Indie / Alternative

Following the release of Everything Harmony, which garnered acclaim from Questlove, Iggy Pop, Anthony Fantano, The Guardian, and countless others, The Lemon Twigs—the New York City rock band fronted by brothers Brian and Michael D’Addario—have once again captured the attention of the music listening public. They are in their premature “comeback” stage, and coming back this early has its benefits; the brothers have the energy of 24- and 26- year-olds, plus the experience and songwriting chops of seasoned musicians, having recorded their first album, Do Hollywood, nearly a decade ago at ages 15 and 17. Set for release less than a year after their last album, A Dream Is All We Know is a joyous affair. As the title suggests, it’s less of a sober look at the darker side of life, and more a hopeful sojourn into the realm of dreams. The tone has shifted away from dreary melancholic ballads and moody power pop. Brian and Michael are revisiting their “1968” sound. This album feels closely related to Do Hollywood, but their songwriting and recording techniques have vastly improved over the course of five albums. The brothers combine elements of the Merseybeat sound, the California Beach Boy harmony sound, and Bubblegum to create a unique collection of pop nuggets. (They say it’s part of a new “Merseybeach” movement, sure to catch on, though that fact remains to be seen.) The sense of urgency imbued in lead single “My Golden Years” comes in part from the jangly 12-string guitars and driving drums, but also from the anxiety of a narrator who can feel their “golden years” slipping away from them. Michael’s line, “In time I hope that I can show all the world the love in my mind,” can serve as a statement of intent for the whole collection of songs, as the brothers race against time to create as much quality pop material as possible. “They Don’t Know How To Fall In Place” propels the album forward into bubblegum paradise with its euphoric harmonies and biting clavinet, while the Roy Wood inspired “Church Bells” takes you on a journey in its two-minute and nine-second run time. At every turn you’re introduced to a new instrument, and as Michael sings “ring goes the bell,” the drummer switches to the bell of the ride cymbal and the song reveals itself as a pop tone poem, complete with cellos, mandolin and trumpets, all played by Brian. Not to mention the fun Mersey pun, using famous drummer Ringo’s name in a song that conflates images of the west side of Manhattan with the atmosphere of northern England. Next comes the titular “A Dream Is All I Know,” an existential space age epic, followed by the baroque pocket-prog of “Sweet Vibration.” Equipped with the songwriting chops of a lost era (somewhere between The Brill Building and 10452 Bellagio Road) the new record was carefully arranged and produced entirely analog in the brothers’ Brooklyn recording studio. Most of the tracks were constructed with the two brothers swapping instruments and layering all the parts themselves. One of the exceptions to that rule was “In The Eyes Of The Girl,” co-produced by Sean Ono Lennon in his upstate New York studio, which had the brothers tracking drums and piano while Lennon handled bass duties. On top of that, the brothers add multilayered harmonies that bring to mind The Beach Boys, The Four Freshman, and The Free Design. Side two’s opener “If You And I Are Not Wise,” has the brothers channeling the Everlys’ close harmonies while seeking spiritual illumination with the line, “I wish that someone could tell me what my soul knows that I don’t know.” Brother Brian says, “There’s definitely an escapist bend to this album. Joyous music can take you out of the world when things get too heavy, which everyone needs sometimes. ” “How Can I Love Her More?” is a whirlwind of musical flights of fancy. Blaring horns and strings set the stage before the song settles into a rollicking shuffle, complete with two drum sets, an adventurous bass part, theremin, flutes and harpsichord. It’s a kitchen sink approach, full of left turns, but never bordering on cacophony. It segues directly into the peaceful, sparser “Ember Days,” propelled by a meditative nylon string pattern that’s part bossa nova, part Nick Drake. The peace doesn’t last long though, as “Peppermint Roses” erupts with a menacing Farfisa into a two-part nightmare comedy that doesn’t let up. The album unwinds with the dreamy “I Should’ve Known Right From The Start.” It’s like a forgotten piece of French Pop that just happens to be sung in English, complete with arpeggiated acoustic guitar, melodic bass and catchy drum hooks. While the album is chock full of progressive pop ideas, it closes with an ode to early rock and roll on “Rock On (Over and Over).” “Rock On” contextualizes the band as part of a lineage of rock and roll that’s never really stopped. In every decade there have been bands that have put their own spin on the music and “push(ed) it on down to the line.” But none have done it with the attention to detail and raw talent of these brothers. For The Lemon Twigs, it took almost a decade for critics and audiences alike to present them with the major accolades they’ve earned this past year. While their initial records were appreciated for the musical proficiency they displayed, the brothers’ past few records have communicated their ideas with more clarity and emotional resonance. In other words, “It took too long to say ‘rock on.’”

