frequent band of multi-instrumentalist Shahzad Ismaily and drummer Chris Vatalaro were joined in the studio by Belgian guitarist Bert Cools (who played on his last EP), as well as Amidon’s wife, Beth Orton, who adds vocals on three songs. Acoustic bassist Ruth Goller and saxophonist and labelmate Sam Gendel also play on the album, which was mixed by Leo Abrahams. Sam Amidon was mostly recorded live in the studio. Amidon arranged the songs, which are traditional tunes, with the exception of Taj Mahal’s ‘Light Rain Blues’, Harkins Frye’s ‘Time Has Made A Change’, and ‘Hallelujah’, which is an 1835 William Walker shape-note tune using earlier words by Charles Wesley, found in the Sacred Harp collection of early American folk-hymns.

Sam Amidon is Amidon’s fifth recording on Nonesuch and follows the 2019 EP Fatal Flower Garden (A Tribute to Harry Smith). Additional recordings include his 2017 album The Following Mountain and Kronos Quartet’s Folk Songs the same year, on which he was a featured singer along with Rhiannon Giddens, Natalie Merchant, and Olivia Chaney; Lily-O in 2014; and his label debut, Bright Sunny South, in 2013.