Folk / Roots

“I could not be alive alone,” a longtime family friend said to Merce with a smile. “None of us could be alive alone.” Within the quiet, cascading corners of Pittsburgh lies a community – nothing short of one large family – that spans zip codes, histories, occupations, and generations, always tumbling into itself, propped up by steadfast pillars of conviction toward spiritual and emotional mutual aid. The kind of earnest community scaffolding that gets bandied about, wielded as conjecture, particularly in an age of increasing fracture through digital sublimation, is alive and quite well within the universe surrounding Merce Lemon. When asked how the city has inspired her creative practice, she responds with a characteristic joke wrapped in an earthen warmth – “There are big hills, three rivers, and more bridges than anywhere in the whole world.” Growing up in a family of art and music in a city with a small, but vigorously supportive scene, Merce has been going to shows here her whole life, even playing them with the “grown up” friends of her parents – as recently as a few years ago, her band was comprised of her own father and his peers in the Pittsburgh music community. Merce took a step back in 2020, after releasing her last album 'Moonth', to reassess during an era of anxiety and lockdown – even the reliably nourishing exercise of sharing and playing music felt precarious. “I was grappling with what kind of relationship I wanted with music in my life. It was just something I’d always done, and I didn't want to lose the magic of that – but I was just having less fun.” In this time of restless non-direction, she turned her gaze inwardly, down to the roots – figuratively and literally. “I got dirty and slept outside most of the summer. I learned a lot about plants and farming, just writing for myself, and in that time I just slowly accumulated songs.” A never-ending creative hunger, supported by the community framework she’d always been able to depend on, had been newly fertilized by the wide-eyed inspiration that came from plunging her hands into both the earth’s soil and her own. Rooting around for an answer, finding and turning in her palms what had been buried there all along – from this rediscovery, imbued with the vitality of earth’s green magic, 'Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild' sprouted forth. The album emerges, enveloped in propulsive guitars and saccharine-sweet songs of blackbirds and blueberries, from the dead-calm center of a pastoral frenzy in a manner that one could argue as erratic, reckless — a grave misconception, as Merce is just as aware of where she’s being pulled from as she is curious about where to go next. Her sound is built upon a reverence and gratitude for the natural world, how paying respect to it charts a more confident path through the choppy waters of the heart. On the soft and confessional “Rain,” she maps memory onto the stillness of the landscape around her, panning for clarity in an endlessly blue sky: “I can see your relentlessness / in the muddy puddles where retting is / shattering the splintered stalks / where golden braids pour into drops." In her music, romantic and familial love rips into and out of itself, barely registering as disparate feelings in the flurry of reckoning. Lead single “Backyard Lover” is an honest and incisive exploration of this confused, raw intimacy. In it, a warm memory gently meanders alongside warbling steel and guitars, tinged with a classic outlaw haze, before it suddenly erupts with the frustration of a broken promise, making way for a cathartic sonic fury – “what dying felt like / a wooden spoon tossed in the fire / cause nothings good enough / you fucking liar.“ The song’s climax deftly uncovers the formidable heartbeat hidden underneath the floorboards of her creative expulsion: loss. “So many of my songs are touched by and explore death, specifically in relation to the loss I experienced of my best friend when I was fifteen years old” says Merce. “That loss has forever changed me and who I am in my relationships to lovers, friends, family." In reconciling the quiet conflict of a desire for closeness and a solitude cultivated by distrust, there is a fierceness, a persistence in her vulnerability, matched in droves by the wildness of her band. These songs range, often within the structure of a single track, from ballads to blown out electric riffs combating feedback, harmonies concealed behind wailing guitars, both dependent on each other as they careen towards new meaning. They build slowly, synthesizing a naturalist’s penchant for romance and nihilism to create the warring, triumphantly escalating nature of Merce’s lyrics and her band’s heavy entropy. For Merce, the only certainty is the endlessly shifting nature of a river, roaring straight past a dogwood, never missing the opportunity to watch a petal fluttering to the ground in the rear view. They are songs of belonging just as much as they are songs of longing – ”Say I was a lonely gust of wind / could I redirect them,” she muses in “Crow”, one of the more hopeful tracks on the record. Its structure is simple, gentle acoustics pushed forward by an ever-present and fluid percussion that guides the song as naturally as Merce hopes to guide the “murderous flock,” forgoing the voyeur in all of our hearts and comfortably settling in the supportive role of a shepherd – “I’d make a city of this ghost town / even let the crows come / rest their necks / and nest their young.” There is an oaken strength in 'Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild' that makes it easy to love – once wild, still free, honest and familiar. Its genesis is timeless, its restlessness eternal – it is one cohesive yet unanswered question built around, and dependent upon, the life-giving force of nature that came before Merce. The album’s closing track also inspires its title – a lonely ballad of forlorn projection into an unknown future, forever protected by the comforting green of Pittsburgh’s hills, rivers, bridges, and homes: “Old man howling / laughing his teeth out / with the dogs down the hill. And a tree fell / I smell the wood / and the bark is coming off in sheets / I write my words down on it. And honestly / the thoughts of a husband / weighing on me.”

