Indie / Alternative

Australian duo Armlock make music for having your head in the clouds. On new album Seashell Angel Lucky Charm, Simon Lam and Hamish Mitchell bring you on a steady ascension through compressed and heavenly sonic realms. The band's second proper release, and first for Run For Cover Records, showcases the songwriters' experimental electronic roots through an indie rock lens. Free from distortion or overindulgence, Seashell Angel Lucky Charm is a collection of consistent rhythms decorated with clean guitar tones and eccentricities. Through playful layers of vocal harmony and minimal arrangements, Armlock capture the inventive and uncomplicated essence of Pinback or Alex G.Self-described as "indie rock with a touch of spirituality and emo," Armlock's journey into a higher realm is seeped with the looming confusion that comes with exploring the unknown. With an introverted demeanor, Armlock explores the human desire to find guidance in a world much bigger than its people. Album highlight "Guardian" cuts to the heart of the album and its central theme — the desperate search for a spiritual guide. Vocalist Lam sifts through his everyday life that feels laden with meaning. "Ready for my essence to be found / Cos I'm seeing their number all around / Guide me safe lead me from harm / My seashell angel lucky charm." Guitar bends and piano rolls ping across the song's structure until it fades into an airy soundscape where Lam yearns for his "guardian" through hushed vocals and chirping birds.Armlock's genre-spanning musical influences coalesce best on album opener "Ice Cold." One trap beat away from a Bladee track, the song begins with robotic voices reminiscent of Boards of Canada and evolves into the meditative warmth found in Adrianne Lenker's more lo-fi work. There’s a subdued tenderness to Lam's vocal delivery as he ponders the loss of a friendship and introduces the album's fixation on air signs and higher dimensions. Every sound on Seashell Angel Lucky Charm feels precise and intentional, making the anthemic choruses on tracks like "Fear" and "El Oh Ve Ee" feel expertly placed and pop-oriented. These two songs show Armlock's savvy with harmony as they use octaves of angelic sounds to stretch a simple one-word chorus until it soars with meaning. Unlike most indie rockers, Armlock use guitar as a tool in their belt rather than a vessel for songwriting. Where their 2021 EP Trust set foundations in downtempo acoustic guitar, Lam and Mitchell's evolved songwriting is a testament to where an electric guitar can amplify a song’s groove, or usher in sonic space.

Crack Cloud has always been something beyond a rock band: both profound and grand, vaporous and elusive.The first iteration of Crack Cloud was formed nearly a decade ago as a proxy-rehab outlet on the fringes of Calgary. Over time, two EPs and accompanying visual pieces were produced out of the residence known as Red Mile. By 2017, several members had relocated to Vancouver, working out of harm reduction centers and low-barrier shelters. Sobriety, self-reformation and the idealism of their work further formed an ethos for Crack Cloud. It was during these years that the band produced their astounding 2020 album Pain Olympics. At once, their vision became expansive, cinematic.Now, Red Mile is a bit of a homecoming. Members have returned to Calgary. But Calgary/home has become a liminal space, a place of flux. After a decade of personal and collective growth, what does home even mean? Red Mile is, for them, something like samsara: a return and a rebirth.Red Mile's sound breathes expansive energy into the circuitous, street bound sonics of Crack Cloud's prior material. Fizzling synths intertwine with chiming pianos. Songs layer like Russian nesting dolls; one may find a Ramones chorus set within a desolate Western prog soundtrack only to watch it erupt into a joyous anthem. Real-ass guitars — alternately lilting, scuzzy and soaring — ring out across wide sun-bleached spaces. In 2024, the cumulative effect is (in rock instrumentation terms) naturalistic. Any whiff of embalmed nostalgia is absent. Even the close of the album – a winding, alllllmost Jerry Garcia guitar noodle that leads us out of Red Mile – is delivered without sentimentality. Principal songwriter Zach Choy's lyrics are cutting but merciful, with a sharp self awareness that never slides into self-satisfaction. Crack Cloud as artists are critical — and ultimately as forgiving — of themselves as they are the melting world around them. The songs balance an easy charm and cathartic power: affirming life without denying death.Recorded predominantly between the outskirts of Joshua Tree, California, and Calgary, Alberta, this record is informed by a bittersweet mélange of old and new. The sprawling, novelistic structures of their previous albums are condensed and sharpened, while maintaining their refusal to delve into superficiality. Through playful melodies and elliptical guitar soliloquy, they deliver a final product of exceptional depth and distinctly unprecious warmth. Crack Cloud have produced a mature, vital work that interrogates the platitudes of the rock-n-roll lifestyle, but ultimately exalts its sacredness.Red Mile's de facto thesis statement "The Medium" is itself a rock song meditation: an ode to the form and its practitioners. This genre that — typical, repeatable, corporatized as it can be — somehow still has the power to help us live through life. We see the dusty sentiment of "I love rock and roll" exhumed, taken apart, and stitched back together. It's a song guided by faith — if the medium helps us proclaim our love today, it’s worth protecting from derision tomorrow. We live in an era where music seems to love hitting its head against the wall. Crack Cloud's Red Mile is the sound — the feeling! — of the bricks giving way.

