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claire rousay's 'sentiment' gets the remix treatment from Maral, more eaze, Patrick Shiroishi, M Sage, Andrew Weathers, AMULETS and Gretchen Korsmo.
Texas-based mainstay Andrew Weathers is first up, his rework glues all the vocals on the entire 'sentiment' album into a robotic gurgle - it's the most off-track version of the set and immediately stands out. Maral's take on 'ily2' is more restrained, adding a beat and neatly psychedelic back half, while sound artist Gretchen Korsmo turns 'asking for it' into a whisper of the original as if she's turned it inside out, leaving rousay's vocals to harmonize with her tempered drones. AMULETS' rework of 'head' sounds more in-line with the 'sentiment' mood; the Portland-based A/V artist swells rousay's fizzing emo-folk into tape-fucked shoegaze, and it works very well.
Clan Caiman, a five-member band formed by Argentine multi-instrumentalist writer Emilio Alo with the concept of "imagining the music played by a fictional tribe." His debut album "Clan Caimán" (2018) was widely heard by Hiramazu, VIDEOTAPEMUSIC, Tortoise, Tommy Guerrero, Martin Denny and others. In this second work, "Asoma (Rises in English)", Aro's creative musical instrument
Clan Caiman, a five-member band formed by Argentine multi-instrumentalist writer Emilio Alo with the concept of "imagining the music played by a fictional tribe." His debut album "Clan Caimán" (2018) was widely heard by Hiramazu, VIDEOTAPEMUSIC, Tortoise, Tommy Guerrero, Martin Denny and others. In this second work, "Asoma (Rises in English)", Aro's creative musical instrument
The music of Clan Caimán is primitive and hypnotic. It is located in the pre-rock era and from there, it proposes a different evolution path for music from the 1950s to present day. Like a different musical development in a parallel timeline. Gamelan, Hawaiian music, surf, exotica, rainforest or aquatic; these elements make up the palette which constructs a mystic and profound music that seeks ancestral connection.
Formed in 2016 by musician, composer and producer Emilio Haro looking to create music generated by group dynamics, Clan Caimán differs from his past two solo albums (“Panorámico” in 2007 and “Estrambótico” in 2012, both on Radiaciones Armónicas) in that these were studio work and not meant to be played live.
The quintet's enigmatic sound is built upon the kalimbafón, an instrument created by Haro using several kalimbas, Diego Voloschin's wild and hypnotic percussion (no cymbals, no snare), Gonzalo Cordoba's lap steel and baritone guitar, Facundo Gomez's psychedelic guitar tones and Claudio Iuliano's dry and percussive bass sound.
This debut album contains eight anachronistic and oddly familiar compositions that range from introspection to trance, tracing their own sonic landscape.
The solo works "Panorámico" (2007) and "Estrambótico" (2012) released by Emilio Alo, a multi-instrumentalist writer who does not need explanation for Argentine music fans, are a new generation after the acoustic group. It was a complete studio work under the influence of folklore revival. However, it is extremely important that the key man of the scene dared to form a band here. The debut album of this suspicious band name
Claudio PRC’s upcoming ambient album is a sonic journey through ethereal landscapes and intimate atmospheres. Drawing inspiration from the waves and their movement, “Unda” (in Sardinian native tongue “wave”) evokes a sense of calmness and introspection. Throughout the whole piece, Claudio PRC creates a blend of meticulously crafted organic and synthetic elements that seamlessly integrates together, showcasing his versatility as an artist and his commitment to exploring all facets of electronic music. With its textured layers, this work offers a soothing and reflective musical experience, inviting the listener to escape into a world of contemplation and meditation.
Written, composed and produced by Claudio Porceddu, between Sardinia and Berlin, 2021-2022. Original performed at Up To Date Festival, Białystok, Poland, September 2022. Mixed and mastered at Artefacts Mastering. Artwork by Liam Costar. Design by Basstation. Video directed by Diego Vicinanza. Special thanks to Blazej Malinowski, Fabio Caria, Eliana Patanè, Ario, Pierre Nesi aka Owl and Jong-min Lee.
Unhinged, damaged art-punk from San Diego's mid-'90s Gravity scene. Gathered here are Clikatat Ikatowi’s three albums—Orchestrated And Conducted By..., River Of Souls, and a first time vinyl pressing for their 1993 demo, all remixed and remastered from the original analog tapes. The accompanying 24-page book pairs Tony Rettman’s colorful essay with dozens of period photos and flyers, an in-depth history of a city and scene that defined the shape of noise to come.
Coastlines is the self-titled long player from the new Japanese production unit of DJ and producer Masanori Ikeda and solo artist, session musician and Cro-Magnon keyboard player Takumi Kaneko.