“I could not be alive alone,” a longtime family friend said to Merce with a smile. “None of us could be alive alone.” Within the quiet, cascading corners of Pittsburgh lies a community – nothing short of one large family – that spans zip codes, histories, occupations, and generations, always tumbling into itself, propped up by steadfast pillars of conviction toward spiritual and emotional mutual aid. The kind of earnest community scaffolding that gets bandied about, wielded as conjecture, particularly in an age of increasing fracture through digital sublimation, is alive and quite well within the universe surrounding Merce Lemon. When asked how the city has inspired her creative practice, she responds with a characteristic joke wrapped in an earthen warmth – “There are big hills, three rivers, and more bridges than anywhere in the whole world.” Growing up in a family of art and music in a city with a small, but vigorously supportive scene, Merce has been going to shows here her whole life, even playing them with the “grown up” friends of her parents – as recently as a few years ago, her band was comprised of her own father and his peers in the Pittsburgh music community. Merce took a step back in 2020, after releasing her last album 'Moonth', to reassess during an era of anxiety and lockdown – even the reliably nourishing exercise of sharing and playing music felt precarious. “I was grappling with what kind of relationship I wanted with music in my life. It was just something I’d always done, and I didn't want to lose the magic of that – but I was just having less fun.” In this time of restless non-direction, she turned her gaze inwardly, down to the roots – figuratively and literally. “I got dirty and slept outside most of the summer. I learned a lot about plants and farming, just writing for myself, and in that time I just slowly accumulated songs.” A never-ending creative hunger, supported by the community framework she’d always been able to depend on, had been newly fertilized by the wide-eyed inspiration that came from plunging her hands into both the earth’s soil and her own. Rooting around for an answer, finding and turning in her palms what had been buried there all along – from this rediscovery, imbued with the vitality of earth’s green magic, 'Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild' sprouted forth. The album emerges, enveloped in propulsive guitars and saccharine-sweet songs of blackbirds and blueberries, from the dead-calm center of a pastoral frenzy in a manner that one could argue as erratic, reckless — a grave misconception, as Merce is just as aware of where she’s being pulled from as she is curious about where to go next. Her sound is built upon a reverence and gratitude for the natural world, how paying respect to it charts a more confident path through the choppy waters of the heart. On the soft and confessional “Rain,” she maps memory onto the stillness of the landscape around her, panning for clarity in an endlessly blue sky: “I can see your relentlessness / in the muddy puddles where retting is / shattering the splintered stalks / where golden braids pour into drops." In her music, romantic and familial love rips into and out of itself, barely registering as disparate feelings in the flurry of reckoning. Lead single “Backyard Lover” is an honest and incisive exploration of this confused, raw intimacy. In it, a warm memory gently meanders alongside warbling steel and guitars, tinged with a classic outlaw haze, before it suddenly erupts with the frustration of a broken promise, making way for a cathartic sonic fury – “what dying felt like / a wooden spoon tossed in the fire / cause nothings good enough / you fucking liar.“ The song’s climax deftly uncovers the formidable heartbeat hidden underneath the floorboards of her creative expulsion: loss. “So many of my songs are touched by and explore death, specifically in relation to the loss I experienced of my best friend when I was fifteen years old” says Merce. “That loss has forever changed me and who I am in my relationships to lovers, friends, family." In reconciling the quiet conflict of a desire for closeness and a solitude cultivated by distrust, there is a fierceness, a persistence in her vulnerability, matched in droves by the wildness of her band. These songs range, often within the structure of a single track, from ballads to blown out electric riffs combating feedback, harmonies concealed behind wailing guitars, both dependent on each other as they careen towards new meaning. They build slowly, synthesizing a naturalist’s penchant for romance and nihilism to create the warring, triumphantly escalating nature of Merce’s lyrics and her band’s heavy entropy. For Merce, the only certainty is the endlessly shifting nature of a river, roaring straight past a dogwood, never missing the opportunity to watch a petal fluttering to the ground in the rear view. They are songs of belonging just as much as they are songs of longing – ”Say I was a lonely gust of wind / could I redirect them,” she muses in “Crow”, one of the more hopeful tracks on the record. Its structure is simple, gentle acoustics pushed forward by an ever-present and fluid percussion that guides the song as naturally as Merce hopes to guide the “murderous flock,” forgoing the voyeur in all of our hearts and comfortably settling in the supportive role of a shepherd – “I’d make a city of this ghost town / even let the crows come / rest their necks / and nest their young.” There is an oaken strength in 'Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild' that makes it easy to love – once wild, still free, honest and familiar. Its genesis is timeless, its restlessness eternal – it is one cohesive yet unanswered question built around, and dependent upon, the life-giving force of nature that came before Merce. The album’s closing track also inspires its title – a lonely ballad of forlorn projection into an unknown future, forever protected by the comforting green of Pittsburgh’s hills, rivers, bridges, and homes: “Old man howling / laughing his teeth out / with the dogs down the hill. And a tree fell / I smell the wood / and the bark is coming off in sheets / I write my words down on it. And honestly / the thoughts of a husband / weighing on me.”

