Folk / Roots

The acoustic unit MIZ, formed by members of Japan's hugely popular band MONO NO AWARE, released in 2022.

More top tier biz from a resurgent Scenic Route label, this time in a more bare-boned and classic sounding singer-songwriter mode courtesy of Oakland-raised and Brooklyn-based singer-songwriter Ivy Knight, produced by Deer park (fakemink, Ecco2k, evilgiane) and tipped if you’re anywhere on the line from Joanne Robertson to Sam Amidon, Dagmar Zuniga to Mark William Lewis. "Ivy Knight’s songs reflect a city dreamer creating a new world to sink into: across Iron Mountain, she conjures imagery of barren Southwest American landscapes as she recounts memories that feel beamed from generations past, channeling folk melodies and old trail ballads of the late 50s and early 60s. Much of her work has been created both within, and in reference to the Hudson Valley, where she met frequent collaborator Deer park (fakemink, Ecco2k, evilgiane) who produced and engineered."

Anyone smote by DINTE’s ‘Begena Songs…’ will be properly enchanted by this more expansive - yet still intimate - suite of snapshots from Ethiopia, ’71, spanning the unique, twanging harp sound thru to Amharic poetry, Afar chants, and spellbinding flutes dances One that catches the breath with seldom felt sensations, ‘Ethiopian Musics 1971’ patently owes as much to the incredible performers as their faithful representation in Ragnar Johnson & Ralph Harrisson’s recordings. All secreted to tape on a Uher Report L stereo reel-to-reel recorder, they epitomise an era of ethnomusicological preservation, when the likes of labels such as Lyrichord and Folkways were already decades deep “in the field”, documenting long-held traditions practically untouched by an encroaching, western modernity. And perhaps most crucially, the recordings beautifully render the acoustic settings and vivid vibes with an immersive quality in stark opposition to the era of dry, so-called audiophile studio recordings of ethnic musics to come - all the better for immersing in this wonderfully unfamiliar world. The abundance of singular tones and strong, rare feels they produce is quite staggering to our northern english ears, and we reckon also for anyone else, for that matter. Opening to a joyful couplet of a bluesy ’Song about the beauty of women’, and the almost shanty-like swing and hard rhythm of ’Tej Beit Song’, the set reels to distinctive pieces of Ethiopian Christian song set to begena, or ‘Harp of David’, buzz, and a landscape-scale, 13 minute ‘Love Song (Mary Armede)’. A gripping ‘Drum Song (Jigsaw)’ will be mana to rhythm fiends, and a number of standout flute pieces reprise the frisson of our first encounter with this discipline on Sublime Freq’s ‘Staring into the Sun - Ethiopian Tribal Music’ set of 2012, most potently on the pluming twin pipes of the ‘Fila Flute Dance’ parts, whilst the pentatonic craar (6-stringed lyre) parts surely strike nerves for lovers of the rawest blues, and hail the liberated legacy of Mary Armede, a folk singer-fashion designer of Azmari heritage who surely warrants further investigation. No doubt this is one of the most striking archival discoveries of 2026, acutely advised to anyone enchanted with music from this corner of the world from Éthiopiques to begena harp, thru to Ragnar Johnson’s other arenas of research for Ideologic Organ in Yemen or Papua New Guinea. Dive in without delay.

Bulayo gathers extraordinary acoustic guitar performances recorded across Kenya, Tanzania, Zambia and DR Congo in 1979–80 by British-Kenyan musician John Low. Travelling as a student rather than a producer, Low sought out masters of regional fingerstyle traditions, visiting and sometimes staying with artists including Jean-Bosco Mwenda, Losta Abelo and Emmanuel Mulemena, while also documenting under-recorded players such as Francis Kitime and Mtonga Wanganangu. Captured in homes, village squares and bars, these recordings are relaxed and immediate, with laughter, conversation and everyday sounds woven into the music. Far removed from studio polish, they offer a rare sense of how this guitar music was actually heard and shared. Some tracks previously surfaced on John Storm Roberts’ long out-of-print Original Music compilations; others appear here for the first time. All have been restored and remastered from Low’s original tapes by Andrew Walter (Honest Jon’s, Abbey Road). With notes and lyrics by John Low and commentary from Tanzanian scholar John Kitime, Bulayo stands as a vital document of East and Central Africa’s rich guitar traditions.

