Buscar:wave shape

‘Where is Agartha? What is the specific region in which it lies? Along what road, through what civilizations, must one walk in order to reach it?.’ Saint-Yves d’Alveydre in 1886

Agartha, the debut full-length album by Japanese producer Wata Igarashi, is a mysterious, divine thing. Named for the mythical secret kingdom, understood as a complex maze of underground tunnels, perhaps designed by Martians who colonised the Earth tens of thousands of years ago, it’s a similarly mystical, perhaps even cosmic trip – but this time, exploring an inner, deeply personal cosmos. Beautifully detailed and bustling with rich incident, it takes Igarashi’s music to new places, which still retaining his unique sonic imprimatur; in this respect, it’s perfectly at home with Kompakt, a label that’s always encouraged artists to make the visionary music they need to create, to take risks and make sideways steps into uncharted territory.

An eloquent producer and DJ, Igarashi has been releasing techno for eleven years now, appearing on such imprints as The Bunker NY, Delsin, Midgar, and Time To Express; he has also self-released his productions via his WIP net label. Throughout, Igarashi has consistently explored his unique approach to techno and electronic music, one that’s eloquent and poised, even when it shifts into more psychedelic terrain; he’s a master at balancing the sensual and the functional, and he has an unerring ear for the right texture, the right tone, at the right time. He brings all of this into Agartha, his most thorough-going expression of self to date.

For Agartha, Igarashi had a strong concept he wanted to explore. Visualising specific scenes from an imaginary film based on the titular secret kingdom, he created soundtracks for those scenes, spending time during the pandemic in his studio, working away carefully at the ten tracks here. Given his background in creating music for television and advertisements, Igarashi is well-placed to explore the marriage of the sonic and the visual in such intimate ways, but freed from commercial concerns, he let his imagination run riot. He also drew on a rich palette of musical influences – techno is in there, of course, but you can also hear the smoky, improvised jazz of the likes of Miles Davis (to whom the album’s title is an indirect nod), and the minimalism and systems music of Steve Reich.

The latter is particularly pronounced on the gorgeous, beatless drift of “Floating Against Time”, where an arpeggiated sequence lingers, lovingly, around your ears for nine blissful minutes, coasting across swooning drones and waves of ambient noise. “Ceremony Of The Dead”, originally composed as part of a Sony 360 Reality Audio spatial sound concert, is a deep pass into systems composition, with various patterns overlaid and interlocking, before a wordless vocal rises from the depths, a gorgeous counterpoint to the swarming textures that gather across the track. On the other hand, tracks like “Burning” and “Subterranean Life” nudge toward Fourth World territory, painting deluxe dreamscapes of uncertain provenance; the title cut is an abstract drift-world, Igarashi painting an alien tableau dotted by shape-shifting creatures.

Agartha’s conceptual framework means that everything on the album sits perfectly together; listening to it in one sitting is a dizzying, lush experience. Its imaginings of inner landscapes recall, in some respects, the nautical, aqueous mythologies of the Drexciyan universe, though from different perspectives. But the result is Igarashi’s own creation, a deluxe, enchanting trip through the visionary Agartha of this unique producer’s cinematic mind’s-eye.

Wo liegt Agartha? In welcher spezifischen Region liegt es? Auf welchem Weg, durch welche Zivilisationen muss man gehen, um dorthin zu gelangen?'

Saint-Yves d'Alveydre im Jahr 1886

Agartha, das Debütalbum des japanischen Produzenten Wata Igarashi, ist ein geheimnisvolles, göttliches Ding. Benannt nach dem mythischen, geheimen Königreich, das als ein komplexes Labyrinth unterirdischer Tunnel verstanden wird, die vielleicht von Marsmenschen angelegt wurden, die vor Zehntausenden von Jahren die Erde kolonisierten, ist es eine ähnlich mystische, vielleicht sogar kosmische Reise - aber dieses Mal erforscht es einen inneren, zutiefst persönlichen Kosmos. Wunderschön detailliert und voller reichhaltiger Begebenheiten, führt es Igarashis Musik an neue Orte, die dennoch seine einzigartige klangliche Handschrift bewahren. In dieser Hinsicht hat es bei Kompakt ein perfektes Zuhause gefunden - einem Label, das Künstler immer ermutigt hat, jene visionäre Musik zu machen, Risiken einzugehen und seitwärts Schritte in unbekanntes Terrain zu tun.

Der eloquente Produzent und DJ Igarashi veröffentlicht seit elf Jahren Techno auf Labels wie The Bunker NY, Delsin, Figure und Time To Express; außerdem hat er einige Produktionen über sein Label WIP net selbst veröffentlicht. Dabei hat Igarashi stets seinen einzigartigen Ansatz für Techno und elektronische Musik verfolgt, der kontrolliert und ausgeglichen ist, selbst wenn er sich in psychedelisches Terrain begibt; er ist ein Meister der Balance zwischen dem Sinnlichen und dem Funktionalen und hat ein untrügliches Gespür für die richtige Textur, den richtigen Ton zur richtigen Zeit. All das bringt er in Agartha ein, dem bisher umfangreichsten Ausdruck seiner selbst.

Für Agartha hatte Igarashi ein starkes Konzept, das er erforschen wollte. Er stellte sich bestimmte Szenen eines imaginären Films vor, der auf dem titelgebenden geheimen Königreich basiert, und schuf Soundtracks für diese Szenen. Während der Pandemie verbrachte er Zeit in seinem Studio und arbeitete sorgfältig an den zehn Tracks. Mit seinem Hintergrund als Komponist von Fernseh- und Werbemusik ist Igarashi prädestiniert dafür, die Verbindung von Klang und Bild auf solch intime Weise zu erforschen, aber frei von kommerziellem Dünkel ließ er seiner Fantasie freien Lauf. Er schöpfte auch aus einer reichen Palette musikalischer Einflüsse - Techno ist natürlich dabei, aber man hört auch den rauchigen, improvisierten Jazz von Miles Davis (an den der Titel des Albums eine indirekte Anspielung ist) und den Minimalismus und die Systemmusik von Steve Reich.

Letzteres ist besonders ausgeprägt in dem wunderschönen, beatlosen "Floating Against Time", wo eine arpeggierte Sequenz neun Minuten lang liebevoll um die Ohren fliegt und über schwelende Drones und Wellen von Umgebungsgeräuschen gleitet. "Ceremony Of The Dead", ursprünglich als Teil eines Sony 360 Reality Audio-Raumklangkonzerts komponiert, ist ein tiefes Eintauchen in eine Systemkomposition, bei der sich verschiedene Muster überlagern und ineinander greifen, bevor sich ein wortloser Gesang aus der Tiefe erhebt, ein wunderschöner Kontrapunkt zu den wimmelnden Texturen, die sich über den Track legen. Andererseits bewegen sich Tracks wie "Burning" und "Subterranean Life" in Richtung der Vierten Welt und malen luxuriöse Traumlandschaften ungewisser Herkunft; der Titeltrack ist eine abstrakte Scheinwelt, in der Igarashi ein außerirdisches Tableau malt, das von formwandelnden Kreaturen übersät ist.

Der konzeptionelle Rahmen von Agartha ermöglicht, dass alles auf dem Album perfekt zusammenpasst; es in einem Zug durchzuhören ist eine schwindelerregende, opulente Erfahrung. Wata's Vorstellungen von inneren Landschaften erinnern in gewisser Hinsicht an die nautischen, wässrigen Mythologien des drexciyanischen Universums, wenn auch aus einer anderen Perspektiven betrachtet. Aber das Ergebnis ist Igarashis ureigene Schöpfung, ein luxuriöser, bezaubernder Trip durch das visionäre Agartha dieses einzigartigen Produzenten mit seinem cineastischen Blick.

First released back in the fall of 1989, the In Order To Dance album was a compilation LP that pulled together tracks from a
select band of electronic producers, pushing the boundaries of the house and electronic music that was in its infancy stage.
Released on the R&S Records label, the IOTD series would become pivotal in the development of the electronic music scene
at large.
The world of music is a constant shape shifting, trend moving behemoth. Style may come and go (and come back around
again), stars are made, stars can fall. But the ethos behind In Order To Dance remains the same as it ever has, with a fierce
independent spirit, and a pledge to bring forward the next generation of young artists and their music. And so, here we arrive
at a new collection, fresh for 2023, and just in time for the labels 40th anniversary year, and with the ardent A&R’ing of label
founder Renaat Vandepapeliere, a selection of new tunes is assembled to reinforce the strength and power to be found within
music.
Across thirteen tracks, a squad of refreshingly contemporary producers from around the globe are brought together under the
In Order To Dance banner. Ushering the series into a new era, new variations on the electronic genre and fresh ideas are
fused into a delightfully engaging collection of tracks. There’s deep breakbeats courtesy of UK producer Dharma, smooth and
dubby live action from Saytek and complex bass heavy rhythms from Vromm. There’s esoteric electronics from Hyphen, epic
piano driven deep house from Dino Lenny and swinging jazzy breaks from Nphonix & Matrika. Paul Roux’s melancholic
‘Bapteme’ unfurls waves of deft pianos and guitar swirls over taunt beats, and a driving electro tone is set on Acidulant’s
contribution. Intoxicating rave tropes and hefty breaks come courtesy of Pascal Nuzzo and Adam Antine delivers a wall of
sound anchored by shuffling, funky beats on ‘Sortavala’.
And to accompany the new wave of In Order To Dance, a series of music videos have been produced. Acclaimed artists and
video directors, including Alessandro Amaducci, Ben Marlowe and Gala Mirissa, have all stamped their digital artistic
visions onto these stunning compositions, synching audio and visual for a multi-sensory experience!
‘In Order To Dance 4.0’ by Various Artists is available on R&S Records from 14th April 2023 on 3LP vinyl, download &
streaming services.

