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Psychedelic music can be many things, but not many are quite like Fomies brand of the genre. This Swiss five piece throws some punk rock a la The Dead Milkmen into the mix and describes themselves as:
“Great followers of the D.I.Y., FOMIES is a garage-fuzz band mainly inspired by obscure records badly recorded in weird places.”
For fans of: Oh Sees, Ty Segall, Harvey Rushmoore & The Octopus.

*REMASTERED ROUGH TRADE 4 TRACK E.P LIMITED TO JUST 500 COPIES*

Everything on “Up Home!” is bigger, richer; the guitars are huge, as though they’re being played through the clouds, massive gusts of blue-green noise that move across the stereo spectrum like weather systems. “Baby Milk Snatcher” is built around face-flattening dub bass, with glinting piano and shards of guitar ricocheting through the song. “W.O.G.S.” is delirious to the point of expiration; “One Way Mirror” is their attempt at weird, lopsided ‘anti-funk’, the song’s melody crushed by avalanches of six-string interference. And the closing “Up” is AR Kane’s masterpiece, a disembodied thud pulsing at its heart as a six-note guitar melody spirals ever onward, Ayuli’s voice lost in its own reverie, hymning escapism via references to Jamaican political activist Marcus Garvey’s ‘black star line’.
• Jon Dale, lead review in Uncut Magazine
who grew up together in Stratford, East London. From the off the pair were outsiders in the culturally mixed (cockney/Irish/West Indian/Asian) milieu of the East End, with Alex and Rudy’s folks first generation immigrants from Nigeria and Malawi, respectively. The two of them quickly developed and fostered an innate and near-telepathic mutual understanding forged in musical, literary and
artistic exploration. Like a lot of second-generation immigrants, they were ferocious autodidacts in all kinds of areas, especially around music and literature. Diving deep into the music of afro-futurist luminaries such as Sun Ra, Miles Davis, Lee Perry and Hendrix, as well as devouring the explorations of lysergic noise and feedback from contemporaries like Sonic Youth and Butthole Surfers, they also thoroughly immersed themselves in the alternate literary realities of sci-fi and ancient history (the fascination with the arcane that gave the band their name), all to feed their voracious cultural thirsts and intellectual curiosity.

It was seeing the Cocteau Twins performing on Channel 4 show the Tube that spurred A.R. Kane into being - “They had no drummer. They used tapes and technology and Liz Fraser looked completely otherworldly with those big eyes. And the noise coming out of Robin’s guitar! That was the ‘Fuck! We could do that!
The duo debuted with the astonishing ‘When You’re Sad’ single for One Little Indian in
1986. Immediately dubbed a ‘black Jesus & Mary Chain’ by a press unsure of WHERE to put a black band clearly immersed in feedback and noise, what was immediately apparent for listeners was just how much more was going on here – a tapping of dub’s stealth and guile, a resonant umbilicus back to fusion and jazz, the music less a conjuration of past highs than a re-summoning of lost spirits.

The run of singles and EPs that followed picked up increasingly rapt reviews in the press, but it was the ‘Up Home EP’ released in 1988 on their new home, Rough Trade that really suggested something immense was about to break. SimonReynolds noted the EP was: Their most concentrated slab of iridescent awesomeness and a true pinnacle of an era that abounded with astounding
landmarks of guitar-reinvention, A.R. Kane at their most elixir-like.

If anything, the remastered ‘Up Home’ is even more dazzling, even more startling than it was when it first emerged, and listening now you again wonder not just about how many bands christened ‘shoegaze’ tried to emulate it, but how all of them fell so far short of its lambent, pellucid wonder. This
remains intrinsically experimental music but with none of the frowning orthodoxy those words imply. A.R. Kane, thanks to that second generation auto-didacticism were always supremely aware about the interstices of music and magic, but at the same time gloriously free in the way they explored that connection within their own sound, fascinated always with the creation of ‘perfect mistakes’ and the possibilities inherent in informed play.

