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Gastr Del Sol emerged from the remains of Bastro in 1992 with the brooding, mostly drumless album, ‘The Serpentine Similar’. This represented an unlikely evolution from the fury of Bastro, but evolution was only getting started - and ‘unlikely’ was one of the ongoing principles in Gastr Del Sol’s approach. Before the sessions for the second album, Bundy Brown left the group and David Grubbs asked Jim O’Rourke to come play. 1994’s ‘Crookt, Crackt Or Fly’ tangled the clean lines of the original band in the writing, playing and editing of the music. This was all very fascinating, but it wasn’t until the five songs of ‘Mirror Repair’ that the compelling space of Gastr Del Sol could be fully perceived. ‘Mirror Repair’ was rife with guitar interplay, but Gastr coloured the palette with piano, drums and a sudden and rattling variety of woodwinds, all evoking the obsessive pull of a deep-seeded conviction, an insistent image that one cannot forget in a dense atmosphere with riffs patterning over each other and fading into landscape. The quieting of Gastr Del Sol had been dialling down since the start; here the silences were as essential a part of the sound as the sound was. In a fast five song mini album, length and depth were impossibly extended as part of the many moods of Gastr Del Sol. Albert Oehlen’s cover art provided a perfect counterpart to the sounds within, providing also a shout out to The Red Krayola, where David and Albert met during their mutual involvement with Mayo Thompson. The best in this vein was yet to come - but with ‘Mirror Repair’, Gastr had made something definitive. Now, the bold sounds of nearly twenty years ago are back in the groove, freshly cut for 21st ears to hear. You need ‘Mirror Repair’.
Upgrade & Afterlife stands as a pivotal and singular recording in the catalog of Gastr del Sol, the duo of David Grubbs and Jim O’Rourke. Originally released in 1996, this album is frequently cited as a landmark of post-rock and experimental music, praised for its blend of avant-garde abstraction, folk minimalism, and a restless, exploratory spirit. The album opens with “Our Exquisite Replica of ‘Eternity’,” a piece that has become emblematic for many listeners: a slow-building, cinematic soundscape that combines mangled drones, brassy orchestral samples (from Hans J. Salter’s The Incredible Shrinking Man soundtrack), and electronic textures to create a sense of alien strangeness and emotional depth. The track’s title, inspired by a sign on a Japanese perfume vending machine, hints at the band’s playful conceptual approach.
Throughout Upgrade & Afterlife, Gastr del Sol continually subverts expectations: “Rebecca Sylvester” begins as a sparse guitar ballad before dissolving into ambient abstraction, while “Hello Spiral” and “The Relay” explore fractured electronics, shifting grooves, and prismatic vocal layers. The closing track, a cover of John Fahey’s “Dry Bones in the Valley (I Saw the Light Come Shining ‘Round and ‘Round),” features a guest appearance by Tony Conrad on violin, bridging American folk traditions with the avant-garde and providing a fittingly monumental conclusion.
Critics have described the album as “stark and minimalist at times, jazzy and far-ranging at others,” with a unique ability to make “background music that quietly asserts itself into the foreground”. Pitchfork noted its way of letting “folk and avant-garde abstract each other into something warm, minimal, and slanted”. The album’s cover, Wasserstiefel (Water Boots) by Roman Signer, further underscores its enigmatic and conceptual nature.