Opened up by the delirious alchemy of contemporary pop music, Sean O’Hagan leaps back into life with High Llamas, with a set of killer tunes reflecting on dimensional levels how definitions change over time. Arranged by Sean and produced with mix collaborator Fryars to engage the eardrums in non-stop new possibilities, Hey Panda radiates optimism inspired by the joys and sorrows felt in former lifetimes and the diverse conundrums of today alike.

A meditation from Ty Segall on love, played on his first love: the drums. Delving deep into the melodic and orchestral possibilities of a full array of percussion instruments, from the trap kit to timpani, vibraphone, xylophone, percussion and e-drums, Ty charts the waxing and waning of a love affair, to explore some of the most delicate space we know of – the private emotional location where only two can meet.

USインディのガレージ/サイケ・シーンを牽引する鬼才、Ty Segallがドラム演奏に挑んだ最新アルバム『Love Rudiments』が名門〈Drag City〉より登場。元々ギタリスト/ヴォーカリストとして知られる彼がトラップキットからティンバニ、ビブラフォン、シロフォン、パーカッション、電子ドラムまで、様々な打楽器のメロディックな可能性とオーケストラの可能性を深く掘り下げた、パンキッシュで実験精神溢れるパーカッシヴな作品！

Across the last 15 years, Ryan Gustafson of The Dead Tongues has emerged as one of modern folk’s most distinct voices. As idiosyncratic and spectral as the songs have sometimes been, Gustafson has always tied his visions and verses to the kinds of hooks you tuck away like talismans, pulled out in case of emergency. Dust, Unsung Passage, Desert: The Dead Tongues’ albums remain some of the more compelling and curious works in their field on this side of a century. The latest edition to The Dead Tongues’ catalog, the song-centric and magnetic Body of Light and the discursive and wonderfully elliptical I Am a Cloud, is 16 complete tunes split across interweaving and disparate albums. Before heading to Betty’s, Gustafson spent a month at “the Shack,” a primitive and private structure in rural western North Carolina, working on new material and sorting through piles of poems, sticky notes scattered across the windows, and stacks of free writing streams of thought. Most of the songs were written during this time – the exquisite “Daylily,” a warm little gift for his partner, or “I’m a Cloud Now,” a fever dream of song and spoken-word about the toggle between identity and ephemerality. The creative energy was free flowing, deep and explorative, songs somehow coming together in a manner both freakishly fast and patient. In this energy and specific space the groundwork for the album was rooted, springing forth from the thick of the elemental and natural beauty these songs reference. The daylily on the cover of the album was picked from the land the shack is built upon - there’s a connection between the physical natural setting and the creative work itself, intertwined and natural bloom. Gustafson wanted to continue with that explorative energy once he got into the formal studio, allowing it to lead the group of players assembled – the albums feature performances by Jenn Wasner (Wye Oak, Bon Iver), Mat Davidson (Twain), Matt Douglas (The Mountain Goats), Joe Westerlund (Califone, Megafaun), Jeff Ratner (Bing and Ruth), and more. Gustafson wanted to dedicate the studio time to not just recording songs but also making something new, with new improvisations. The results feel at once casual and tremendous, the camaraderie and conversation between the players resulting in pieces that are lived-in but new. “Baby there ain’t no rules here/We can just slide,” Gustafson sings at the start of Body of Light’s opening title track, establishing a collective credo inside this gorgeous anthem about finding sanctuary with someone else. Notice how it seems to nod to flamenco before lifting into electronic abstraction, or how Wasner’s harmonies summon the deepest Southern soul over electric phosphorescence. And then there’s “Dirt for a Dying Sun,” where freight-train harmonica and spectral guitar frame a romantic dust-to-dust realism, where the best we can do is live wildly before we die. The characters on Body of Light are restless, damaged, and beautiful, whether clinging to an underground amid gentrification’s high rises during “Wolves” or holding on to the most intoxicating wisps of love during “Moon Shadow.” The band plays as if they’re just meeting these people for the first time, responding with an admixture of recognition and astonishment. The collected crew takes that approach to the next plane on I Am a Cloud, an