The English duo Persher, Arthur Cayzer (Pariah) and Jamie Roberts (Blawan), take the same subversive, boundaryless approach to extreme music that underpins their electronic explorations. Their individual singles output are highly anticipated in the dance world in part because of their affinity expression beyond a trend. The debut album Sleep Well is ferocious and innovative. Cayzer and Roberts take a decidedly unconventional approach to writing, using the full potential of the studio in their exploration of extreme music. What sounds like a live band performance is more often than not an amalgam of many different sessions, the duo applying techniques from electronic music to heavier sonics. Recording in Roberts" studio at Funkhaus, the home of the former East German state-owned radio station, Cayzer would improvise long takes on guitar and bass, contorted and mutated by Robert"s using his extensive modular setup to add weight and texture. This primordial ooze of raw sonics was then chopped up and reassembled into bristling hooks and corrosive atmospheres. The duo"s playful, exuberant approach to music is evident in their absurdist themes and lyrics. Much of the album is inspired by "really disgusting food". Medieval Soup from the Milkbar references the epically bad meal of gray, gruel-like soup, and seeps into the track"s noxious slurry and stomach-churning riffs. "Portable Aquarium" was born of a cup of herbal tea overflowing with foliage. Their playful and often self-deprecating sense of humor allows them to find inspiration in the smallest of life"s events. Persher"s Sleep Well provides a daring, revelatory expansion on heavy music"s myriad mutations. The duo uses their production skills and their humor to embrace the powerful release they find in extreme. Persher"s debut album exudes the sheer joy of making music unconstrained by genre boundaries, as gleefully weird as it is visceral and primal.

Since the release of Foodman’s debut album Shokuhin in 2012, the music of this Japanese artist has found ever larger audiences, developing along its own inimitable path, as heard on a growing pile of albums and single releases, as well as at concerts all around the world. Now, more than ten years later, it is worth going back to the fascinating beginning, which sounds as refreshingly weird today as it did back then. While Foodman’s music has often been described as a sort of lopsided relative of the Chicago-based footwork, it doesn’t really resemble anything else, and this idiosyncratic approach was evident right from the start. Here, by being cut and diced into strange rhythmic structures, samples gain a dreamlike life of their own, simultaneously alien and charming, and without any resemblance to the real world from which they came. With this re-release of Shokuhin, the album is not only being reintroduced to new Foodman fans, it is also being released on LP for the first time, in a collaboration between Orange Milk and the new label Xtroplast, which is focusing on vinyl releases of electronic music hitherto not available on that format.

The garage-y psychedelic outsider pop band Being Dead shines bright with their distinctly right-brain songcraft, mischievous humor, and implausibly great vocal harmonies. As they've graduated from curiosity to cult favorites, we've yet to encounter a single person who dislikes Being Dead. Recorded at Radio Milk, producer Jim Vollentine (White Denim, Trail of Dead, Spoon) spit-shines Being Dead's sound without diminishing their weirdo-best-friend vibes. Their penchant for idiosyncratic lyricism and musical unpredictability shines throughout the album as the duo moves between everything from garage rock and pop to Laurel Canyon-style folk.

“This music is staggeringly original and innovative, and while it’s possible to locate it in a chain of circumstance that links it to ‘Industrial’ music, P16.D4 indulged in none of the empty cliches associated with the genre, worked incredibly hard, and seem to have been aiming at a form of sound art that was much more profound, varied, subversive, and potentially dangerous. Kuhe In 1/2 Trauer’s accompanying credits indicate their radical approach to making music: lots of improvisation, lots of live electronics, extensive use of tape-loops, some conventional instrumentation, and much that isn’t – like the milk churn on ‘Paris, Morgue’ or the use of baking tray and washing machine elsewhere. Even when guitars, drums or keyboards are used, they’re played very weirdly. It’s not even made clear who was doing what; the main credit is ‘Concept,’ which I assume means that one of the three devised the framework in which the noise would operate itself, and while RLW gets the lion’s share of these credits, a lot of the cuts are evenly divided among the team and I have no doubt that the group operated in a very democratic or libertarian manner. None of this prepares you for the insane and troubling sounds that reach your ears, composed with scant regard for conventional logic and following an exciting, absurdist path, especially in the matter of tape edits and juxtapositions of recordings.” - Ed Pinsent, The Sound Projector.