Upgrade & Afterlife remains a touchstone for listeners seeking music that is as immediate as it is strange, as spiky as it is immersive-a record that continues to reveal new layers with every listen, and a high point in the collaboration between Grubbs and O’Rourke
To celebrate 100 years of the Theremin, Gaudi has created an album of Theremin infused dub, with precious contribuitions by some of his friends and collaborators. Developed in 1920 by Russian physicist Léon Theremin, the Theremin is an electronic device which works with magnetic fields and consists of one metal antenna controlled without physical contact. Predominantly a fairly niche instrument, it has featured in several styles of music since its creation, from classical works to sci-fi movie soundtracks, pop and rock. Gaudi was supported in this tribute by five of the world's top dub producers - Mad Professor, Adrian Sherwood, The Scientist, Dennis Bovell and Prince Fatty. All hugely respected individuals who have been representing the best of international dub production for the last 50 years, they have provided the riddims that underpin Gaudi's Theremin playing on this astonishing project. As a solo artist, Gaudi has recorded over 20 albums, while as a producer he has hundreds of productions under his belt. In his 30 year career he has worked with legends of the reggae and electronic music worlds including Steel Pulse, Lee "Scratch" Perry, Michael Rose, Horace Andy, Michael Franti, Zion Train, Maxi Priest, The Beat, Sizzla, Dub Pistols, Hollie Cook, Dub FX, Youth, The Orb, Simple Minds, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Deep Forest, Trentemøller and Lamb. As a Theremin player for over 25 years, Gaudi has often combined his passion for the instrument and for reggae music, playing it on several of his albums, but until now he has never dedicated an entire release to it. Known and lauded for putting his "dub-take" on many musical genres, '100 Years of Theremin (The Dub Chapter)' is Gaudi's brainchild. Listening to this blissful out-of-body-experience of an album, where roots reggae meets the enigmatic and ethereal sounds of sci-fi, is a deep and pensive experience. Haunting and mellifluous melodies meets earthy, bassy grooves in an unlikely yet undeniably successful union.
Gaudi’s Jazz Gone Dub is a masterclass in genre fusion, seamlessly blending the improvisational essence of jazz with the heavy atmospheric grooves of dub. Known for his eclectic approach to music production, Gaudi pushes the boundaries yet again, creating a sonic landscape that feels both nostalgic and refreshingly innovative.
Four years in the making, from the opening track it’s clear that Jazz Gone Dub is more than just a mashup of styles, it's a thoughtful exploration of the intersections between two rich musical traditions.
Gaudi’s multi-instrumental talents are on full display, and the presence of reggae royalty is palpable, courtesy of rootsy melodies from David Hinds (Steel Pulse), Jah Wobble’s iconic bass grooves, Ernest Ranglin’s intricate guitar lines and Sly & Robbie’s rhythmic genius.
Add Colin Edwin of Porcupine Tree, Sardinia’s Train to Roots band, Manu Chao collaborator Roy Paci, veteran guitarist Marcus Upbeat, Mr Woodnote and Tim Hutton’s brass work, Gavin Tate-Lovery’s sultry sax and flute, Horseman’s percussive flair plus Vlastur’s serious basslines, and the result is a rhythmic foundation that’s both solid and fluid, allowing the jazz elements to float freely above the dub undercurrents.
Despite this star-studded line-up, Gaudi remains the glue that holds this gem together: his production is meticulous yet organic, allowing each track to breathe and evolve naturally. The use of space, delays and reverb—a hallmark of dub music—is expertly handled, giving the album a dreamy, immersive quality. Tracks like Susceptible and Alabaster Moon showcase Gaudi’s ability to create mood and atmosphere without sacrificing melodic and rhythmic complexity.
In Jazz Gone Dub Gaudi has crafted an album that feels both timeless and forward-thinking, a celebration of musical synergy where the free-spirit of jazz meets the deep resonance of dub. Whether you’re a fan of either genre or simply appreciate masterful musicianship and innovative production, this album is a must-listen.
Gaudi’s Jazz Gone Dub is a masterclass in genre fusion, seamlessly blending the improvisational essence of jazz with the heavy atmospheric grooves of dub. Known for his eclectic approach to music production, Gaudi pushes the boundaries yet again, creating a sonic landscape that feels both nostalgic and refreshingly innovative.
Four years in the making, from the opening track it’s clear that Jazz Gone Dub is more than just a mashup of styles, it's a thoughtful exploration of the intersections between two rich musical traditions.
Gaudi’s multi-instrumental talents are on full display, and the presence of reggae royalty is palpable, courtesy of rootsy melodies from David Hinds (Steel Pulse), Jah Wobble’s iconic bass grooves, Ernest Ranglin’s intricate guitar lines and Sly & Robbie’s rhythmic genius.