“As I’m getting older, chip up on my shoulder…” is the opening line from Mac DeMarco’s second full-length LP ‘Salad Days,’ the follow up to 2012’s lauded ‘Mac DeMarco 2.’ Amongst that familiar croon and lilting guitar, that initial line from the title track sets the tone for an LP of a maturing singer/songwriter/producer. Someone strangely self-aware of the positives and negatives of their current situation at the ripe old age of 23. Written and recorded around a relentless tour schedule (which picked up all over again as soon as the LP was done), ‘Salad Days’ gives the listener a very personal insight into what it’s all about to be Mac amidst the craziness of a rising career in a very public format. The lead single, “Passing Out Pieces,” set to huge overdriven organ chords, contains lines like “…never been reluctant to share, passing out pieces of me…” Clearly, Salad Days isn’t the same record that breezily gave us “Dreamin,” and “Ode to Viceroy,” but the result of what comes from their success. “Chamber of Reflection,” a track featuring icy synth stabs and soulful crooning, wouldn’t be out of place on a fantasy Shuggie Otis and Prince collaboration. Standout tracks like these show Mac’s widening sound, whether insights into future directions or even just welcome one-off forays into new territory. Still, this is musically, lyrically and melodically good old Mac DeMarco, through and through. The same crisp John Lennon / Phil Spector era homegrown lush production that could have walked out of Geoff Emerick’s mixing board in 1972, but with that peculiar Mac touch that’s completely of right now. “Brother,” a complete future classic, is Mac at his most soulful and easygoing but with that distinct weirdness and bite that can only come from Mr. DeMarco.“Treat Her Better” is rife with “Mac-isms,” heavily chorused slinky lead guitar, swooning vocal melodies, effortless chords that come along only after years of effort, and the other elements seriously lacking in independent music: sentiment and heartfelt sincerity.

Perhaps one of the most exciting and anticipated projects in the world of heavy instrumental music is Parlor Greens, a fresh organ trio on Colemine Records! You could say that Parlor Greens are greater than the sum of their parts…however, the individual parts are simply stellar on their own. Tim Carman (GA-20) on drums, Jimmy James (True Loves, formerly Delvon Lamarr Organ Trio) on guitar, and Adam Scone (Scone Cash Players, The Sugarman 3) on organ.Scone is perhaps the most tasteful living organist on planet Earth (and beyond) and to watch him play is to truly watch a master at work. He bends the organ to his will like a true mastercraftsman. He’s a veteran of the soul revival scene, having played on many Daptone recording sessions since their inception, but also has learned from some of the legends of soul jazz: Melvin Sparks and The Turbanator himself Dr. Lonnie Smith. Jimmy James needs no introduction to many as he’s been seen all over the world performing with instrumental groups The True Loves and the Delvon Lamarr Organ Trio. Perhaps the most dangerous right hand in all of soul music, his signature funky approach can be identified by even the most novice of music fans, a feat most musicians could only dream of. Tim Carman. The backbone. The pocket. Having cut his teeth touring the world with blues group GA-20, Carman’s expertise in the world of blues shuffles might make him an unlikely candidate to lay the foundation for the funky Parlor Greens, but this debut LP shows otherwise. Steady, heavy pockets and as funky as they come.Parlor Greens started off as an idea before it even had a name. Carman had been chatting with Colemine label boss Terry Cole about their shared love for organ combo records of yesterday on labels like Blue Note and Prestige. Cole said he’d love to have an organ trio be the first project at the label’s new studio, Portage Lounge, located in Loveland, Ohio. So when Carman tapped James and Scone for the session, the stage was set. Carman and Cole had started work a day early to dial in the drum sound, so when the rest of this murderer’s row arrived they hit the ground running. It was instant chemistry. Within the first ten minutes of everyone plugging in, a song was written and recorded, “West Memphis”. And over the next three days, these three maestros conducted a beautiful and soulful symphony straight to tape. As natural and fun as three old friends getting together after a long absence, only this was the first time they had written and performed together. True magic.So this is the result of that session. Eleven cuts. Ten originals. Two sides. All killer, no filler. Straight to the old reliable Tascam 388 tape machine, mixed up nice and dirty for your enjoyment. Parlor Greens are proud to present their debut long player, In Green / We Dream.

