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In 1978 Having Been Built on Sand was conceived as a vinyl edition and released by the Rüdiger Schöttle gallery in Munich with sleeve design by Weiner. The piece consists of eight untitled tracks. Lawrence Weiner, Tina Girouard, and Britta Le Va recite text with Dickie Landry’s woodwinds, all recorded in the natural reverb of Robert Rauschenberg’s studio, a former mission and chapel in Lower Manhattan. Layering Girouard in English, Le Va in German, and Weiner in English and German blocks of related or physically proximal texts repeat, invert, and intersect with Landry’s music as a constant. The layers of text and sound have meanings that fluctuate in complexity and scope, and like much of Weiner’s work, beyond mere facts. The first piece is a trio for Landry’s keening tenor, repeating winnowed but breathy lines that contrast with and buoy Le Va’s clear, husky phrases, building in intensity as Weiner, in English, offers statements that are caught just off mic. The third cut adds Girouard, and one can hear woven parallels in the two women’s voices, cadences, and pitches, with Weiner’s cutting inflection dancing amid them. Landry’s bass clarinet is rich in its warble, full and gentle with woody footfalls that demarcate shapes through the chorus. Vocal rhythmic cycles, wordless in nature, are the energy that courses through the fourth song, urgent and sweaty as Weiner recites statements of political position in the Middle Ages, Le Va declaiming alongside in German. On soprano saxophone for the fifth tune, Landry pierces and darts in a bright manner in a private dialogue with himself, echoing Steve Lacy as female voices nearly bury one another in closely valued hues. Weiner, meanwhile, volleys between the LP’s title phrase and cornerstone proclamations such as “the artist may construct the piece. The piece may be fabricated. The piece need not be built.” The closing cut makes curious use of delay and alto flute, Landry’s breath and the inherent percussiveness of the instrument’s keys creating a slick rhythmic support that courses through overlapping vocal phrases, advancing and receding declarations of presence and intent.

Highly recommended for music fans interested in birds and animals.
A concert where composers compete with birds

Birds have been singing long before humans started making music. While humans create perfect music calculated and thought out, birds naturally produce strange tunes.
Composers have attempted to express natural phenomena and certain types of noise, but birdsong has been turned into music all over the world, each with their own ingenuity. In addition to Renaissance and Baroque paintings, you can also enjoy modern bird depictions by Saint-Saëns, Ravel, and Britten.
Furthermore, I listened to "Carnival of the Endangered Species" made by Vincent Bouchot by punning on Saint-Saëns' work. In the style of a classical suite, it draws unfamiliar animals, and the ending with "Humanity" is also meaningful and makes me think about various things. The booklet is full-color and has detailed explanations of various birds and animals.
La Réveuse is a period instrument group founded in 2004 by Florence Bolton and Benjamin Perrault. Although he mainly works on works from the 17th and 18th centuries, he has become a hot topic for composing works with themes that combine music and current affairs.

[Recording information]
1. Purcell: Prelude to Birds from "Fairy Queen"
2. Van Eyck: England's Nightingale - from "The Flute Paradise"
3. Theodor Schwarzkopf: Sonata in imitation of Nightingale and Cuckoo: Allegro/Gigue
4. F. Couperin / La Revouse: Nightingale in Love ~ from "Clavesin Songs Volume 3"
5. Jean-Baptiste Bousset/La Réveuse ed.: Why, sweet nightingale - from "Ale Volume 14"
6. Monteclaire: Chirping - Concert No. 5 for 2 flutes
7. F. Couperin/La Réveuse ed.: Lamenting Bunting - from "Clavesin Songs Volume 3"
8. Colette: Cuckoo
9. Saint-Saens/Vincent Bouchot: Cuckoo in the depths of the forest - from "Carnival of the Animals"
10. Britten/Vincent Bouchot Arr.: Cuckoo from "Friday Afternoon"
11. Rameau/Vincent Bouchot: Hens
12. Saint-Saëns/Vincent Bouchot: Hens and Roosters from "Carnival of the Animals"
13. Ravel/Vincent Bouchot: The Queen's Pottery Doll Redronet ~From "Ma Mère Roi"
14. Vincent Bouchot: Carnival of Endangered Species
Prelude: Sorrow of the Pangolin
Armando: Javanese Slow Loris
Courant: old poultry dodo
Intermezzo: Lesomira 63
Sarabande: white and black owls
Gavotte: Indian gharial (crocodile)
Intermezzo: Lesomira 92
Varus Twist: Sea Cucumber
Jeeg: Mankind, its evolution