Add Colin Edwin of Porcupine Tree, Sardinia’s Train to Roots band, Manu Chao collaborator Roy Paci, veteran guitarist Marcus Upbeat, Mr Woodnote and Tim Hutton’s brass work, Gavin Tate-Lovery’s sultry sax and flute, Horseman’s percussive flair plus Vlastur’s serious basslines, and the result is a rhythmic foundation that’s both solid and fluid, allowing the jazz elements to float freely above the dub undercurrents.
Despite this star-studded line-up, Gaudi remains the glue that holds this gem together: his production is meticulous yet organic, allowing each track to breathe and evolve naturally. The use of space, delays and reverb—a hallmark of dub music—is expertly handled, giving the album a dreamy, immersive quality. Tracks like Susceptible and Alabaster Moon showcase Gaudi’s ability to create mood and atmosphere without sacrificing melodic and rhythmic complexity.
In Jazz Gone Dub Gaudi has crafted an album that feels both timeless and forward-thinking, a celebration of musical synergy where the free-spirit of jazz meets the deep resonance of dub. Whether you’re a fan of either genre or simply appreciate masterful musicianship and innovative production, this album is a must-listen.
Music From Memory's fourth release sees the Amsterdam based label taking an exciting sidestep with the release of “Clouds”, an album of contemporary music recorded in spring 2014. “Clouds” is the debut album of Gaussian Curve, a collaboration between Italian ambient pioneer Gigi Masin, Land Of Light’s Jonny Nash and Marco Sterk (also know as Young Marco).
Each of them established in their own rights, the three musicians from Italy, UK and the Netherlands, came together during a weekend long recording session in April of this year.Without preconceived ideas and developed around often purely intuitive improvised jams, the eight tracks on the album are all 'one take' live recordings. With Gigi Masin on Rhodes and piano, Jonny Nash on guitar, melodica, synths and trumpet and Marco Sterk on synths, rhythmic structures and production duties, the three of them succeed in developing a musical language all of their own.
Recorded in the heart of Amsterdam's Red Light district, the album reflects the unusually warm Spring and the buzz from the open windows that filled the derelict downtown studio space during that particular weekend. Whilst on the more introvert late night compositions the music quietly soars, reflecting the brooding melancholy of an evening in that particular part of the city. With a heartfelt simplicity “Clouds” is a record of an inspired meeting of unique souls and unique surroundings.
Rosacea sounds as strange and demented as all the previous albums by this Norwegian one-man project (on Feeding Tube and Ultra Eczema). But it sounds right. Just like he claimed in a recent interview about his untraditional approach to writing songs: "I just make stuff until it sounds right". It sounds absolutely right in fact.
As puzzling and lunatic as he may seem, yet a sense of order emanates from the idiosyncrasies featured on this album. Ghédalia Tazartès is a cursory reference. Especially on Carmelade. However, the spectrum of sound and compositions on Rosacea manage to actually transcend the late French eccentric composer and singer.
This is truly unique.
On composing Tom Phillips' Irma
In February and March of 1977, for Brian Eno’s Obscure Records, I made a version of Irma. The following notes on the piece arise out of that involvement and try to show how the piece can be made into a performance state.
Irma is a curious score – it is printed on a single sheet 50cms x 50cms. The notation consists of fragments from Tom’s continuing treatment of the victorian novel by W. H. Mallock, which he calls A Humument, and utilises those short verbal fragments that refer to either ‘‘libretto’’, ‘‘decor and mise-en-scène’’ or ‘‘sounds’’. These 3 categories are arranged in separate sections on the square sheet with, at the bottom, a line of stave notation. At first sight it looks like a piece of indeterminate music – clearly there has to be some preparatory work done before it is performable and no-one would venture to perform directly from the score - but if it is approached in this spirit, like realising a piece by John Cage or Morton Feldman written during the 1950’s, the sounding results are either largely of a documentary
interest, or rely entirely on the gifted performer to make into a coherent sounding whole. True, one could say the same thing for a piece by Cage, such as Variations I, but there the
performer is given a number of precise parameters of sound within which he should work, whereas Irma needs to be re-composed rather than realised.