Fire of God’s Love is the legendary 1973 album by Australian nun Sister Irene O’Connor—a sincere, soulful, and unconsciously psychedelic song sequence devoted to self-reflection and awakening the spirit within. A collection of original folk spirituals written by and channelled through O’Connor with guitar, electric organ, drum machine and her angelic voice, the album was recorded and mixed in an astonishingly futuristic fashion by fellow nun and recording engineer Sister Marimil Lobregat. This edition from Freedom To Spend is the first authorized reissue of this holy grail since 1976; the album restored and remastered with love from the best available sources by Jessica Thompson.

Fire of God’s Love is the legendary 1973 album by Australian nun Sister Irene O’Connor—a sincere, soulful, and unconsciously psychedelic song sequence devoted to self-reflection and awakening the spirit within. A collection of original folk spirituals written by and channelled through O’Connor with guitar, electric organ, drum machine and her angelic voice, the album was recorded and mixed in an astonishingly futuristic fashion by fellow nun and recording engineer Sister Marimil Lobregat. This edition from Freedom To Spend is the first authorized reissue of this holy grail since 1976; the album restored and remastered with love from the best available sources by Jessica Thompson.

Sir Richard Bishop returns for a new spontaneous six-string meshing of people’s music, recollections and psychic intentions. Are y’all ready for some Hillbilly Erotica? Migration from last album’s Ragas to this new Erotica is another chapter in Bishop’s progress, drifting via songs into the further frontiers of his pappy’s hometown sounds, trancing over and out in their hand-me-down clothes. As with the ragas, the ‘rotica’s hung round the neck of John Fahey’s infamous dubbing of certain traditional American folk sounds as “American Primitive.” A perfectly good thought, but Sir Richard picks his own axe and chose a separate path. Rushing through gutters & picking pickled brains in the saucy headwaters of the down-low & literal American primitive, his hillbilly music is a mash of brined cultural inheritance, mini-ragas and moonshine-drunk savagery breaking out on the frets. As a conception for Sir Rick’s acoustic guitar music, it’s a dynamite means and frame, centering his improvisations in a place overflown with pagan desire and unbound in deliverance. Here he flies up and down the neck, his manner less pristine, yet more exquisite, a flailing, flowing-on-the-river medley through stubborn whitewater turbulence, post-grass and folk’s classical gas. Anybody who takes a snort of this here Hillbilly Erotica will find a frankly spellbinding richness of intent and execution in their ear-mouths. And may thereafter find brain and blightness. It’s fine! As Sir Richard reminds us, Hillbilly Erotica is: “…still exploring the areas around these parts with a similar type of aggression [as Hillbilly Ragas], but as morning light approaches, a clearing or two present themselves, with hills and valleys viewable in the distance inspiring a slightly different sonic landscape. One could be forgiven for feeling a sense of relief from finally arriving from out of the night-time woods to a place which may seem less threatening in the daylight, but it’s a trap - the darkness of night is always right around the corner. Enjoy the postcoital smoke but tread carefully!” Like with Hillbilly Ragas, Sir Richard plays one acoustic guitar on all eight Hillbilly Erotica cuts, no overdubs and, but for the closing “Postcoital Serenade,” improvised entirely. The not-so-sexy ‘sexy’ angle of song titles like “Lick Skillet,” “Sweet Lips,” “Hookers Bend,” and “Finger, Tennessee” is actually actual names for dots on the map in rural TN, each one just five minutes removed – by horse, of course – from Richard’s dad's remote Enville homestead, its town name purloined previously for a song on 2020’s Oneiric Formulary. This ancestral interzone’s a venue of interest for Rick, allowing him to ask the deep questions, like “What the hell has been going on around here with place names like these?” while running down the changes like no one else before. Hillbilly Erotica promises unspoken wonders of the world around each and every dark corner, revelations of legacy, a new spyglass to sight your forebears! Imagined American music at it’s most gorgeous and violent, simply achieved by Sir Richard Bishop through a powerful application of steel-stringed instrumentation and delightfully exhaustive flights of speculative thought.

