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The musical partnership of Joseph Shabason and Nicholas Krgovich orbits around a shared center of earnestness, slice-of-life poeticism, and the subtle everyday banality that becomes beautiful, even absurd, under their slight redirection. Where 2020’s Philadelphia placed domestic interiors under a microscope, documenting the indoor minutiae society was forced to examine mid-pandemic, At Scaramouche steps out into the sunlight squinting groggily and happily at the new day ahead-- and particularly the night that follows. One evening after a recording session and some aimless ambling that included a visit to the house where the 1974 movie “Black Christmas” was filmed, Krgovich and fellow vocalist Chris A. Cummings found themselves misplaced at the Toronto restaurant from which At Scaramouche takes its name, gawking with amusement at its concocted air of luxury. “The layout hinted at its MCM glory, and there was a panoramic view of the city,” Krgovich illustrates, “but it was full mid 2000s, dated Sex In The City re-run decor, ‘opulence’ for rich people with bad taste. I loved it! Chris loved it!”. On At Scaramouche, Krgovich and Shabason demonstrate a mutually uncanny ability to transmute this kind of cultural wariness into amused majesty, poking fun and bowing in reverence all at once. Their spotless smooth-jazz tonality, lyrical literalism, and even cover artist Jake Longstreth’s humorously sober depiction of an actual old Taco Bell building all point to the duo’s low-key-gonzo subversion of Adult Contemporary tropes into something unexpectedly transcendent. The first glassy keyboard hits of “Soli” indicate this sentiment before Krgovich even steps forward as the album’s host, and when he does, he immediately gets to work setting the scene of a weary parking lot stroll on a cool, street-lit evening after work-- just one of so many unremarkable moments that become utopic under Krgovich’s poetic care. “Clocking out at five PM, don’t give it another thought, feel the evening coming in,” he sings. “When it’s dark before supper, and the rain on the house… happy for no reason.” Glimmering pianos and brushy percussion calmly converse with fretless bass as a diffuse light spreads across this little world that’s being created. But where the duo’s previous effort Philadelphia would’ve camped permanently in the stillness, At Scaramouche lunges into the upbeat stroller “In the Middle of the Day”. Though no less exemplary of the album’s quiet everyday magic, it sets a brisker pace with its head-nodding drum break and coolly interjecting bassline. Other moments on the album reiterate the spryness, like the nearly-erratic “Soli II”, and the lively pop centerpiece “I Am So Happy With My Little Dog”. On the latter, Krgovich leads a tight-knit ensemble that comes as close to krautrock here as they ever might, where a driving drumbeat politely urges the elements forward; trumpet harmonies, chanting vocals, and bubbling synths, all crowned by a chorus-laden, perfectly askew solo from guitarist Thom Gill . “This record was very much a band effort. Me and Nick were at the helm but we called on the amazing crew of musicians that I play with here in Toronto to really help flesh things out,” Shabason emphasizes. “The last record was a real exercise in minimalism and quietness, and to me this record feels much more robust, and occasionally bombastic by comparison.” Joseph Shabason grew up in small-town Ontario, throwing punk and emo shows in garages and church basements as an alternative to “playing hockey or doing drugs,” as he states it. At the same time Nicholas Krgovich was 4,000 kilometers away in Vancouver, BC living the kind of suburban life that can, by necessity, imbue someone with romanticism toward the things downtown-dwellers might not bat an eye at, like the fluorescent glow of commercial lighting after-hours, or the overlooked poignancy of a rundown strip mall, and all the many thousands of tiny commonplace miracles that At Scaramouche is made of. “Childhood McDonald’s gone, there used to be some woods there,” Krgovich hums prosaically over a bed of soft drum machine and Dorothea Paas’s soft supporting vocals. “The cemetery was small,” he elaborates while noticing just how farz and how fast the past has receded, “now the high rises around the mall that aren’t done yet…” Where much nostalgia can slip down the slopes into something melancholy that puts the past on an impossible pedestal, album-ender “Drinks at Scaramouche” proves that Krgovich is just as in love with the present, allowing history and future to bring out the sacred in one another. “Finding all the little blips, in-betweens, now with deepening meaning,” he sings, “what little light goes slow, heartening to know that nothing really goes away.” Like so much that Shabason & Krgovich put their fingerprints on, At Scaramouche presents a familiar palette with just enough inflected weirdness to prompt double takes, turning folk art into outsider art with an almost imperceptible sleight of hand.