Most of this recording was made during a single early evening in Southern California, outdoors, with the San Bernardino Mountains in view. Sam Wilkes played bass guitar, Craig Weinrib played trap drums, and Dylan Day played electric guitar. Eight months after that dusk recording session, the trio reconvened to capture a few more pieces. Wilkes wanted to hear Dylan play a Jobim melody (How Insensitive), Dylan wanted to hear Craig play a funeral march (When I Can Read My Titles Clear), and Craig wanted to play nice and gentle. The resulting record, a document of an initial and seemingly fated musical encounter, conveys the ease and the intensity of the trio’s chemistry. Their shared sonic affinities, while essential to the record’s sound, feel secondary to the integrity, confidence, and mutual regard that suffuse each note and every beat. Atop standards, folk songs, and hymns, Wilkes, Weinrib, and Day unfurl a series of cascading improvisations. Joyful and precise music. Sam Wilkes is from Westport, Connecticut and lives in Los Angeles, California. Craig Weinrib is from New York and lives in New York. Dylan Day is from Fletcher, Vermont and lives in Los Angeles, California.

A mega-rare album is reissued. This is a tremendous property from the famous "Outernational Sounds", which has been conducting ambitious excavation releases across spiritual jazz, jazz funk, and Indo jazz, including rare works related to Nimbus. This is a reissue of a legendary independent album released in 1979 by Betty Lou Landreth, a female jazz singer from Oklahoma who also performed at clubs and worked as a backup singer in studios. This is the only album that features talented session players such as The Funk Brothers, a Motown session group, and Marcus Belgrave of Detroit's Tribe Collective. This is a cult album of jazz vocals with a fierce blend of unfathomable mysteriousness and excessive energy that engulfs all kinds of audiences into another dimension.

On her second album Ursgal Mongolian singer Enji creates a unique blend of Jazz and Folk with the traditions of Mongolian song. Currently based in Munich, her lyrics tell personal stories about unbearable distances, the oddness of being on earth and the simple truths in life. She’s accompanied by Paul Brändle on guitar and Munguntovch Tsolmonbayar on double bass. Born in Ulaanbaatar, Enji grew up in a yurt to a working-class family. Having always been drawn to music, dance and literature, she initially wanted to become a music teacher with little ambitions to compose or be on stage. A program by the local Goethe Institute sparked her passion for Jazz and eventually led her to become a performing artist. Inspired by the music of Carmen McRae, Ella Fitzgerald and Nancy Wilson, Enji started writing songs of her own, cherishing this newfound means of expression. Ursgal is the first record featuring her original compositions.

"[...] jazz singers like this rarely sound so unpretentious, original and free." - The New York Times / Best Jazz Albums of 2023 "An elegant and powerful twist on traditional Mongolian music" - Ammar Kalia / Guardian "These songs sound so inventive, so free, yet so grounded — and if they end up calming your mind, the aim wasn’t to numb it, but to open it. " - Chris Richards / The Washington Post / Best Album of 2023 "Well, this is just plain enchanting. Marked by smooth transitions from gentle playfulness to sweet heartbreak, Enkhjargal Erkhembayar’s delivery would be right at home in an electronic downtempo recording or any late night jazz club where moonlight is a natural stage effect." - Dave Sumner / Bandcamp Daily Enji begins her third album with a stark reminder of her own humanity. “I am Ulaan,” she utters plainly in her native language of Mongolian, referring to a nickname affectionately given to her by her family. “I have to remember who I am,” she says, explaining her choice of a spoken monologue. “It empowers me.” Throughout Ulaan, Enji continues to find new ways to bring out those affirming expressions of herself. Drawing on the elegant blend of jazz and traditional Mongolian song on her previous album Ursgal, she leans into her strengths while breaking into bold new directions. With trusted collaborators Paul Brändle on guitar and Munguntovch Tsolmonbayar on bass at her side once again, she expands the band to include Mariá Portugal on drums and Joana Queiroz on clarinet—and her creative process expands along with it. “They have such deep feelings and such deep love of music,” Enji says of the group. As a result of these new partnerships, the compositions have opened up, bringing in lusher textures, more rhythm, and more interplay between musicians. Enji pushes her voice to new heights, too, effervescently fluttering over each track and moving in perfect lockstep with her band. Songs bubble up from spontaneous moments of inspiration. With “Zuud,” the imagery came to Enji in a melancholic dream. On “Uzegdel,” she evokes the feeling of a breathtaking view she saw from the window of an early Autumn flight on her way home to Mongolia. “Vogl” comes from her experience visiting the peaceful village of the same name, tracing the shape of the natural vista with her vocals. In some cases, she described these scenes to the band and worked out the feeling together. In others, the songs crystallized from reading out the lyrics. “I find my mother tongue in Mongolian is such a rhythmical language,” Enji explains. “So the melody just came out.” As Enji continues her journey of self-discovery, she continues to grow and adapt into new roles. With Ulaan, she bares more of her heart than we’ve seen from her yet, but she’s still got more to give—as a vocalist, a bandleader, and most importantly, as a storyteller. - shy thompson