If the distinction between ‘‘composing’’ and ‘‘realising’’ is overlooked, and if only the materials present in the notation are used, then the result is likely to be impoverished and it is clear that, looked at in isolation as a self-contained work, the score is notationally very thin. So one either produces an impoverished piece of sounding music, or one takes the responsibility to look further. Tom does not say explicitly that one must go beyond Irma into the rest of his work, but he does say that one has to go outside the piece. On the score he writes: ‘‘Perhaps to treat the indications here given as if they were the only surviving fragments of an ancient opera, or fragments of eye and ear witnesses’ accounts of such, and given no knowledge of performance tradition of the time, to reconstruct a hypothetical whole which would accommodate them economically, would be an appropriate basis of approach to a production.’’ So, try to put it back together and try to fill in all the gaps between these fragments. This approach, which, incidentally coincides with an interest in such procedures within my own work, seems to be the most suitable. If the ‘‘composer’’ uses the sorts of methods that Tom evidently uses in producing pictures, in making A Humument (of which Irma is a part), and if he uses the notations of Irma as clues to lead him into whatever area seems likely to yield rich results, then a much more satisfactory outcome is likely – satisfactory both in terms of the quality of the sounding material and in terms of consistency with the rest of Tom’s oeuvre.
There are clearly many ways in which the various fragments of verbal notation can be used. One fruitful way was to take each of the fragments as the notes of, say, a critic at the only performance of the work (in a hypothetical past), perhaps jotted down on the back of an envelope (then torn into fragments in a rage, or through frustration at some element in the piece? Make the piece inadequate in some way?!). These elements, then, would have been memorable for some reason or other, or used as an aide-memoire to recall something else (even something outside the work). The elements could have occurred at evenly-spaced intervals throughout the performance, they may have all been featured in some way (loudly, as solos), they may have been the worst parts (being retained to damn the piece in a subsequent review, since lost or never written – the composer got wind of the review and murdered the critic, retaining the fragments as the only link with the crime. . .). On the other hand they could be used as discrete musical units quite separate from the main body of the work, which has to be looked for elsewhere. Whatever solution, or combination of solutions, is found it is evident that the composer and librettist are more or less obliged to move outside the work itself i.e. outside the printed score. (One of the original ideas I had, which was not very practical, was to see if I could use another opera called Irma. A possibility was one written by H. J. Banawitz first performed in 1885, which would have had the right period in terms of the connection with the W. H. Mallock original. This seems to have had few performances, perhaps only one, and seems to have disappeared. I thought of looking for the manuscript, treating it in the same way as Tom had treated the Mallock novel, and making a sort of ‘‘musical Humument’’ out of it. While that seemed to have some intellectual sympathy with Tom's work, it might not have sounded anything like an opera, and it did seem to me that one of the notions of Irma is that it is conventional to some degree. Indeed, while much of Tom’s musical work lies within the field of experimental music and graphic notation, his musical taste is conservative, and the greater part of the musical references in the main body of his work are to past, and historically respectable, composers like Brahms, Mozart, Fux, Scarlatti and so on.)
The sources that were used, then, in making the piece apart from the score itself involved the following. I obtained the volumes of A Humument and noted all connection with music, with the role of Irma, and with the possible narrative; I looked at all the prints of Ein Deutsches Requiem after Brahms, which use elements from the Humument and refer directly to a musical work; I went through the catalogue of Tom’s work (Works. Texts to 1974); I went through Trailer, which uses the Humument, in fact a spin off from the main work; I went through all the other pieces of music that he has written to see if they could be used in any way; and I checked as many paintings/prints that I could which had a direct or indirect connection with either A Humument, Irma or with music. The painting The Quest for Irma (1973) which shows her in back view looking out to sea gave much information. It is the only portrait of her and she appears even here as anonymous, or rather, faceless. It gives a marine setting for the work (though since at least two pieces of music that I have written deal, to some degree, with marine incidents it might be argued that I might have been better off avoiding such a reference, but it is very blatant). She is looking out to sea from the Dorset coast and this attitude seems to be characteristic of her behaviour: ‘‘I tell you. . . that’s Irma herself. . . watching the waves fall. . . repeating certain sorts of verse. . .’’ So here we have an elusive heroine, obsessively watching the sea off the Dorset coast, given to repetition. Further checks within the Humument revealed a spate of marine references: ‘‘boat of dreams. . . lost on rocks’’; ‘‘the sad horizon of sea, hours she spent with her sadness on the beach’’; ‘‘see, see, the things. . . the things from the changed sea’’; ‘‘a cruise in an opium clipper’’; ‘‘marine engines and boilers’’; ‘‘ten years’ travel and sport in foreign lands’’; ‘‘a certain light flashed. . . among the eastern clouds’’; ‘‘sinking lights. . .’’ and so on. On the other hand, she is not in mourning since she wears a bright red dress.