intersection of Gustafson’s tone poems and top-tier improvisation. “Formations” is an exquisite instrumental, a soul-jazz dream of horns and bells, bejeweled drones and broken rhythms. Remembering the birthday night he spent alone on an Irish cliff as the Summer solstice neared several years ago, Gustafson narrates “A Bridge” as if he’s peering into his own mind with wonder and surprise. The finale, “Even Here, Even Now,” is a spiral galaxy, with the songs of crickets, the hums of a Shruti box, and the touch of percussion lifting Gustafson’s mantric statement of purpose—to keep moving, to keep singing, no matter what may come. It is a wondrous piece of devotional music that seems to praise sound itself—the gift that can open us up, when we’re no longer sure that can even happen anymore. “Sometimes it’s hard to be anyone anywhere it seems,” Gustafson, his voice as understanding as empathy, sings to start the second verse of “Hard Times, Sore Eyes,” the farewell for Body of Light. That may read like a bummer, a concise and crippling encapsulation of our struggles to make meaning that’s as right as rain. But, really, it’s a permission slip to elide expectation, to try something different. Maybe in the past, Gustafson was seen as the singer-songwriter in a folk-rock band called The Dead Tongues. But when he started to let that go, he found something fascinating, new, and absorbing. Body of Light and I Am A Cloud are brilliant chapters written after Gustafson wondered if he’d closed the book, and they are, in turn, hard to put down.

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.

Culled from half a decade of home four-tracking, Remote Echoes is a hissy, crumbly, and ungrounded expression of Clay Parton and Canaan Amber's ongoing Duster project. A mix of cassette only demos released under the banners Christmas Dust and On The Dodge, this 14 track album also includes a bevy of previously unissued stragglers. Duster's unique blend of fuzzy guitars, bargain synths, muffled percussion, and hushed vocals anticipated chillwave, mumblecore, and corecore, elegantly illustrating the holy trinity of slacker vices: cigarettes, coffee, and the weed supreme.。

A lingering guitar note. A cushion of a bassline nudging along a hushed cadence unspooling impressionistic poeticism one halting line at a time; the sparse snap of a snare providing punctuation. This is how Boston’s Karate opened their third full-length, 1998’s The Bed Is In The Ocean. Perhaps this was a reaction to the aggressive punk tones that marked their previous album, or maybe they hoped to capture the somnambulant dusk on one of those pristine fall days that make living in a town whose population swells when colleges welcome back students all worthwhile. Then again, Karate never made a point of chasing the same idea twice, and “There Are Ghosts” remains in line with the band’s stylistic intrepidness and unpredictability. Even the group’s lineup appeared constantly in flux. After expanding from a trio to a quartet and employing a dual-guitar attack with 1997’s In Place of Real Insight, founding member Eamonn Vitt hung up his axe to attend medical school. Karate soldiered on as a trio, with mid-stream addition Jeff Goddard’s bass work helping establish a sidewinding path forward through the smoky jazz melodicism and sun-beaten blues brushstrokes that hung in the background of the band’s catalog. In their short time together, Karate helped bolster the national punk ecosystem, a scene in which individual artistic vision was prized but rarely achieved. Their exacting precision and emotive interplay helped recombine the DNA of the dignified grace of slowcore, the hot-and-sweaty atmospherics of the blues, and the high-wire tension of post-hardcore to deliver drawling instrumental curveballs and a furtive riptide climax with a controlled grace on “Outside Is The Drama.” Singer-guitarist Geoff Farina frequently teased out the emotional nuances of each song, his worn-in voice shading in the complexities of his enigmatic lyrics; no matter how difficult it may be to parse his snatched-from-daily-life wisdoms, on The Bed Is In The Ocean Farina sounded like a guy who knew exactly the right thing to tell whoever may be listening. And with Karate’s snaking turns through quasi-punk reveries no one else appeared capable of mustering, it’s comforting to hear it accomplished by a band that knew exactly what they were doing.

