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"The Crippled Flower was a post-punk band from Düsseldorf - and they arrived late. However, unlike many young, unsuspecting, hairsprayed hopefuls from that time, in 1985 they could sense that the end of their era was approaching. They knew too much to want to take the world by storm. They were four individualists searching their own way. Each of the band members only found their calling after the time that they had spent together – but that's exactly what makes The Crippled Flower still seem really interesting today, this static energy that does not discharge, but is simply there.
Searching dreamers should sound like that and that's what they were. Singer Phil Elston, for example, had brought his love of Kraftwerk from England to Düsseldorf. Even his bandmates found this strange, but they were also entangled in their own longings. This is because the times were still so crazy and these searchers were "on fire". A fire that glows in the band's recordings.
Listening to the songs today, The Crippled Flower sound like they are hugely at the height of their game; think of Wire, Felt, Scritti Politti or Minimal Compact. The variety of musical themes, as well as different soundscapes, which the band created can only be listened to in amazement. Often, it is only Phil Elston's Sprechgesang that confirms that this is really the same band. However, it was back in 1985 when, importantly, the catalyst that brought the musicians together - the short lived eclectic record store "Heartbeat" in Düsseldorf Bilk - occured. It was there where post-industrial and pop, melodic minimal music and sound attacks awaited those who wanted to discover music by artists and bands they did not yet know.
Cassette releases. All recorded on 4-Track. The Crippled Flower succeeded in this medium. Firstly, with a cassette just entited The Crippled Flower, working from project-like studio recorded sketches. Four more tracks from the short-lived band appeared in 1986 on "A Heartbeat Rendezvous“. A demo tape submitted to Les Disques du Crépuscule, however, did not lead to a worldwide career and so, unfortunately, it was soon over.
Stefan Krausen moved on to the follow-up project Deux Baleines Blanches with Stefan Schneider, which, in 1994, gave rise to the band Kreidler. Krausen was already drumming with the I-Burnettes on AtaTak and much later he studied painting in Munich. Nina Ahlers moved from Düsseldorf to Paris to study art, because in the 80s it was still the case that Paris was the destination of choice for those really wanting to become an artist – and that's what she did. Her work is characterized by a non-academic minimalism focusing on everyday objects. Stefan Schneider remained connected to music. Only Phil Elston, who helped sabotage fox hunts in England and wrote these observant lyrics about environmental destruction and time travel, seems to have escaped the social-media world. Whether he found Kraftwerk-fulfilment in Düsseldorf or moved on disillusioned remains a mystery to us. And somehow this also fits in with that peculiar, special band.
Though Dean Blunt and Danish singer-songwriter Fine Glindvad Jensen are credited, the overall identity of the project remains a mystery. This self-titled debut album by the unit The Crying Nudes has been released on the label World Music Group. Comprising nine songs and clocking in at a compact 15 minutes, the album feels like a collection of short sketches, centered on fragmented acoustic guitar phrases, ambient sounds that make use of empty space, and ethereal vocals enveloped in reverb. With a musical style that prioritizes atmosphere and texture over melody and harmony, and an intentional anonymity that keeps the artists' identities ambiguous, this album exudes a minimalist aesthetic and a captivating mystique.


"I don’t keep photographs, old letters, keepsakes or memorabilia.
I have sound-files, thousands of them, un-used, un-heard: folders of field recordings; sonic sketches; experiments that failed but weren’t deleted. The files are saved on hard drives or the cards of obsolete pieces of equipment replaced – bit by dusty bit – with something new, clean and shiny.
A remnant is what’s left over when the greater part it once belonged to has been used up, removed, or destroyed. I think of my sound-files like this, the remains of ideas, of a time too.
Remnants.
The sound-files that became this album were recorded through a particular period in my life when I found myself in flux, between jobs, flats, geographical areas; after the end of one thing, but before
the next thing had started. The recordings felt restless too…
They were packed up in boxes and moved across town.
Finding them again years later was disorientating. Background sounds that had been hum-drum were suddenly, even sickeningly vivid. The chatter of the crew who would turn up each day to drink beer in the square behind my building, the crows that would rattle and click in the tree hanging over
my small roof terrace, the thrum of aeroplane engines which ebbed and flowed without end.
There were sounds from excursions too: the street preachers of Brixton; some untypically groovy Hari Krishnas in Ramsgate; an orchestra tuning up in a church. There was something vertiginous and nauseous about the nostalgia I felt on the first listen, but I soon fell into a process of “fixing” all the loops and sketches, tugging them into shape, threading them into a whole tapestry.
Once this process came to an end they were put away once again…
Things have their time. I dug the project out for a late-night listening session with an old friend who’d known that place and that period in my life. Hearing them with him changed them. They were no longer the sonic equivalent of those old photos and letters I never wanted to keep; they became something else, more communal.
An album.
We hold on to all kinds of memories – bits and pieces, fragments, remnants we so rarely think to share.
Here are some of mine." - The Dengie Hundred