One page of A Humument is almost a summary of the feeling of Irma and is certainly one that I tried to emulate. ‘‘. . . The whole history of it is so vague. . . eagerly, gradually the words that I heard I put aside as an opera, an insufficient one; still organ for what – me, me. . . I can’t quite tell. hardly books. . . it was the libretto of the music, of the music – I can’t tell. . . I can’t tell - but all was for the same thing to capture in drawing, and to express in music, thought and study. . . the loss. . . the least important. . . moon I myself am myself in search of an object for love? way? Yes and no – enter myself. . . associating me and me. It made me within me some mystery. . .’’
Other pages give more precise information about particular sounds, rhythms, timbres and so on. The instrumentation was, to a large extent, governed by the references to musical instruments that I found in all these sources. ‘‘Tube’’ suggested tuba. The piano is mentioned
many times, especially in connection with John Tilbury. The gong is specified – ‘‘suddenly a gong in series’’ – which also gave me the whole of a short percussion interlude between the second and third sections of the work. Strings were suggested by a phrase ‘‘the history viola’’ occurring in A Humument and this gave me a reason to feature the viola in some way, in fact using it in unison with the female voice, identifying the viola with the title of the opera. The fact of having strings is such a convention of normal orchestral scoring that it would really have needed a positive clue to the contrary to have excluded them, bearing in mind the relationship of the piece to musical convention.
I used the tuned percussion, and especially metallic instruments, from certain onomatopaeic syllables, like ‘‘ting’’, ‘‘ping’’, ‘‘ding’’ which I had originally considered using as a chorus of instrumental imitations, but decided ultimately to use the instruments themselves.
Two of the prints from Ein Deutsches Requiem after Brahms gave me a great deal of material for the second section of the opera, a slow duet between the two main characters. Print number 5 shows a number of parasols, both closed and open, and has the legend ‘‘. . . a sound was given up’’ taken from A Humument. That particular picture suggested itself since there is, within both the score of Irma and within the published Humument a fragment which reads ‘‘the first parasol sound’’, with the addition, in Irma, of ‘‘f, f’’ indicating loud. From the text of the Requiem printed on the picture, I could find the precise section of music in the
Brahms original which consists of a solo for trombone (in the score I use baritone horn for its greater flexibility and ease of pitching, but it uses the same range, and has the added advantage of resembling the French Horn, an instrument more closely associated with noble operatic melodies.). The ‘‘parasol sound’’, then, indicated that I should use that particular instrument. What it plays came from another source, from the score of Irma. which gives ‘‘quiet, high, intonation divine. . .’’ and ‘‘. . . drops the tone . . . various phrases. . .’’ all of which enabled me to have that particular instrument playing, with "divine intonation’’, a long melodic line consisting of a descending stepwise chromatic scale from top E down an octave, but very elongated. The other use of the Requiem was for the other half of the slow section, and used the following print, number 6, which refers to a sequence of rather chromatic chords in the original which I used as fragments, like the Irma score, inserting chords of my own between groups of those by Brahms to make a new sequence. So the whole of the second section uses references to the Brahms Requiem – in the first half to the harmonic content (vertical), in the second half to the melodic line (horizontal).