Homer Steinweiss has an incredibly storied career in music that started when he was just a teenager. He's drummed for nearly every "retro soul" group that mattered and his distinctive stickwork helped blend the raw-but-receptive soul sound back into the mainstream via the likes of Amy Winehouse & Sharon Jones. He’s now one of the most in demand drummers in the world, playing with Jonas Brothers, Clairo, Solange, Adele, and Bruno Mars to name a few. With his debut solo release Ensatina, Homer is stepping to the forefront as both musician and producer. His new record is a reflection of who he is now and a testament to how struggle often brings about a needed change. In 2020 Homer had to reckon with considerable emotional turbulence; at the same time that his band Holy Hive broke up, a personal relationship of 20+ years fell apart putting Homer in an uncertain place mentally. The fallout was significant enough for him to seek professional help. "I was going through these super manic highs and then very depressive lows," Homer describes. "And being in all that, it's just so tough to imagine that the other side is there, that it'll be ok." But, with time, professional help, and support from friends and family, Homer made it through and has been forever changed. This album is a product of that period of his life. The first song from these sessions, “Now That It’s Over” perfectly sums up Homer’s triumph through those tough times. It's a song of changing perspective and contemplation with haunting vocals from Hether and Flikka. "Paul (Castelluzzo—aka, Hether), as a friend, saw me through these highs and lows," Homer points out. "I only had the one line, 'Now that it's over, I'm alright,' but he felt that lyric so much that he wrote all these sections and lyrics and basically completed the song. It was like he was writing to me." Hether also features on album standouts “Deep Sea”, a modern love song, “Start Select”, a juxtaposition of inspiration and melancholy, and “Forever and Ever and Ever and Ever” which is an incredible contemporary take on the B side soul ballad. Homer uses his innate gift for bringing seemingly opposing energies together on “Racecar Driver”, pairing the vocals of Hether & long time friend and collaborator KIRBY to make a genre challenging banger. KIRBY also graces the album opener “Rollin’”, an airy, warm-weather invoking song that her raspy voice perfectly compliments. He puts his drumming front and center on “So Get Up!”, a bottom heavy infectious track that MINOVA’s vocals turn into an instant hit that is sure to smash speakers. On “Wishing Well” & “Hide It Behind the Light I’m Shining Through” Homer is joined by girl named GOLDEN, who’s unique voice effortlessly finds the pocket in each tune. The man on trumpet, and fellow Big Crown label mate Dave Guy, puts his incomparable playing on the album closer “Goldie” which Homer says is the part of the movie where the credits roll. Making this album was a refuge for Homer and it put him back on track. Ensatina is a glimpse into the different energies and influences that make Homer tick. To say he was always much more than a drummer would be an understatement, and this first solo offering is just the beginning of his next chapter.

In "Carrie and Lowell," Sufjan Stevens is a child again or, more specifically, the child character in the family of man drama that often but not always centers on the story of love given, or love forsaken, but isn't that the same thing to the poet? That the love Stevens sings about having left or given or been born to--thank you, Carrie--is a perceptible wound not only on the singer's throat, but his sleeve: he wears love's incomprehensibility, and the deep incomprehensibility of being a son, like a backing vocal on "Carrie and Lowell," which is also filled with colors, hearts, trees, conclusions, and beginnings, all adding up to the kind of intimacy that caught my eye the morning I sat in the diner waiting for the sun to get stronger as I saw intimacy pass by while going about it's business, like something sung and felt by Sufjan Stevens on his new beautiful solitary and rich record filled with faith and disbelief and the resurrection of trust and dreams. - HILTON ALS

An eclectic compilation album celebrating twenty ‘tips of the tongue’ from David Keenan, released to coincide with a book of his collected music writing.

As well as being the title of a book. Volcanic Tongue was a record shop that existed in Glasgow from 2005 to 2015, run by David Keenan and Heather Leigh, it championed contemporary DIY music from around the world, often released in tiny runs on homemade CD-Rs, and also sought to shine a light on forgotten artists from the past, who had often released their music as a ‘private press’ LP. The shop was also known for it’s weekly mailing list, with Keenan enthusiastically rapping about new arrivals, especially the record of the week, given the sobriquet ‘tip of the tongue’. This collection has been put together from releases that were a ‘tip of the tongue’, containing music that runs the gamut from outsider synth to psych-folk to damaged rock’n’roll, with tracks recorded between 1968 and 2013, a celebration of a vibrant and eclectic underground avant-garde.

Printed inner sleeves with original notes on each artist by David Keenan, housed in a sleeve designed by Julian House.

Japanese edition with Obi, PJ Harvey is one of the most important singer/songwriters in the UK music scene, the only two-time winner of the Mercury Prize and one of the 100 greatest singers in history as chosen by Q magazine. 

The Smile have today announced two new remixes of tracks from their critically acclaimed third album CUTOUTS, from James Holden and Robert Stillman.

The remixes will also be released as a limited edition AA side 12-inch on 28th March. Stanley Donwood’s sleeve design pays tribute to XL Recordings’ signature housebag series

LP version on CLEAR vinyl in PVC sleeve with double-sided printed clear plastic insert. CD version is the mini replica of the vinyl version, in slim plastic case with clear insert.

“Love Will Tear Us Apart” should have been the band’s most shining moment…instead it became their tragic swan song. Released just a month after frontman Ian Curtis’ heart wrenching suicide, the song came to be seen as the unheeded warning of the impending tragedy.

This special edition LP features all three versions of the song that transformed Joy Division from mere band into legend. In addition to the original single version, we have two versions remixed by American producers Don Gehman of John Mellencamp fame (the “radio version”) and Arthur Baker (who also produced a hit single for Africa Bambaataa around this same time).

The remaining tracks include “These Days” (which appeared on the original “Love Will Tear Us Apart” single), along with “Transmission” (their debut single released in 1979) and “Atmosphere” (originally released as a France-only single) in 1980.