“Though this German group started out as a the new wave band P.D., by the time of Kuhe in 1/2 Trauer, their first LP under the P16.D4 name from 1984, they had developed far beyond into extremely experimental music similar to other post-industrial artists working with abstract avant-garde soundscapes. There’s a bleak industrial feel to the gritty, lo-fi electronics and tape loops, while the group throws in enough curve balls to keep it interesting. On some pieces, strange, looped choirs bubble out of throbbing pulses and drones of feedback, while others have clanging and clattering, and elements of musique concrète and improvisation blur the boundaries even further. The opening track, “Default Value,” is one of those disorienting pieces with noises flying everywhere, while “Paris Morgue” takes excerpts from one of their old P.D. tracks and messes it up with additional instruments, while the ungainly titled fourth track throws in a heavy texture of percussive noises to create an edgy ambience about to teeter off the edge, and the even darker and more ambient title track takes the tension even further. Arrhythmic and amorphous and capable at moments of becoming quite noisy and abrasive, while at others far more somber and quiet, Kuhe in 1/2 Trauer is quite a fascinating release.” - Rolf Semprebon / AMG

P16.D4 was a German electronic noise music collective, active primarily from 1980 to 1988. P16.D4 embraced tape cut-ups, musique concrète, endless recycling and transformation of previously published material, and many long-distance collaborations with like-minded artists such as DDAA, Vortex Campaign, Nurse With Wound, and Merzbow. Their active participation in the international industrial tape scene yielded collaborative output such as their release Distruct, where bands such as Nurse with Wound, Nocturnal Emissions, Die Tödliche Doris, and The Haters provided the source material. The longest-term collaboration was with the installation and conceptual artist Achim Wollscheid, who used P16.D4 sounds as the basis for LPs he recorded under the name SBOTHI. Ralf Wehowsky, the only constant member of the group, later released solo material under the alias RLW.

Members of P16.D4 were also involved with Selektion, a collective of people involved with sound as well as the visual arts. Selektion published LPs, CDs, books, visual art and design.

The collective worked in a strongly improvised, spontaneous and anti-professional way, using acoustic and electronic instruments, using existing sound fragments, duplicating and alienating them, using repetition, distortion, changes in speed and playing direction. For this they used not only sounds of other artists but also their own material from earlier productions. Late works of the collective are associated with musique concrete.

Blue Vinyl

Throughout his productive career, Carl Oesterhelt has proven to be an artist who finds it easy to move between musical genres and concepts. Much of his work has been within classical and chamber music, but he has also scored museum exhibitions and he is sometimes part of The Notwist crew as an angular figure on the Munich scene.

In Umor Rex we have been lucky enough to publish an array of Oesterhelt's universes. In Eleven Pieces for Synthesizer (Umor Rex 2019) we heard his kosmische side, where the connections with Harmonia or Klaus Schulze were amalgamated with ecclesiastical organ pieces and intense semi-automatic rhythms. A deeply melodic, fresh album. Pure syntax of the modern synthesizer. Further, in The Aporias of Futurism (Umor Rex 2021), in collaboration with Andreas Gerth (Driftmachine, Tied & Tickled Trio), Oesterhelt showed what is perhaps his darkest side —a work full of nuances within concrete music and midnight atmospheres. As deep and cerebral an album as it is surprising and catatonic.

Yet it seems that Carl Oesterhelt has another ace up his sleeve. Now he surprises us with The Dualistic Principle, a fantastic album full of weird but charming electronic melodies, rhythms that push the body to movement, sometimes syncopated and abstract, others permanent and fluid. In this work, Oesterhelt invited Johan Simons to give voice to the lyrics. The Dualistic Principle is a sort of rendition of a philosophical review or a nostalgic memory of the glamorous years. There is also underlying humor in the Post / Space-pop / Munich-disc assortment. The Dualistic Principle is the score to an imaginary film of contemporary hedonism.

All music & lyrics by Carl Oesterhelt. Voice by Johan Simons. Additional strings played by the Ensemble für synkretische Musik. Recorded in Munich & Bochum, Germany. Mastered by John Tejada in Sherman Oaks, USA. Artwork by Daniel Castrejón in Mexico City.