One of many projects on Strata-East spearheaded by bassist, composer, and arranger Bill Lee (legendary director Spike Lee’s father), The Descendants of Mike and Phoebe’s only album, A Spirit Speaks, enlists Lee’s brother and sisters—Cliff Lee, Grace Lee Mims, and Consuela Lee Moorhead—to form a group named in tribute to their enslaved ancestors. Combining elements of jazz, gospel, soul, and blues, among other influences, A Spirit Speaks has become one of the most sought-after albums from the catalog. Now remastered from the original master tapes, this one-of-a-kind album can be experienced in digital formats for the first time.
Dry was conceived as a new journey among Vini inventions, through rarefied moods and subterranean streams of sound. The fifteen songs (lasting fifty-five minutes) were recorded in Manchester in 1990, Vini sits in on guitar and piano, while Mitchell is on electronic and acoustic percussion, other instruments such as the clarinet (played by Zinnia Mitchell-Williams, Bruce's daughter), harmonica, viola and keyboards are also featured on the session. Here, once again, Durutti Column 's music could be defined as half-way between melancholy rock and 'progressive' New Age.

Pick a small spot (a point) in front of you (a small knot of wood, a dog down the way). And tightly focus on this spot. And now slowly unfocus your gaze. Widen your gaze. Pan out without moving your eyes. Take it all in.
A smeared and pixelated surface, swelling of contour and light. (Monet’s seepages of light, Altman’s overlapping nomadic dialogue.) Once you have unfocused with little to no center of attention, slowly close your eyes. And please feel very free to notice the light. All of the light that your eyes knocked back as you dilated your focal point. This exercise can be repeated a few times. Unfocusing does not always come easily. And it is probably best to not put too much effort into it. Best to not employ too much pressure.
And we will not put too much pressure on this exercise to help us explain away the humidly, saturatedly psychedelic canopy of moan-‘n-twang and slackelastic-groove of The Dwarfs Of East Agouza’s Sasquatch Landslide.
Mitch Hedberg has a great joke about the Sasquatch: “I think Bigfoot is blurry. That’s the problem. It’s not the photographer’s fault. Bigfoot is blurry! And that’s extra scary to me, because there’s a large out-of-focus monster roaming the countryside.”
Sasquatch Landslide. A landslide of hazy configurations. Blurriness, far from a lack of detail, is an embroidering of detail, a horizontal expansion of surface and swarms of light. The name “Sasquatch” derives from the Salish word se'sxac, which means “wild men.” And Sasquatch Landslide is wild. Everything is unravelling. Offset. Décalage. A whole host of slippery tempos and pulses as the organs, guitars and saxophones loiter and lope over a skipping hop of beats, and everything emerges always mid-stream. It is all middle with no halfway point, no dead center, no bullseye. Everything twangs, moans, sweeps, slips, swings, skitters, slides, and grooves out of nowhere. And the almost-human voice with no mother-tongue.
There is something ecstatic (an elatedly miniscule frenzy) going on here but it is pushed beyond the ecstatic: a joyous-grotesque rolling right past trance to dance. Psychedelias appear out of the infra-spaces in between the apparitions and overlapping ‘regimes’ and registers—pushed and squeezed far beyond the recognizable. And these spaces groove joyously hard like some kind of illusive House music, houses completely submerged in molasses. BigFoot-work? (Oh my!) There is not a place to throw your anchor here in the furrowing humidity. That does, and it does, sound like some kind of landslide.
A psychedelic encounter is a brush with the marvel of otherness. The point from which we speak of other, becomes other itself, in an ever-storm of other-production that shreds ideas of knowing and understanding what we think is going on. Time unhinged from the clock. Space unhinged from the frame. An unpinpointing hallucination, a hot get-down, an untethered throw-down of oscillations, fiercely, joyously, exuberantly incomprehensible. Listening to Sasquatch Landslide, a wildly unhinged reverie.
Eric Chenaux and Mariette Cousty
Condat-sur-Ganaveix, February 2025