2025 repress forthcoming in Feb. One of the brightest and most famous projects of the entire punk/new wave scene, No New York was released in 1978 on Island's sub-label Antilles. Featuring some of the most incredible rule breaking bands of the underground N.Y.C. art and music scene, the project - produced by Brian Eno - is a genuine snapshot of the massively creative N.Y.C. scene. Artists: Contortions, Teenage Jesus And The Jerks, Mars, D.N.A..

You Never End is the third album from Moin (Valentina Magaletti, Tom Halstead and Joe Andrews) out via AD 93 on the 25th October.
This record marks Moin’s shift into a new phase with vocal collaborations across the album from Olan Monk, james K, Coby Sey and Sophia Al-Maria.

The album’s collaborators all have voices that are alluring in their own right whilst hard to pin down: from james K’s ethereal, reverb drenched vocals, Coby Sey’s words that bounce and echo across London’s concrete streets and Olan Monk’s emotive songwriting, while artist Sophie Al-Maria’s voice and thoughts are known to stretch across her multidisciplinary practice as an artist, filmmaker and writer. The unique mystique of each collaborator is maintained throughout the record while simultaneously opening Moin up to new possibilities, in a gentle shifting alchemy.

Continuing their enigmatic re-configuring of the traditional band, Moin use a mix of conventional and unique production and compositional techniques. Subtly re-framing the current conversation about what band in 2024 needs to be, Moin walk the line between what's reassuringly familiar and what's unsettling and inquisitive. You Never End is a more sensitive record in sentiment, it re-contextualises grunge, shoegaze and indie rock with a weirdly comforting melancholy while still sounding direct and alive.

The vocal collaborations bring the most articulate moments and lucid emotion while still remaining uniquely within Moin's established world. Alongside this, the record fine tunes the elements of electronic production that have always been a feature of the band's unique sound in a deeply subtle way. Elements are simpler and more direct, offering robust functional support as well as textural and emotional resonance. Together they show the potential for both practices to intertwine. 

Alabaster DePlume often asks a simple question: what do people need? In his work, at his shows, in his collaborations, the Mancunian singer-saxophonist and poet-philosopher poses this to the people around him. What are people looking for? In recent years, the same reply kept coming up: healing, healing, people need healing. But why, and what does it mean to heal, especially in a world where the very idea is often commodified and sold as a luxury? If people were coming to his music for something so mysterious, he ought to figure it out. Maybe he ought to try some healing himself.

“For a long time, I've always tried to give responsibility for my value to someone else,” DePlume told me on a recent phone call. It seemed he’d become so caught up in the work of forging connections, and thinking about the effects of his work on others, that he’d lost a sense of himself. “I was working on that,” he explained.

This experiment in healing included slowing down, reading, reflecting, and even taking up the practice of jiu-jitsu. DePlume wrote poetry, too, including the book 'Looking for my value: prologue to a blade', seventy pages of verse rooted in its title’s great search, in finding strength of self within a community, alongside meditations on the paradox of the blade. “The blade, that divides, is whole,” he writes in the introduction. “Healing is the forming of a whole, and a whole is singular, more itself, as in more one, as in more alone.” A blade could be used to attack, to shave, to sever, but it could also be used to cut oneself loose—in the process of getting free.

“What's the opposite of sleep? It’s trying to sleep,” he told me. “And so what's the opposite of looking for my value? It is knowing my value. It simply is there. My dignity is there. I don't need anyone else to know my dignity, or me, to know it. I know it first. I can't seek it from another. I stand for it.”

Selections from the poetry book ultimately became the lyrics across half of the tracks on 'A Blade Because A Blade Is Whole', DePlume’s latest full-length work for the reliably great International Anthem label: eleven songs of agency and survival and presence; of confronting life’s pains rather than trying to avoid them; of banishing escapism. In sum, it documents his learning of the fact that dignity and self-determination are prerequisites for becoming whole, which is to say, for healing. If a blade were broken it would not serve its purpose; it must be unbroken, it must be whole, to be of use.

In the Alabaster DePlume songbook, the celestial ease of his instrumental tracks can sometimes feel like a trojan horse for a voice that is disarmingly honest about the heaviness of existence. Opener “Oh My Actual Days” is true to form in that sense, with DePlume’s tenor sax and Macie Stewart’s ghostly strings playing together like a slow march towards an inner reckoning, one that’s beautiful because it is true. The punchy and contemplative “Thank You My Pain” makes a rhythmic refrain from his titular lyric, inspired by the Vietnamese monk and peace activist Thích Nhất Hạnh, who urged the importance of listening to one’s own pain. “Hello my little pain, I know you are here,” Nhất Hạnh would say. “I am home to take care of you. I do not want to cover you up with consumption anymore.” While writing A Blade, DePlume “watched loads of him on YouTube.”