'Welcome To The End Of The World' delivers The Dead Milkmen's
trademark twisted humour along with some underlying dark elements
that will creep in to your consciousness if you pay close enough attention

The six tracks run the gamut of weird and wild, from the heavy, Ramonesinfluenced lead single 'Only The Dead Get Off At Kymlinge', a ghost story about the haunted trains terrorising passengers on the Stockholm Metro to 'Battery Powered Rat', a jangly instrumental about two popes, a chess game, and a rat at the Vatican. ("Battery Powered Rat is one of the weirdest things we've ever done", says drummer Dean Clean.)
Musically, the band draws on industrial influences, with a strong beat- driven aesthetic. "It's a pretty good representation of the different styles of things that we do", Dean Clean explains. "It's got some sort of heavy stuff and some groovy, almost dance-oriented stuff, which is fun to say".

Originally released on cassette in 1994 and now for the first time on vinyl, this is an incredible document from a teenage Arrington de Dionyso. All the seeds of his 30+ career are engrained on these fully formed Tascam recordings. From Arrington: "Orga Ar is how Old Time Relijun came into being. It was the first time I ever had a "real" drummer (Bryce Panic) come in to give me some tracks to build songs with, and then I had Aaron come in and play upright bass on one tune (Qiyamat). When they heard the tape they both asked me if I had ever thought about starting a band and getting some shows organized. It's so weird to imagine now, because I really didn't have my shit together to do the kind of live performance I wanted to do all by myself. So the idea was that we would start with the songs on the tape but allow them to "breathe" in the live setting. I think at first I really wanted the band to be mostly improvisational, and just using the lyrics as a way to have continuity. But after a lot of trial and error in setting up our own shows we decided that having a more structured setlist had better results in getting people to dance. The Olympia scene at that time was kind of "anti-dance party"- most of the punk shows downtown were heavily politicized and were more about the connected activism than about the music per se. For me at the time, I felt like the REAL "political statement" that needed to be made was for the music to be an affirmation of one's physicality, that movement and enthusiasm were both OK and sometimes necessary for self-and-social liberation. We weren't popular at all in the "scene" until years later, in fact all of our US tours were disastrous until we were invited to tour in Europe by an Italian fan who organized everything in 12 different countries. In pre-internet era Olympia, our only aims were playing fun shows for our friends, with little regard for reaching the outside world."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bad Waitress’ antsy art punk revels in fits of fury and ego. It spits in your face and winks, ferocious and playful. The Toronto-based four-piece play like they’re conspiring or casting a spell, each member wielding a different power, howls and erratic drum fills and fiery riffs fueling one another.
That improvisation spirit doesn’t stop at their music. Katelyn Molgard, Nicole Cain, Kali-Ann Butala, and Moon finish each other’s sentences. Their conversations flow like free jazz. When asked to describe Bad Waitress’ sound, they agree on one word: conviction. “We play with conviction. There's nothing apologetic about it,” Kateyln says. “Even with our bizarre song structures, we don't hide anything in our music. It's just very...I don't like the word raw, it’s overused, but...raw.” The band fidget between genres, instead honing a distinct energy. “It's energetic. It's electric,” Moon adds. “It's whatever word that we can think of later that's better than raw.” Nicole suggests, “Honest?” Katelyn jumps in, “Rawnest.”
Bad Waitress’ debut full-length album, No Taste, finds strength in mood swings, from upbeat “groovin down the street” songs like “Strawberry Milkshake” to “I'm gonna fucking punch everyone” songs like “Lacerate,” as Nicole puts it. “It’s good to listen to when you're walking alone at night. I get really anxious, but I feel powerful when I listen to this album, like I’m fucking untouchable. It’s basically a self-defense album.”
Traces of Sonic Youth, Fugazi, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and The Stooges can be heard throughout No Taste. The band also cite jazz as an inspiration. Moon’s background playing improv jazz, blues and swing makes it an essential force, at the core of Bad Waitress’ music and collaborative process. “Moon usually has a weird drumbeat that they’ll play spontaneously, then Nicole will jump in with her wack ass music sensibility on bass, and then Kali will play something that’s super wrong in a good way,” Katelyn says. “And then I’ll make sense of it and find where the chords are. It’s bizarre.”