Sir Richard Bishop returns for a new spontaneous six-string meshing of people’s music, recollections and psychic intentions. Are y’all ready for some Hillbilly Erotica? Migration from last album’s Ragas to this new Erotica is another chapter in Bishop’s progress, drifting via songs into the further frontiers of his pappy’s hometown sounds, trancing over and out in their hand-me-down clothes. As with the ragas, the ‘rotica’s hung round the neck of John Fahey’s infamous dubbing of certain traditional American folk sounds as “American Primitive.” A perfectly good thought, but Sir Richard picks his own axe and chose a separate path. Rushing through gutters & picking pickled brains in the saucy headwaters of the down-low & literal American primitive, his hillbilly music is a mash of brined cultural inheritance, mini-ragas and moonshine-drunk savagery breaking out on the frets. As a conception for Sir Rick’s acoustic guitar music, it’s a dynamite means and frame, centering his improvisations in a place overflown with pagan desire and unbound in deliverance. Here he flies up and down the neck, his manner less pristine, yet more exquisite, a flailing, flowing-on-the-river medley through stubborn whitewater turbulence, post-grass and folk’s classical gas. Anybody who takes a snort of this here Hillbilly Erotica will find a frankly spellbinding richness of intent and execution in their ear-mouths. And may thereafter find brain and blightness. It’s fine! As Sir Richard reminds us, Hillbilly Erotica is: “…still exploring the areas around these parts with a similar type of aggression [as Hillbilly Ragas], but as morning light approaches, a clearing or two present themselves, with hills and valleys viewable in the distance inspiring a slightly different sonic landscape. One could be forgiven for feeling a sense of relief from finally arriving from out of the night-time woods to a place which may seem less threatening in the daylight, but it’s a trap - the darkness of night is always right around the corner. Enjoy the postcoital smoke but tread carefully!” Like with Hillbilly Ragas, Sir Richard plays one acoustic guitar on all eight Hillbilly Erotica cuts, no overdubs and, but for the closing “Postcoital Serenade,” improvised entirely. The not-so-sexy ‘sexy’ angle of song titles like “Lick Skillet,” “Sweet Lips,” “Hookers Bend,” and “Finger, Tennessee” is actually actual names for dots on the map in rural TN, each one just five minutes removed – by horse, of course – from Richard’s dad's remote Enville homestead, its town name purloined previously for a song on 2020’s Oneiric Formulary. This ancestral interzone’s a venue of interest for Rick, allowing him to ask the deep questions, like “What the hell has been going on around here with place names like these?” while running down the changes like no one else before. Hillbilly Erotica promises unspoken wonders of the world around each and every dark corner, revelations of legacy, a new spyglass to sight your forebears! Imagined American music at it’s most gorgeous and violent, simply achieved by Sir Richard Bishop through a powerful application of steel-stringed instrumentation and delightfully exhaustive flights of speculative thought.

With Flame Folclòre, Cocanha continues reclaiming Occitan folklore as a living, political and embodied space. For Lila Fraysse and Caroline Dufau, folklore is neither decoration nor nostalgia. It is a site of struggle, where narratives, identities and imaginaries are constantly renegotiated. Drawing from fragments of traditional Occitan music, the duo composes, reshapes and rewrites. Ancient melodies intertwine with original texts in a contemporary language that echoes both subversive Occitan memories and present-day struggles. The voice becomes a chronicle of now, a way of inhabiting the present. Driven by hypnotic polyphony and the deep pulse of stringed tambourines, the album embraces a minimal, physical and grounded aesthetic. Repetition acts as propulsion, dance as function. Cocanha’s practice is collective by nature: to gather, to move, to fuel a joyful struggle around reclaiming the commons. This album marks a turning point in the group’s approach, with the emergence of a resolutely collective form of creation. Cocanha’s musicians, Lila Fraysse and Caroline Dufau, led the pre-production alongside Catalan producer Raül Refree, with whom they had worked on their previous record Puput. Together, they shaped the album’s sonic identity, co-arranged Cocanha’s compositions for the studio, and invited Italian musician and producer Walter Laureti (known for his work with Davide Ambrogio) to record the album. Paulin Courtial (from the Occitan rock duo CxK) joined them to record two additional tracks. But the collective momentum doesn’t stop there. In order to fully realise this shared vision, the group invited friends and collaborators Audrey Ginestet, Arthur Ower, Jules Ribis and Johann Levasseur to take part in the mixing process, joining Raül Refree, Walter Laureti and Paulin Courtial in shaping the record through a truly multi-handed approach.