Los Angeles Free Music Society (LAFMS) formed in the mid-1970s as a loose-knit experimental music collective and multimedia publishing vehicle. Founded by teenage Le Forte Four members Chip Chapman, Joe Potts and Rick Potts and soon joined by Tom Recchion of Doo-Dooettes, LAFMS incorporated free improvisation, modular synthesizers, tape music, sampling, musique concrète, homemade instruments, noise, mail art and avant-rock in permissive and anarchic sessions at the Raymond Building and Poo-Bah Record Shop in old Pasadena. Inspired by The Residents, LAFMS self-released records and periodicals, organized performances and connected with fellow outsiders via post in the years before punk. Their uninhibited, egalitarian ideal of music-making and DIY distribution would influence generations of underground musicians. Live At The Brand documents the second performance of newly formed LAFMS core groups Le Forte Four and Doo-Dooettes on July 8, 1976 at the recital hall of the Brand Library in Glendale. Le Forte Four (now joined by Tom Potts) did not actually perform live, but rather created 44 pyramid-shaped headphone helmets with internal quadraphonic speakers and countless wires in order to share their latest tape assemblages with showgoers deprived of sight. The recordings delivered in this Fluxus-inspired manner feature the Buchla synthesizer at nearby CalArts, radio interpolations, group improvisations, addled outbursts and splices from source material lost to time. Doo-Dooettes -- Tom Recchion, Harold Schroeder, Juan Gomez, Dennis Duck and Fredrik Nilsen -- performed a series of alternately droning and chaotic duets with guitar, percussion, piano, tape loops and synthesizer, all improvised around loosely structured compositions and culminating in a spontaneous group composition at the end of the program. Originally released in 1976, the double LP would be LAFMS' third release. This first-time vinyl reissue is limited to 500 numbered copies. Comes with inserts.

Donato Dozzy and Milanese veteran Stefano Ghittoni mint a new series on Dozzy's Mage Circe Musica imprint, channeling Daniele Baldelli's cosmic disco manifesto and exploring screwed rhythms, psychedelic electronix and blunted dub atmospheres. So good - imagine a half-speed Shinichi Atobe or Rrose spliced with GRM-damaged concréte FX and percussion courtesy of Konono No.1. Basically it's peak Dozzy syrup - Tip! Alicia Carrera and Donato Dozzy's Maga Circe Musica label has quickly established itself as an outlet for some of the most impressively tight experimental slop we've heard in ages. Dozzy and Ghittoni's first La Petit plate is no different, using the enduring influence of Northeastern Italian electronic music (think Baldelli and Marco Dionigi) to help transform and repurpose dub techno, folk, ambient music, jazz and global sounds. If Baldelli and Dionigi were best known for pushing disco's tempo down to a crawl, Dozzy and Ghittoni do the same with their wealth of diggers' influences, dipping hollow 4/4 percussion and syncopated hand drums to a chug on 'Sukia' and slowly building an atmosphere with low-slung bass and spooked electronics. Imagine holding down the pitch slider on a Badalamenti score and a Funkadelic 12” playing at the same time, for the gist. On 'Lanquidity' the duo pull in horizontal dub pads and place them against a resinous thud and swirling dub FX, played slower than it should be and somehow operating in the same gloopy zone as Newworldaquarium to emphasise mood and texture over technical trickery. 'Niento’ is even better, using smeared LM1 claps for a sort of assymetric, purple funk played at -8 while taking a fourth world-inspired rhythm and welding it to lysurgic synth drones and nipped kicks - it's a mid-point between vintage bleep techno, cosmic disco and rhythmic psychedelia. 'Le Petit' is over too soon, but gives us plenty to chew on: anyone who enjoys Dozzy's genre-agnostic DJ sets or the fertile area between hazy ambience and half-speed dancefloor zones - this one’s a killer.