Deprived of sanity, Paul Régimbeau aka Mondkopf found new territories of expression with »Spring Stories«, a collection of post-rapture moods full of glorious chaos, ready to absorb and re-ignite all that is worn.

As a phoenix raising from the ashes, »Spring Stories« captures the earth in full bloom. Darkness & Insanity looses it´s grips as the roots and fresh leaves creates a slow dance towards the sun. Similarly sine-wave drones move around exploding electric guitar improvisations as new light beams on shadow cast corners. The album feels like a 60ies jam set in the post-world psychedelic underground. Heavy, absurd, beautiful and ready to sooth burnt out, depleted minds. Paul has citied that he´s affected as much by folk improvisors such as Master Wilburn Burchette & Robbie Basho as well as the doom drone of giants Earth & Sunn O))). Spring Stories invokes on these, while feeling like a personal blow-out, coming right from the core. Touching and grand, like spring itself.

The album also features Frederic D. Oberland on two tracks playing variously Duduk & Alto Saxophone. Lastly, The Necks drummer Tony Buck shakes & rattles all over the final - and seriously epic - piece “Continuation”, as the world aligns while the sun rises over its near-dead shape.

Neon is eviscerated across the wet light of pavement dreams, splashed back and absorbed by the darker shapes coalescing in the shadows. Through the broken concatenation of the night, neuron inputs are fed relentlessly by hardwire bodies. Mainlined subtle as a fetishist’s whisper, they in turn feed a punishing progression of rhythms dragged like a dream through your body. Against this digital dystopia, Sequence 87’s I Am Sequence propels the ear through a high-intensity array of blackened beats at once familiar and fresh. The grimey pulse of underground techno bridges the DNA of early industrialized electronics, a chimeric construct which heaves with the chrome breath of EBM’s heavy assembly. Shawn Rudiman, the Pittsburgh pioneer behind alias, has been crafting techgnosis solo and as part of the experimental dance duo T.H.D., and these veteran bona fides show in how deftly he parses the language of that era’s heavy synthesis into a work that easily translates into the modern languages of club movement. I Am Sequence retains that chunky ‘80s analog bounce, while injecting a wriggling sheen of HD intensity through its veins. Vocals emerge from the glistening shards, bursting against a wash of sine waves before remerging in a fusion of funked-out bass. Headlights crashing as horns blare, an autobahn nightmare funneling you down some future highway where machines crash ceaselessly across a horizon of endless red night. Lifting the psyche upon high, corroded harmonies herald the last chants to dance before the inevitable systemic collapse. An album for a foreseen Apocalypse, experienced through the language of dance floor speakers. All songs written and recorded by Shawn Rudiman Artwork by Shawn Rudiman Mastering at Dadub Studio Distributed by ReadyMade Distribution Braid Records 2023

Neon is eviscerated across the wet light of pavement dreams, splashed back and absorbed by the darker shapes coalescing in the shadows. Through the broken concatenation of the night, neuron inputs are fed relentlessly by hardwire bodies. Mainlined subtle as a fetishist’s whisper, they in turn feed a punishing progression of rhythms dragged like a dream through your body. Against this digital dystopia, Sequence 87’s I Am Sequence propels the ear through a high-intensity array of blackened beats at once familiar and fresh. The grimey pulse of underground techno bridges the DNA of early industrialized electronics, a chimeric construct which heaves with the chrome breath of EBM’s heavy assembly. Shawn Rudiman, the Pittsburgh pioneer behind alias, has been crafting techgnosis solo and as part of the experimental dance duo T.H.D., and these veteran bona fides show in how deftly he parses the language of that era’s heavy synthesis into a work that easily translates into the modern languages of club movement. I Am Sequence retains that chunky ‘80s analog bounce, while injecting a wriggling sheen of HD intensity through its veins. Vocals emerge from the glistening shards, bursting against a wash of sine waves before remerging in a fusion of funked-out bass. Headlights crashing as horns blare, an autobahn nightmare funneling you down some future highway where machines crash ceaselessly across a horizon of endless red night. Lifting the psyche upon high, corroded harmonies herald the last chants to dance before the inevitable systemic collapse. An album for a foreseen Apocalypse, experienced through the language of dance floor speakers. All songs written and recorded by Shawn Rudiman Artwork by Shawn Rudiman Mastering at Dadub Studio Distributed by ReadyMade Distribution Braid Records 2023

I was dancing when I was out, I was dancing when I was in. Is it strange to dance so late? Is it strange to dance so soon? Cosmic dancers always ball. Dancing with themselves, dancing space away. Right into the smallest hole a human brain can create: the inner cosmos, a psychedelic region, where time gets space and space turns to haze.

Berlin based producer TM Solver is such a kind of cosmic dancer. He has danced late. And so soon. Since 2008 he released yearly one, sometimes two albums via the German Berlin School dedicated label Syngate and its experimental subdivision Luna. Intensely meandering synthesizer journey music, that is pirouetting on inner universes, genuinely crafted in the tradition of Berlin School and Krautrock. You can catch the unearthly nuances of Can and the spaciously swinging psychedelic corners of Amon Dül, Embryo, Tangerine Dream, or Klaus Schulze. As TM Solver has been a lover of analog synthesizers for almost 30 years, all pulsates on analogue sound orbs under the zigzagging guidance of machines like Moog Prodegy, Korg MS20 and GRP A4, as well as state-of-the-art systems as ASM Hydrasynth and Korg Wavestate. When he got in touch with the Berlin club scene and all its propelling grooves in 2006, a new rhythmic universe joined his vast musical space of sound latitudes. “Tinkering around with sound structures is my thing. Leading the listener into a combination of music and sound spaces.“ he reveals on his emotive musical art. How affecting it works, is now displayed with four epic compositions for R.i.O., Berlin Wedding’s label of novel ways for caved rhythmic patterns. Grooving between 90 to 240 BPM, they offer a vast variety of emotional landscapes, slowing down, rolling up, drifting into genuinely layered tonality magic. Headspace music for vigilant wanderers. Utterly psychedelic and yet so clear. His R.i.O. debut “Subtraktiv Additiv“ comes with five additional remixes, fashioned by R.i.O. conspirator Benedikt Frey, Amsterdam based DJ and producer Mayo, “Die Orakel” magician O-Wells from Frankfurt, Siamese Twin Records co-runner Sunju Hargun, and the versatile club and beyond production duo Red Axes. They all respect TM Solver’s analogue zones and pitch them into the 115 to 130 BPM districts, while transcending his absorbing synth compositions into the world of nervous acid-laden ambient, slow-mo techno, industrial bass, post-trance, and all that hallucinogenic echo house. Nine subtle energy vibrations, epic and full of countless facets, shaped to turn on, tune in, and drop out.

In April 2023, Tresor Records will unveil a new EP from DALO entitled "GUM". DALO, aka Nadia D'Alo, is one of the founders of the R.i.O label and half of the duo INIT. After several years of performing as INIT with Benedikt Frey, she had her solo live debut in Berlin in 2022. This record follows releases on labels such as ESP Institute and Warning. "GUM" showcases DALO's expert mastery of rising tension through analogue sound sources, as it swings in and remains with minimal changes and accentuation.
"Woodpecker" enters a tunnel of reverberant claps, moving in a potent exercise of deftly manipulated acid. "Wavehall" draws vocal smears across expansive, droning basses and 140bpm techno rhythms. In "Bachlash", she takes inspiration from events of Iranian and Afghan women revolting for their rights, expressing hope for the rebound of control after long political oppression. Electro beats are introduced underneath the full-frontal melodic acid, while processed spoken word samples bring a new focus.
DALO takes the rebounding control and strives forward into the unknown with "GUM", its segmented vocal samples playing a
captivating partnership with acidic slides. The EP closes with "Pilot," a digital bonus track that releases some of the tension built up throughout and propels the dancer towards transcendent shapes.