The musical partnership of Joseph Shabason and Nicholas Krgovich orbits around a shared center of earnestness, slice-of-life poeticism, and the subtle everyday banality that becomes beautiful, even absurd, under their slight redirection. Where 2020’s Philadelphia placed domestic interiors under a microscope, documenting the indoor minutiae society was forced to examine mid-pandemic, At Scaramouche steps out into the sunlight squinting groggily and happily at the new day ahead-- and particularly the night that follows. One evening after a recording session and some aimless ambling that included a visit to the house where the 1974 movie “Black Christmas” was filmed, Krgovich and fellow vocalist Chris A. Cummings found themselves misplaced at the Toronto restaurant from which At Scaramouche takes its name, gawking with amusement at its concocted air of luxury. “The layout hinted at its MCM glory, and there was a panoramic view of the city,” Krgovich illustrates, “but it was full mid 2000s, dated Sex In The City re-run decor, ‘opulence’ for rich people with bad taste. I loved it! Chris loved it!”. On At Scaramouche, Krgovich and Shabason demonstrate a mutually uncanny ability to transmute this kind of cultural wariness into amused majesty, poking fun and bowing in reverence all at once. Their spotless smooth-jazz tonality, lyrical literalism, and even cover artist Jake Longstreth’s humorously sober depiction of an actual old Taco Bell building all point to the duo’s low-key-gonzo subversion of Adult Contemporary tropes into something unexpectedly transcendent. The first glassy keyboard hits of “Soli” indicate this sentiment before Krgovich even steps forward as the album’s host, and when he does, he immediately gets to work setting the scene of a weary parking lot stroll on a cool, street-lit evening after work-- just one of so many unremarkable moments that become utopic under Krgovich’s poetic care. “Clocking out at five PM, don’t give it another thought, feel the evening coming in,” he sings. “When it’s dark before supper, and the rain on the house… happy for no reason.” Glimmering pianos and brushy percussion calmly converse with fretless bass as a diffuse light spreads across this little world that’s being created. But where the duo’s previous effort Philadelphia would’ve camped permanently in the stillness, At Scaramouche lunges into the upbeat stroller “In the Middle of the Day”. Though no less exemplary of the album’s quiet everyday magic, it sets a brisker pace with its head-nodding drum break and coolly interjecting bassline. Other moments on the album reiterate the spryness, like the nearly-erratic “Soli II”, and the lively pop centerpiece “I Am So Happy With My Little Dog”. On the latter, Krgovich leads a tight-knit ensemble that comes as close to krautrock here as they ever might, where a driving drumbeat politely urges the elements forward; trumpet harmonies, chanting vocals, and bubbling synths, all crowned by a chorus-laden, perfectly askew solo from guitarist Thom Gill . “This record was very much a band effort. Me and Nick were at the helm but we called on the amazing crew of musicians that I play with here in Toronto to really help flesh things out,” Shabason emphasizes. “The last record was a real exercise in minimalism and quietness, and to me this record feels much more robust, and occasionally bombastic by comparison.” Joseph Shabason grew up in small-town Ontario, throwing punk and emo shows in garages and church basements as an alternative to “playing hockey or doing drugs,” as he states it. At the same time Nicholas Krgovich was 4,000 kilometers away in Vancouver, BC living the kind of suburban life that can, by necessity, imbue someone with romanticism toward the things downtown-dwellers might not bat an eye at, like the fluorescent glow of commercial lighting after-hours, or the overlooked poignancy of a rundown strip mall, and all the many thousands of tiny commonplace miracles that At Scaramouche is made of. “Childhood McDonald’s gone, there used to be some woods there,” Krgovich hums prosaically over a bed of soft drum machine and Dorothea Paas’s soft supporting vocals. “The cemetery was small,” he elaborates while noticing just how farz and how fast the past has receded, “now the high rises around the mall that aren’t done yet…” Where much nostalgia can slip down the slopes into something melancholy that puts the past on an impossible pedestal, album-ender “Drinks at Scaramouche” proves that Krgovich is just as in love with the present, allowing history and future to bring out the sacred in one another. “Finding all the little blips, in-betweens, now with deepening meaning,” he sings, “what little light goes slow, heartening to know that nothing really goes away.” Like so much that Shabason & Krgovich put their fingerprints on, At Scaramouche presents a familiar palette with just enough inflected weirdness to prompt double takes, turning folk art into outsider art with an almost imperceptible sleight of hand.

Joseph Shabason, Matthew Sage, and Nicholas Krgovich form a pretty perfect triangle, musically and geographically. Based out of Toronto, Colorado, and Vancouver respectively, the three convened at Sage’s converted barn studio at the foot of the Rockies to diagram their kindred ability to extract grandeur from the most passable of life’s daily details. On his own, saxophonist Joseph Shabason warps late 80s adult-contemporary and smooth jazz aesthetics into tidepools of fourth-worldly sound design that are infinitely more self-aware and emotionally honest than any of their distant reference points. M. Sage, in a parallel sense, blends his skills as an instrumentalist with synthesis and field recordings to create auditory reflections of the natural world that are as whimsical as they are profound. Sitting cozily between these two heartfelt experimentalists is singer Nicholas Krgovich, whose observational slice-of-life poetics paint a relatable face onto his collaborators’ calm expressionism, both guiding and highlighting its deep sense of affect. The resulting album, prosaically titled Shabason, Krgovich, Sage warmly invites sound artist Matthew Sage into the world of wry and melancholy micro-miracles that Shabason and Krgovich established on 2020’s Philadelphia, and 2022’s At Scaramouche. Album opener “Gloria” is a perfectly balanced representation of the trio’s individual abilities. Sage’s slowed and watery zither bleeds in from the edges of the canvas, laying ground for breathy woodwinds and harmonica that pantomime a distant locomotive. Speaking directly to the sonics at play, Krgovich melodically narrates, “Penny, did you hear that train whistle? Theo, did you hear that owl hoo?”. Even from this first moment, the intimate dynamic is so palpable that the listener falls unwittingly into the backstory of Shabason, Krgovich, Sage. “After connecting with Nick and Jos through DMs since 2020, it felt like a fun experience awaited us as potential collaborators,” Sage recounts. “I had built my barn studio, and I think it looked appealing to them to make an adventure out of coming to the Wild West to make music with me.” After spending the majority of a decade immersed in Chicago’s legacy of jazz and experimental electronic music, Matthew Sage moved back to his home state of Colorado to raise a child in a more casually agrarian atmosphere, and to work in the kind of setting that led to his 2023 album for RVNG, Paradise Crick. It was here at the cusp of the Rocky Mountains that the initial push of Shabason, Sage, Krgovich began, in person. Making sense of the trek, Shabason adds “I have realized that making music with people who live very far away is a real possibility. As long as we can get into one space together for a short amount of time, the collaborative magic that is needed to make a record is totally possible.” The three artists’ fingerprints are equally visible across the album. There is soft textural detritus floating freely in the air, punctuated by glassy electric keys and rubberized basslines. The sparseness in the placement of all the elements leaves them subject to ghostly visitations from a whispery saxophone, and a gentle guitar that peers around the corners of Krgovich’s free-verse musings. The album’s midpoint “Don” passes overhead like pollen on the breeze, constantly drifting out and back across pockets of completely empty space. “Old Man Song” turns a rare B-side by Low into an even gentler end-of-life reflection that is sweetened by Krgovich’s falsetto during the track’s wordless chorus. As nebulous as that may seem on paper, the hidden songcraft slowly surfaces over the course of each piece, exemplified by the closing track “Bridget”. There are plenty of other moments of the album that bear discernible rhythms below the fogline, but it’s here that they rise up into a full-on groove under Krgovich’s lyrical fourth wall breaks in which he details everything from Joseph’s studio habits to seeing “Cats” at the theater with his sister. Despite the song’s relative density and pop sensibility, a careful use of space still reigns supreme. On the eleven-minute “Raul”, Krgovich comes close to unintentionally codifying this approach as he sings “The container shrinks, and shrinks again, with every day, the relief that comes from not wanting more...” Truly, the most abundant virtue on Shabason, Krgovich, Sage is patience. The trio interacts without interrupting one another, contently waiting their turns, all locked onto the same distant point on the horizon yet unconcerned with when they might actually arrive. The groundwork laid by Shabason & Krgovich on their previous joint offerings is omnipresent, but it’s amplified by the joy Sage must have felt shepherding them to his idyllic and intimate new homebase. Prior to meeting up with Sage, the pair’s music often dealt with the beauty of The Great Indoors, but their new host and collaborator has smartly refocused their lenses on the small wonders of wilder localzes. Like magic, Shabason, Sage, and Krgovich have not just musically photographed their surroundings, they’ve managed to reproduce them exactly. The sharp open air, the quiet thrill of an escaped routine, the self-reflective thought-loops during a twilit moment at the edge of a field, all of it’s here on Shabason, Krgovich, Sage. Through the trio’s skillful ease, the listener is there, too.