Then there’s the gorgeous swell of “Invincibility,” an ode to self-respect that feels a bit like a choir of angels led by a trickster, a group contemplating: how do we live with the forces that seek to destroy us? The whole song feels like a heavy exhale, or like the feeling of reaching the surface after a long while underwater. “If I meet with my feelings, they cannot destroy me,” he told me. “When I allow myself to embody them, physically, then I live through that feeling and I meet with it and I make peace with it and I find that my feeling is me, and I welcome it. It is a sense that I cannot be destroyed by my feeling. I am invincible.”

“Form a V” is the closest DePlume comes to a monologue, and also his song most indebted to his jiu-jitsu practice. “I’ve only been doing it for the past two or three years,” he told me. “But now I don’t know how you get by without it.” The song takes inspiration from a tradition where a whole dojo will stand in the shape of a V, facing just one lone individual, who is then attacked quickly and repeatedly by each of the others. “The title is a challenge to the world,” DePlume explained. “Go on, form a v—I am ready.”

Across the first half of the record, when the sax comes in short phrases, it feels like a highlighter over lines in DePlume’s poetry book. Other times, it plays out like an extension of his voice. “Playing the saxophone feels like singing,” he said. A transfixing run of instrumentals on the second half of the record includes “Prayer for My Sovereign Dignity,” an anthem for self-possession. “Believing in yourself feels ridiculous,” he says. “It's ridiculous, but that's what it takes. That's what's required. To stand for yourself is absurd. Let us do the absurd that is standing for ourselves. There is this prayer going on in the background—you can't quite tell what the words are, but it's basically, I'm praying for my sovereign dignity but I don't need to pray for it. It's not going to be given to me. I already have it.”

Where DePlume’s previous material was drawn from collective sessions, improvisation, and editing, A Blade was tightly composed, arranged and produced by DePlume himself. From there, he brought his compositions to a cast of players and co-arrangers, including Macie Stewart (strings), Donna Thompson (backing vocals), and Momoko Gill (strings and backing vocals), for sessions at the collective arts space Total Refreshment Centre, where he has long been involved.

Born Gus Fairbairn, DePlume is a man of many past lives. He played “rock band type music” as a teenager, and started playing improvised music around 2008. He is compelled by how improvising allows him to “put faith in others.” He taught himself the saxophone around the time that he became employed as a support worker assisting men with mental disabilities; he once called playing music with them “one of the best breakthroughs for me as an artist.” His debut as Alabaster DePlume came in May 2012, while he was still living in Manchester. He moved to London in 2015 and took up residency at Total Refreshment Centre, where he was encouraged to put on a monthly concert, leading to the series Peach, releasing a namesake album that year, too. His music, from the start, has been imbued with his politics and values; he was maybe arrested once during a protest with the environmental group Extinction Rebellion. His proper international breakthrough came in 2020 with 'To Cy & Lee: Instrumentals Vol. 1', after nearly a decade of steadily releasing records.

On a phone call in the fall of 2024, we barely speak about any of this though. For at least an hour, we mostly just speak about his recent trip to Palestine, and how could we not? DePlume had traveled to Bethlehem in the spring for a conference hosted by a local Lutheran pastor, before meeting up with musicians from a community arts space, the Wonder Cabinet, and the independent radio station, Radio Alhara. “Palestine is a place where people make records,” he says. “I want to normalize the dignity of that. It's not like, oh, I'm going to make a thing about Palestine. I am just there, and I'm making a thing.”

At the end of 2024, DePlume prefaced A Blade with a collection of recent works: the poetry book and a three-track EP partially recorded in Bethlehem, and in collaboration with Palestinian musicians. There’s “Honeycomb” and “Cremisan,” both recorded during his “Sounds of Places” residency at Wonder Cabinet; “Cremisan” documents the conclusion of a daylong performance presented by Wonder Cabinet and Radio alHara, June 1, 2024, described as “a cry from the Cremisan Valley (Bethlehem, Palestine) to Rafah (Gaza).” The EP’s final recording, “Gifts of Olive,” references the soul-wrenching poem “If I Must Die” by Refaat Alareer, professor of English literature at the Islamic University in Gaza, who was killed by an Israeli airstrike in 2023.

To suggest that dignity is a human right we are all entitled to is to say: by nature of being alive, every human life has worth. Contemplating the very concept of human dignity also raises the daily indignities that are so normalized in a world of suffering. The lack of access to clean water, air, housing, healthcare. Without the basic necessities of life, we cannot know dignity. And how can people know dignity if they are living under a constant state of military attack, if they are living as the target of a genocide?

“The album was written before the genocide started, but I had Palestine on my mind all the time,” DePlume explains. “This question of dignity, sovereignty, and the work of healing. It has a relevance in what's being perpetrated there by the Israeli state, and taking responsibility for my place in that. I pay my taxes here in the United Kingdom—I am contributing to, as a white Englishman, the country that brought the Balfour Declaration, that brought the Sykes-Picot Agreement, that supports and enables the colonization and the settler-colonial project in Palestine. It is my issue, and I have a position where I can speak about it.”