Sunergy brings together synthesists Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith and Suzanne Ciani for the thirteenth installment of FRKWYS, RVNG Intl.'s intergenerational collaboration series. For this edition, a panorama of the Pacific Coast provides the place and head space for a musical appreciation and consideration of a life-giving form vast and volatile with change. Fortuitously (as is the freaky way), Smith and Ciani were discovered to be neighbors in the small coastal community of Bolinas, California. The two had become close friends, bonding over their experience as woman musicians and, more unusually, their shared passion for the Buchla synthesizer. The music of Sunergy embraces this kinship, with Ciani and Smith respectively performing on the Buchla 200 E and the Buchla Music Easel, two modern configurations of the innovative instrument developed in the '60s by Don Buchla.
Sunergy was recorded in the Bolinas home where Ciani has lived for the last twenty-four years. Her living room overlooks the Pacific Ocean from a cliffside perch, creating an idyllic, inspired setting for music making. Setting up their synths side-by-side, Ciani and Smith took turns keeping time and freely improvising for the album sessions. As a complete piece, Sunergy is shaped by slow, pulsing forms and sinuous, melodic sequences that conjure both an oceanic world and the unlimited sound made possible by modular processing.For her part, Ciani has long been a Buchla voyager. Suzanne proselytized the potential of Don's synthesizer instruments in the '60s and '70s, performing her own compositions before introducing synthesized jingles and sound effects to household audiences. Ciani then achieved wide recognition for her debut album Seven Waves, a collection of colorful, classical song-like melodies fluidly working with harmonic textures and sounds of the ocean shore. Since its 1982 release, Seven Waves has become an important chapter of the ambient canon within which contemporary artists like Smith have developed their own synth syntax. Smith was born just a few years after the appearance of Seven Waves, growing up in Orcas Island, Washington. A place of profound natural beauty, the islands would inform Tides, her first instrumental collection from 2014. Smith composed Tides as an accompaniment for Yoga classes, ultimately freeing her from conventional songwriting into the exploratory, synth-based compositions demonstrated in ecstatic variety on 2016's Ears. Despite the serene setting where Sunergy was realized, the album does not romanticize a complete oneness with nature. Smith and Ciani use their collaborative ground to reflect on the unstable forces at play across the Bolinas horizon. Sunergy takes stock of Bolinas in the 21st century, a once-thriving artist's refuge now vulnerable to real estate pressure extending from affluent San Francisco, and more irreparably, the specter of climate change erasing its many waterfront habitats.
A diametric dynamic is present in Sunergy, a somber meditation amidst the intense cultural and solar forces transforming the landscape, and a hopeful assertion of the surviving creative culture of Bolinas. Far from rehashing the gentle grace of the artists' seminal works, Sunergy instead seeks to awaken and bear witness, employing the Buchla waveforms to mirror the infinite rhythms of the ocean and our essential relationship to it.
Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith and Suzanne Ciani's Sunergy will be released on September 16, 2016 on LP, CD, and digital formats. An accompanying documentary by Sean Hellfritsch will be offered in tandem.

Clear Vinyl

Queens Of The Circulating Library stands alongside Time Machines and Nurse With Wound's Soliloquy For Lilith as a post-industrial pinnacle of sensory-warping long-form drone. Crafted by the distilled duo of Thighpaulsandra and John Balance, the 49-minute piece unfurls in swirling, cyclical waves, tidal as much as textural, channeling the spirit of levitational minimalism pioneered by La Monte Young. Touted as the first part in "a continually mutating series of circulating musickal compositions" upon its initial release in 2000, the album remains a compelling case study in Coil's exceptional capacity for mutation and extremes. The theatrical introductory monologue delivered by Thighpaulsandra's mother - a career opera singer, in her 80's at the time of recording - sets the stage for a grandiose ascension. Written by Balance, the text is declamatory but dreamlike, refracted through megaphone echo: "Return the book of knowledge / Return the marble index / File under "Paradox" / The forest is a college, each tree a university." As her voice fades, the lulling synthetic infinity deepens, congealing into transient crests of volume and haze, like slow-motion surf misting in moonlight. Thighpaulsandra describes their aesthetic intention as a "bliss out," static but shape-shifting, an amniotic drift towards an eternal vanishing point. A supreme sonic embodiment of the slogan on the sleeve of Time Machines, two years prior: "Persistence is all.

Kate NV's WOW offers listeners a prismatic shift in perspective and scale, a parallel dimension in which the mundane becomes funny, unfamiliar, and altogether sensational. Turning the contents of her 2020 album Room for the Moon upside down and spilling them across a floor checkered with intrigue and surprise, Kate places sound, object, and ritual under the microscope to magnify the delight hidden in plain sight of everyday life. WOW is Kate Shilonosova's fourth full-length release as Kate NV in six years, and third for RVNG Intl. Her prolific musical output aligns with a highly attuned aesthetic and a deep commitment to visual world building. WOW is one of many of these worlds in which music is fully saturated with color, deeply tactile and textural. Shiny, sproingy, plastic. Where Room for the Moon embraced structure (abstractly speaking) and veered pop, WOW happily abandons conventional song shapes, parsing the experience of musical time into ecstatic fragments. It's difficult to imagine a more fitting album title: pure exclamation, an organic pitch of delight leaving the mouth, with no clear etymological links. On Room for the Moon, Shilonosova's voice was layered and lyrical, with sweeping and urgent melodies. WOW finds her as a peripheral purveyor of high jinks, peeking out from the corners, commenting on her surroundings in non-verbal, and arguably non-human, utterances. Instead of employing lyricism, Shilonosova steps outside of language, and rewards us with a gum ball machine of textures: soda fizz and wind-up teeth and scraps of bubble wrap become comically huge, as if heard from an insect's perspective. Words are tasty plosives, onomatopoeias, percussive chirps and one-liners, and singing serves as another form of what Shilonosova refers to as "funny tiny sounds." WOW skews and skitters, trips over its own feet and laughs about it, plays out of tune on purpose, tilts and leans like a top-heavy flower. Shilonosova is a longtime user of Found Sound Nation's Broken Orchestra sample pack, a sound catalog of over one thousand dilapidated instruments sourced from Philadelphia public schools. These perfectly imperfect instruments are tightly spliced into WOW's patchwork of synthesizer and reworked snippets of Shilonosova's friends playing clarinet, flute, and marimba. It's central to the record's internal logic: a disregard for what is, and isn't, broken, what is, and isn't, a sentence or a song. A commingling of subject and object, with a firmly new wave sensibility. Shilonosova has long had an unusual relationship with inanimate objects (citing her bicycle as her best friend), as if the joys they evoke for her are personality traits of the objects themselves. On WOW, she evinces a kind of inverted anthropomorphism: she shrinks her voice and becomes an object among multitudes, toylike in size and perspective, cohabitating with sedentary, indifferent roommates. This pursuit of childlike perspectives is a thread that runs through much of her catalog, and places her work on a plane with that of her personal hero Nobukazu Takemura, who for decades has treated his music as a portal to childlike curiosity, both in subject matter and tone. With an invitation to pursue this curiosity, WOW further confirms Kate NV's deeply inventive, fluid and technically dizzying artistry. By refusing constraints and rules, Shilonosova embodies a profound freedom, allowing objects, sounds, and processes to unfold organically; or, as she puts it, a commitment to "accepting randomness." She succeeds terrifically at a breed of auditory defamiliarization that is all her own, and the rewards for listeners are many: through her lens, the small becomes monstrous, the abstract becomes sensorial, and the old becomes new. Kate NV's WOW will be released on February 10, 2023 on vinyl and digital formats. On behalf of Kate NV and RVNG, a portion of the proceeds from this release will benefit War Child, an organization that supports children and their families impacted by conflict, and working to build sustainable peace for generations to come.