Restful Modern Folk Gems !! The long-awaited debut album of Le Ren, a young female musician based in Montreal, Quebec, who emerged from the current Secretly Canadian, is now available. A collage of his youth who gathered more than four years of past experience and found the present meaning, and sewed personal songs about various relationships such as mothers, lovers, friends, etc. like patchwork. A masterpiece that can be said to be the sacred missing link of Joni Mitchell and Bob Dylan. This is the one I want many people to pick up!

Nurse With Wound List! Théâtre du Chêne Noir d'Avignon, a French avant-garde group founded in the late '60s by Gérard Gelas, a multi-instrumentalist and actor who plays everything from gongs to synths, drums and organ, released a rare 1971 album on Futura Records, an avant-garde jazz label known for its work with Sahib Shihab, Jacques Thollot and Steve Lacy. This is an official reissue from SouffleContinu, a prestigious label that digs up the life of the French avant-garde, from domestic progressive rock to the niche works of Saravah. The first album was recorded on June 22/23, 1971 at the chapel of the same name in Avignon, southern France (Steve Lacy recorded "Solo" there the following year). It's breathtaking to hear the horrible sounds. With a composition that is liturgical and imaginative, reminiscent of paganism and black magic, the saxophone, flute, electric guitar, percussion, and enigmatic French narratives and cries are intertwined, instantly transforming the sound field into another world. Remastered from the master tape. With an obi. Officially licensed by Futura Records.

"After a cancer diagnosis last year, Charlotte felt the urge to produce and release new music. ¡ÈIt became like a vital thing.¡É MRI Song and Planet Ping Pong were recorded during chemotherapy. Mind Contorted is a duet with Terry Hall, also featuring Terry¡Çs son Theodore, and Noel Gallagher on guitars, in a cover of Daniel Johnston. The song Fourteen Years is the oldest inclusion. Meant for LVC¡Çs second album — I Wish Dee Dee Ramone Was Here With Me — it announces a fresh, freer direction."

Glacial, spiky, trance-inducing new ensemble works from Lea Bertucci, featuring two extended compositions for harp, strings, percussion and electronics, layered into swirls of gaseous texture and sharp tonality. Highly recommended electroacoustic dreamweaving, tipped if you’re into Lucy Railton, Leila Bordreuil, Alvin Lucier. There isn't anything on Lea Bertucci's excellent last solo album 'A Visible Length of Light' that would give much of a hint as to where she would go next. On 'Of Shadow and Substance', she takes foundational blocks cast on her jaw-dropping 'Murmurations' collaboration with Ben Vida to formulate new material that's deep and invigorating. The same unusual, real-time mixing techniques are put into practice on the title track ‘Of Shadow and Substance’, working into elements provided by bassist Henry Fraser, cellist Lester St. Louis, harpist Lucia Stravros and percussionist Matt Evans. “It is a meditation on time travel” Bertucci tells us, asking the listener to consider the way events from the past propel themselves into the future. Towards the end of the 22 minute piece, all those frayed elements coalesce into a stunning Raga-esque exhalation that’s emotionally and spiritually engrossing. On 'Vapours', Bertucci collaborates with Italy’s Quartetto Maurice to create a textural movement that retreats from the idea of single melodies or solos, preferring to focus on the power that an ensemble has when working as a single unit. Bertucci's processing here is radically minimalist, sometimes almost imperceptible. Strings are stretched, phased and blurred, forcing the listener to consider the nature of sound itself by locking into unusual timbral interactions, using just intonation techniques to enrich a sense of deep, historical significance. If 'A Visible Length of Light' was Bertucci's attempt at transforming elements of jazz, folk and gospel into atemporal, expressive abstraction, 'Of Shadow and Substance' does the same with experimental minimalism, intensifying and subverting its core sound to a point of near-delirium. It highlights Bertucci once again as an artist whose conceptual curiosity always seems to lead her down fascinating new ginnels, and it’s always a pleasure to tag along for the ride.