With Flame Folclòre, Cocanha continues reclaiming Occitan folklore as a living, political and embodied space. For Lila Fraysse and Caroline Dufau, folklore is neither decoration nor nostalgia. It is a site of struggle, where narratives, identities and imaginaries are constantly renegotiated. Drawing from fragments of traditional Occitan music, the duo composes, reshapes and rewrites. Ancient melodies intertwine with original texts in a contemporary language that echoes both subversive Occitan memories and present-day struggles. The voice becomes a chronicle of now, a way of inhabiting the present. Driven by hypnotic polyphony and the deep pulse of stringed tambourines, the album embraces a minimal, physical and grounded aesthetic. Repetition acts as propulsion, dance as function. Cocanha’s practice is collective by nature: to gather, to move, to fuel a joyful struggle around reclaiming the commons. This album marks a turning point in the group’s approach, with the emergence of a resolutely collective form of creation. Cocanha’s musicians, Lila Fraysse and Caroline Dufau, led the pre-production alongside Catalan producer Raül Refree, with whom they had worked on their previous record Puput. Together, they shaped the album’s sonic identity, co-arranged Cocanha’s compositions for the studio, and invited Italian musician and producer Walter Laureti (known for his work with Davide Ambrogio) to record the album. Paulin Courtial (from the Occitan rock duo CxK) joined them to record two additional tracks. But the collective momentum doesn’t stop there. In order to fully realise this shared vision, the group invited friends and collaborators Audrey Ginestet, Arthur Ower, Jules Ribis and Johann Levasseur to take part in the mixing process, joining Raül Refree, Walter Laureti and Paulin Courtial in shaping the record through a truly multi-handed approach.

Superior Viaduct and our new artist label, W.25TH, are proud to continue to be the home for Cindy Lee with the physical release of the celebrated album Diamond Jubilee. Universally praised, shortlisted for the 2024 Polaris Music Prize, and already hailed by Pitchfork as the 3rd best album of the 2020s, anticipation and conversation around the record has been high. Cindy Lee is the performance and songwriting vehicle of Patrick Flegel (who previously fronted influential indie group Women). Over several albums, Flegel has combined delicate melodies and sheer beauty with moments of experimentation. With Diamond Jubilee, Flegel's undeniable songcraft comes to the foreground, embracing a more instant connection and accessibility. Timeless tales of love and longing, surrounded by sticky hooks, take the listener on an unforgettable journey.

Superior Viaduct and our new artist label, W.25TH, are proud to continue to be the home for Cindy Lee with the physical release of the celebrated album Diamond Jubilee. Universally praised, shortlisted for the 2024 Polaris Music Prize, and already hailed by Pitchfork as the 3rd best album of the 2020s, anticipation and conversation around the record has been high. Cindy Lee is the performance and songwriting vehicle of Patrick Flegel (who previously fronted influential indie group Women). Over several albums, Flegel has combined delicate melodies and sheer beauty with moments of experimentation. With Diamond Jubilee, Flegel's undeniable songcraft comes to the foreground, embracing a more instant connection and accessibility. Timeless tales of love and longing, surrounded by sticky hooks, take the listener on an unforgettable journey.

On Beacon Hill: at twilight we find Anthony Moore, roots winding backwards to the halcyon days of Slapp Happy and the ‘70s progressive art rock scene, at guitar and piano. With the atmospheres and accompaniments of AKA & Friends, he breathes infernal new life into songs from his six decades of multivarious music making. This new delivery system is unto a séance, a communal incantation, twining Anthony’s avant and pop traditions together in a darkly radiant coil of folky chamber music; a rope to lower the listener through cobwebs and murk, unveiling new life beneath Anthony’s mad old lines.

It is new life that we will need if we hope to reoccupy this cursed earth.