Yellow Vinyl

Kate NV's WOW offers listeners a prismatic shift in perspective and scale, a parallel dimension in which the mundane becomes funny, unfamiliar, and altogether sensational. Turning the contents of her 2020 album Room for the Moon upside down and spilling them across a floor checkered with intrigue and surprise, Kate places sound, object, and ritual under the microscope to magnify the delight hidden in plain sight of everyday life. WOW is Kate Shilonosova's fourth full-length release as Kate NV in six years, and third for RVNG Intl. Her prolific musical output aligns with a highly attuned aesthetic and a deep commitment to visual world building. WOW is one of many of these worlds in which music is fully saturated with color, deeply tactile and textural. Shiny, sproingy, plastic. Where Room for the Moon embraced structure (abstractly speaking) and veered pop, WOW happily abandons conventional song shapes, parsing the experience of musical time into ecstatic fragments. It's difficult to imagine a more fitting album title: pure exclamation, an organic pitch of delight leaving the mouth, with no clear etymological links. On Room for the Moon, Shilonosova's voice was layered and lyrical, with sweeping and urgent melodies. WOW finds her as a peripheral purveyor of high jinks, peeking out from the corners, commenting on her surroundings in non-verbal, and arguably non-human, utterances. Instead of employing lyricism, Shilonosova steps outside of language, and rewards us with a gum ball machine of textures: soda fizz and wind-up teeth and scraps of bubble wrap become comically huge, as if heard from an insect's perspective. Words are tasty plosives, onomatopoeias, percussive chirps and one-liners, and singing serves as another form of what Shilonosova refers to as "funny tiny sounds." WOW skews and skitters, trips over its own feet and laughs about it, plays out of tune on purpose, tilts and leans like a top-heavy flower. Shilonosova is a longtime user of Found Sound Nation's Broken Orchestra sample pack, a sound catalog of over one thousand dilapidated instruments sourced from Philadelphia public schools. These perfectly imperfect instruments are tightly spliced into WOW's patchwork of synthesizer and reworked snippets of Shilonosova's friends playing clarinet, flute, and marimba. It's central to the record's internal logic: a disregard for what is, and isn't, broken, what is, and isn't, a sentence or a song. A commingling of subject and object, with a firmly new wave sensibility. Shilonosova has long had an unusual relationship with inanimate objects (citing her bicycle as her best friend), as if the joys they evoke for her are personality traits of the objects themselves. On WOW, she evinces a kind of inverted anthropomorphism: she shrinks her voice and becomes an object among multitudes, toylike in size and perspective, cohabitating with sedentary, indifferent roommates. This pursuit of childlike perspectives is a thread that runs through much of her catalog, and places her work on a plane with that of her personal hero Nobukazu Takemura, who for decades has treated his music as a portal to childlike curiosity, both in subject matter and tone. With an invitation to pursue this curiosity, WOW further confirms Kate NV's deeply inventive, fluid and technically dizzying artistry. By refusing constraints and rules, Shilonosova embodies a profound freedom, allowing objects, sounds, and processes to unfold organically; or, as she puts it, a commitment to "accepting randomness." She succeeds terrifically at a breed of auditory defamiliarization that is all her own, and the rewards for listeners are many: through her lens, the small becomes monstrous, the abstract becomes sensorial, and the old becomes new. Kate NV's WOW will be released on February 10, 2023 on vinyl and digital formats. On behalf of Kate NV and RVNG, a portion of the proceeds from this release will benefit War Child, an organization that supports children and their families impacted by conflict, and working to build sustainable peace for generations to come.

"Würden die Pforten der Wahrnehmung gereinigt, erschiene den Menschen alles, wie es ist: unendlich." - William Blake.

Psychedelischer Rock war immer schon ein probates Mittel, um den Geist zu befreien und die Seele wandern zu lassen. Progressiver Rock hingegen zielt stets darauf ab, den Intellekt zu nähren und die Grenzen der Musik zu verschieben, durchlässig zu machen. Im Klangkosmos von Polymoon kollidieren diese beiden Galaxien und lassen einen neuen Stern progressiver Psychedelik entstehen.

Kosmische Härte, die mit wehmütigen Melodien verschmilzt und dann weiter in ein fraktales Gefühlprogressiver Unendlichkeit mäandert: "Chrysalis" ist ein Album, das uns höflich dazu auffordert, es gründlich zu erforschen. Dies ist kein Fast-Food-Rock, dies ist keine Platte, die alle ihre Geheimnisse und verborgenen Schätze gleich beim ersten Durchlauf preisgibt; es ist eine Platte, die für die Psych-Prog-Kenner, Space-Rock-Kosmonauten und Freunde des Sonderbaren da draußen eine extrem lohnende, bereichernde Erfahrung darstellt Eine interstellare Reise voller Wendungen und Stimmungen. Vom gigantischen Prog-Rock-Opener "Crown of the Universe" über das massive "Set The Sun" bis hin zur schlangenartigen Pracht von "Viper At The Gates Of Dawn" (höhö...) entfalten sich Polymoon auf "Chrysalis" zu voller kosmischer Größe. Ohne es zu wissen, sind sie kurz davor, eines der faszinierendsten, aufregendsten und forderndsten Psychedelic-Rock-Alben der letzten Zeit zu veröffentlichen. Bis zur Unendlichkeit und noch viel weiter.

- Ltd. Col. LP: (A/B Bone - Red Col. Vinyl, Gatefold)

After opening the dimension door via a hypnagogic contribution to recent Ruf Kutz comp 'Expansion Pack 2: Textures' and offering a sonic submersion into his 'Deep Waters Mixtape', Inner Glow takes the controls for RK18, treating the DJs and dancers to a high grade house triptych.

For the uninitiated, the man behind the music is a lifelong friend from Ruf Dug's Sydney sojourn, when the two would host mushroom squat parties with the rest of the "Bodega Clan", and who helped mastermind the seminal Paradise Lost warehouse parties. Virtuously patient, the Australian spent the years since perfecting his craft, maxing out the XP and emerging as his evolved form, Inner Glow.

On the A-side, Inner Glow comes through with the two clubbiest cuts from the 'Deep Waters' cassette, unmixed, mastered loud and exclusive to vinyl. Already a firm favourite with Bradley Zero 'Party People' pulses on the A1, its one note bassline and taut pads keeping tension at a maximum. At the top of the frequency band sparse stabs and nuanced percussion dance in tandem, while the deft use of E-Smoove and First Choice acapellas provide an underground intertext Sprinkles would be proud of.

'Call Me' coaxes us into the shadow realm with the lure of Lynchian dialogue, slowly taking shape as a dub techno phantom. It's a heads down affair as urgent subs push against the mist of static, until a rising, wriggling keyboard riff unwinds waists with a hint of UKG exuberance.
Inner Glow brings the beatific on the B-side's 'Love Has No Age', combining rippling keys and MK vocal chops over waves of hiss and haze.
The percussion combines classic house swing with the tinny hats of electro, keeping perfect time as the soulful vocals swell into the sublime.

Over the last twelve months Ruffy's rocked the spot from Pikes to Houghton with these heaters, and now he's sharing them with you.

Queens Of The Circulating Library stands alongside Time Machines and Nurse With Wound's Soliloquy For Lilith as a post-industrial pinnacle of sensory-warping long-form drone. Crafted by the distilled duo of Thighpaulsandra and John Balance, the 49-minute piece unfurls in swirling, cyclical waves, tidal as much as textural, channeling the spirit of levitational minimalism pioneered by La Monte Young. Touted as the first part in "a continually mutating series of circulating musickal compositions" upon its initial release in 2000, the album remains a compelling case study in Coil's exceptional capacity for mutation and extremes. The theatrical introductory monologue delivered by Thighpaulsandra's mother - a career opera singer, in her 80's at the time of recording - sets the stage for a grandiose ascension. Written by Balance, the text is declamatory but dreamlike, refracted through megaphone echo: "Return the book of knowledge / Return the marble index / File under "Paradox" / The forest is a college, each tree a university." As her voice fades, the lulling synthetic infinity deepens, congealing into transient crests of volume and haze, like slow-motion surf misting in moonlight. Thighpaulsandra describes their aesthetic intention as a "bliss out," static but shape-shifting, an amniotic drift towards an eternal vanishing point. A supreme sonic embodiment of the slogan on the sleeve of Time Machines, two years prior: "Persistence is all.

Transparent Blue Vinyl

Queens Of The Circulating Library stands alongside Time Machines and Nurse With Wound's Soliloquy For Lilith as a post-industrial pinnacle of sensory-warping long-form drone. Crafted by the distilled duo of Thighpaulsandra and John Balance, the 49-minute piece unfurls in swirling, cyclical waves, tidal as much as textural, channeling the spirit of levitational minimalism pioneered by La Monte Young. Touted as the first part in "a continually mutating series of circulating musickal compositions" upon its initial release in 2000, the album remains a compelling case study in Coil's exceptional capacity for mutation and extremes. The theatrical introductory monologue delivered by Thighpaulsandra's mother - a career opera singer, in her 80's at the time of recording - sets the stage for a grandiose ascension. Written by Balance, the text is declamatory but dreamlike, refracted through megaphone echo: "Return the book of knowledge / Return the marble index / File under "Paradox" / The forest is a college, each tree a university." As her voice fades, the lulling synthetic infinity deepens, congealing into transient crests of volume and haze, like slow-motion surf misting in moonlight. Thighpaulsandra describes their aesthetic intention as a "bliss out," static but shape-shifting, an amniotic drift towards an eternal vanishing point. A supreme sonic embodiment of the slogan on the sleeve of Time Machines, two years prior: "Persistence is all.