The last section of the piece, a chorus ‘‘Love is help, mate’’ uses a page of A Humument that is dedicated to Morton Feldman, though the actual results bear no relation to Feldman's music as such. What I did with that page was to look through some of Feldman's music to see if there was anything in it that was consistent with the way that I was approaching the score of Irma. It occurred to me to use a vocal piece for something that would be vocal within Irma and since Tom had dedicated another page to Christian Wolff – in fact a page of Trailer – and since Wolff and Feldman were close associates with Cage in the 1950’s, I used a piece called Christian Wolff in Cambridge (in spite of the fact that Tom had attended Oxford, and the Cambridge here refers to Harvard). This is a wordless choral piece which is hummed – and I used a lot of humming in the score, often as a means of separating discrete images – and consists of mildly dissonant chords. There were, however, one or two more consonant ones and I omitted those which sounded like ‘‘modern music’’, and so was left with one or two chords that I used, along with others interjected to produce a smooth flow, as the accompaniment to the melody of ‘‘Love is help mate’’. The addition of other chords was necessary because of the static quality of Feldman’s piece in which each chord is an isolated entity, and this mirrored what I was doing, on a larger scale, with the whole of Irma; taking isolated fragments and finding ways of reassembling them into a continuous whole. It could be said that I was doing to Feldman what Tom had done to Mallock since each of us extracted from a body of material what was needed for a particular circumstance, though my extraction was a good deal more cursory.
The melody that this accompanies comes from a number of sources. One of these is the stave notation and references to specific notes on Irma itself – about 60% of the notes in the melody – the rest being added by myself. One of the ideas for this came from Eric Sams’ researches into the ciphers in Schumann's music, and in particular from the fact that he originally found a clue to the cipher by finding 5-note melodic phrases in which the 1st, 3rd and 5th notes were C-A-A (Schumann’s wife was called CLARA) and this gave the possibility of finding what L and R became in the musical code, and thence other possible letters. Using this notion, using the notes given by Irma, and inserting between them other notes, the melodic lines are composed by myself but taking as a starting point the notation of Irma. The stave notation at the bottom of the score I found more usable in this way, and also as bass-lines, in transposition, rather than as originally given.
There are, obviously, some very direct references in the score, and it is the presence of these that ensure a very eclectic result: references like ‘‘the Ring’’, ‘‘the Emperor’’, ‘‘the International’’. The first of these, allied to a notation that refers to many ‘‘s’s’’ (German for E flat) suggested the opening of the Rheingold. The second, ‘‘Emperor’’, could have been a number of references – the ‘‘Emperor’’ Waltz (Strauss), the ‘‘Emperor’’ Concerto (Beethoven), the ‘‘Emperor’’ Quartet (Haydn) and so on. In the event I used the last two, and toyed with the idea of using the source for Haydn’s ‘‘Emperor’’ Quartet viz. his ‘‘Emperor Hymn’’ which became the Austrian national anthem, and which was, in its turn taken from a Croatian folk tune. I considered omitting all the musical references and only using the words of this latter ‘‘Vjutro rano se ja stanem Mal pred zorom’’ – and relished the fact that I would have been injecting something with precise semantic value, though one which I did not understand, but in the end omitted it for reasons of pronunciation difficulty. With ‘‘the International’’, I was delighted that it was misspelt (Internationale) and this made of it a lipogram (like the Ellery Queen story that omits the letter ‘‘t’’) and so I quoted the music leaving out the note ‘‘e’’. I had also considered the idea of the lipogram in another context. The original of A Humument is the Victorian novel A Human Document which leaves behind the letters AN DOC, and this gives a lipogrammatic anagram of NO ADC, that is, to avoid the notes A D and C in the piece as a whole. This seemed to be excessive, however, since it would have effectively ruled out one of the two vowels available in musical cryptography, and they are not easy to come by.
Geckøs is the collective spirit of acclaimed songwriter M. Ward, Giant Sand visionary Howe Gelb, and Irish multi-instrumentalist McKowski. Born out of an impromptu recording session that was sparked by an encounter at the wedding of a mutual friend, the project blends the rich flavors of the Southwest with indie folk, Spanish influences, and a touch of Irish mysticism. While initial recordings took place in Tucson, it became a true transatlantic project when the members returned to their hometowns and continued trading ideas. The trio eventually regrouped in studios across Ireland, London, and Bristol, where renowned English producer John Parish mixed multiple tracks. Geckøs’ self-titled debut is steeped in story, spontaneity, and surreal charm, channeling the spirit of three singular voices discovering a new, shared musical language.