Swooping, sub-heavy sci-fi from Riz Maslen. Leda Maar is a new moniker for the established artist who’s released a crop of downtempo and electronic music as Neotropic and Small Fish With Spine, as well as collaborated with the likes of Future Sound of London, filmmaker Andrew Kötting, and featured in PSP-era Grand Theft Auto soundtracks. Mana’s long lasting love of Riz’s 1996 Laundrophonic EP, released under her Neotropic name, spurred this new release. That 12” was a deep and dark web of rhythm and ghostly urban found sound that one Discogs reviewer aptly named “coin-slot Dubstep”. With elements mostly sourced from tape recordings made in and of her local laundromat, it still stands out as a remarkably contemporary feeling work; more like a post-Fisher, post-hauntology observation of urban life from the last decade, taking the ambient temperature and undercurrent pressures of the 90s. Asking if she had anything in continuity with this slice of her discography, and describing our interest in her take on “space and bass”, Maslen returned to us with Stairway 13. Heavy-lidded and ethereal in long form, Stairway 13's balance of bass weight, mechanical metre, and darkly tinted new age feels like a cinematic re-approach to some of the textures, moods, and themes of Laundrophonic. Originally composed for an installation, Stairway 13 folds in her decades’ experience in sound design and theatre, along with shards and elements abstracted from her more recent folk-like music, zoning into a deep, retreated, altogether dreamlike and expansive atmosphere. The scale and soundscape is reminiscent of Geinoh Yamashirogumi and their Ecophony album series, resonating to similar frequencies and exploring themes of chaos and rebirth in feature-length form. Stairway 13’s four parts spread and swoop as single extended sides across this double LP. Carried by waves of sub bass and heavenly chorus, and later punctuated with autonomic clicks of machinery, whirrs, and pulses -sometimes reminiscent of FSOL’s weirder and more clipped staccato sampling in sections of their cyberpunk ISDN-the work forms a gothic, otherworldly ambience. A subtle space opera.

Record producer, composer, singer, and pioneer of the dub music genre Lee Scratch Perry passed away in August 2021. His influence over popular music since the 1970s is hugely significant, with artists including Bob Marley & The Wailers, The Clash, Beastie Boys, Max Romeo, Junior Murvin and The Orb all enriched by Perry’s legendary touch, innovative studio techniques and production style. Conceived, written and recorded during the COVID pandemic, ‘King Perry’ was produced by Daniel Boyle, and features guest performances from Greentea Peng, Shaun Ryder, Tricky, Marta, Rose Waite and Fifi Rong. Two tracks were also co-produced with Tricky, who releases Perry’s last recorded performances on his False Idols label. Over a career spanning six decades, Lee Scratch Perry left the music world with a huge catalogue of albums, productions and appearances that cannot be underestimated. Releases for Island Records, Trojan, Adrian Sherwood’s On-U Sound, Mad Professor’s Ariwa...the list goes on. It was in 2014 that Perry teamed up with UK producer Daniel Boyle, and from this collaboration came the Grammy nominated album ‘Back At The Controls’ and was followed up five years later with the ‘Black Album’. The ‘King Perry’ album was born out of a request from Perry that he “wanted to do something new, something different but still with a dub framework”. And so, armed with influences as diverse as synthwave, big beat, drum & bass and electronica, Boyle and Perry traded ideas, beats and lyrics in a project that continued to grow as its various guest performers were added, resulting in a kaleidoscopic and engaging melting pot of rhythms, melodies, and voices. Poignantly, closing track ‘Goodbye’ was Perry’s last ever recorded vocal performance.

We've all experienced earworms - those phrases or riffs that spiral through your head for an eternity, materializing when you least expect it. On 'Models', Brummie producer Lee Gamble lets these sonic spectres inform a suite of illusory anthems, subliming vulnerable, half-remembered fragments of dream pop, Soundcloud rap and trance in the process. Sung by cybernetic voices in an almost wordless language, his widescreen memories reverberate across the last few decades of pop history, smudging Elizabeth Frazer's surreal poetry into disembodied diva cries and Lil Uzi Vert's abstract, AutoTuned mumbles. 