In 2009, following the death of Jhonn Balance four years earlier, This Immortal Coil's "The Dark Age Of Love" appeared as a tribute to the superb work of the British band Coil over two decades.Formed by musicians from all walks of life, the album was praised by critics but also, and most importantly, by Peter Christopherson himself! 13 years have passed and this passion for the band has never wavered. Following the death of Peter Christopherson in 2010 on the one hand, and meetings with musicians such as David Chalmin or Massimo Pupillo from Zü who in turn wanted to pay tribute to this gigantic band, on the other hand, Stéphane Grégoire's desire to make a new opus took shape in 2017 with a first recording of the title "Where Are You". Just like the first one, more than 5 years will be necessary to realize this new album so that it is at the height of Coil's genius. The Ici d'Ailleurs team is very proud to unveil This Immortal Coil's second album 'The World Ended A Long Time Ago'.That will be available on December 09, 2022 in several formats that will be revealed very soon. The artists this time are Coil lovers but without the album being a "lovers" cover, that would be the opposite of Coil's image. Many, many thanks to Shannon Wright, David Chalmin, Matt Elliott, Christine Ott, Aho Ssan, Gaspar Claus, Aidan Baker, Ulver (Kristoffer Rygg, Ole Alexander Halstensgard, Stian Westerhus), Massimo Pupillo, Mattia Cipolli, Elisa Bognetti, Stefano Michelotti, Francesco Bolognini, Marton Csokas, Ivan Chiossone and Eric Aldéa who make this project a reality.

In 2009, following the death of Jhonn Balance four years earlier, This Immortal Coil's "The Dark Age Of Love" appeared as a tribute to the superb work of the British band Coil over two decades.Formed by musicians from all walks of life, the album was praised by critics but also, and most importantly, by Peter Christopherson himself! 13 years have passed and this passion for the band has never wavered. Following the death of Peter Christopherson in 2010 on the one hand, and meetings with musicians such as David Chalmin or Massimo Pupillo from Zü who in turn wanted to pay tribute to this gigantic band, on the other hand, Stéphane Grégoire's desire to make a new opus took shape in 2017 with a first recording of the title "Where Are You". Just like the first one, more than 5 years will be necessary to realize this new album so that it is at the height of Coil's genius. The Ici d'Ailleurs team is very proud to unveil This Immortal Coil's second album 'The World Ended A Long Time Ago'.That will be available on December 09, 2022 in several formats that will be revealed very soon. The artists this time are Coil lovers but without the album being a "lovers" cover, that would be the opposite of Coil's image. Many, many thanks to Shannon Wright, David Chalmin, Matt Elliott, Christine Ott, Aho Ssan, Gaspar Claus, Aidan Baker, Ulver (Kristoffer Rygg, Ole Alexander Halstensgard, Stian Westerhus), Massimo Pupillo, Mattia Cipolli, Elisa Bognetti, Stefano Michelotti, Francesco Bolognini, Marton Csokas, Ivan Chiossone and Eric Aldéa who make this project a reality.

Repress in soon, note new price. Algernon Cadwallader was an emo band from Philadelphia comprised of Peter Helmis (Bass/Voc 2005-2012), Joe Reinhert (Guitar 2005-2012), Nick Tazza (Drums 2005-2008), Colin Mahony (Guitar 2005-2008) and Tank Bergman (Drums 2008-2012). Their succinct, evocative songwriting stretched across raw, distinctive vocal stylings and signature "twinkly" guitars have earned them near-cult status. Since their disbandment, publications including Rolling Stone and Spin have cited them on "Best of Emo" lists and credited them with in­fluencing a new wave of emo. The members have gone on to play in a number of important DIY and indie bands, including Hop Along. For the ten-year anniversary of Algernon Cadwallader's first full length, "Some Kind of Cadwallader," Lauren Records and Asian Man Records are reissuing the record along with their second album, "Parrot Flies" (2011), and a new self-titled collection LP. The 16-track collection includes EPs, B-sides, previously unreleased versions, and two covers. Side A re­flects one era of Algernon Cadwallader, and Side B the other. “Ten years and many label rosters’ worth of imitators later, Some Kind of Cadwallader still leaps out of the speakers...” - Pitchfork “Some Kind Of Cadwallader is essentially the starting point for the entire emo revival and thus also required listening for anyone interested in how DIY indie rock took shape in the past decade...” Stereogum…..

Einstürzende Neubauten producer Boris Wilsdorf, Karl O’Connor aka Regis and MY DISCO's Liam Andrews assemble as EROS, bottling no-wave/industrial lightning with a tight set of pulverized, widescreen torched-songs that rasp, grate and throb somewhere between This Heat, The Cure, Cabaret Voltaire, Alva Noto x Pan Sonic.

An industrial fantasy of flesh and steel, ‘A Southern Code’ is the stunning continuation of the trio’s work at Wilsdorf’s pivotal Anderesbaustelle studio on Regis’ watershed album, ‘Hidden In This Is The Light That You Miss’. Rejoined by another key muse, Anni Hogan, and Einstürzende Neubauten’s Jochen Arbeit, they effectively galvanised a new band, EROS, during long days and nights in the studio across 2020 and into 2021. The sound they make is fiercely lean, shaped by Wilsdorf’s manacled mixing and anchored in the frankly sexy as f#ck swerve of Regis vocals and his snake-hipped rhythm section.

The first songs issued from those sessions form a lustrous new high point of contemporary industrial and dance music, one porous to Kurdish dabke as much as archetypal goth, pulsing with a metallic bloodlust and spatialized by Wilsdorf’s genre-forming tekkerz in a way that seriously rewards with proper amplification. Judged on its immediate merits, it’s the sort of record that could have feasibly come out at any point between the ‘80s and now, but closer inspection reveals a discreet framework of sculpted subbass and sleekly rolling traction that betrays the modernity of minimalist D&B physics and up-to-the-second sound design that places ‘A Southern Code’ in a timeless echelon.

Registering the venomous drums and over-the-shoulder whispers of its title track, plus the incendiary middle eastern horns of ‘The Crawling Man’ - a real parallel dimension take on The Cure’s ‘The Top’ - to the post-apocalyptic lounge lizard styles of ‘In This Place’, and the unheimlich creep to ‘Nature Unborn (From Sun to Sun)’, the band’s first album plants a vital stake in the ground for industrial musick at the crest of a new decade.

Red vinyl LP. Lars Finberg, confirmed genius guy and poet laureate of sunken 21st century Rock, acts as manager in perpetuity of THE INTELLIGENCE, primary vehicle for his prolific creative swirl and a project that has taken on new shapes across myriad trials and shifts. The project began in his Seattle bedroom – a lad and his Tascam cassette 8 track – with the classic Boredom & Terror and has now landed in his Los Angeles studio apartment – an urchin and his Tascam digital 12 track – with Lil’ Peril, a new album that finds Finberg 1000% back at the controls. Over the course of 11 albums (!), The Intelligence has established a backbone that boogies through revolutions, allowing each jam-crammed dispatch to feel and sound admirably unique. The angular sharp shocks heard in earlier years have steadily evolved into the ballooning grooves heard on more recent releases (including Finberg’s recent solo work). Lil’ Peril is a dreamy gamble that captures this current bubbling penchant in The Intelligence’s inaugural homemade mode. With inspirational templates as far-flung as LES PAUL, THE SPECIALS, LEE PERRY and MARY FORD, Lil’ Peril pulls off the absurd shift “from ‘No-Wave SANTANA’ to ‘SCREAMERS recorded by JON BRION’”. Playing shoulder parrot to studio engineers has no doubt informed Finberg’s approach to home recording, specifically in how much further he can go without wincing budget-minded eyes staring him down. This is immediately sensed on the opener “Maudlin Agency,” which begins with canned minimal bleep and closes with a full recreation of the “Brass Monkey” hook. These surprise-attack conclusions are a running current throughout the Lil’ Peril’s program and demonstrates that the main lesson Finberg has learned in The Intelligence is to never reel it in. Centerpiece banger “My Work Here Is Dumb” ranks among the finest Intelligence moments existent and an apex in Finberg’s songcraft, boasting a bonkers arrangement and a thematic gnaw that is both brutal and playful. The collection closes with the epic “Soundguys,” a suite cut-up that fuses CAN and STEELY DAN into one of the most dastardly tunes available for consumption in the plague age. As Finberg himself states, “They may say this is ‘lo-fi’, but I say it’s ‘no-CGI’”. “The band disintegrated, so it devolved back to the core idea: if I do every aspect, it’s indestructible.” 20 years on and Finberg has finally let everyone know what The Intelligence actually means! All those wily experiments and warm flubs have come back full circle and the shit’s pure goddamn gold. Proof positive that there is always some sort of cute trouble, farcical tragedy and Lil’ Peril at play with The Intelligence. - Mitch Cardwell, 2022. Tracklisting: 01 Maudlin Agency 02 70's 03 Keyed Beamers 04 Purification 05 My Work Here Is Dumb 06 Lil Peril 07 Frog Prints In Preset City 08 Portfolio Woes 09 Soundguys

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Herdersmat.
Morderstwo.
Rotterdam.
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Clear Vinyl

Future music duo Second Woman's sophomore full-length for Spectrum Spools further hones their distinctive fusion of shapeshifting software sculpture and tessellated footwork. Shivering digital textures oscillate with and against algorithmically mapped percussion samples, smeared synthetic chords levitate in the distance, stabs of digital noise punctuate the mix in twitchy, time-distorting patterns. Their anamorphosis verges on ascetic: stark, splintered waveforms rendered into unique fiber optic hieroglyphs.
Multi-instrumentalists Josh Eustis and Turk Dietrich share a deep history going back to their days in the New Orleans ambient electronic community, as part of Telefon Tel Aviv and Belong, respectively. Even so, S/W pushes beyond their combined discographies to date, flexing impossibilities, building rhythms from arrhythmia, teasing veiled emotion from bold iterations of cold code.