"People who are sort of more the outcasts of society tend to tell it like it is" – Scott Seskind, 2015. Sky Girl is a mysteriously unshakeable companion, a deeply melancholic and sentimental journey through folk-pop, new wave and art music micro presses that span 1961-1991. A seemingly disparate suite of selections of forgotten fables by more or less neverknowns, Sky Girl forms a beautifully coherent and utterly sublime whole deftly compiled by French collectors DJ Sundae and Julien Dechery. From Scott Seskind's adolescent musical road movie to Karen Marks' icy Oz-wave, the charming DIY storytelling of Italian-American go-getter Joe Tossini and the ethereal slow dance themes of Parisian artists Nini Raviolette and Hugo Weris, Sky Girl resonates on a wide spectrum historically, geographically and stylistically. It unites in a singular, longing, almost intangible ambience. If the names sound wholly unfamiliar that doesn't matter, the nature of the compositions swiftly nurtures an intimacy with these lonely, poignant, openhearted wanderers. Most were available in a very limited capacity at the time of their release, some were never really released at all - Gary Davenport declined to release Sarra after he split with the girl for whom the track is named - years later a friend convinced Davenport to allow him to put 100 copies online to sell and DJ Sundae was quick enough to snare one. Beyond their scarcity, these tracks are bound together by a certain raw beauty that's achievable when music is made and no one is listening. Sky Girl comprises of fifteen officially licensed songs, a two year international scavenger hunt through long-folded home label operations, the depths of internet forums and traceless acetates. Both compilers are well trained record sleuths - DJ Sundae's labels Hollie and Idle Press have reissued Arthur Russell affiliate Nirosta Steel and DIY relic Pitch, while Julien Dechery previously compiled 'Fire Star', a retrospective on Tamil film composer Ilaiyaraaja, for Bombay Connection. Released by Noise In My Head offshoot Efficient Space, Sky Girl is enriched with artwork from Perks and Mini mutant Misha Hollenbach and appropriately elegant sleeve notes courtesy of Ivan Smagghe.

Recorded in the early 70's in her home on a reel to reel recording device, the songs on "Colour Green" are intimate portraits of life's sad and fragile beauty.

In the Spring of 1966, ESP was given a grant by the New York State Council on the Arts, to tour the five colleges in the state with music departments. Artists for this tour included the Sun Ra Arkestra, Burton Greene, Patty Waters, Giuseppi Logan and Ran Blake. Accompanied by an all star backup group from among the participants, Patty's performances resulted in the album, "College Tour", her second recording for ESP-Disk'. The album expands upon the vocal acrobatics that were heard on her first recording, "Sings". "College Tour" won second place for Vocal Recording in Jazz and Pop Magazine in 1970.

Patty Waters is internationally recognized as one of the first major avant-garde vocalists. Her ESP-Disk' recordings cemented her reputation as a vocal innovator, and according to liner notes and public opinion, one whose influence extended beyond jazz to Yoko Ono and Diamanda Galas.
 

The duo’s third album of instrumental guitar recordings pushes their sinuous compositions into labyrinthine new shapes, interlocking and interlocutory, supported by a cast of stellar collaborators. Interwoven among the dazzling original pieces is a fascinating array of covers, ranging from traditional Breton dance tunes to a deconstruction of Neneh Cherry’s “Buffalo Stance.