In April 2024, Joseph Shabason and Nicholas Krgovich set off on a two-week tour of Japan, their first time performing in the country as Shabason & Krgovich. In an act of well-coordinated serendipity, Koji Saito of 7e.p. records enlisted Saya and Ueno of Tenniscoats, the revered Japanese duo, to tour with and perform backing band duties throughout their stops in Matsumoto, Nagoya, Kobe, Kyoto, and Tokyo.

The four could only rehearse twice, but it was all they needed. Their connection was immediate and felt in the music; their shows fluid, elastic, and just the right amount of unpredictable. Saito had anticipated this simpatico and arranged for recording engineers to meet them in Kobe, where they had a two-day stay at the famed Guggenheim House, a 117-year-old colonial-style residence that had been converted into an artist residency.

With no songs prepared, they began to play with melodies, improvising and pulling pieces from that spontaneity into wholes. Saya and Krgovich soon realized the closeness in their approach to lyric writing. From sharing Japanese nicknames for clouds while looking at the sky above a rest stop (fishscale cloud, dragon cloud, sardine cloud, sleep cloud, sheep cloud), searching for matching socks in a bin at a clothing store, to an ode to Tan Tan, a beloved panda who had recently died of old age at the Kobe Oji Zoo — they both seek out and sing to the magic in the everyday.

That’s what this experience came to feel like: magic, every day. As the group worked, they watched the Pacific Ocean advance and recede from the windows of the Guggenheim House. Over those two days, they’d compose and record eight songs, listed in order of creation, on the album that came to be called Wao.

"What is also cool about the album is that the house is very much not a recording studio so it sounds super live and because it's also right on the train tracks you can often hear the train in the recordings as it drives by. To me it adds so much charm and personality," Joseph describes. "The whole thing felt like a dream and was over so quickly so I kinda forgot about it until a few weeks after I got home. When I opened up the sessions is was really clear that we had done something special."

It all happened so quickly, an enchanting whirl. Dreamlike, they had fallen into and out of it. Only when the recordings arrived in the mail a few weeks later did that dreamy state sharpen into a memory and a moment that you can now revisit, over and over again.

“Unlike much of my work recently, it is not a ‘concept album’ and is without any collaborators. I just wanted to focus on my core sound really but without any of the genre tropes that may have been present the last time I made a solo album. I had hoped that the album could work on multiple levels. In that respect, it is intended as a psychedelic album as much as anything. You can listen to it in a more meditative way without getting distracted by the details. I suppose that is why the frequency spectrum is more similar to my earlier work, but there is a lot going on under the surface and it can be quite demanding if you are paying attention as there are odd time signatures and dissonant elements in there too. Light and shadow I guess. I am hoping that it may be the kind of album that people play at the end of an excessive night, like after a club being back home with some friends, sleep deprivation and whatever else kicking in together with the music helping to launch your mind into space! I am also hoping though that it will be interesting enough to stand up in the cold sober light of day as ‘just good engaging music’. It is quite foggy and scuzzy in feel and I am using a lot of filtering and reverb to get this. I think the vocal samples are an attempt to offset this, to bring a bit of light to the murkiness. I also wanted the vocal aspects to reflect influences or things I could closely identify with for the most part, so there are a few hints at British folk songs in amongst the music, albeit rather ghostly and not directly recognisable. But anyway, all this is much more a question of feel, rather than a signifier in this respect. I like the haunting, melancholic aspects of these songs I suppose. I am putting it out on my own label, Woe To The Septic Heart! I just felt it was time for that. It is a bad time for pressing records but conversely, Bandcamp has proved to be useful in showing you do not need to have the backing of an established label. I think I can do something independently and hope that it will still reach the public.” — Shackleton

Somewhere between revelation and delusion, Euphoria Bound maps a familiar trajectory: the irresistible pull towards dissolution, the gradual erasure of memory, the self rendered irretrievable. It moves between states of consciousness where such distinctions of enlightenment or self-deception are erased.

Across ten tracks, the album constructs a spectrum of sound that is both ambitious and uncompromising.