Future music duo Second Woman's sophomore full-length for Spectrum Spools further hones their distinctive fusion of shapeshifting software sculpture and tessellated footwork. Shivering digital textures oscillate with and against algorithmically mapped percussion samples, smeared synthetic chords levitate in the distance, stabs of digital noise punctuate the mix in twitchy, time-distorting patterns. Their anamorphosis verges on ascetic: stark, splintered waveforms rendered into unique fiber optic hieroglyphs.
Multi-instrumentalists Josh Eustis and Turk Dietrich share a deep history going back to their days in the New Orleans ambient electronic community, as part of Telefon Tel Aviv and Belong, respectively. Even so, S/W pushes beyond their combined discographies to date, flexing impossibilities, building rhythms from arrhythmia, teasing veiled emotion from bold iterations of cold code.

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."

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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.

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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."

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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."

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"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.

Growing Bin say sayonara to summer with these bittersweet Balearic gems from Japan’s Nuback. Emotional pop and daydream dub to make you feel younger than yesterday. While the Discogs hipsters hastily hunt down the last, lost street soul OGs, Growing Bin choose instead to indulge in a little Nuback swing. Enlisting the talents of Tokyo’s Dai Nakamura, Hamburg’s home for sensitive sounds provide a much needed vinyl release for the misty-eyed ‘When The Party Is Over’ and ‘Heartbeat Summer’. Largely operating through his own Too Young Records, Nuback trades in textured soul, sympathetic synthesis and forlorn funk - a master at making you move while breaking your heart. Back in 2013, he waved ‘Goodbye To Summer, Again’, giving a digital release to these two tracks, which lurked a little low for the radar until Dai and Basso met somewhere beyond the algorithm, soon bringing this release to bloom. Opening with a fanfare of featherlight pads and full bodied bass, ‘When The Party Is Over’ is pure sonic seduction, holding both Balearic boogie and City Pop in a tender embrace. Delicate guitar and sparkling sequences tug the heartstrings with nostalgic beauty, and Dai’s smooth vocals are made to make you swoon. Emotional pop at its finest folks. On the B-side, ‘Heartbeat Summer’ drops the tempo and soaks up the sun, losing its cares in a haze of loved up dub. As soulful keys sink into spring reverb and steam kettle synths ride a rolling bassline, this downbeat delight lays back in the long grass, making shapes from the clouds and sipping a cool koshu. For summer lovers everywhere; A facemask ruins a first kiss, so start your romance right with Nuback.

Hand Stamped, Hand numbered, Limited press, with insert.

An oddly familiar/familiarly odd entity floating about the relatively cohesive surface of contemporary electronic music, Belgium-via-Italy based duo Front De Cadeau has been knocking genres askew and blowing overused terminologies out of the water with unrelenting panache over the past decade. Championing a sound unmoored by vanishing trends and cross-pollinating approaches, F2C punch back in on Antinote with their anticipated debut album, “We Slowly Riot”, an 8-track mishmash of tunes previously released and not.

Bastardizing tried-and-tested rave tropes by slowing the tempo down to barely recognizable shapes and contours, Hugo Sanchez and Maurizio Ferrara dish out a new high in their ever expanding discography. Free-falling down the K-hole with no parachute on, “La Ketamine” burns slow but steady. A practically immersive dub filled with processed minutiae and vibrational drums out a mystic forest, it’s a helluva trippy post-industrial joint that unfolds, heady and empyreumatic to the bone. “We Slowly Rot” puts on offer a buggy script-like swing, adorned with F2C’s trademark blend of spoken word and jacuzzi-warm vibes, whereas “There is Something Wrong” steers us into further sizzling, syncopated groove territories through a fevered meshwork of sliced-and-diced vox samples, overheated machine talk and primitive percussions on a African Headcharge tip.

Draped in eerie, 8-bit-infused layers and Arabian Nights ambiences, “Slam is Slam” treats us to a spookily fun Oriental mix of hot-tempered darbukkahs and FX-soaked riffs. The outrageously sensual “Ouvre Ta Bouche” is a tactile invitation to get down in some dark alcove of sorts and more if you hit it off. A steely dub primed for post-party divagations, “Climate Change” slowly veers off into verbed-out industrial jazz as bars run by, while “Legal Illegal” cuts a path of acid-dipped dancehall from outer-space across the club. Last but not least, Jewish clarinets quietly move along waves of sedated bass on “Casa Gaza”, rounding it all off on a dreamy, cinematic note that serenely phases into a liquid-like roller over one solidly deeper-than-deep home stretch.

DJ Scriby - Izingoma zeGqomu / DJ MARIIO - ZULU MAN / DJ Skothan – Nevegation. Highlighting the continuing evolution of Durban's globally influential gqom sound, this special trilogy of releases showcases three separate artists from South Africa's fertile musical landscape. The set captures a fresh wave of gqom innovation from veteran producer DJ Skothan/DJ Scoturn, DJ Scriby, and 20-year-old DJ MaRiiO. DJ Skothan/DJ Scoturn has been a key figure in Durban's underground scene for many years, producing alongside Phelimuncasi, Bhejani, Tweeyking, Lafaristo, MaRiiO and DJ MP3. His gqom and house tracks have quietly provided a rumbling engine for the city's scene, and "Nevegation" is his debut full-length, providing a complex diagram of his dancefloor versatility. This isn't the gqom you might expect to hear: immediately on opener 'The Gringo' familiar sounds - shovel kicks, chopped vocals, sampled gasps, horror movie strings - are shuffled into atypical patterns, creating jerky soundscapes rather than the expected four-on-the-floor bump. 'Salut to DJ Lag' pays respect to Durban's Beyoncé-approved pioneer, but twists the template into a propulsive new form, adding rolling and evolving percussion that teases fractal shapes each bar. But the album's most unexpected and forward-thinking moment arrives with the aptly titled 'The King of Gqom', a track that simmers the genre's percussive sounds into limber sci-fi club futurism, tweaking the bass sounds into patterns that nod to dubstep, Jersey club and ballroom. 25-year-old DJ Scriby has been working behind the scenes since 2013, assisting the first wave of gqom innovators promote their sound both inside Durban and beyond. In 2017 he joined London's Trax Couture to release "The Clermont EP", and here he introduces his long-awaited follow-up "Izingoma zeGqomu". Scriby's approach to gqom is well-studied and self-aware, which gives him the ability to stretch the sound's scope across the diaspora: just peep the Atlanta trap synths on the dynamic 'Friday 13th', or the absorption of tight grime snares on opening track 'Goi'. Scriby's engineering skill pushes his productions to the next level, lending slithering downtempo tracks like 'Ouuu1' and 'Igqom Libuye' a widescreen, big-room punch without losing the genre's undulating funk. And the producer even eyes the EDM mainstage with 'Qumqum!!', balancing saccharine synths with jerky kicks, claps and rolling toms. The youngest artist featured in the collection, DJ MaRiiO started producing when he was just 12 years old, watching YouTube production videos. "No one told me how to use FL Studio," he admits, "and no one helped me doing different genres." This might be why his music sounds so completely unique; the basic structure of gqom is still present, but MaRiiO augments these elements with youthful energy and carefree use of unusual sounds and production methods. "Zulu Man" opener 'GQom NyeGe' manages to mash together trance synths, DMZ bass and a driving woodblock rhythm that reminds you of its Durban roots, while the bizarre 'Ngom ya Phesh', featuring MaRiiO's regular collaborator Hot Chicks on vocals, pushes the gqom template into the red, with overdriven kicks and disorienting environmental sounds. All three records provide a 360 degree view of Durban's contemporary underground, nodding to the past, present and future of gqom. It's a genre that's constantly in flux as it moves from South Africa's bedrooms and basements to main stages and movie screens across the globe.