Arthur Satan from French garage psych rock band J.C. Satan’s debut solo album on Born Bad.
The distinctive backing choirs on “Free” are reminiscent of an encounter between the Pole Krzysztof Komeda (“Fearless Vampire Killers”, the soundtrack of
“Rosemary’s Baby”) and the American collective Elephant 6 (the Apples in Stereo, Elf Power, Neutral Milk Hotel, of Montreal, The Olivia Tremor Control etc.)
“The Nap” is teatime: Arthur’s the host, John Fahey the guest.
“Summer” starts off like a lullaby on the metallophone and evolves into something of a Donovan song, minus the unexpected crankshaft solo.
“Love bleeds from you neck” is somewhere between acid folk song and medieval lament.
“Time Is Mine” might be the track most evocative of J.C. Satàn… Though actually all the tracks on ‘So Far So Good’ hover between tradition and modernity,
obscure sunshine pop, good old classics and weird experiments.
“She’s Long Gone” evokes Brian Wilson’s Beach Boys roaming through the English countryside looking for the perfect cottage

Winter Family is a duo made up of Ruth Rosenthal and Xavier Klaine, who met in Jaffa in 2004. Their dark, saturated and dense music is described as "Death Swing", "Weird Wave" or "Funeral Pop".

They recorded new parts of this new album in St Martin church of Maxéville, France. Xavier: "I recorded the pipe organ there, inspired by the Alsatian philanthropist organist Albert Schweitzer whose slow, bombastic performances, limited by faulty technique have always touched me deeply. In 2006, my aunt Loulou agrees to lend me the keys to the church. Ten years later, Loulou passes away, I play on this same pipe organ during her funeral. During the fall of 2018, in her room with old floral wallpapers, so cold, that I empty, surrounded by her missals and huge crucifixes I remix this pipe organs and the voice of Ruth. Through this late remixing, we wanted to deliver this woman from her agony, her eyes turned to the milkish Lotharingia sky and beyond, trying to illustrate this Catholic France of yesterday, as vain and terrifying as a month of November in this cold and humid garden, within reach of the incessant song of the A31 highway."

Jam Money is the shared musical vision of Kevin Cormack and Mathew Fowler. Mathew (Bons) and Kevin (Half Cousin, Harry Deerness) first began collaborating as part of the Blank Tape Spillage Fete, an ongoing collective project of art and music which focuses on the creation and perpetuation of small DIY exhibitions, related events and limited releases that celebrates the hobbyist nature of home recording.

Jam Money revolves around a passion for the simple and sometimes restrictive nature of four-track cassette recording. Using old half-broken guitars, clarinets, charity shop keyboards, toys, family heirlooms, zithers, home-made percussion, and household objects a shared dialogue appears, involving both mark making and musical mishaps, allowing the makers to be carried along as the music finds its own way.

Genre definitions melt away in Jam Money's music as ambient dissolves into lo-fi rock, noise into fragile naive classroom melodies. Creativity beyond easy categorisation.The first recordings titled 'Blowing Stones' were self-released in 2014. The cover and insert artwork for this record featured abstract paintings by the artist Aimée Henderson whose work and process is a great influence on their music. Having played gigs alongside kindred spirits National Bedtime and Plinth, the tail end of 2015 saw the the band travel to Germany to play with the Notwist and Le Millipede for a series of 'Alien Disko' nights organised by Alien Transistor, a label with a shared kinship of both the weird and wonderful.

'A Gathering Kind' is the second album by Jam Money: a journey of sound and colour, subliminal images and narrative. The roots of this collection found Fowler and Cormack using an earthier, more instinctive language, making it a rougher-edged sibling to their other recordings, with parallels to the home-spun worlds of Flaming Tunes, Pumice, Maher Shalal Hash Baz and World Standard. Aimée's artwork features again, both paintings and music forming a collective language of dream-like adventure.

"Poignant and exploratory. Melting together acoustic and electronic elements, the narrative throughout is one of a ghostly world heading for winter. A firm fan favourite Stephen Pastel (The Pastels & Monorail Music) on Blowing Stones.

"Created in question and answer form, their songs exist like little sculptures - wayward and peaceful, sometimes whirring into automatic life under the pair's combined attention."