The approach here is more direct than recent releases, with textures that accumulate and disintegrate with renewed urgency.

Taking off from Beaugars Seck’s foundational sabar drum rhythms — recorded by Sam in Dakar in February 2020 — Shackleton has constructed a trio of intricately layered, luminous, enchanted, epic excursions. The second is more dazzled and meandering, with jellied bass, insectile detail, and discombobulated jabbering; the third is more liquid, fleet of foot, and psychedelic, with a grooving b-line and funky keyboard stabs, scrambled eastern strings and hypnotic vocalese. The harmonium in The Overwhelming Yes sounds like Nico blowing in chillily from up the desert shore. The overall mood is wondrous, twinkling with light, onwards-and-upwards; an uncanny, dubwise mix of the ancient and the futuristic. Mark Ernestus’ Version is stripped, trepidatious, mystical, and stranger still, with just a snatch of the original melody, extra distortion and delay, and crystal-clear drum sound. Twenty minutes of startlingly original music, with Shackleton the maestro at the top of his game, and a characteristically evilous dub by Mark Ernestus. Mastered by Rashad Becker; handsomely sleeved. Sick to the nth. Love 4 Ever.

The Scandal of Time' bookends a prolific period of experimentation for Sam Shackleton and follows a raft of collaborations (with Wacław Zimpel, Heather Leigh and Scotch Rolex this year alone) with what amounts to his first new solo album since 2021’s ‘Departing Like Rivers’. It might also be his most advanced, forward-facing work in years. Shackleton's been edging away from the dancefloor for about a decade now, exploring alternative tuning systems, modern classical sounds and non-Western rhythms. 'The Scandal of Time' works not just as a précis but a daring leap forward, mixing ghosted, traditional; German folk songs with heart-piercing basslines, xenharmonic percussion and open-ended drones, on what promises to be his last solo release for a while. The eerie, hauntological world Shackleton has created here is a testament to his years of work on experimental bass music's fringes. He's managed to shepherd us through so many disparate musical styles that have here been finally sutured into a single, startling vessel.

In 1969, Albina in the US underwent a pivotal transformation which saw the arrival of Black residents displaced by the Vanport floods. While a local Black economy thrived to start with, the neighbourhood eventually got neglected due to disinvestment by the city's elites but citizens didn't take it lying down and some of them formed Shades Of Brown, a group that emerged at the Albina Arts Center which was a haven for artists during civil unrest. With members from various musical acts, they found unity under leader Thara Memory who instilled discipline and required them to read and write music before performing. This EP, which is the group's sole record, embodies their camaraderie and the community's struggle against neglect across six raw-as-you-like funk cuts laden with emotion and narrative.

Double heavy 1980 dub showdown by two London sound system titans, engineered by Prince Jammy and featuring Mikey Dread, Scully, Barry Brown and Johnny Osbourne on board.

Hard, or at least spenny, to find OGs 2nd hand, ‘Dub Confrontation Shaka (Warrior) Vs Fatman (Killer)’ is understandably sought-after as a shining example of pure dub tekkerz from its golden era. Ken ‘Fatman’ Gordon’s A-side renders the rhythms and vocals with coolly measured, judicious boing and 3D plangency, hitting hardest on the effortless traction of ‘Jahovian Dub’, whilst Jah Shaka weighs in a killer B-side of rhythms re-arranged with additional, signature drum lines and swirling sirens, as on the deadly ‘Dreader Dub’, a skeletally stark ‘College Dub’ and the simmering zinger ‘Afrika Dub’.

For our 50th cassette release, we're very happy to welcome in Shakali (aka Simo Hakalisto) born in Finland, though now residing in the Czech Republic. "Aurinkopari plays a lot with polarities as it seeks to find something celestial in the mundane. The brightest sound of the album was captured in the darkest night of the year. Sine waves, scaled according to old wartime engineers, ended up sounding like a magic flute. A hydrophone detected other-worldly sounds of a drowning compost and a ceremonial Javanese gendèr was recorded in a bunker… While the processes of recording the album were often playfully esoteric, the music itself is warmly heartfelt." - Shakali Encompassing global and local music traditions and pre-Midi times, this album feels very organic, playful and warmly connected to a natural, higher consciousness state of being....We couldn't ask for a better way to celebrate our 50th cassette release. Written & Produced by Simo Hakalisto Mastered by Amir Shoat

For a label that wasn't around long, Strata East achieved the same sort of label recognition that Impulse! or Blue Note managed to build. In other words, you knew what you were getting when you bought a record on the label, even if you didn't know the names on the outside of the cover. This is no exception. Who is Shamek Farrah? Who knows? Who cares? It's the music that's important. This is the standard spiritually intense new jazz one learns to expect from the label, soaked in some Eastern influences but always with its ear to the street. Musicians took their roles as leaders and spokesmen very seriously back then.

This very adult statement from a group of very serious men is no exception. However, what might be an average, forgettable session is rescued by the propulsive engine of Milton Suggs' bass. He adds the fire and the drive that keeps things interesting and prevents the music from wandering into a circular spiritual morass.

Hindi film’s greatest soundtrackers meld cool, swinging jazz and ancient raga tradition in this 1968 wonder, reissued on vinyl for the first time in 2017. ‘Raga Jazz Style’ speaks brilliantly to a transcontinental fusion of styles seeded in the US with John & Alice Coltrane’s visionary efforts, and here adapted back to source in the subcontinent. By this point the Shankar Jaikashan duo had practically achieved their zenith as go-to composers for Hindi film scores, and as competition started coming from likes of R.D. Burman, they would prove their versatility in melding Afro-American jazz with millennia-old raga forms, resulting this vibrant suite that nails both styles, sometimes on their own, and sometimes combined with sitar. It’s rare pleasure to hear them dance between the two, only a few years before Jaikashan passed away, leaving Shanka to continue solo under the Shankar-Jaikashan handle, and a richly inspirational legacy.