A violin, a fife, and the endless sky opens up to us. Two voices cross it, a duet of swallows playing their perpetual encounters, joined by percussion that crashes like waves on jagged coasts. This is the opening of the album Déliryom, the beginning of this "watia watia" - meaning joyful mess or tasty mishmash, opened by six "zoreys": in Reunion Island Creole, it means metropolitan people from France. But these zoreys claim their creolity as a family of the heart, a chosen homeland. And they celebrate it. Rosemary Standley (Moriarty) and Marjolaine Karlin met at a concert where Reunionese maloya was resounding in Paris. It was in 2008, and their fascination for the island, its rhythms, its language born for poetry was bound to bring them together. A character too, a majestic poet and celestial wanderer, who for them would be a spiritual father - Alain Peters. Or rather his ghost, since he died in 1995 of a heart attack, leaving behind a daughter and some twenty songs that have shaped a fertile horizon for all the musicians of the Reunion Island... and elsewhere! Six years after giving birth to their first album (Zanz in Lanfèr, 2016), the two singers continue this great journey, exploring other pieces forged over the years, always alongside percussionist and rhythm doctor Salvador Douézy, and new zoreys who have joined them. There is Gérald Chevillon, who plays bass saxophone, Chadi Chouman as a guitarist who has no equal in awakening the colors of his native East, and finally Jennifer Hutt, whose energetic violin evokes the Cajun colors of New Orleans. For even if this new album tells of other facets of the Peters totem, it also ventures towards other Creole lands, other islands where music and song are much more than entertainment: they are a way of being in the world.

Lionel "Vinyl" Williams is an American multimedia artist based in Los Angeles. Vinyl Williams" music is deeply intertwined with his other media of expression (graphic design, interactive website, and videos) with whom he shapes a consistent immersive new-age-infused psychedelic universe. Vinyl Williams" celestial pop is part of the construction of his own Cosmopolis, an ideal city, where the skyline is drawn by marvelous organic architecture and monumental ancient structures, where while walking on twisted paths, you can hear indistinctly lush vocals, iridescent gauzy keyboard harmonies, and rolling rhythms. Without acknowledging it, you are floating, your soul can ramble, free to imagine. Musically, Cosmopolis is a synthesis of Williams" craze, his contemporary dream-pop production, 60s sunshine pop influences, Brasilian Tropicália hints, jazz chords, and complex arrangement. With this sixth album, Cosmopolis, Vinyl Williams continues to dig deep into his parallel universe, which he has developed with a rare consistency. From chaos emerges harmony and incredible pop songs. For fans of Triptides, Gold Celeste, Toro y Moi, Unknown Mortal Orchestra, GUM, Tame Impala, Swin Mountain, Chris Cohen, Morgan Delt, Dungen, Dumbo Gets Mad, Pond, Maston, Holy Wave, Arthur Verocai, The Free Design, The Association, Once And Future Band...

Lionel "Vinyl" Williams is an American multimedia artist based in Los Angeles. Vinyl Williams" music is deeply intertwined with his other media of expression (graphic design, interactive website, and videos) with whom he shapes a consistent immersive new-age-infused psychedelic universe. Vinyl Williams" celestial pop is part of the construction of his own Cosmopolis, an ideal city, where the skyline is drawn by marvelous organic architecture and monumental ancient structures, where while walking on twisted paths, you can hear indistinctly lush vocals, iridescent gauzy keyboard harmonies, and rolling rhythms. Without acknowledging it, you are floating, your soul can ramble, free to imagine. Musically, Cosmopolis is a synthesis of Williams" craze, his contemporary dream-pop production, 60s sunshine pop influences, Brasilian Tropicália hints, jazz chords, and complex arrangement. With this sixth album, Cosmopolis, Vinyl Williams continues to dig deep into his parallel universe, which he has developed with a rare consistency. From chaos emerges harmony and incredible pop songs. For fans of Triptides, Gold Celeste, Toro y Moi, Unknown Mortal Orchestra, GUM, Tame Impala, Swin Mountain, Chris Cohen, Morgan Delt, Dungen, Dumbo Gets Mad, Pond, Maston, Holy Wave, Arthur Verocai, The Free Design, The Association, Once And Future Band...

On their new album Looming, The Spindle, The Pleasure Majenta shape a
terrifying and sublime mix of noise, broken electronics and guitar
feedback that begs to remain untamed
From New Zealand by way of Berlin, these dystopian goth punks take their cues
from the harsh and heavy energy of The Birthday Party, Swans and The Fall
€"casting bummer vibes into the void to create the pain- soaked statement so
many albums want to make but wind up missing the mark.The lead single € Full
of It € fills the screen with flashes of cinematic post-punk savagery up to its ears
in swampy distortion and sleazy funhouse skronk. Velvety € 70s exploitation flick
saxophones hustle with devilish no-wave spaghetti western guitars and a slippery
bassline like a coffin dragged through mud in a grungy post- punk dirge. It's a
waking tour through a dysfunctional late- capitalist bardo where disassociation
becomes an effective coping mechanism for the cyclical, paralyzing grind of
clock- in, clock- out psychosis. € I felt okay when I wasn't myself "when I was
making music or playing onstage, so I decided I would contact myself in this way,
says The Pleasure Majenta's Lawrence Loz Fergus Goodwin. It's a dangerous
game to play.
Tracks: Satellite / Fabric / Sad2say / Smiles Through A Sneer / Anxious Patient /
Osc / Full Of It / It's Ten / Erik Satie / Gardens

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.

‘Amorpha’, a side-long shower of synthetic bells and bass, as
patterns interlock and repeat and the beat within the bar lines
shifts constantly, forms a new, latest miniature of infinity. You flip
it, and ‘Geomancy’ resets you, starting anew, with heavy drift and
drone leading into a space of shorter broken lines and Middle
Eastern tonalities, that roll back into ether again - new spaces, but
mysteriously consonant with the vibe.
 ‘Bajascillators’ arrives almost five years since their last official fulllength, 2017’s ‘Bajas Fresh’. In the eight years prior to ‘Bajas
Fresh’, Bitchin Bajas issued seven albums, plus cassettes, EPs,
singles… wave after wave of analogue synth tones and zones
extending into a stratospheric arc. Each release its own
headspace, shape and timbre, each one sliding naturally into their
implacable, eternal gene pool.
 Following the flow, always, the Bajas went ever-deeper-and-higher
on these records, whether making soundtracks or collaborating
with Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy, using only fortune cookie fortunes as a
libretto. Plus engagement, with a steady stream of shows and
tours around the world; live re-airings and expansions of the space
captured in their records as they continued to grow and flow - all
the way through, really, to the present moment.
 Plus, there have been releases since 2017 - a split 12”, a 7”
single, digital track release and two ‘Cuts’ cassettes, plus the allcovers cassette release ‘Switched On Ra’. But the overall number
of releases, plus the five years between long players, implies a
potential distance between phases, a new line in the sand. The
sound of Bajascillators bear this out. How couldn’t it? Compared to
2017, this is a different world.
 Mastered directly from half-inch analogue tape, ‘Bajascillators’
floats transparently from the speakers, its expansive grooves
gathering resonance and building momentum over the four sides,
from genesis to re-conclusion, cascading ecstatically. The elastic
magic of time at its brightest. As the world keeps turning, so too do
Bitchin Bajas, in the same unknowable way. You can’t explain it -
just keep turning.

Highlighting the continuing evolution of Durban's globally influential gqom sound, this special trilogy of releases showcases three separate artists from South Africa's fertile musical landscape. The set captures a fresh wave of gqom innovation from veteran producer DJ Skothan/DJ Scoturn, DJ Scriby, and 20-year-old DJ MaRiiO. DJ Skothan/DJ Scoturn has been a key figure in Durban's underground scene for many years, producing alongside Phelimuncasi, Bhejani, Tweeyking, Lafaristo, MaRiiO and DJ MP3. His gqom and house tracks have quietly provided a rumbling engine for the city's scene, and "Nevegation" is his debut full-length, providing a complex diagram of his dancefloor versatility. This isn't the gqom you might expect to hear: immediately on opener 'The Gringo' familiar sounds - shovel kicks, chopped vocals, sampled gasps, horror movie strings - are shuffled into atypical patterns, creating jerky soundscapes rather than the expected four-on-the-floor bump. 'Salut to DJ Lag' pays respect to Durban's Beyoncé-approved pioneer, but twists the template into a propulsive new form, adding rolling and evolving percussion that teases fractal shapes each bar. But the album's most unexpected and forward-thinking moment arrives with the aptly titled 'The King of Gqom', a track that simmers the genre's percussive sounds into limber sci-fi club futurism, tweaking the bass sounds into patterns that nod to dubstep, Jersey club and ballroom. 25-year-old DJ Scriby has been working behind the scenes since 2013, assisting the first wave of gqom innovators promote their sound both inside Durban and beyond. In 2017 he joined London's Trax Couture to release "The Clermont EP", and here he introduces his long-awaited follow-up "Izingoma zeGqomu". Scriby's approach to gqom is well-studied and self-aware, which gives him the ability to stretch the sound's scope across the diaspora: just peep the Atlanta trap synths on the dynamic 'Friday 13th', or the absorption of tight grime snares on opening track 'Goi'. Scriby's engineering skill pushes his productions to the next level, lending slithering downtempo tracks like 'Ouuu1' and 'Igqom Libuye' a widescreen, big-room punch without losing the genre's undulating funk. And the producer even eyes the EDM mainstage with 'Qumqum!!', balancing saccharine synths with jerky kicks, claps and rolling toms. The youngest artist featured in the collection, DJ MaRiiO started producing when he was just 12 years old, watching YouTube production videos. "No one told me how to use FL Studio," he admits, "and no one helped me doing different genres." This might be why his music sounds so completely unique; the basic structure of gqom is still present, but MaRiiO augments these elements with youthful energy and carefree use of unusual sounds and production methods. "Zulu Man" opener 'GQom NyeGe' manages to mash together trance synths, DMZ bass and a driving woodblock rhythm that reminds you of its Durban roots, while the bizarre 'Ngom ya Phesh', featuring MaRiiO's regular collaborator Hot Chicks on vocals, pushes the gqom template into the red, with overdriven kicks and disorienting environmental sounds. All three records provide a 360 degree view of Durban's contemporary underground, nodding to the past, present and future of gqom. It's a genre that's constantly in flux as it moves from South Africa's bedrooms and basements to main stages and movie screens across the globe.