AKA are Anthony Moore, Keith Rodway and Amanda Thompson. A pagan family of sound worshipers hailing from that unholiest of all places: Hastings UK, home of Crowley and Turing. Like their sinister forbears in that infamous tradition, this latest trinity shares a passion for subverting pattern and number, factoring unlikely permutations arising from sea and horizon, greensward, the southerly aspect, and the planisphere as half-world. Their equatorial shore speaks of a planet of water and earth, fire and air. AKA’s humble tools of choice for this endeavor are guitar, piano, organ, synthesizer and vocals.

The Friends of AKA are Tullis Rennie, trombone and electronics; Olie Brice, double bass; Richard Moore, violin; and Haydn Ackerley, guitar. They too navigate the shoreline of the south coast, haunt the same taverns and regularly play together in whatever combinations fit the bill.

Leaving the drums (and their drummer) at home to realize anew these dream-laden songs, AKA & Friends ensure that the notes fall around the beat and not on it, so as to define the pulse with absence. As such, time is liberated, prised free from the merciless clock; a rhythm of waves, passing through a steady-state universe of no beginnings and no endings. Discontinuities are dissolved, all is transition.

On Beacon Hill: Anthony Moore with AKA & Friends manifest a sensuous post-devastation lounge act, seeking to re-invoke natural orders by naming — rather than cursing — the darkness in its many guises. Like final-phase Johnny Cash on a lost episode of Twin Peaks, Anthony’s innate gravitas is a light through the surreal landscape, as the players combine themselves again and again, their efforts rising and falling in shared space. Their gothic jazz orchestra carves delicately through Anthony’s songs, releasing the melodies and the melancholy to drift upward, like smoke against a sooty and scorched backdrop.

On Beacon Hill: fantastic, prophetic journeys, dry eyed but deeply affected, through the shadow depths of Anthony Moore’s mirror. As we listen, we gravitate and journey alongside fellow refugees in solidarity and solitude alike.

Wewantsounds is delighted to announce the release of one of Japan's most coveted albums of the 70s, "Mangekyou" by singer-songwriter Yoshiko Sai. Produced in 1975 by Master musician Yuji Ohno, the album features Yoshiko Sai's superbly crafted songs and crystal clear voice over Ohno's lush, funky sound and breezy arrangements. A strong buzz has been growing around the album over the years and original copies now change hands for large sums of money. This is the first time "Mangekyou" is available outside of Japan, featuring remastered audio, original artwork and a 4 page insert including new liner notes by Paul Bowler.

A double-LP vinyl edition of *Adan no Kaze*—Ichiko Aoba’s seventh original album, originally released in December 2020—has been confirmed for release. Conceived as a "soundtrack for a fictional film," this album has been highly anticipated on vinyl by fans both in Japan and abroad. Collaborating with musician Taro Umebayashi on composition and arrangement, Aoba moves beyond her signature classical guitar-and-voice style; the album features rich, intricate soundscapes—incorporating chamber music ensembles and classical influences—that transport the listener into the world of a make-believe movie. By blending Umebayashi’s profound interpretation with Aoba’s storytelling, the work achieves a new level of artistic expression and deep musical resonance. It is a vibrant, colorful soundtrack comprising 14 tracks.