Shape of the Moon is the California based duo of Benjamin Burke and Bear Glass that explores existential headspaces beyond mundane frames of thought. Following streams of consciousness that contemplate the stardust that forms us to the very first human sound that reverberated through a cave, Shape of the Moon intertwines language and music into ambient dream-weaving narratives. When the land is laid bare forms a collection of recordings composed of Burke reciting his introspective poems and Glass improvising gripping modular synth and string patterns. Burke brings a wealth of experience working between an impressively vast range of written and visual mediums to Glass’s live electronics and acoustic instrumentation mirroring the spoken word. The pieces on the album consist of excerpts from live outdoor performances under the night sky in the Mojave desert as well as sessions in Glass’s off-grid solar powered studio. Burke drapes vivid vocal narration over deeply immersive textures and melodies conjured up by Glass on Buchla, bass and sitar, painting peaks and valleys that live score the storytelling. The duo tread their own path fusing poetry with undulating electroacoustic instrumentals, arriving at meditative and ASMR territories that draw inspiration from ambient and electronica. Often joined on stage by guest musicians playing anything from Rhodes, percussion, jaw harp and saxophone, the recordings edge towards blues and spiritual jazz. Benjamin Burke is a poet, writer, performer, and visual artist who spends his time lending a hand to unusual artistic expeditions around the world. Most recently, he helped to launch Dhun and Dhun School, a humanist eco-township and progressive education center on a 500 acre biopreserve in Rajasthan, India. He has written and performed countless unusual shows, experimenting widely and, through that, witnessing firsthand what makes ideas resonate for his audiences. This work evolved over time into an approach he refers to as Applied Poetics which he employs to help communities set intentions, scientists present their findings, and humanitarian organizations find their footing. Bear Glass is a sound artist, multi-instrumentalist, music teacher, live sound engineer, and founding member of Mobius Acoustics who build innovative sound systems and host events on the West Coast (utilizing a quadraphonic setup for live performances and immersive drone bath sessions). Glass is involved in various collaborative projects with a couple of releases under different pseudonyms as well as a solo tape featuring a track with prolific producer Carlos Niño. For most of the year, Glass lives sustainably off-grid with his family on a plot of land outside Joshua Tree, a mini utopia infamous for his well curated private campouts and artist residencies. Wide skies, magnificent climates, and being surrounded by the love of family and friends inform Bear’s musical output and artistic practice. Shape of the Moon present their debut album for Marionette’s 30th title, channeling an inquisitive yet playful state of mind that marvels at the mysteries of the universe.

'Absurd Matter' is a labyrinthine sonic conundrum that spirals around the two poles of extreme noise and hip-hop. It’s Berlin-based Italian producer Shapednoise’s first album in four years, and confidently advances his narrative into the next chapter, building on the groundwork of his prior abstractions to emerge with a coherent genre-warped fusion of urgent rap, crushing bass weight, and idiosyncratic sound design. After spending years scrupulously deconstructing club music, Nino Pedone has rebuilt it brick by brick in his image. The album arrives after a period of severe anxiety for the producer when he unexpectedly lost his hearing. For a professional sound designer, it’s a nightmare made flesh, and Pedone was suddenly left unable to produce music, DJ, or even attend events. Now in recovery, he was forced to reconsider his output, struck by the stress of mortality and his body’s precarious materiality. It's the first release on Pedone’s brand new imprint WEIGHT LOOMING, a multidisciplinary label platform that’s set to explore the depths of bass music, textured noise, and abrasive transcendence. It taps into kinetic energy from a hand-picked selection of collaborators, of the likes of New York rap duo Armand Hammer, French DJ/producer Brodinski, David Lynch’s longtime collaborator Dean Hurley, Bruiser Brigade’s ZelooperZ, and vanguard Philly poet, musician, and activist Moor Mother. 'Absurd Matter' is a defining personal development for Pedone that not only appraises his career so far but diverts its logic into frighteningly new sonic territory. From great loss, the producer has determined his work's cardinal themes and sounds more strident and far heavier than ever before.

Arriving two years after the first chapter, Absurd Matter 2 isn’t just a sequel, it’s an evolution, redrawing the boundaries established by its acclaimed predecessor. The Berlin-based Italian producer tempers his confrontational sonics with rare moments of introspection, shifting seamlessly between blown-out noise, warped hip-hop, mutant club experimentation, and weightless ambience. Textures disintegrate and reassemble, rhythms flex and crumble, and every detail balances on the edge of fantasy. It’s a poetic, layered response to Nino Pedone’s changing physical reality: the gradual hearing loss and perceptual renegotiation triggered by Ménière’s disease, which struck him in 2022. At first, the experience felt like betrayal, a brutal disconnection from the very sense that had shaped his life. But over time, the disorientation turned into a strange kind of focus. The silence between sounds became as expressive as the sounds themselves.

The first Absurd Matter was a visceral reaction to trauma; the second is more reflective – an ambiguous chronicle of sensory recalibration. Pedone doesn’t represent his altered inner reality through extremes, but through depth, zooming in on illusory distortions, tense rhythmic fluctuations, and fragmented sonics. Dense, immersive, and mystical, the album mirrors Pedone’s evolving relationship with perception itself.