Aboriginal Australian blues, country, and gospel by the great Kankawa Nagarra, Queen of the Bandaral Ngadu Delta. These intimate recordings introduce the world outside Australia to Kankawa Nagarra, a beloved Walmatjarri Elder, teacher, human rights advocate, and environmental activist. Born in the traditional lands of the Gooniyandi and Walmatjarri peoples of North Western Australia, Kankawa grew up with the tribal songs at cultural ceremonies. When she was taken from her family to the mission, she was taught hymns and Gospel songs with the choir. On the pastoral lease where she was sent to work, Country music was everywhere. She first heard rock and roll on the station gramophone. But it wasn’t until many years later her musical journey truly began, when she stopped to listen to a busker outside a shop in Derby, Western Australia. It was the first time she’d heard the blues, and it awakened something in her. Through it, she found a medium to express all her thoughts and feelings, and it inspired her to turn these into songs. The empathy of her message extends from those she sees struggling around her to the entire planet being ravaged for profit. These twelve tracks, recorded live near her home of Wangkatjungka, WA, offer a cross-section of Kankawa’s entire musical experience - shifting gracefully between musical styles, languages, and moods, backed by the buzz of night bugs and call of daytime birds. In turns humorous, warm, and real about the hardships of life and the pillage of the land she holds dear, the record is the closest thing you can get to spending time with the great Kankawa herself. We are extremely grateful to release this record alongside Flippin Yeah Records and in collaboration with Kankawa Nagarra. High-quality vinyl comes with a four-page booklet featuring translations, stories, and track notes by the artist.

Heartache, longing and ultimate finesse...ultra pop that can not be denied. Rose Melberg, late of Tiger Trap, Gaze and Go Sailor, has teamed up with Jen Sbragia (All Girl Summer Fun Band) for this combination of two guitars and two voices and it is total, creating songs that dig deep into your heart and soul and you don't let them leave...there is a level of strength that does not recede while the songs break over you beauty after beauty. It's Love is the first of three albums by the Softies.

At first, Gia Margaret called her new album ‘Romantic Piano’ to be a bit cheeky. Its spare, gentle piano works share more spirit with Erik Satie, Emahoy Tsegué-Maryam Guébrou and the ‘Marginalia’ releases of Masakatsu Takagi than they do with, say, a cozy and candlelit date night. But in that cheekiness lies hidden intention: across the gorgeous set, “Romantic” is suggested in a more classic sense, what the Germans call waldeinsamkeit. Its compositions conjure the sublime themes of the Romantic poets: solitude in nature; nature’s ability to heal and to teach; a sense of contented melancholy. "I wanted to make music that was useful,” says Margaret, vastly understating the power of the record. ‘Romantic Piano’ is curious, calming, patient and incredibly moving — but it doesn’t overstay its welcome for more than a second. Margaret’s debut, ‘There’s Always Glimmer,’ was a lyrical wonder, but when an illness on tour left her unable to sing, she made her ambient album ‘Mia Gargaret’ (another cheeky title!) which revealed a keen intuition for arrangement and composition not fully shown on ‘There’s Always Glimmer’s lyrical songs. ‘Romantic Piano’, too, is almost totally without words. “Writing instrumental music, in general, is a much more joyful process than I find in lyrical songwriting,” she says. “The process ultimately effects my songwriting.” And while Margaret has more songwriterly material on the way, ‘Romantic Piano’ solidifies her as a compositional force. Originally pursuing a degree in composition, Margaret dropped out of music school halfway through. “I really didn’t want to play in an orchestra,” she said of her decision, “I really just wanted to write movie scores. Then, I started to focus more and more on being a songwriter. ‘Romantic Piano’ scratched an old itch.” ‘Romantic Piano’ does indeed touch on a rare feeling in art often only reserved for the cinema — a simultaneous wide-lens awe of existence and the post-language intimate inner monologue of being marooned in these skulls of ours. How very Romantic!

Prospect Hummer, 2005 EP by Animal Collective featuring Vashti Bunyan on three tracks, is reissued on black vinyl

Brast Burn's Debon -- a classic of Japanese Kraut obscurity originally released in 1975 on Voice Records, now digitally-remastered. Brast Burn are often linked with Karuna Khayal, with many aficionados concluding that they were actually the same band. Whether this is true or not remains an unsolved mystery, but one thing is for sure: Brast Burn's one and only recorded outing left an indelible stamp on those who were to follow. Nurse With Wound's Steve Stapleton thought highly of Debon and included it on his "legendary list" that appeared on the sleeve of his band's 1979 debut album. Featuring orchestrated fuzz guitar, echo-drenched percussion, reverbed bass, zithers, assorted taped sounds and vocals that are simply inspired, Debon is an album that's a must for headphones and for devotees of the likes of Faust and Can. A rare musical experience and a vital addition to any record collection.