Masanori and Takumi have been part of the Japanese dance music scene for years and Coastlines was born out of their working together on soundtracks for video projects. The pair wanted to make laid-back listening music for now, laying Takumi’s playful keys over Masanori’s widescreen balearic jazz-fusion to conjure beautiful and breathtaking “coastlines”.
A couple of two-track 7"s put out in late 2018 and early 2019 on Japanese house music label Flower Records soon sold out. Those four tracks were expanded to a full album of music, “a joyous, relaxing, summery soundtrack for everyone’s after hours wind down” that was released just in time for summer. It certainly soundtracked many a Be With BBQ in 2019.
The album opens in the horizontal with the sophisticated, cocktails-by-the-pool groove of “Sunset Reflection”. A lush, beatless wonder. Their re-imagining of Ralph MacDonald’s “East Dry River” removes all the original’s bells and whistles (quite literally) and re-gears it with a subtle balearic chug. The result is a percussive gem.
“Coastline” is a beach-jazz noodle. “Drifting Ice” is as chilled and glacial as its title would suggest, yet Masanori’s head-nod slo-mo house beats throb not far below the surface. “My Fire” is another soft killer, all swelling, swirling organ over muted kicks and snares. An elegant boom-bap.
A pair of insistent tunes of the deeply balearic variety raise the tempo, but not by too much of course. On “Woods And My Guitar” a half-heard vocal refrain breathes life into the synthetic xylophone and guitar. Deft piano-work turns “Half Moon Shadow” into lounge-house for the sophisticated beach bum. A classy duo.
The self-assured re-work of Azymuth’s “Last Summer In Rio” is arguably the album’s centrepiece. Ten minutes of casually propulsive slapped bass, steel pans and slick 80s soul beats. Cue the steel drum interlude of “Maracas Bay” before album closer “Down Town” transitions us on with a shuffling, string-hinted hit of ethereal, euphoric piano bliss. Gentle disco for the new decade.
As former Test Pressing scribe Dr. Rob observed on his ever-reliable Ban Ban Ton Ton blog, the Coastlines fusion is very much in conversation with their 80s counterparts, both at home and along the coastlines of different continents. So among the nods to revered Japanese artists like Hiroshi Sato, Sakamoto and Casiopea, there are also hints of Marcos Valle and Mtume, of the aforementioned Azymuth. “The production though is very much now, not then. Not retro, just proper”. We couldn’t put it better ourselves.
Coastlines was originally a CD release only available in Japan, with HMV putting out a super-limited vinyl version a few months later for Japanese Record Store Day. But this music is just too good, so when Be With was asked via Ken Hidaka to take care of a vinyl version for the whole world it wasn’t a tough decision.
Mastered by Simon Francis and cut by Pete Norman, this magnificent double LP has been pressed by the good people at Record Industry.
The artist made a strong debut with the "Coastlines EP" released in the summer of 2018, followed by the "Coastlines EP2" in January 2019 and their first album "Coastlines" in the summer of the same year. Released on the prestigious Be With Records label in the UK, they quickly gained attention in the worldwide chillout Balearic scene and elsewhere, and will release their latest full-length album "Coastlines2" now.
Coastlines' latest album, "Coastlines 2," is finally released, and while maintaining the same concept as the first album, it spins a more precise and beautifully polished magic hour.
The Moon and the Melodies is a singular record within the Cocteau Twins’ catalog—unusually ethereal, even by their standards, and largely instrumental, guided by the free-form improvisations of Harold Budd, an ambient pioneer who had drifted into their orbit as if by divine intervention. Building on the atmospheric bliss of Victorialand, released earlier the same year, it signaled a possible future for the trio, yet it was a path the Cocteau Twins would never take again. Now, 28 years after it was first released, it has been reissued for the first time—remastered, from the original tapes, by Robin Guthrie himself.
The album was never actually meant to happen; no one can even recall exactly how it came about in the first place. As both Guthrie and Simon Raymonde remember it, the independent television station Channel 4 approached 4AD about a film project pairing musicians from different genres. In interviews in the 1980s, however, Budd, who passed away in 2020, believed that his music publisher had linked him with the Cocteaus after the group had expressed interest in covering one of his songs. In any case, the film never happened. “But we’d spoken to Harold, and we were all quite excited about it—in a very sort of downbeat Cocteau Twins way, where we were rarely excited about anything,” Raymonde recalls. “We’re like, well, let’s carry on and do it anyway—you’ve already booked your flight, let’s just hang out in the studio and see what happens.”
“There was a lot of hilarity,” Guthrie says. “It was strange to have an older man in our life, because Liz and I saw everybody around us—the contemporary bands, the people running record labels, the journalists—as grownups. We were literally kids. I thought, ‘Oh Christ, he’s going to be some pompous, you know, into his classical music,’ and he wasn’t. He was just a big man-child. We clicked in that respect.”