Tinnitus-like feedback wails and noir-ish strings introduce “Repeater”, making it immediately clear that Pedone is painting a more delicately finessed image this time around. Fleshed out by raps from cult MCs billy woods and E L U C I D, the track is marked by subtle, sophisticated contrasts: the blurred, inverted rhythms that couch Armand Hammer’s haunted back-and-forth, and the glitchy interference that offsets the lavish orchestral phrases. Backwoodz associate Fatboi Sharif lends his Lynchian drawl to “Bandage Chipped Wings”, grounding Pedone’s lysergic rhythmic distortions with syrupy, horror-inspired couplets. Pedone also invites discomfort into “Crash Landing”, with droning, metallic tones that contradict South Central rapper ICECOLDBISHOP’s elastic flow. “Bitch, I don't give a fuck about anybody,” he squawks over Pedone’s incongruous rasping textures and time-warped beats, “cash out at any party.” Working alongside London’s Loraine James on production, Pedone reunites with Moor Mother on “I Saw The Light”, blending James’ soft-focus atmospherics with soundsystem-damaging, overdriven bass hits and rusted percussive snips. Moor Mother’s assertive words hover over the wreckage, tightening Pedone’s themes of overstimulation and altered awareness as they stutter and veer off course, vanishing into the backdrop.

Contrasting his more pensive experiments, Pedone’s dancefloor deviations are more concentrated on Absurd Matter 2 than ever before. He torches a stuttering dembow structure on “X”, obfuscating the rhythm’s familiar energy with disturbing audio hallucinations. On “Splintered”, he reunites with Kenyan prodigy Slikback, mangling neon-lit trance arpeggios with dissociated trap rhythms. He sharpens his skills to a fine point on “Oblivion Step”, observing 2-step through a lens of distortion and personal abstraction, shaking blipping synth leads over neck-snapping drums and counteracting the momentum with airless sci-fi soundscapes.

Perhaps the album’s most surprising moment arrives with “Viel”, which features vocals from Los Angeles-based composer Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith. Together, Pedone and Smith chance upon their notion of dub techno, fogging synth stabs and ghostly vocal traces into eerie harmonic distortions. On some level, it’s almost pop music, a far cry from the bleak dissonance of Absurd Matter and a hopeful way to reframe turbulence as transformation.

Absurd Matter 2 doesn’t simply document a process; it enacts one. It doesn’t offer clarity; it invites disorientation. It’s not a map of the labyrinth, but a foghorn piercing the darkness.

Los Angeles-based vocalist, composer, and producer Sharada Shashidhar has a deep awareness of the cosmos. There's a distinct tug-of-war in her music, an understanding that scanning the heavens to answer existential queries isn't quite enough; there are internal depths to plumb as well. Shashidhar's first album, 2020's Rahu, found her voice billowing out of smoky, post-beat-scene soundscapes, meditating on the collective unconscious and the energy exchange between all living things. Her newest work, Soft Echoes, is a bold step forward, echewing her work's hip-hop tilt for expansive compositions that blend jazz and Indian classical influences into a swirling, spiritual whole. Though she has an extensive resume as a collaborator in LA's previous experimental jazz scene, notching work with the likes of Carlos Niño, Zeroh, and the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra, Soft Echoes marks Shashidhar's first outing as a bandleader. Gathering an ensemble that includes Anna Butters on bass, Julius Rodriguez on keys, Devin Daniels on saxophone, and Timothy Angulo on drums, Shashidhar sought to create a band that ostensibly functioned as an extension of herself. Her primary goals in writing these songs were to “let [her] body do what it wanted to do,” to trust her intuition, and “play without judgment.” Through that process, making Soft Echoes became a practice of presence and exploration, a chance to unlearn rigid structures and rediscover the joy of creating for oneself. Recording took place over three brief, distinct sessions at Altamira Sound in Alhambra, California. Though the full band wasn't ever present at the same time, Soft Echoes sounds like the work of a group in complete, mind-meld focus. Splashy drums nudge up against skronkingsaxophone on “Canyon Song,” while mushrooming synth tones stack up behind rippling Rhodes piano on “Luckiest.” Shashidhar's elegant voice is the anchor for each of these tracks, sometimes gracefully stretching between instruments like a lithe dancer's limbs, other times scattering through psychedelic delay. She describes the album as having “two poles, ” illustrated by the whimsical, buoyant opener “Soft Echoes” and the darker, more anxiety-ridden closer, “New Echoes.” The songs in between may come from different emotional spaces, but “it's all really reflective,” she explains. album can play like a loop, with Shashidhar entering a portal “into the endlessness” during “New Echoes,” only to be transported back to the beginning, full of gratitude and pondering “how strange it is to be alive.” On Soft Echoes , Shashidhar leads us on a journey through her mind, traversing its peaks and canyons in search of greater connection. “I want to take people places,” she says, pausing thoughtfully. “I can’t always guarantee that they’re good places, [but] hopefully you’ll feel something.”

Los Angeles-based vocalist, composer, and producer Sharada Shashidhar has a deep awareness of the cosmos. There's a distinct tug-of-war in her music, an understanding that scanning the heavens to answer existential queries isn't quite enough; there are internal depths to plumb as well. Shashidhar's first album, 2020's Rahu, found her voice billowing out of smoky, post-beat-scene soundscapes, meditating on the collective unconscious and the energy exchange between all living things. Her newest work, Soft Echoes, is a bold step forward, echewing her work's hip-hop tilt for expansive compositions that blend jazz and Indian classical influences into a swirling, spiritual whole. Though she has an extensive resume as a collaborator in LA's previous experimental jazz scene, notching work with the likes of Carlos Niño, Zeroh, and the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra, Soft Echoes marks Shashidhar's first outing as a bandleader. Gathering an ensemble that includes Anna Butters on bass, Julius Rodriguez on keys, Devin Daniels on saxophone, and Timothy Angulo on drums, Shashidhar sought to create a band that ostensibly functioned as an extension of herself. Her primary goals in writing these songs were to “let [her] body do what it wanted to do,” to trust her intuition, and “play without judgment.” Through that process, making Soft Echoes became a practice of presence and exploration, a chance to unlearn rigid structures and rediscover the joy of creating for oneself. Recording took place over three brief, distinct sessions at Altamira Sound in Alhambra, California. Though the full band wasn't ever present at the same time, Soft Echoes sounds like the work of a group in complete, mind-meld focus. Splashy drums nudge up against skronkingsaxophone on “Canyon Song,” while mushrooming synth tones stack up behind rippling Rhodes piano on “Luckiest.” Shashidhar's elegant voice is the anchor for each of these tracks, sometimes gracefully stretching between instruments like a lithe dancer's limbs, other times scattering through psychedelic delay. She describes the album as having “two poles, ” illustrated by the whimsical, buoyant opener “Soft Echoes” and the darker, more anxiety-ridden closer, “New Echoes.” The songs in between may come from different emotional spaces, but “it's all really reflective,” she explains. album can play like a loop, with Shashidhar entering a portal “into the endlessness” during “New Echoes,” only to be transported back to the beginning, full of gratitude and pondering “how strange it is to be alive.” On Soft Echoes , Shashidhar leads us on a journey through her mind, traversing its peaks and canyons in search of greater connection. “I want to take people places,” she says, pausing thoughtfully. “I can’t always guarantee that they’re good places, [but] hopefully you’ll feel something.”