“Dignity” has roots in the Latin dignitatem: worthiness. And instilling the plain truth of every human life’s worth has been a recurring commitment in DePlume’s work. “They can’t use us on one another if we don’t forget we’re precious,” he sang in 2022, summing the emotional core of his 2022 album 'GOLD', concerns of shared humanity that play out into the new works as well.

“We make stories in our lives,” DePlume says. “Oh, I need my story. Oh, something bad happened, and I need to heal upon that. Then I will be healed and all will be good, happily ever after. But no, it is work that needs doing all the time. We all are wounded in our many different ways. And there are degrees of healed, or wounded. Basically, we are either doing one thing or we're doing the other. How do I know I am not destroying myself? I only know that when I am working on healing.” 

Driving is Sam Wilkes’ Indie Rock record. Out October 6th, 2023, it is the first release on Wilkes Records, an imprint borne of the artist’s emergent need to self-release. The songs presented here exist comfortably within the ever-expanding Wilkesian cosmos, characterized as they are by virtuosity, torqued experimentalism, and collaboration with a range of talented musicians. But Driving’s influences, its sincerity, and its allegiance to a certain pop sensibility reflects a departure for an artist who has primarily staked his claim within the experimental jazz idiom. Take the first track, “Folk Home,” which inaugurates the album’s fecundity—a bright, green, humid, summer feel. A swirling, freakout coda of reversed vocals gives way, in no short order, to a caterwaul of flute work that conjures Van Morrison’s (in)famous Astral Weeks sessions. Standing beside Morrison, the usual suspects are all present, if somewhat abstractedly. Dylan, The Dead, Joni, the Fab Four. Wilkes has developed a reputation as an experimental jazz luminary, but his deep affinity for the pop/rock/folk idiom of the latter twentieth century rings clear throughout Driving. More so than any Wilkes release to date, Driving is a collection guided by and dedicated to the man’s attention to songcraft. Written and recorded during a period of rain-damage induced renter’s itinerance (and the attendant desire to produce a kind of therapeutic, self-soothing, home-feeling music), Driving loosely charts the trajectory/experience of “a protagonist,” both Wilkes and not, “who has figured out how to live an enlightened and fulfilled life, but is unable to do so because he thinks about it too much.” This friction is surely relatable — a symptom of our compulsively self-aware present. But Wilkes avoids the obvious pitfalls of public hand-wringing. Rather, Driving’s nine tracks evince a genuine, and mature searching-ness, both sonically and lyrically. The ending refrain of “Own” serves like something close to a thesis— “Letting go // isn’t a concept // it’s an action.” In an attempt to beat back ego, hyper-cogitation, language itself, Wilkes arrives at an axiom that feels so true and familiar, you’d swear you’d heard it one hundred times before. Driving’s final third is, fittingly, its most emotive and cathartic. Tracks seven and eight, “Again, Again” and “And Again,” form a diptych, joined most obviously by the jangling, recursive grooves of guitarist Daryl Johns. Wilkes is said to have encouraged Johns to go “full Lindsey [Buckingham]” (clearly a welcome and resonant prompt), but one also catches stray Knopfler vibes, some intermittent Fripp, and (perhaps more-so in tone than technique) the spirit of DIY prophet and jangling man himself, Martin Newell (the Cleaners from Venus). Wilkes has stated that he finds joy in creating musical environments suitable to the contribution and flourishing of his favorite musicians. Throughout Driving, and in these two tracks especially, he has more than succeeded. The record closes with the titular track: a story-song that, according to Wilkes, poured out of him (melody, composition, and lyrics) in a single sitting. The tale is told plainly, bravely, starkly; a mistake was made, regrets have been had, and all is wrapped up in the recollection of a deeply felt adolescent heartsickness—a time when the narrator was first afire with music and automotive freedom. The song captures the moment when meaning inexplicably falls into place, when a long-nagging memory suddenly assumes narrative form, and the subsequent sense of lightness and unburdening. It is fitting that Driving, a record conceived as a form of self-therapy, should culminate with a sense of humble revelation. That Wilkes is plainly eager to share the vulnerable fruits of this labor constitutes Driving’s joyful offering.