Sometimes, Mitski says, it feels like life would be easier without hope, or a soul, or love. But when she closes her eyes and thinks about what’s truly hers, what can’t be repossessed or demolished, she sees love. “The best thing I ever did in my life was to love people,” Mitski says. “I wish I could leave behind all the love I have, after I die, so that I can shine all this goodness, all this good love that I’ve created onto other people.” She hopes her newest album, The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We, will continue to shine that love long after she’s gone. Listening to it, that’s precisely how it feels: like a love that’s haunting the land. Love is always radical, which means that it always disrupts, which means that it always takes work to receive it. This land, which already feels inhospitable to so many of its inhabitants, is about to feel hopelessly torn and tossed again – at times, devoid of love. This album offers the anodyne. “This is my most American album,” Mitski says about her seventh record, and the music feels like a profound act of witnessing this country, in all of its private sorrows and painful contradictions. But “maybe it’s beyond witnessing,” she says. At times, it feels like the album is an exercise in negative capability – a fearless embodiment and absorption of the pain of other bodies. When I ask her what the album would look like, if it were a person, she says it would be someone middle-aged and exhausted, perhaps someone having a midlife crisis. But through the daily indignity and exhaustion, something enormous and ecstatic is calling out. In this album, which is sonically Mitski’s most expansive, epic, and wise, the songs seem to be introducing wounds and then actively healing them. Here, love is time-traveling to bless our tender days, like the light from a distant star. Mitski wrote these songs in little bursts over the past few years, and they feel informed by moments of noticing – noticing a sound that’s out of place, a building that groans in decay, an opinion that splits a room, a feeling that can’t be contained in a body. It was recorded at both the Bomb Shelter in East Nashville and the Sunset Sound Studios in Los Angeles. The album incorporates an orchestra arranged and conducted by Drew Erickson, as well as a full choir of 17 people - 12 in LA and 5 in Nashville - arranged by Mitski. And for the first time, it felt important to Mitski to have a band recording live together in the studio, to create this new sublime sound. Working with her longtime producer Patrick Hyland, the album has a wide-range of references, from Ennio Morricone’s bombastic Spaghetti Western scores to Carter Burwell’s tundra-filling Fargo soundtrack, from the breathy intimacy of Arthur Russell to the strident aliveness of Scott Walker or Igor Stravinsky, from the jubilation of Caetano Veloso to the twangy longing of Faron Young. From the first track, the album introduces and then heals a wound. “Bug Like an Angel” finds the divine in the ordinary, in the boozy drowning of sorrow. The narrator sings from the strange comfort of rock bottom: “sometimes a drink feels like family.” And suddenly, that choir of angels sings: “FAMILY!” This first track introduces a cosmic paradox: “The wrath of the devil was also given him by God.” This is an album in which dark and light exist in the same gesture, the same broken prayer. Like the Buddha inviting the demon Mara in for tea, The Land embraces brutal, daily pain — the necessary toll of transcendent love. In “Buffalo Replaced,” the wail of a freight train replaces the vibrations of the long-gone stampeding buffalo. Here, hope itself is personified, anthropomorphized into a sleeping creature, and our narrator wonders if life would be easier without her. But then, as though in response, “Heaven” offers a beautiful moment of passion, preserved like a fossil in time even though the “dark awaits us all around the corner.” This oasis is aggressively interrupted by “I Don’t Like My Mind,” a song from the perspective of someone in extraordinary pain. They are begging to keep their job, while actively keeping terrible traumatic memories at bay. Without their employment, these memories might take over, consuming them as relentlessly as the cake that they ate one “inconvenient Christmas.” The toggling between hope and despair in these four songs is masterful — the good, the bad, and the ugly in America’s backyard. This mythology continues to deepen with the stunning “The Deal,” in which someone is so burdened by their soul that they beg for it to be taken from them. Soon, the singer’s soul is revealed to be a bird perched on a streetlight. In a coup of songwriting, the narration does not switch into the newly-souled bird’s voice. No, we stay with the soulless “I.” The bird calls down: “You’re a cage without me. / Your pain is eased but you’ll never be free.” This song reinforces the album’s tug-of-war between the intoxication of love and the pain of isolation. Close on its heels is “My Love Mine All Mine,” an instant classic and the beating heart of the album, wherein the singer imagines their love shining down on the earth from the moon, long after the speaker is gone. “It’s just witness-less me,” she sings on “The Frost,” which suddenly takes us from the anticipation of loss right into the aching loneliness of it. On the subject of witnessing, Mitski says: “I’ve always been the person on the outside watching. And I’ve also done that with myself... outside of myself, witnessing myself, watching myself.” She thinks that she might have adopted this habit as a condition of being a woman of color, and that it’s led to the occasional post-apocalyptic fantasy of being the only person left in the world. We talked about Samuel Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape, in which a man is profoundly alone, with only an archive of old tapes to keep him company. He remembers the seismic event of an old sexual encounter, but now it’s: “Past midnight. Never knew such silence. The earth might be uninhabited.” The Land repeatedly offers that same hypothesis. Without love, is there anyone here? After the alien lift of “Star” comes the album’s showdown. “I’m Your Man” feels as inevitable, bloody, and haunting as a Sergio Leone duel scene. The “Man” in the title isn’t some fella proclaiming devotion, Mitski says, but rather the man inside her head, the haunting patriarch who treats her like a dog and can destroy her at whim. Despite his confidence and swagger, he is tracked down by a pack of hounds — who have unionized in the name of catharsis. After this violent reckoning, a Fowler’s Toad calls out in what sounds like a human scream. The night settles into silence. The earth might be uninhabited. We glide into the liberating closer, “I Love Me After You,” in which someone is truly alone but truly free. King of all the land. “I don’t have a self,” Mitski observes. “I have a million selves, and they’re all me, and I inhabit them, and they all live inside me.” Loving all of these selves does not yield the easy burst of a pop song. It’s the “long, complex, deep love, that you can never get to the end of, that’s always evolving, like a person. And there’s just no end to it. It feels like space travel.” The album is full of the ache of the grown- up, seemingly mundane heartbreaks and joys that are often unsung but feel enormous. It’s a tiny epic. From the bottom of a glass, to a driveway slushy with memory and snow, to a freight train barreling through the Midwest, and all the way to the moon, it feels like everything, and everyone, is crying out, screaming in pain, arching towards love. Maybe this is what our best artists do: take a spaceship into the furthest reaches of pain, in order to bring back the elixir that we already had inside us. The unknowable known of love. “You have to go to both worlds all the time,” Mitski says, by which she means the mysterious world of making and the brutal world of living. This album is an act of hyperlocal space travel. Love is that inhospitable land, beckoning us and then rejecting us. To love this place — this earth, this America, this body — takes active work. It might be impossible. The best things are.