Los Angeles-based vocalist, composer, and producer Sharada Shashidhar has a deep awareness of the cosmos. There's a distinct tug-of-war in her music, an understanding that scanning the heavens to answer existential queries isn't quite enough; there are internal depths to plumb as well. Shashidhar's first album, 2020's Rahu, found her voice billowing out of smoky, post-beat-scene soundscapes, meditating on the collective unconscious and the energy exchange between all living things. Her newest work, Soft Echoes, is a bold step forward, echewing her work's hip-hop tilt for expansive compositions that blend jazz and Indian classical influences into a swirling, spiritual whole. Though she has an extensive resume as a collaborator in LA's previous experimental jazz scene, notching work with the likes of Carlos Niño, Zeroh, and the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra, Soft Echoes marks Shashidhar's first outing as a bandleader. Gathering an ensemble that includes Anna Butters on bass, Julius Rodriguez on keys, Devin Daniels on saxophone, and Timothy Angulo on drums, Shashidhar sought to create a band that ostensibly functioned as an extension of herself. Her primary goals in writing these songs were to “let [her] body do what it wanted to do,” to trust her intuition, and “play without judgment.” Through that process, making Soft Echoes became a practice of presence and exploration, a chance to unlearn rigid structures and rediscover the joy of creating for oneself. Recording took place over three brief, distinct sessions at Altamira Sound in Alhambra, California. Though the full band wasn't ever present at the same time, Soft Echoes sounds like the work of a group in complete, mind-meld focus. Splashy drums nudge up against skronkingsaxophone on “Canyon Song,” while mushrooming synth tones stack up behind rippling Rhodes piano on “Luckiest.” Shashidhar's elegant voice is the anchor for each of these tracks, sometimes gracefully stretching between instruments like a lithe dancer's limbs, other times scattering through psychedelic delay. She describes the album as having “two poles, ” illustrated by the whimsical, buoyant opener “Soft Echoes” and the darker, more anxiety-ridden closer, “New Echoes.” The songs in between may come from different emotional spaces, but “it's all really reflective,” she explains. album can play like a loop, with Shashidhar entering a portal “into the endlessness” during “New Echoes,” only to be transported back to the beginning, full of gratitude and pondering “how strange it is to be alive.” On Soft Echoes , Shashidhar leads us on a journey through her mind, traversing its peaks and canyons in search of greater connection. “I want to take people places,” she says, pausing thoughtfully. “I can’t always guarantee that they’re good places, [but] hopefully you’ll feel something.”

A trio of Kansas City soul sweepers, from the sprawling midwest burg's storied Cavern, Damon, and Forte concerns. Bump and the Soul Stompers' 1970 sweet soul double sider "I Can Remember" was a tail pipe-dragging, low rider classic in the making, had it ever been released. A few years later Jerald "Bump" Scott took his new group to Cavern's subterranean confines to cut the group harmony masterpiece "Living In The Past," but remained unissued prior to Numero's discovery of the Cavern tapes. As disco was cresting at the top of the next decade, Sharon Revoal tracked her James Brown meets James Bond stepper "Reaching For Our Star"—the last 45 released on Marva Whitney's peerless Forte label.

For all the attention that was paid to her 2012 break-through Tramp, Sharon Van Etten is an artist with a hunger to turn another corner and to delve deeper, writing from a place of honesty and vulnerability to create a bond with the listener that few contemporary musicians can match. Compelled by a restless spirit, Van Etten is continuously challenging herself. Now, the result is Are We There, a self-produced album of exceptional intimacy, sublime generosity, and immense breadth.Most musicians are quite happy to leave the production end of things to someone else. It’s enough to live your music without taking on the role of producer as well. Yet Van Etten knew it was time to make a record entirely on her terms. The saying goes “fortune favors the bold” and yet this boldness had to be tempered. For this, Van Etten found a kindred spirit in veteran music producer Stewart Lerman. Originally working together on Boardwalk Empire, they gently moved into new roles, rallying around the idea of making a record together in Lerman’s studio in New Jersey. Lerman’s studio expertise gave Van Etten the freedom to make Are We There the way she imagined. Van Etten also enlisted the individual talents of her band, consisting of Heather Woods Broderick, Doug Keith and Zeke Hutchins, and brought in friends Dave Hartley and Adam Granduciel from The War on Drugs, Jonathan Meiberg (Shearwater), Jana Hunter (Lower Dens), Peter Broderick, Mackenzie Scott (Torres), Stuart Bogie, Jacob C. Morris and Mickey Freeze. It is clear from the opening chords in the first song, Afraid of Nothing, that we are witnessing a new awareness, a sign of Van Etten in full stride, writing, producing and performing from a place that seems almost mythical, were it not so touchable and real. Always direct, and never shying away even from the most personally painful narratives, Van Ettten’s songwriting continues to evolve. Many of the songs deal with seemingly impossible decisions, anticipation, and then resolution. She sings of the nature of desire, memory, of being lost, emptiness, of promises and loyalty, fear and change, of healing and the true self, violence and sanctuary, waiting, of silence. The artist who speaks in such a voice is urging us to do something, to take hold and to go deeper. Living in this way, the questions of life remain alive, as close and steady as breathing. Many of the ballads of old are as dark as pitch, and people for whom the issues of life and death were as vivid as flame wrote them. You could turn off the electricity, remove all the instruments and Sharon’s voice and words would remain. They connect her to the mystic stratum which flows just beneath the everyday, which is rarely acknowledged as the forces of distraction sweep our attention away.