It's a technique that advances the theories behind Gamble's 2012 album 'Diversions 1994-1996', when the producer vaporized interludes and breakdowns from his collection of jungle tapes into ghosted echoes. He surveys and blurs musical history in much the same way here, but swerves sampling completely and isn't in search of passive, ambient euphoria. On 'Models' Gamble instead trains his focus on the synthetic voice, an element that's far more conspicuous. Loose phrases were fed into a series of neural networks which would attempt to mimic them and sing them back, often corrupting them into indecipherable clouds. Gamble's role was to make sense of the chatter and twist these non-words into tight emotional coils. Extracting the most haunted fragments and using them to sculpt dreamy pop simulacrums, Gamble takes the concept of the pop producer to its logical extreme - examining how intonation and language is engineered to monopolize our attention, his uncomfortably addicting, magical realist inversion of pop plays like a bewitching symphony of earworms. 

The record's front cover is a dimly lit photograph of a West Midlands motorway, rooting Gamble's effervescent fantasies in lived albeit flimic reality. It's a direct link to the producer's home turf and a conscious attempt to sidestep the visual aesthetics of contemporary digital art. 

On 'Purple, Orange' Gamble's process is heralded by a crooning, artificial wail. As unsettling and out-of-body as an episode of déjà vu, it's marked with eldritch wrinkles that pitch it closer to Carnatic scales, stressing that the transhuman voice doesn't come from a single place, but all places at once: no-one and everyone. 

Like a premonition of a hyperpop-trip-hop fusion that hasn't happened yet, Models is saccharine and melancholy at once. And just as Tricky perfectly represented the mid-'90s by costuming vintage soul and rap with his visionary outfits, Gamble fits out his sonic mannequins in the drapery of the algorithmic age: DAW-fried vocal artifacts, mannered, hyperreal instrumentation and cavernous digital reverb. The meaning we attach to pop is often our own. Sometimes the words are right there - "so close to me," we can make out through the dust - before they're split into fractal shapes and devolved into gibberish. It's pop music, but it ain't background music. 

Pressure Sounds, a renowned label known for its archival reissues of rare and high-quality reggae and dub material, has released a superb compilation of Lee Perry's music from the golden age of Black Ark. The compilation includes an unreleased dubplate mix of Junior Murvin's "Roots Train" and an unreleased dubplate mix of Jimmy Riley's "Woman Gotta Have Love," as well as hard-to-find 7" and rare 12" mixes.

6 tracks including a couple of edits mixes from Paolo Baldini 'Dubfiles'. Upsetter magic at its finest. Comes in a grey custom bag. Because Upsetter does it better!!

Originally issued in 1973, Blackboard Jungle Dub is considered a milestone in the history of dub. Tracks include "African Skank" -- based on Junior Byles' "A Place Called Africa" -- and "Dreamland Skank", "Moving Skank" and "Kaya Skank" which are dub versions of Wailers" "Dreamland", "Keep On Moving" and "Kaya".

70年代中頃のBlack Ark 時代の音源を集めた、サイケデリックなダブ満載のアルバム。

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…" Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within." "I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them. "Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone." "People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something. "That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me." In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…" Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within." "I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them. "Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone." "People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something. "That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me." In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

"As a discarded record collection of notorious Cafe Extase crossed their path, Left Bank constructed their own warped version of club music. The era was acid-jazz, p-funk and rare groove, the records covered in thick layers of mold and dust. Recorded a few streets from where the action once took place, Kelder Extase forms a musical resurrection of a basement that has disappeared."