Originally self-released in 2023, Stella Kola, the debut album from Beverly Ketch (Jow Jow, Weeping Bong Band) and Robert Thomas (Sunburned Hand of the Man, Dalthom). "Given the pair’s respective roots—and the presence of collaborators drawn from across the Northeast experimental underground—one might expect “a brutal blast of acid swirl.” Instead, what emerges is something far more unexpected. The album is “steeped, not in noise and dissonance, but in the fragrant, captivating folk of Linda Perhacs, Judee Sill, Karen Dalton, and Bridget St John.” From the opening moments, especially on “Rosa,” the record reveals its core sensibility: “a ballad that digs deep into the psychedelic-folk tradition until it takes root in a freshly sporous permaculture.” What follows is a set of songs that feel both carefully assembled and organically grown—delicate structures held together by a wide circle of contributing musicians, including Wednesday Knudsen (flute), P.G. Six (harp, guitars, keys), Gary War (synth), Jen Gellineau (viola, violin), Willie Lane, L. Gray, and others. Rather than functioning as studio additions, these collaborators form a genuine collective presence. “The family affair feeds into the album’s charms,” and the feeling is unmistakably communal. Like many of the ‘60s folk records it echoes, Stella Kola carries “the feeling of community and camaraderie” at its core, shaping a warmth that runs through the entire release. The album’s emotional palette leans toward a quiet, persistent melancholy: “the best records from that era also carried with them an inherent sadness and Stella Kola’s songs wash over the listener with a beautiful woe.” Its sound edges into the terrain of Fairport Convention and Pentangle, with references to “Beggar’s, Kings, Dark Damsels, and Tarot,” yet never settles into revivalism. Instead, Ketch and Thomas extend the tradition outward, refracting it through their own distinctly American, underground language."