An impossible-to-find, ’95 Memphis rap tape resurfaces on vinyl via Gyptology, an "Egyptian Archaology" styled re-issue label

Leading on from Shawty Pimp’s ‘Comin’ Real Wit It’ [1995] - which was dished up by Delroy Edwards’ L.A. Club Resource and sold out within days back in 2014 - its sequel, ‘Still Comin Real’ reprises that woozy slow drawl on 11 slurps of syrupy goodness.

As to be expected, noise artefacts carry over from the original, short-run tape edition, but it wouldn’t be a proper, OG Memphis rap session without that haze of tape grit. Safe to say that Gyptology know this, too, and see vinyl as the most faithful, sympathetic form of preservation.

Thus, you can trust the sound is raw as; a distinct adjunct to the prevailing NYC and LA hip hop styles of 1995’s golden era, working with rude, stripped down production values and vibes that have significantly withstood the test of time, and since laid the roots for a lot of contemporary southern rap, hip hop and R&B.

California and New York aren't the only US cities to have pioneered underground hip-hop over the years. Back in the nineties, southern states such as Memphis, Tennessee were also hotbeds for the fast evolving musical phenomenon. As we push on into the second millenium; from the swathes of short-run, tape-only releases that came out in the 1990's, some are at last being cut to vinyl. Shawty Pimp and the Big Pimpin' Productions crew were brought to international ears in 2014 when his album 'Comin' Real Wit It' was pressed to vinyl and sold out in the blink of an eye. Gyptology Records (a new Europe-based Hip-Hop and Egyptian Archaology styled re-issue label) now present a vinyl pressing of the 1995 sequel; 'Still Comin' Real'. Here are eleven original, raw rap cuts, remastered and restored with love. Available June 2018 for the first time in the format that never goes out of style. Vinyl only for now and in one short-run only, no represses. Produced with the full consent and participation of the artists.

Bassist, composer and producer Shay Hazan returns with his third solo album, ‘When It Rains It Pours’, on Batov Records. Following the critical success of ‘Reclusive Ritual’ and ‘Wusul’ وصول, Hazan takes a bold step forward, shifting from the guimbri-led sound that established his reputation to a broader palette of bass, guitar, and synth-driven compositions.

Where his earlier work foregrounded the raw, earthy textures of Gnawa tradition, ‘When It Rains It Pours’ reflects Hazan’s evolution as a producer and multi-instrumentalist. Across eleven tracks, Hazan deepens his exploration of layered grooves, spiritual melodies, and experimental textures, resulting in his most expansive and personal statement to date.

The album’s title embodies Hazan’s experience of being tested by life when multiple challenges arrived at once - musically, personally, and physically. A painful period in which he was unable to play double bass or guimbri due to joint issues became the spark for rediscovering the electric bass, reconnecting him with an instrument he had set aside on personal projects for years. The record documents this transition, capturing the tension between struggle and renewal.

The opening track,“Kolot”, was born from a half-forgotten session with Ethiopian saxophonist and vocalist Abate Berihune, re-emerging years later as something entirely new. Originally intended as a quintet jazz piece, Hazan uncovered Berihune’s extraordinary vocal take, wordless but deeply resonant, and built the track around it. “Kolot” means voices, and here Berihune’s voice transcends language, channeling pure expression.

“4-8” is a classic Afrobeat framework twisted with Middle Eastern inflections. Hazan plays nearly every instrument, except for live drums and saxophone, crafting a propulsive, hypnotic piece that nods to Fela Kuti while expanding the tradition into new terrain.

“Embrace” is perhaps Hazan’s most vulnerable composition to date, featuring his own vocals alongside guimbri and keyboards. The piece speaks to embracing pain, fear, and anxiety rather than pushing them aside, a mantra woven into its circular, meditative groove.

“It Pours” is an uptempo, electronically-charged piece that blurs the line between organic and synthetic. Hazan recorded percussion, then sampled and re-layered it, creating a sound that is simultaneously tactile and machine-like. The result is a restless, dance-driven track that pushes Hazan’s sound into new territory.

Unlike his previous guimbri-focused albums, Hazan’s approach here highlights his growth as a studio craftsman. Sampling, layering, and textural exploration sit at the core, without losing the immediacy of live musicianship. Longtime collaborators including saxophonist Eyal Netzer, trumpeter Roy Zuzovsky, and drummer Shahar Haziza, help ground the record in ensemble interplay, even as it pushes further into electronic and producer-led territory.

The album’s gestation was shaped by encounters and inspirations stretching far beyond Tel Aviv. Hazan draws influence from Malawian one-man-band Gasper Nali, the spiritual openness of his recording sessions with legendary drummer Hamid Drake, and years of improvisational collaborations across jazz and global traditions.

‘When It Rains It Pours’ captures Shay Hazan at a turning point: confronting physical and personal limitations, yet finding new creative channels in response. By leaning into bass, guitar, and studio experimentation, Hazan has crafted an album that feels at once urgent, meditative, and transformative, a body of work that situates him firmly among today’s most adventurous voices in spiritual jazz and beyond.