The Cocteau Twins had recently built their own recording studio in North Acton, in West London. It was the first time they’d had their own space, and they relished their newfound freedom. “We were in this lovely little bubble of making our own music,” Raymonde says. Budd fit right into their bubble world; all four musicians got on immediately. Over pints at the pub, they talked about everything but music, and in the studio, Raymonde and Budd both say that very little, if anything, was discussed, save perhaps for questions of tempo or key.
“Harold would sit down at the piano and start playing something, and then maybe I’d pick up a bass and start playing along with him,” Raymonde says. “They were very much noodles rather than songs. That was the way we tended to work anyway. Work out what kind of mood are we feeling, get a drum beat going, just a two-bar pattern; Guthrie would plug his guitar in, I would plug my bass in, and then we’d just jam for a few minutes and go, ‘Yeah, that was cool, let’s carry on doing that thing or that thing,’ really casually, and then all of a sudden we’d have a song. I know that sounds ludicrous, but that is how we did it, and with Harold it was exactly the same.”
Budd played a Yamaha CP-70 electric grand, and the group came armed with a growing arsenal of gear, like the Yamaha Rev7 multi-effects processor and Lexicon PCM60, perhaps an Ensoniq Mirage. Guthrie used an EBow on his guitars, along with a Gizmo, an electromechanical device invented by Godley and Creme. Guthrie remembers endless experiments in search of new sounds: “Lots of messing around, tuning the guitar strings all the same, getting droney sorts of things—really big, loud, sort of Metallica-like feedback sounds, but then put in the mix so quietly you can hardly hear them the first time you listen. All these psychoacoustic sort of tricks that I liked. It’s all in there, you know. Just being fearless—if it didn’t work out, it was never going to be a record anyway.”
The musicians’ contrasting approaches ended up shaping the album’s somewhat curious format—four instrumentals in Budd’s meandering style, more tone poems than actual songs, and four more structured pieces with verses, choruses, drum machine, and, of course, Elizabeth Fraser’s inimitable singing, as bold and inspired as anywhere in the band’s catalog. There was no conscious decision to have Fraser only sing on four songs. “That’s just what came out of the sessions,” Guthrie says. “It was a lightweight atmosphere making it, because we didn’t actually feel that we were making a record at the time. We were trying out some stuff in the studio, and it just evolved into what it did. Which is, essentially, a recorded version of some people trying out some stuff in the studio.”
The sessions were over in two weeks, maybe three. “And that was already getting a bit long,” Guthrie says, “because some of our earlier records had taken just a couple of days.” They fleshed out the material, he adds, with one more song that the trio wrote in Budd’s absence, after they realized they didn’t have quite enough material for a full album. (“Was I that drunk?” Budd asked, upon hearing the final version of the album, which included a song he had no recollection of making.) As much as it may pain fans to hear it, there is no more extant material from the sessions—no outtakes, no rough drafts, no alternate versions. “For the 13 years I was in the band, we have no spare tracks at all,” Raymonde says. “If after an hour or two a track wasn’t coming together, we’d just get rid of it. If it wasn’t good now, our attitude was, it’ll never be any good. So we’d think, tomorrow’s another day—let’s go to the cinema and come back tomorrow, and see how it goes. Let’s go bowling.”
The other curious thing about the album—the fact that it was credited to all four players under their individual names—followed the same intuitive logic as everything else that went into the record. “It’s because it wasn’t a Cocteau Twins album,” Guthrie says. Raymonde concurs: “It was simple. All four of us have gone into the studio and done something, but it isn’t a Cocteau Twins album.” But perhaps the passage of time has changed matters. These days, on streaming services, you’ll find the album filed chronologically alongside the rest of the band’s work. “What’s interesting,” Guthrie adds, “is that I got the tape boxes from the studio, and guess what it says on it? ‘Cocteau Twins plus Harold Budd.’” Perhaps, he seems to suggest, the group got hung up on a detail that never really mattered. In any case, Raymonde says, “The more credit that Harold gets for the work he did, the more people that find his music because it’s in the Cocteau environment, the better.”
Despite all its quirks, The Moon and the Melodies has attracted a passionate fan base over the years. Its most atmospheric tracks routinely turn up in ambient DJ sets. 'Sea, Swallow Me' is one of the Cocteau Twins’ most streamed songs on Spotify, second only to Heaven or Las Vegas’ 'Cherry-coloured Funk'; it has also found new life on TikTok, where it serves as the soundtrack to innumerable expressions of hard-to-express melancholy. For such a low-key affair, the album casts a long shadow—but Raymonde believes the record’s uniqueness stems directly from its humble, unpremeditated origins. “It’s always about making something that’s pleasurable,” he says, “capturing a moment in time between friends that are enjoying making music together. Really, that’s the essence of it—the music was just a reflection of how nice a time we were having in the studio.”