A humanity-reminding suite of miracle moments, Someone Like Me unites a geographically unbound cast of real people in pursuit of a meaningful connection. Taping their lived experience in economic studios in quiet English counties, Pacific Northwest woodland retreats and the big city bustle of Sydney and Los Angeles, these kindred spirits rendered sheer beauty in the process. Custom pressed folk songs of love, loss and the lord saviour. Illuminating minor works from seasoned players such as former Syndicate Of Sound chart-topper Sharkey and late-era Canned Heat lynchpin James Thornbury, the collection simultaneously honours the fleeting amateurism of hobby musicians. With their one shot at tangible vinyl, freshman Lynne Ann Kingan realised her loose bubblegum rocker on campus time, while U.S. Navy recruit Fred Potts cut his unconditionally serene ballad remotely stationed on a Spanish naval base. Spartan production continues to reign with Jon Betmead’s hair-raising gospel, howling into infinite space, and Goldrust’s stripped back garden hymn. Throughout the hour-long reflection, faith has an intermittent yet revelatory presence, most overtly with the divine choral soul of Seventh-day Adventist quartet Remnant. More subtly, Gary Ramey and Jim Kennedy both turned to song in their spiritual quests, offering their all to a universal power. An irrefutable compilation cornerstone, the National Office For Black Catholics showcased Charles Murphy’s lionhearted account of the Black experience at a 1971 concert. Five years earlier, high school seniors The Superwomen would use their hauntingly angelic harmonies to address racial inequity with a breathless take on ‘Lowlands’. Reaching the furthest corners, Someone Like Me secures the inaugural licence of three homespun masterpieces. Discovered by fluke in the digital haystacks of Youtube and Soundcloud, Jim Huxley’s bedroom pop earworm melds peacefully into Charlie Webster’s synthesized reverie. Meanwhile, Hollywood’s John Agostino introduces us to the bizarre world of tax scam records, with the artist only now learning that his tender psych-folk demos were leaked via a 1977 bootleg. Compiled and lovingly restored by armchair digger Mikey Young (Eddy Current Suppression Ring/The Green Child), Someone Like Me pays due service to seventeen rarefied journals of truth and devotion. Adorned with visual artist Chris Fallon’s figure and flora dream extractions, the uniting songbook is further detailed by expansive track-by-track liner notes and a foreword from San Franciscan poet Rod Roland.

Back in stock ! João Gilberto’s 1970 En México captures the bossa nova legend in exile, blending Brazilian classics, boleros, and standards with his signature whisper-soft vocals and minimalist guitar. Recorded during his stay in Mexico City, the album features gems like “Bésame Mucho” and “Ela é Carioca,” offering a delicate, cross-cultural set that highlights Gilberto’s timeless, introspective style.

"The third full-length release for Portland, Oregon-based Liz Harris. Harris might have achieved a significant fan base thanks to the whispering, near-ambient vocal crusades of her debut album Way Their Crept and its follow-up Wide, but those with a careful ear would have heard slightly more trapped beneath her fuzzy chain of effects. Dragging A Dead Deer Up A Hill marks a departure of sorts for Liz, which sees her turn down the fuzz boxes which caged (and to some degree defined) her sound and allows her voice to ring out above everything else. It is an album steeped in the world of dream-pop and far from shying away from the reference, Liz has instead grabbed on with both hands, creating an album's worth of perfect, left-field pop songs. Using delicate song structures which are at once both familiar and somehow alien, her vocals cry out hauntingly over stripped-down guitar lines and looped environmental recordings. These are the future soundtracks to love, despair and ultimately, hope." "This remarkable album is actually what I personally always wanted 4AD records to sound like, only they never quite delivered the hazy pleasures their beautiful sleeve art promised." --Pitchfork (8.2)

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.

Following his 1971 conviction for the murder of seven people, including the actress and model Sharon Tate, the notorious cult leader, Beach Boys associate and failed singer-songwriter Charles Manson was sentenced to death, later commuted to life imprisonment. Recorded with just an acoustic guitar in his jail cell, Live At San Quentin dates from 1983 and is probably the most poppy of Manson’s improvised far-out folk songs ever committed to tape, with flushing toilets and background conversations adding to the gritty low-fi realism. If you like the Lie album, you need this one too – Manson fans will not be disappointed!

Originally self‑released in 1978 in an extremely small run and long regarded as a lost AOR gem, Craig Dove’s self‑titled album finally receives a long‑awaited vinyl reissue.

Released in 1972 and long out of reach, Belle Gonzalez’s only album is one of those rare records that feels like a secret passed from hand to hand. Her voice is gentle yet full of presence, carrying songs that drift between British folk and the soft sway of Brazilian rhythms. It’s music that feels both of its time and strangely timeless, the kind of record you play once and then can’t forget. After decades in obscurity, Belle finally returns, restored with care and ready to be heard the way it always should have been.