The sophomore effort from Gray/Smith refines their petroleum-based, hard-lullaby sound with a decidedly dusty precision. To call this pair’s brand of country-rock détournement “cosmic” would be too breezy: L. Gray and Rob Smith prefer to stare into sunken depths, channeling their recondite affections for lay-by mauve zones and red-dirt guitar wanderings. Formed in the outer-edges of Kings and Richmond counties circa 2020, Gray/Smith is something of an East-Coast involution. L. Gray (guitar and vocals) and Rob Smith (drums, guitar and vocals) are both trusty veterans of “band’s bands” like Pigeons (Soft Abuse), No-Neck Blues Band (Revenant, Locust), Rhyton (Thrill Jockey), and The Suntanama (Drag City), freewheeling groups known for mining from polyglot sources: rough-hewn folk and the spiritual avant-garde, bargain-bin hard rock and and collector’s-choice psychedelia alike. On their first, self-released LP Gray/Smith, serendipitously recorded at Gary’s Electric at the top of 2021, the pair trained their assured chops onto the great American song-form, honing a murky but tight approach that variously cribs “urban cowboy” and finger-picked primitivism. A string of cryptic appearances soon followed, including a short-lived residency at a now-shuttered vodka dive; a micro-tour with Coloradan songstress Josephine Foster; and a series of backyard and barroom gigs sharing stages with compatriots like Stella Kola, Blues Ambush, Samara Lubelski, and Wednesday Knudsen. Heels in the Aisle is the slipshod, burnt-out, mid-’70s unter-prog comedown to their debut’s backwoods, bushy-tailed, early-’70s, country-rock meanderings—expect more unrestrained riffs, artful studio wizardry, and worn-down introspection. Joining the ranks of bloodshot-eyed, blues-rock medleys à la Canned Heat’s “Parthenogenesis” and Grand Funk’s “Into The Sun,” “The SDSPS” is the nearly side-length opening cut, an expanded song-cycle condensing and riffing on the themes of their debut. “Help Me” ventriloquizes Pomona College outlaw Kris Kristofferson’s slow-roaring ballad of libidinal woe. On the flip side, “Verrazano Tile” and the title track pay heed to lower bays of Staten Island, while their arrangement of the traditional Zimbabwean tune “Guabi Guabi” is a bright Dead/Feat-like jaunt with blissed-out wah-wah pay-off. “Gaslight Boulevard” is lean, mean, and eight-beers-in space rock, and the closing track “Kekule’s Ring” is a slack-jawed, wistful crash back down to earth. All this, packaged in a luxe, expertly-printed sleeve photographed by downtown artist Lary 7 and designed by Eric Wrenn (Sophie’s Oil of Every Pearl's Un-Insides). For fans of Meat Puppets, Ronnie Milsap, Traffic’s John Barleycorn Must Die, the oceanic ebullience of the sacred, and the salty tang of the profane.

We’re all on our own unique emotional road trips. Infinite Avenue happens to be Carmen’s. Here she is, holed up in the Motel Nowheresville, unpacking a suitcase full of stories of guilt, desire, rage, apathy, love and friendship, loneliness, nature, inner demons and other tales of twenty-first century womanhood. Carmen Villain is half-Norwegian and half-Mexican, born in the USA and now living in Oslo, Norway, having moved back after living in London for a few years. She has a lot of stories to tell. Writing, recording and producing alone, Carmen’s intensely personal songs are entirely self-created in her makeshift studio, made up of tapestries of guitar, piano, programmed drums and synths, making the most she could out of her limited gear. Once she had arrived at more than enough tracks for a follow-up album to 2013’s 'Sleeper,' some of them were mixed with experimental house producer Matt Karmil and ‘Quietly’ was treated by noise improviser Helge Sten (aka Deathprod). Taboo-busting Norwegian artist Jenny Hval contributes lyrics and vocals on ‘Borders’, a song especially relevant among today’s tightening frontiers in America and elsewhere. ‘Red Desert’ is titled after the legendary Antonioni movie about a woman’s survival tactics in a surreal industrial landscape full of existential crisis. ‘To me the movie feels like a perfect visual representation of what it can be like to be anxious and uncomfortable in your head sometimes,’ says Carmen. Musically, 'Infinite Avenue' has a similar effect. With 'Infinite Avenue,' Carmen Villain’s songwriting and production skills have taken a major leap forward, and on the final, ethereal ‘Planetarium’ her voice shoots into the stratosphere, riding the comet tail of a Korg bass drone. It’s about acknowledging the immensity of the universe, while remembering that we’ve each got our own private constellation of issues to deal with down here. It’s a typically Villainous contrast of rapture and irony, with a murmured coda recorded as she was falling asleep one night. ‘Everything I write has to be true,’ she says, ‘even if I sometimes find it’s too confessional. Whatever was my truth at that moment.’ The hollow-eyed woman on the cover, that’s Hollywood actress Gena Rowlands, partner of the late director John Cassavetes – a heroine of Carmen’s because of the way her face and body can so brilliantly express psychological states, nervousness, being stressed out, desperation, anxiety, joy without necessarily using words. A freakish dream sequence in 'Love Streams,' where she gambles with the love of her estranged husband and child and desperately tries to make them laugh with a bunch of practical-joke toys, is manic genius – and one of Carmen’s favourite film scenes. Ms Rowlands, by the way, personally approved the use of her image for this project. A famous movie maker once called film ‘truth at 24 frames per second’. With 'Infinite Avenue,' you get an earful of truth at 33 1/3 revs per minute.