Pick a small spot (a point) in front of you (a small knot of wood, a dog down the way). And tightly focus on this spot. And now slowly unfocus your gaze. Widen your gaze. Pan out without moving your eyes. Take it all in.
A smeared and pixelated surface, swelling of contour and light. (Monet’s seepages of light, Altman’s overlapping nomadic dialogue.) Once you have unfocused with little to no center of attention, slowly close your eyes. And please feel very free to notice the light. All of the light that your eyes knocked back as you dilated your focal point. This exercise can be repeated a few times. Unfocusing does not always come easily. And it is probably best to not put too much effort into it. Best to not employ too much pressure.
And we will not put too much pressure on this exercise to help us explain away the humidly, saturatedly psychedelic canopy of moan-‘n-twang and slackelastic-groove of The Dwarfs Of East Agouza’s Sasquatch Landslide.
Mitch Hedberg has a great joke about the Sasquatch: “I think Bigfoot is blurry. That’s the problem. It’s not the photographer’s fault. Bigfoot is blurry! And that’s extra scary to me, because there’s a large out-of-focus monster roaming the countryside.”
Sasquatch Landslide. A landslide of hazy configurations. Blurriness, far from a lack of detail, is an embroidering of detail, a horizontal expansion of surface and swarms of light. The name “Sasquatch” derives from the Salish word se'sxac, which means “wild men.” And Sasquatch Landslide is wild. Everything is unravelling. Offset. Décalage. A whole host of slippery tempos and pulses as the organs, guitars and saxophones loiter and lope over a skipping hop of beats, and everything emerges always mid-stream. It is all middle with no halfway point, no dead center, no bullseye. Everything twangs, moans, sweeps, slips, swings, skitters, slides, and grooves out of nowhere. And the almost-human voice with no mother-tongue.
There is something ecstatic (an elatedly miniscule frenzy) going on here but it is pushed beyond the ecstatic: a joyous-grotesque rolling right past trance to dance. Psychedelias appear out of the infra-spaces in between the apparitions and overlapping ‘regimes’ and registers—pushed and squeezed far beyond the recognizable. And these spaces groove joyously hard like some kind of illusive House music, houses completely submerged in molasses. BigFoot-work? (Oh my!) There is not a place to throw your anchor here in the furrowing humidity. That does, and it does, sound like some kind of landslide.
A psychedelic encounter is a brush with the marvel of otherness. The point from which we speak of other, becomes other itself, in an ever-storm of other-production that shreds ideas of knowing and understanding what we think is going on. Time unhinged from the clock. Space unhinged from the frame. An unpinpointing hallucination, a hot get-down, an untethered throw-down of oscillations, fiercely, joyously, exuberantly incomprehensible. Listening to Sasquatch Landslide, a wildly unhinged reverie.
Eric Chenaux and Mariette Cousty
Condat-sur-Ganaveix, February 2025

This is the most long-awaited reissue of this masterpiece from the most important spiritual jazz label, Strata-East! This miraculous album includes the masterpiece "Peace," which combines a peaceful worldview, modal sound, and black groove!
A gem of a record that fully expresses the beauty, power, and profundity of US spiritual jazz! The first work recorded in 1974 by The Ensemble Al Salam, led by saxophonist Khaliq Abdul Al Rouf. From the Afrocentric "The Sojourner," the prototype of Two Banks of Four, "Circles," the high-speed modal jazz "Trace Of Trane" dedicated to Coltrane, the thrilling and tense "Malika," the peaceful "Optimystical," and the masterpiece "Peace," which changes from a warm and soulful first half to a raging Brazilian, this is a record that I sincerely hope as many music fans as possible will listen to! In particular, the song featuring the vital female vocalist Beatrice Parker is like a jewel.
Bella Union are delighted to announce the release of The Fall's ‘Grotesque (After The Gramme) Live!’ - the latest release from POPSTOCK records, which builds on the success of the critically acclaimed ‘Slates Live!’. Sourced, mastered and designed by the musicians who played on the original LP, and with insightful liner notes by Henry Rollins, ‘Grotesque Live’ presents fascinating versions of all the seminal 1980 album tracks. Available on limited edition vinyl, CD and cassette on 25th October.

Recorded in the early 1970s, this collection of instrumentals is a crystal clear glimpse into a forgotten period of Portland’s music history. Fostered by the Albina Art Center, a hangout spot for creatively-inclined Black youth, The Gangsters were led by trumpeter Thara Memory who produced the sessions heard on this release. After gigging around the city for a few years, the group—who were almost all in their late teens—laid down some tracks at Ripcord Studios, but they disbanded soon thereafter and the tapes sat in a closet, unheard for over 40 years.
Rescued from obscurity, the tracks on this album have all the punch and hip-swinging joy of fellow jazz/funk artists like The Crusaders, Weather Report, and Pleasure. But with Thara Memory leading the charge, the music has a rich complexity, best exemplified by the nine-minute “Suite for Funk Band,” which runs through a series of movements that touch on Latin grooves and post-bop before culminating in an almost-psychedelic breakdown capped off by a devastating guitar solo.
For many members of The Gangsters, their careers would continue to flourish. The late Thara Memory became a renowned educator and won a Grammy for his work with Esperanza Spalding on her 2013 album Radio Music Society. Jimmy and Johnny Sanders toured in B.B. King’s band throughout his final decade of performance. Bassist Lester McFarland would go on to play with jazz icons The Crusaders, The Jeff Lorber Fusion, and Tom Grant. But what this record captures is lightning in a bottle, a period when these young men crossed paths and created a burst of energy and light.

The Gerogerigegege, the Japanese avant-blues music that has been attracting noise music lovers all over the world, is now available on long-awaited vinyl from The Trilogy Tapes, a limited edition cassette released last year by the popular fashion brand CAV EMPT.
This summer, I read Kenji Miyazawa's children's story (illustrated by Takeshi Motai), "Gauche the Cellist" (1934, illustrated by Takeshi Motai, 1956). Just a few days before I made this recording, I was on stage. As a result, I had to be in the same state of mind as Gauche at the beginning of the story. It was not a good feeling, but I knew it was not a coincidence that this book was in my possession, so I read it again and again, looked at Mr. Motai's picture of the raccoon boy again and again, and headed for the park before dawn. The only instrument I used was a Hapidrum, and the sticks were mallets that looked just like the ones the raccoon boy was holding...Juntaro Yamanouchi