Geckøs is the collective spirit of acclaimed songwriter M. Ward, Giant Sand visionary Howe Gelb, and Irish multi-instrumentalist McKowski. Born out of an impromptu recording session that was sparked by an encounter at the wedding of a mutual friend, the project blends the rich flavors of the Southwest with indie folk, Spanish influences, and a touch of Irish mysticism. While initial recordings took place in Tucson, it became a true transatlantic project when the members returned to their hometowns and continued trading ideas. The trio eventually regrouped in studios across Ireland, London, and Bristol, where renowned English producer John Parish mixed multiple tracks. Geckøs’ self-titled debut is steeped in story, spontaneity, and surreal charm, channeling the spirit of three singular voices discovering a new, shared musical language.
Gen’s fabled copy-of-1 acetate, made in 1968 with schoolmates, is reissued for wider consumption, offering an unmissable glimpse at the early stirrings of a notorious “wrecker of civilisation” and one of the most significant artists of their time .
Before PTV, before Throbbing Gristle, and leading up to action with COUM Transmissions, one Neil Megson made their first foray into recorded music with some pals in their parents attic in Solihull, West Midlands. Spurred by readings of occult literature, Fluxus and John Cage, and footage of psychedelic “happenings” by Bohemian beatniks in London, Megson and pals experimented with janky equipment to make a cute lo-fi racket of giggles, chants, brays, bittersweet witter and poetry, as recited in the instantly familiar nasal tang of ‘Rather Hard to Libel’. It’s effectively the sound of grammar school boys having a laugh in the late ‘60s, but also serves as the seed for a remarkable, notorious, and enduring oeuvre that catalysed countless others to write, make art and music in their wake.
“POLITE WARNING by Genesis Breyer P-Orridge, 2008: Previously thought to be missing, these never before available songs were created on extremely primitive equipment in the attic of 6 Links Drive, Solihull, Warwickshire, England by Genesis Breyer P-Orridge and friends using Thee Early Worm as their collective group name. Only one copy had originally been pressed on an acetate. This disc and its corresponding analog reel-to-reel master tape were discovered in the Porridge With Everything Archives by Ryan Martin during a recent re-organization. This album is mastered directly from the original reel to reel tape and is made available to devotees of Genesis Breyer P-Orridge’s life-long musical body of work as a missing link, and curiosity, that reveals significant structural themes and sonic textures that, with hindsight, can be seen to have remained central to her creative processes ever since. Please be aware that this is inevitably a low-fi recording intended for collectors and researchers.”
“Forever Forever” is the new album by Genevieve Artadi, the LA-based singer-songwriter, producer, archer and Dr. Mario enthusiast (“I keep my Switch in my back pocket most days”). A creative tornado, Genevieve is known for being the force in KNOWER, Expensive Magnets and her former band Pollyn, signing to Brainfeeder to release a sparkling solo album “Dizzy Strange Summer” in 2020. The following year she also collaborated with Thundercat, Raedio and Louis Cole on ‘Satellite Space Age Edition’ for the Insecure Season 5 soundtrack (HBO). “Forever Forever” encompasses a truly kaleidoscopic range of influences, making it impossible to pin down stylistically. Rooted in jazz, but winding up at alternative rock or avant pop, it’s in the lineage of legendary boundary-testers Stereolab and Talking Heads.
Genevieve hails from the scarily talented crew that includes Louis Cole, Pedro Martins, Sam Gendel, Sam Wilkes, Jacob Mann and Chiquita Magic, bearing a similar foundation of classical and jazz traditions offset with a healthy punk attitude and passion for musical hybridity and fusion. She admits that being surrounded by these talented individuals is motivation to create in and of itself.