The Body has been an iconic force in heavy music for over 2 de- cades with a long history of collaborations. Recent collaborators include BUMMER, Full of Hell, Thou, Uniform. Lee Buford from The Body is also in Manslaughter 777 and Sightless Pit. BIG| BRAVE have a singular voice in heavy music, honed over 5 albums The Body and BIG|BRAVE are both bands possessed with an unequaled ability to convey overwhelming weight with simplicity, repetition, and detailed sonic atmospheres; artists who continue to alter the definition of what it means to be a heavy band. The Body are consistently prolific while increasingly ambitious as untethered producers and collaborators. BIG|BRAVE shape sound with dense waves of guitar and feedback, minimalist and hypnotic crashes, and emotionally exacting vocal melodies. In collaboration, The Body and BIG|BRAVE shift the gravity of their compositions to woven layers of percussion and unspooling guitars that sprawl through stark frameworks of earthy folk. Their debut collaborative album Leaving None But Small Birds distills the two ensembles" pioneering approach to heavy music into psalms for the forgotten, threnodies of lost love, and odes to vengeance. Typical to The Body"s creative process, Leaving None But Small Birds was composed almost entirely in the studio at Machine With Magnets with engineer/producer Seth Manchester. The Body and BIG|BRAVE aimed to challenge themselves to craft a fully realized and cohesive work that strayed outside the boundaries of the music they make individually. The Body"s Lee Buford set up the initial challenge: collaborating to make an album that evoked the country and folk roots of The Band. BIG|BRAVE"s Robin Wattie compiled lyrics and melodic lines from across Appalachian, Canadian, and English hymns and folk songs. Select phrases were then reworked and precisely arranged to center the experiences of marginalized characters, victims of hardship, and those yearning for love within each story. The despair and empowerment of these traditional tunes draw remarkable parallels with each group"s focus on championing people often cast aside in history. The Body and BIG|BRAVE, following a folk tradition, make each song their own through shifts in perspective and a synthesis of passages from kindred tales. BIG|BRAVE"s roots as a minimalist folk band and The Body"s love of old-time, country blues, and folk music enable the quintet to strike a formidable balance between sorrowful lamentation and uplifting resolve to weighty effect. Leaving None But Small Birds thatches together two monumental innovative forces that render the emotionally profound with lucid, devastating vitality

2022 repress

Official LP reissue of 'Peace & Harmony' by Nigerian funk royalty Harry Mosco, Originally released in 1979. Incl the big tracks ''Sexy Dancer'', ''Step On'' and ''Do It Together''

Isle Of Jura digs deep going back 40 years for the reissue of Harry's 1979 album which is something of an undiscovered gem that touches upon Disco, Funk, Boogie, Soul and Dub. Harry passed away in 2012 and we’ve worked closely with his son on the reissue.

Harry Mosco is best known as the founder of legendary 1970s Nigerian Afro-Funk band The Funkees. Originating as an Army band after the Nigerian Civil War they lead the wave of upbeat music produced by young artists in Nigeria in response to the darkness of the recently concluded civil conflict. Following a notable hit single ‘Akula Owu Onyeara’ the band split in 1977 and Harry pursued a solo career.

‘Peace & Harmony’ was Harry’s third LP continuing the rich vein of form found in previous albums ‘Country Boy’ and ‘Funkees’ (For You Specially). He was a visionary who wrote, arranged and produced each song on the LP assisted by Mark Lusari on engineering duties (P.I.L, Jah Wobble & Prince I), whose Reggae and Dub influence can be felt on title track ‘Peace & Harmony’ and ‘Peaceful Dub’. The LP contains two certified floorfillers of Studio 54 era Disco Funk in the shape of ‘Sexy Dancer’ & ‘Step On’ and two slow jams, the soulful ballad ‘She’s Gone’ and horn lead album closer ‘Do It Together’. Mr Funkees was printed on the cover to help record buyers make the connection between Mosco and his former band

Pale Waves’ third studio album is a bold statement of reclamation – from the lyrics to the title itself. 'Unwanted' reaches out into the community of misfits and LGBTQI fans around the band, tapping into darker emotions than ever before while striking a fresh tone of defiance. Since their 2018 debut 'My Mind Makes Noises', the band has accumulated over 1.5 Million+ Social Followers, 250 Million+ Steams, and have grown to embrace their queerness... these experiences have shaped Pale Waves’ music over the last few years, but they jump to the fore on Unwanted. Recorded in Los Angeles with producer Zakk Cervini, 'Unwanted' is 13 tracks of classic pop punk with an edge; It feels like the purgative scream at the end of a years-long inhalation. Pale Waves' latest album follows 2021's 'Who Am I' and 2018's 'My Mind Makes Noises' which reached #3 and #8 on the UK Album Charts respectively.

Jacob Long’s third Earthen Sea outing for Kranky, Ghost Poems, further refines his fragile, fractured palette into fluttering arrhythmias of dust, percussion, and yearning.
Composed during the first wave of lockdowns in New York, the pieces took shape patiently from samples of piano, texture, and domestic sounds (sink splashing, room tone, clinking objects), filtered through live FX to imbue them with an intuitive, immaterial feel. Wisps of melody splinter, shimmer, and refract, like light on water; pulses accrue and dissipate, as if mapping shifting sands. Throughout, there’s a sense of matter made animate, of absences felt.
Long cites notions of “the studio as a dub instrument” and the melancholy of “7th chords on a fake Rhodes patch” as central elements in his process, transforming raw materials into rare thresholds of symbiosis and hypnosis. This is music for night skies in hollowed out cities, for views across rivers towards unknown shores: restless, placeless, and profound.
track listing:1. Shiny Nowhere 2. Stolen Time 3. Felt Absence 4. Oblique Ruins 5. Snowy Water 6. Rough Air 7. Slate Horizon 8. Ochre Sky 9. Fossil Painting 10. Deep Sky
press quotes for previous album Grass and Trees:
“Jacob Long’s vaporous, lo-fi ambient tracks feel like snapshots of stillness made of moving parts.” Pitchfork
“As light as a warm breeze on skin, Earthen Sea’s latest album for Kranky showcases Jacob Long’s natural sensitivity for low-key, enchanting electronic sound craft.” Boomkat
“It’s exciting to hear such a significant change in his sound without sacrificing a personal touch and sonic character.” Igloo

In 2020, a year shaped by stringent COVID-19 restrictions, many of us paused for thought about our collective futures. For First Light Records, this reflection, plus the support of Sound and Music's Composer-Curator programme, led to the development of Unbuilt Sound, a new series of commissions centred around acoustic ecology; the relationship between listener and environment. The first iteration of the Unbuilt Sound series sees Flora Yin-Wong retreat to an isolated cabin outside Machynlleth, North Wales, to collect the field recordings that provide the basis for her folklore-inspired album, The Sacrifice.

A collage of twisted field recordings, rich waves of synth, and whispered vocals, The Sacrifice oscillates between gentle familiarity and dreamlike distortions, inspiring a folkloric sense of place that extends across time. Softly dissonant drones envelop the sounds of rocks underfoot and rippling pools, a continuous call and response between artist and landscape. These themes are perhaps best captured on 'Willow Bends', which features spoken word written and performed by Berlin's Rachel Lyn. "Ride," she says, "these ancient and contemporary currents, carrying their secrets from up-stream. Wanderwaves, when pebbles skip across the ripples, I reflect upon it, this water mirror..."

Austudy Records is proud to present it’s debut release Burning It Up: Australian Reggae (1979-1986). A
compilation surveying the influence of Reggae on Australia’s preoccupation with Rock, Pop and New Wave
between the years of 1979-1986. This selection of 8 obscure tracks originally issued on 7” records represent
some of the earliest examples of Reggae sounds in Australian recorded music.