Driving is Sam Wilkes’ Indie Rock record. Out October 6th, 2023, it is the first release on Wilkes Records, an imprint borne of the artist’s emergent need to self-release. The songs presented here exist comfortably within the ever-expanding Wilkesian cosmos, characterized as they are by virtuosity, torqued experimentalism, and collaboration with a range of talented musicians. But Driving’s influences, its sincerity, and its allegiance to a certain pop sensibility reflects a departure for an artist who has primarily staked his claim within the experimental jazz idiom. Take the first track, “Folk Home,” which inaugurates the album’s fecundity—a bright, green, humid, summer feel. A swirling, freakout coda of reversed vocals gives way, in no short order, to a caterwaul of flute work that conjures Van Morrison’s (in)famous Astral Weeks sessions. Standing beside Morrison, the usual suspects are all present, if somewhat abstractedly. Dylan, The Dead, Joni, the Fab Four. Wilkes has developed a reputation as an experimental jazz luminary, but his deep affinity for the pop/rock/folk idiom of the latter twentieth century rings clear throughout Driving. More so than any Wilkes release to date, Driving is a collection guided by and dedicated to the man’s attention to songcraft. Written and recorded during a period of rain-damage induced renter’s itinerance (and the attendant desire to produce a kind of therapeutic, self-soothing, home-feeling music), Driving loosely charts the trajectory/experience of “a protagonist,” both Wilkes and not, “who has figured out how to live an enlightened and fulfilled life, but is unable to do so because he thinks about it too much.” This friction is surely relatable — a symptom of our compulsively self-aware present. But Wilkes avoids the obvious pitfalls of public hand-wringing. Rather, Driving’s nine tracks evince a genuine, and mature searching-ness, both sonically and lyrically. The ending refrain of “Own” serves like something close to a thesis— “Letting go // isn’t a concept // it’s an action.” In an attempt to beat back ego, hyper-cogitation, language itself, Wilkes arrives at an axiom that feels so true and familiar, you’d swear you’d heard it one hundred times before. Driving’s final third is, fittingly, its most emotive and cathartic. Tracks seven and eight, “Again, Again” and “And Again,” form a diptych, joined most obviously by the jangling, recursive grooves of guitarist Daryl Johns. Wilkes is said to have encouraged Johns to go “full Lindsey [Buckingham]” (clearly a welcome and resonant prompt), but one also catches stray Knopfler vibes, some intermittent Fripp, and (perhaps more-so in tone than technique) the spirit of DIY prophet and jangling man himself, Martin Newell (the Cleaners from Venus). Wilkes has stated that he finds joy in creating musical environments suitable to the contribution and flourishing of his favorite musicians. Throughout Driving, and in these two tracks especially, he has more than succeeded. The record closes with the titular track: a story-song that, according to Wilkes, poured out of him (melody, composition, and lyrics) in a single sitting. The tale is told plainly, bravely, starkly; a mistake was made, regrets have been had, and all is wrapped up in the recollection of a deeply felt adolescent heartsickness—a time when the narrator was first afire with music and automotive freedom. The song captures the moment when meaning inexplicably falls into place, when a long-nagging memory suddenly assumes narrative form, and the subsequent sense of lightness and unburdening. It is fitting that Driving, a record conceived as a form of self-therapy, should culminate with a sense of humble revelation. That Wilkes is plainly eager to share the vulnerable fruits of this labor constitutes Driving’s joyful offering.

Musically, first of all, 1991's second album, "loveless," was more advanced and unexpected than anything else released at the time. Kevin Shields and band thoroughly pursued a sound based on pure sensuality, resulting in a work that overwhelmed the listener's senses. 1990's representative work was hailed as a perfect masterpiece that pushed the possibilities of studio recording to the limit, and has been featured on The Beach Boys' "Pet Sounds" and It has been hailed as a milestone on par with The Beach Boys' "Pet Sounds," Miles Davis' "In A Silent Way," and Stevie Wonder's "Innervisions.

Japanese obi included.
Mastered from 1/2" analog tape using Studer A80 VU-PRE and Neumann VMS 80
180g vinyl weight
Standard gatefold outer sleeve
Six 300 x 300 mm art prints enclosed
Includes DL code (24-bit | 16-bit | mp3)

 

Released in 2000 by the UK rock band, Radiohead, Radiohead's 4th album has been described as "the last masterpiece of the 20th century in music history."
A controversial work, an innovative work that shifted to electronica sound rather than approaching Aphex Twin and Autechre. Includes "Everything in its Right Place", "Idiotech" and others.

Writing a consideration of any portion of Pajo's voluminous catalog is quite the challenge. With the glaring exception of one rainbow colored cutout circa '03, it's been one love affair after the next for me and just about every record he's graced. Yet I find myself returning to make late night headphone excursions into the depths of Live From A Shark Cage on a regular basis, reliving my favorite moments like a ripe, juicy eructation of chili cheese fries in the middle of the night, or reveling as I have in the deja vu-like discovery of some clever plot twist unearthed for the Criterion edition of Brazil. The temptation is here to call it his Zoso, or even Who's Next, but that's unfair to all parties involved, and I'll leave such profane comparisons to the recently graduated music directors of college radio stations polluting the various interweb channels that pass for music journalism in this digital age we inhabit. Rather, Shark Cage deserves to be exalted in the same breath as Maggot Brain, The Payback, Stormcock or Miles' Pangea: modern masterpieces of minima built on subliminally insinuating rondos and vamps that echo not just Dave's own biorhythms, but a microcosmic take on the ur-pulse of the universe. In an era where the referential Lexicon shifts so rapidly that notions of classics and beau ideals scarcely linger as long as the sulfurous flatulence of your cubicle-mate, Shark Cage resounds as the beacon of fortitude in a sea of aural effluvia. If you are uninitiated, avail yourself. If you've been to the fountain, quench yourself again. - Bundy K. Brown 

Nearly twenty-five years after disbanding, Gastr del Sol have unpacked their archive, stringing together an alternative view to their genre-melting 1993-1998 run. This assembly of previously uncollected studio recordings and beautifully captured unreleased live performances forms a spacious ode to the flux that was their métier; a further set of reinventions that continue to alter the manner in which we hear music, and literally everything else!