An expanded and remastered 25th anniversary edition of the mythical Olympia, Washington, trio's out of print singles and compilation tracks, A Single History 1991-2001 gathers odds and ends from across Unwound's first decade. From their earliest post-hardcore squeals on "Crab Nebula" to the dub-inspired death march of "Behold The Salt," this 23-track double LP fills in the distorted gaps of their initial seven album run."I'd rather eat decomposed fish than listen to this."—Pitchfork

Unbound opens with a single, trembling chord that rises and descends before meeting a warm, beguiling voice, a voice singing in a tradition that’s been heard in this northern river country for millennia. The music that follows is a soulful dialogue between the ancient tradition of powwow singing and a contemporary musical palette. On Unbound, the powwow style of singing is entwined with synthesized voice modulation, and hand drumming is accented with electronic samples and beats — the harmonies and resonances are equal parts cultural and musical. Geographically, Bizhiki is almost wholly a made-in-Wisconsin project, a collaboration between Dylan Bizhikiins Jennings, Joe Rainey and the multi-instrumentalist Sean Carey (S. Carey), who for years has been a secret weapon within the Bon Iver family. Bezhikiins Jennings grew up singing within the powwow tradition, around the Lac Du Flambeau and Lac Courte Oreilles reservations in Central Wisconsin. He now makes his home in Northern Wisconsin, on the Bad River reservation on the shores of Lake Superior. He’s joined on the album by his adopted brother, Rainey, a Red Lake Ojibwe powwow singer from Minneapolis who now makes his home within his wife’s Oneida Nation on the shores of Lake Michigan. The collaboration between these three musicians first began at the Eaux Claires festival in 2015. The festival was being organized on Ojibwe’s ancestral homelands, and the organizers didn’t feel right without the inclusion of the native communities who lived nearby. Bizhikiins Jennings remembers getting an invitation to play the festival and thinking “I wish more people would say this — that instead of reading from some land acknowledgement, that they would say ‘we're gonna give your people space and just invite you to do what you wanna do.’” The open-endedness of the initial invitation and the “let’s just do something together” spirit continues to inform Bizhiki’s process. Recording steadily over the course of years — and between several projects from Bizhiki’s members, including two solo albums (Joe Rainey's Niineta and S. Carey's Break Me Open) – the trio chipped away at an expansive, ambitious and unique record that sounds like no other music being made today. Unbound is a collaboration between a group of singers and musicians at a particular time and place, exchanging ideas in an open-ended dialogue deeply considering the resources that we’re trying to share, generations into the future.

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.