Drawing on the spiritual teachings of Thích Nhất Hạnh – the Vietnamese Thiền Buddhist monk known as the “father of mindfulness”; Ram Dass (guru of modern yoga); Eckhart Tolle and Jiddu Krishnamurti, Genevieve reflects on her relationships, growing up and her adventures in life on this new album. “‘Forever Forever’ is an album about the love I have for the people in my life, attempting to express with a lot of care different sides of it: reassurance, acceptance of change, ruptures, joy.”
Genevieve also emphasizes the importance of anime in her life: “It has inspired me to adopt a bold, full-hearted attitude to my music but also my life more generally,” she acknowledges, referencing a few favourites: Naruto (“It’s changed my life”), Attack on Titan, Rurouni Kenshin, Hikaru No Go, and Jojo’s Bizarre Adventures.
Half of the songs for “Forever Forever” were originally written for big band, with Genevieve having struck up a relationship with the Grammy-nominated Norrbotten Big Band from Sweden with whom she has been a composer in residence and performed live many times. Consequently, she says that she listened to Duke Ellington and Gil Evans with Miles Davis in pursuit of a creative spark. “The rest I think is just everything from my past that is in my subconscious,” she says. “Random flashes of inspiration from Chopin, Bach (I was learning some 2-part inventions during the lockdown), Debussy, Nancy Wilson, Björk, Ryan Power, Nobukazu Takemura, The Beatles, Dionne Warwick…”
With an accompanying tongue-in-cheek video that goes hard in an 80s hair metal style, the first single ‘Visionary’ climaxes with suitably epic solos from Pedro Martins (guitar), Chiquita Magic (synth bass), Christopher Fishman (piano) with Louis Cole and Daniel Sunshine doubling up on the drums. “It’s a celebration of love, expressing gratitude to ‘the other’ who was first to be brave enough to jump into a relationship when I had lost hope,” says Genevieve.
Genevieve’s relationship with the Brazilian guitarist and Thundercat collaborator Pedro Martins is also evident in the music, with Genevieve drawing inspiration from Brazilian legends of the ‘60s-’70s such as Beto Guedes, Toninho Horta and Elis Regina that Pedro brought into her orbit.
Recorded on location in Mexico at El Desierto Studio on a recommendation from Thundercat keyboard maestro Dennis Hamm, Genevieve travelled with best pals Chiquita Magic (keyboards, vocals), Pedro Martins (guitars, vocals), Chris Fishman (keys), Louis Cole (drums, synth bass), Henry Halliwell (additional production) and Daniel Sunshine (engineer) to elevate her demos. “The band made the music come alive with their skills, making all the written stuff more musical, adding ambient layers, choosing sounds that were perfect for the songs,” says Genevieve. “They played beautiful solos too. I loved watching them get so into it because all of them have musical visions I respect.”
“My previous albums were made at home, so this was a big jump”, she explains. “But I felt like it was the right move for these songs and, thankfully, it ended up better than I imagined. El Desierto is a big, beautiful wooden house in a forest designed for music, with everything we could possibly need. There was a camp vibe because we all slept there, had meals together, played on the crazy instruments everywhere, jammed and practiced day and night, and partied in the kitchen after sessions.”
Reissued for the first time on vinyl, here's Jamaican reggae singer George Faith second album, originally released on Hollywood Records in 1979. Amazing soulful reggae melodies backed by the likes of Sly & Robbie, Aston "Family Man" Barrett, Tommy McCook, Earl "Chinna" Smith and more. Produced by the one and only Bunny Lee at Harry J Studios, and mixed by Scientist at King's Tubby's Studios!
Bouncing between his local musical styles of "nyatiti lyre" and "sukuti His "omutibo" guitar style, which bounced off the "nyatiti lyre" and "sukuti" styles of his local music, had spread from West Africa to East Africa by the time Mukabi died in 1963. This is a traditional and simple storytelling style that has been passed down from generation to generation in Kenya. The guitar is very funky and there is no room for mis-tone. Even in the old recordings, you can hear the clawed guitar, simple percussion, and powerful singing. It's a happy groove that makes you want to hum along with them over a drink. Even if you don't listen to it with the same groove as the documentary, this recording will still be as great as ever. As long as there is a listener.