Cellist, composer & sound​ artist Leila Bordreuil takes us deep into the bowels and liminal spaces of a deserted NYC with 40 minute long contrasting works of a tempestuous and sorely enervated nature, played on location in the subway at the Ralph Avenue subway stop in Brooklyn - complete with passing trains, people, and tension in the air. If you’re into anything from Arthur Russell to Lea Bertucci - this one’s a total headmelt. First pinging our radar with her ‘Headflush’ album for Catch Wave back in 2019, Leila Bordreuil has a tactile, extreme approach to the cello, one that focuses on its visceral aspects in a way that mimics the most spirited, fraught and melancholy human emotions. Despite the complex nature of her playing, you can trace Bordreuil's lineage back to Arthur Russell’s defining ‘World Of Echo’ in methodology and spirit - Leila plays with no processing or effect pedals, everything stems from the player, her instrument, and their surroundings. On ‘For Tamio’ - Leila performs in tribute to her collaborator and saxophonist Tamio Shiraishi, whose late night performances at the Spring Street subway, 10 stops away from Ralph Avenue, greatly inspired her own approach to capturing and playing with resonance in the subway. For just shy of 20 mins, she makes the air burn and buckle with a combustible grasp of loud/quiet dynamics and keening discord that has us seat-edge by the end. The setting is evocative to the extreme - the usually chaotic and bustling subway station now emptied of its usual inhabitants, reclaimed as a performance space in which Leila played late into the night - accompanied by memories and echoes of life, as well as a person living in the subway station who started dancing to her music, an engrossed audience of one. In contrast, ‘Past Continuous’ on the flipside was recorded in Leila’s building’s hallway, where she attached a brick to the pedal of a broken upright piano and angled her microphones in a way that gave the illusion of a large reverberant room. Adding sinewaves to enhance natural frequencies, the result is a heartbeat sketch that operates at barely perceptible levels of tonality, working in a liminal space with almost hallucinatory, ghostly overtones and a colossal sub that speaks to the anxiety dreams of a megatropolis in stasis. ‘Not An Elegy’ is a grippingly stark work that owes as much to the city’s history of jazz as it does to experimental classical forms. It's an uneasy but deeply life-affirming trip through the dense fog of memory and modern anxiety, coaxed by a player whose hands shape, and whose feelings ooze through the recordings in a way that’s impossible not to be affected by in the deepest sense. It’s a remarkable document of a time, and an artist, right on the cusp.

Memory is malleable. The day you met the person you love, what color shirt was she wearing? At precisely what angle did the sunlight strike his face? How exactly did they glow? These little details are precious, but the strange thing is, the more you cherish them, the more they change. Each recollection is another potential touch point where stories can shift—each replay degrades the truth. Reality’s rough edges smooth, with time. Objectivity is a myth: cameras and recording devices all contort image and sound. There’s no way to know exactly how things were. And yet we still tell the stories, to try to capture how things felt, even though the truth is always slipping through our fingers. Lemon Quartet’s second album Arts Fests eems to unconsciously circle this thematic territory. Full of loose, yet lush repetition, it seems to function like memory—each dizzy melody recalling and rewriting what came before, subtly shaping each piece as time passes. Not that they seem especially concerned with the passage of time anyway. They space out, they work in the realm of feelings, scribbling melodious abstractions that feel familiar. Rich with compassion, harmony, and gestures toward ecstatic—if not objective—truth, it’s full of the sort of pieces that demand you return to them, but sound a bit different each time, new details overtaking familiar comforts. Are you hearing them for the first time? Or just for the first time in a long time? Either way, drift away, and try to remember…

“How to begin? No beginning... never ending reverberation,” Antoine Beuger writes in the accompanying notes to Leo Svirsky’s River Without Banks. Dedicated to his first piano teacher Irena Orlov, River Without Banks is a mesmerizing, emotional collection of pieces that are simultaneously complex and fluid. The title River Without Banks comes from a chapter of musicologist Genrikh “Henry” Orlov’s profound work Tree of Music. In said chapter, Orlov traces the history of sacred music from the Western and Eastern tradition and how the forms (of the chant, raga etc.) sought to eliminate the division between the physical and the spiritual--the bank and the river.

Arranged for two pianos with accompaniment from strings, trumpet, and electronics, this is Svirsky’s first piece to approach the history of the piano and the possibilities of the recording studio, and his deepest dive yet into exploring the instability of listening and its transformation of musical semantics and affect. Like Wolfgang Voigt’s Gas project, Svirsky overlays romantic musical gestures to create a lush unfamiliarity. No sooner than each track begins the next moment unfurls beneath it, cascading time and blurring perception of past and present.