Nearly twenty-five years after disbanding, Gastr del Sol have unpacked their archive, stringing together an alternative view to their genre-melting 1993-1998 run. This assembly of previously uncollected studio recordings and beautifully captured unreleased live performances forms a spacious ode to the flux that was their métier; a further set of reinventions that continue to alter the manner in which we hear music, and literally everything else!

Unearthed from the neolithic tar that eventually swathes all history, Aerial M’s early-98 Peel Session is once again among us. Compared to the studio takes, played strictly and singly by Aerial/Papa M-astermind David Pajo, these versions swing from the necks of road-burned players, breathing more bestially than their canonical cousins, glinting ‘pon the dark metallic roots that fed all of Pajo’s best guitar lines, winding thru time immemorial.

Jim O'Rourke returns with his first new solo album since 2001. All the classic O’Rourke-isms are here, for you musicologist types: percolating banjos, smooth electric leads, organic, kicking drum sounds, the flickering of shakers to the left and right, mellow but ominous woodwinds, sounds that indicate “vintage” (before turning left and running out the door), sonic jokes, sonic tear-jerkers, sonic jerkoffs, all wrapped in spacious yet subtle left to right placement of everything in the picture. There’s moments of low comedy next to high drama and juicy melancholy with a seeming lack of regard for proximity. Plus―sudden surging rhythms! The Visitor is sort of “O’Rourke Does O’Rourke”―Jim re-contextualizing everything he’s done over the years, and throwing out the bullshit. The one thing you won’t hear is his voice―perhaps another O’Rourkian self-examination? Or maybe he’s just saving it for all the name-calling on his next album.

When it was first released in 1997, White Heaven founder You Ishihara’s solo debut Passivité seemed to vanish into the ether, going largely unnoticed; the scant coverage it did receive in the Japanese music press was confused or even dismissive and it hardly reached an overseas audience in that moment just before the online music era. It was released by the short-lived Japanese Creativeman Disc label, which also produced albums by other luminaries of the Japanese underground, including Phew, Otomo Yoshihide, Taku Sugimoto, C.C.C.C. and Ground-Zero. Yet, even in that eclectic company, Ishihara’s album stood apart in a world all its own, out of time in that, or any other, era.

Passivité arrived at a pivotal point in Ishihara’s career, just as White Heaven dissolved and before the formation of his next group, The Stars. To realize the album, he recruited a choice group of players, including Michio Kurihara (White Heaven) on guitar, Chiyo Kemekawa (Yura Yura Teikoku) on bass, and Koji Shimura (Acid Mothers Temple) on drums, arranging them in no less than five configurations. The result revealed an expansive creative and even conceptual vision that could only find expression outside the band context. In the twenty-odd years since, the album has found adherents who, like P.S.F. Records founder Hideo Ikeezumi, praised its tremendous depth and discovered that they experienced something new each time they listened to it. Listening back today, Passivité sounds timeless and, in a sense, encapsulates the concepts, feeling, and brilliance that have marked the near 50-year career of one of the key figures in Japanese underground music.

Passivité is an entrancingly beautiful album that draws from rock and psychedelic music, the sounds of 60’s America as well as elements of jazz, bossa nova, soul, and even electronic music. It’s an enigmatic late-night meditation that unfolds in a cool darkness pierced by scattered flashes of light and heat. The album’s opening tracks “K” and “Nachbild,” as well as the second side’s nearly 15-minute “Nightwalker,” slowly float in the night, quietly seductive, stripped down, and soulful. Even as Ishihara seems to surrender to these nocturnal atmospheres, he cuts to songs that erupt with urgent energy, overdriven fuzz guitars, and even dives into an electronic excursion recorded 18 years before. Through all of this, there is a clarity and cohesion of vision. On Passivité, Ishihara both embraces and departs from his work with White Heaven. The music is deeply personal and intimate even as it operates on a conceptual level with a masterful nuance and subtlety.

Black Editions presents Passivité for the first time on vinyl in a meticulously remastered deluxe edition, including metallic silver tip-on jacket with gloss film laminate finish, matte pigment stamping, two inserts with liner notes in Japanese and English newly written by renowned music critic and editor Masato Matsumura (Studio Voice, Tokion) and the original notes by Shinji Shibayama (Nagisa Ni Te, Hallelujahs, Org Records). 

Japanese Edition with Obi. Repetition and motorik beats borrowed from Krautrock. A unique work with a noisy and experimental soundscape.

Japanese Edition with Obi. A beloved masterpiece of its time. Produced by John McEntire (Tortoise) and Andy Toma (Mouse on Mars), this is a must-hear album with a diversity unrivaled in its time.