Becoming Peter Ivers tells the story of the late Peter Ivers, a virtuosic songwriter and musician whose antics bridged not just 60s counterculture and New Wave music but also film, theater, and music television. Written and recorded in Los Angeles in the mid-to-late-1970s, Becoming Peter Ivers raises the curtain on this mischievous master of ceremonies, who, harmonica in hand, rarely missed a chance to light up an audience. Since his untimely death in 1983, Ivers¡Ç short but storied life has been the subject of much research and remembrance. Becoming Peter Ivers is the most expansive effort yet to collect his archival recordings. ¡ÈDemos are often better than records,¡É Ivers wrote. ¡ÈMore energy, more soul, more guts.¡É The statement anticipates the appearance of Becoming Peter Ivers, which was assembled from a trove of demo cassettes and reel-to-reel tapes that Ivers recorded variously at his home in Laurel Canyon, Los Angeles, and Hollywood studios for a pair of major label albums in 1974 and 1976. While the two commercially released albums feature the resources of session musicians and state-of-the-art studio detail, Becoming Peter Ivers highlights the private moments of Ivers¡Ç musical energy, frequently pared down to piano, drum machine, harmonica, and Peter¡Çs ageless voice. Though technically not Ivers¡Ç debut album (in 1969 Epic Records released Knight Of The Blue Communion, Peter¡Çs psychedelic jazz odyssey of sorts), Terminal Love was the A&R brainchild of music legend Van Dyke Parks. Already a masterful harmonica player (respectively mentored by blues legend Little Walter and jazz bassist Buell Neidlinger while he was a student at Harvard in the late 60s), Ivers wove his harp melodies through the sensuously colored but unconventionally arranged pop compositions of Terminal Love and its self-titled follow up, which, like the New York Dolls at the same time, explored the libidinous, ironic, and artful possibilities of the rock template. A studious artist, Ivers recorded hundreds of writing and rehearsal sessions onto reel-toreel and cassette tapes, but notes were either scarcely kept or have since been lost. RVNG Intl. collaborated with Ivers¡Ç longtime friend and supporter Steven Martin, as well as his lifelong companion Lucy Fisher, to tell an intimate story of Peter¡Çs creative journey through this untold music. The collection includes tracks that recurred in Ivers¡Ç ouvre over the years; ¡ÈAlpha Centauri,¡É ¡ÈEighteen And Dreaming,¡É ¡ÈMiraculous Weekend.¡É And, of course, ¡ÈIn Heaven¡É – the song co-written with David Lynch and commissioned by the filmmaker to be featured in a now-iconic scene of Eraserhead. An accomplished Yogi by the late 70s, Ivers was as spiritual as he was playful. Accentuated by his cherubic face and compact height, Ivers¡Ç vitality and curiosity became a part of his poetic sensibility, a quality that also characterizes his singing voice. Fisher remembers Ivers calling his days holed up in the studio as ¡Èsnowy days,¡É as if he had been cut from school and let free to roam on his own. ¡ÈNo one knows what Peter Ivers does on a snowy day,¡É he would say. In 1980, Ivers became involved with the Los Angeles-area public access show New Wave Theatre, serving as its host and paternal misfit. Ivers would introduce a new generation of groups like Fear, Dead Kennedys, and Suburban Lawns while playing a kind-of ¡Èstraight¡É man, deliberately baiting the punks with square questions and frocked fashion. His signature question to guests was delivered deadpan: ¡ÈWhat is the meaning of life?¡É Ivers died, tragically, the victim of a violent homicide in 1983 that remains unsolved. A shock to his community, his death all but fazed the LAPD, who treated the investigation with less than minimum care. A labor of love that took RVNG Intl. over five years to complete, Becoming Peter Ivers re-frames Peter¡Çs music as the centerpiece of his captivating story, concentrating on the work he made during his numerous retreats into art, or, as he put it, during his snowy days.