Akin to a multidimensional Rzewski thematic interpretation, Svirsky’s music defies genre-classification or classical ideology while its virtuosity clearly stems from somewhere from within disciplined traditions. Continuously revisiting, revising, and renewing its emotional core, River Without Banks is less an album of songs than songs of a singular, unlocatable album. Performed by the composer with assistance from Britton Powell, Max Eilbacher, Leila Bordreuil, Tim Byrnes, and recorded by Al Carlson.

“How to begin? No beginning... never ending reverberation,” Antoine Beuger writes in the accompanying notes to Leo Svirsky’s River Without Banks. Dedicated to his first piano teacher Irena Orlov, River Without Banks is a mesmerizing, emotional collection of pieces that are simultaneously complex and fluid. The title River Without Banks comes from a chapter of musicologist Genrikh “Henry” Orlov’s profound work Tree of Music. In said chapter, Orlov traces the history of sacred music from the Western and Eastern tradition and how the forms (of the chant, raga etc.) sought to eliminate the division between the physical and the spiritual--the bank and the river.

Arranged for two pianos with accompaniment from strings, trumpet, and electronics, this is Svirsky’s first piece to approach the history of the piano and the possibilities of the recording studio, and his deepest dive yet into exploring the instability of listening and its transformation of musical semantics and affect. Like Wolfgang Voigt’s Gas project, Svirsky overlays romantic musical gestures to create a lush unfamiliarity. No sooner than each track begins the next moment unfurls beneath it, cascading time and blurring perception of past and present.

Akin to a multidimensional Rzewski thematic interpretation, Svirsky’s music defies genre-classification or classical ideology while its virtuosity clearly stems from somewhere from within disciplined traditions. Continuously revisiting, revising, and renewing its emotional core, River Without Banks is less an album of songs than songs of a singular, unlocatable album. Performed by the composer with assistance from Britton Powell, Max Eilbacher, Leila Bordreuil, Tim Byrnes, and recorded by Al Carlson.

Felis Catus and Silence is a breakthrough release for Tokyo composer-guitarist Leo Takami, following the milestone albums Children’s Song (2012) and Tree of Life (2017). Takami counterpoints the soothing aesthetics of prime-era Windham Hill New Age guitar-heroism with meditative, intellectual compositions comprised of ambitious, process-oriented arrangements. While Takami largely wears his genre influences on his sleeve -- jazz, classical, Japanese gagaku -- the influence of ambient music is a tacit foundation of his work. Working diligently outside of any established communities for fringe musics, Takami conjures this association through a patient focus on generous musical intervals. Steady, kaleidoscopic unfolding of his compositions reflect Takami’s creative intent to “become aware of precisely the time and place I am living.” The unabashedly sweet, tuneful virtues of his music in concert with this reflective form provide an artistic relief of Takami’s thematic harmony. “Each song is based on birth and death, and moving onto the next stage...”

Leo Takami, born 1970, studied guitar under Hideaki Tsumura (aka Kamekichi Tsumura) and performs regularly in Tokyo.

Adroit jazz guitar, prog rock fantasia, and Japanese environmental music all rest comfortably behind Leo Takami's Next Door. The follow up to the acclaimed Felis Catus & Silence, Next Door finds Takami ruminating on passages — of time, seasons, consciousness. Through music, Leo contemplates daily events and finds beauty in ordinary moments. He also seems to be questioning the value of being stuck in the world, allowing his mind to wander towards something beyond it. His music is earnest, deeply personal and introspective, and is sort of akin to Rousseau’s Reveries of the Solitary Walker or Kenji Miyazawa’s Night on the Galactic Railroad. On “As If Listening” Takami takes inspiration from a Van Gogh art show organized chronologically, articulating the sense of “enlightened resignation” that is intrinsic in the act of creativity. “Beyond” is a dream of otherworldly nostalgia, a watercolor of past lives. His music is a hazy cinema of memory, the soundtrack to a cherished memory that may have never really happened, but still radiates in the mind like the sun on an unusually warm winter day.