This record began with a funny and sad idea I had about a funeral. I imagined a picture of a funeral with a merch table. Mourners could buy a souvenir t-shirt or a poster. They could purchase a book of the deceased’s writing and artwork and a record of their songs and music. I thought about a bored teenager running the merch table, tired of being on tour and trying to keep up. It was an idea full of darkness and sweetness to me. Immediately I thought about what my merchandise would look like, what it would be. I began to think about what the record for sale at my funeral would sound like. I started to think about the songs I have made up and sung to and with my friends, family, and myself over the years. I noticed how the songs I had sung the longest seemed connected to others from a different time. I had changed some words and how I played them but they were all of me and my time on earth. I heard how these things fit together. Of course I now needed to see this project become a reality. I asked my dear friend Amelia Meath to help me make this record. We have known each other for a while and worked on various projects with her bands over the years but this would be a chance to really collaborate and spend some quality time working on something together. Over the course of several months, we had frequent long telephone conversations about songs, creativity, vulnerability, our own lives and what it means to make art and music. In March of 2023 we recorded this record at Betty’s in Durham, North Carolina. We spent beautiful days playing music, drinking coffee, going for walks, making dinners and laughing all day. Alli Rogers engineered the recording that became a true collaboration and would help turn this idea for a record into a real thing. Some days we were joined by Joe Westerlund on percussion, Matt Douglas playing saxophone and clarinet, and Nick Sanborn on bass, keyboards, drum programming and singing. On other days it was Amelia, Alli and I figuring things out as we went along and adding ideas as they arrived. The balance of the surreal imagery and open nature of the lyrics became an important focus for our project. The words articulate feeling and memory in a way that can keep them close and eternal. We thought a lot about how to make these words into sounds and explored how to reference specific places and moments with tones and textures: the ocean, dirt, worms, loss, flowers, worry, light and shadow. Can the drums be a beach? How can a horn be the sunlight? What notes can appear and then vanish like a cloud or a bird? Nine days after we began I packed up and drove back to Indiana having experienced one of the most meaningful and lovely creative experiences of my life. I am so grateful to Amelia and my friends in Durham for making this record. Art and friendship are true gifts that we can share with each other and it can keep on going forever.

Recalling Ennio Morricone spaghetti westerns, the electrified belly dance music of Omar Khorshid, and ’90s bedroom psychedelia at once, the music of Branko Mataja is from its own epoch. Snatched from the streets of Belgrade as a teenager, Mataja spent World War 2 in a German work camp, escaping the insanity of post-war Europe to settle in North Hollywood to live out the American Dream to its fullest. Crafting handmade music on homemade guitars throughout the 1970s, Mataja taught himself to play in order to pay homage to his ancestral home of Yugoslavia, a place he would never return to except through these guitar meditations.

Punisher is the second studio album by American singer-songwriter Phoebe Bridgers, released on June 18, 2020 by Dead Oceans. Bridgers first established herself with her 2017 debut, Stranger in the Alps, a widely acclaimed indie rock effort. In the years preceding her second album, the California native formed the bands boygenius and Better Oblivion Community Center. On Punisher, Bridgers' songwriting is somber and sardonic; deeply personal in nature, it explores topics like dissociation and fragmenting relationships.

JACKSON C. FRANK is the highly regarded debut and the only official album he ever released, produced by friend and fellow musician PAUL SIMON in England and released on Columbia Records in 1965. Jackson has been called the most famous folk singer of 1960s that no one has ever heard of and his influence was felt more in England, where his album was a hit, rather than in the U.S., where his record was a commercial failure at the time of its release. His most famous song “Blues Run The Game” has been covered by scores of musicians including Simon and Garfunkel, Counting Crows, Colin Meloy, Bert Jansch, Laura Marling, and Robin Pecknold, while Nick Drake also recorded it privately.

A compilation of reworks of Haruomi Hosono’s iconic solo debut, Hosono House, celebrating 50 years since its release. This compilation sees musicians from the Stones Throw roster and beyond offer up their own interpretations of Hosono’s songs.
Haruomi Hosono is the legendary artist best known for Hosono House and his tenure in the seminal band Yellow Magic Orchestra.
Hosono House still sounds as fresh as it did in 1973. Its impact stretches far beyond Japan, with an unexpected surge of interest when Harry Styles cited it as a leading inspiration for his Grammy Award-winning album Harry’s House.

K.W. Cahill records and plays acoustic and electric guitars, mandolin, karimba, melodica and an AM/FM portable radio on March 2024 time. Mastered by James A. Toth in Toronto. Synchronicity, or plain trying to find connections, or maybe spirits in muted gathering, or fuck it, it’s ghosts getting stirred up and they need to be released. These (ghosts) are mingling and hanging around, peripherally present, lingering and floating off. The (ghosts’ll) waltz in and act like (they) own the place. (I’m) ultimately just trying to get to a zone to let the (ghost) melodies speak, let the wood and metal resonate and ring, playing all the parts that sit in shadow, shapes and notes and patterns, overtones, emotions, hanging by a thread. (I’ll) waltz in and act like (I) own the place.