Everything Is Simple arrives four years after its predecessor, Hold You Up, which in turn came five years after Show Us The Fire. Zelienople does not do things in a hurry. Why should it? Operationally and musically, haste has nothing to offer the Chicago-identified trio. They do not rush their time signatures, and they do not rush their albums, because however long it takes is the amount of time necessary. So, what’s necessary? Singer-guitarist Matt Christensen, multi-instrumentalist Brian Harding, and drummer Mike Weis had all been in other bands before they united to become Zelienople in 1998 (the band’s name references a town in Pennsylvania where Harding and Christensen were once stranded while waiting for parts necessary to fix a broken-down car). All of them have all played other music since then. Harding records long-form instrumental music under the guise Ill Professor. Weis has explored ambient sound, studied Korean rhythmic practices, and improvised with Kwaidan and Slow Bell Trio. Christensen is torrentially productive on his own; at the end of April 2024 he had 212 digital releases on Bandcamp, and by the time you read this, there’ll be more. If Christensen is driven by compulsive necessity, Zelienople’s rate of production must be a spoiler, not an enhancer. But the three musicians need each other to make the convergence of ceremonial cadences, echo-laden instrumentation, and mournfully resigned singing that constitutes Zelienople’s music. Still, the making of Everything Is Simple took Zelienople out of its comfort zone. In 2020, Weis left Chicago for Kalamazoo, Michigan, which meant that the band no longer had access to its usual recording refuge in his basement. They turned loss into an opportunity to change their approach. Instead of layering tracks incrementally, they recorded mostly live with two extra musicians, Eric Eleazer (synthesizer, Fender Rhodes piano) and PM Tummala (synthesizer, Fender Rhodes piano, vibraphones). Keyboards and metallophones broaden the sound field around Weis’ patiently perambulating percussion. And instead of clinging, Harding’s basses and clarinets swirl and wreath around Christensen’s apprehensive articulations of the experience of being a quiet person in a menacingly loud cultural moment. Tummala also contributed his engineering skills, which enabled Christensen to step back from recording duties to concentrate on singing and playing, and his studio, which is much more spacious than Weis’ old basement. While the basic tracks went down quickly, a lengthy period of mixing and fixing ensued, followed by the spatially conscious mastering of Slowdive’s Simon Scott, all of which further magnified the effect of being a bigger band in a bigger space. Still, Zelienople wears its expansiveness lightly; Everything Is Simple may loom sonically, but it doesn’t overwhelm the listener so much as give them the space to inhabit a singular realm.

Descending out of the southern night sky through a turbulent cloud of dreams, memory, longing and psychedelia, Saigon Soul Revival’s second full length album — Mối Lương Duyên — represents the latest act in the group’s resuscitation of the raw, heavy and subversive sounds of 1960s and 70s Saigon. Roughly translated to “destiny”, Mối Lương Duyên is a journey through eight original compositions and three soul-stirring reinterpretations of Saigonese nhạc vàng or golden music: the soundtrack to a Saigon once thought lost to history and amnesia. Driven by Western influences rock, bolero, soul, jazz and the rich heritage of Vietnamese ballads, Mối Lương Duyên delivers a seamless blend of genres and traditional instrumentation (Đàn Tranh, Đàn Bầu & Đàn Nguyệt) with themes from across time and space. Nguyễn Anh Minh's seductive vocals glide through this multi-stylistic tapestry of sound, going beyond the universal concepts of love and heartbreak to explore how destiny can be forged through individual experiences... or as she puts it in her own words: "Anything and anyone that comes into your life, every occurrence, whatever comes and whatever goes. It all happens as it is meant to. Whatever you have to face, whoever you love or lose - we must accept it. We can’t choose our physical body, family, happiness or misery, our place in the world, in the universe...but we have the power to embrace and welcome our destiny. In Vietnamese "Mối Lương Duyên" means destiny but it doesn't only refer to love. It can mean many things, for example: How we all came together to form this band." In this way - by being part of the unfolding story - the album also attempts to musically connect the past with Vietnam's evolving future. And the fact that Saigon Soul Revival seems to succeed in this is perhaps also the reason why the song ĐÁM CƯỚI NHÀ EM will be featured in the upcoming HBO Mini-Serie „The Symphatizer“ (directed by Par Chan-Wook (Oldboy) / Robert Downey Junior producer and actor), which is based on the novel of the same name (Pulitzer Prize 2016) by Viet Thanh Nguyen.

Lives Outgrown is the debut album by Beth Gibbons featuring 10 beautiful new songs recorded over a period of 10 years, the album was produced by James Ford & Beth Gibbons with additional production by Lee Harris (Talk Talk).

Lives Outgrown is, by some measure, Beth’s most personal work to date, the result of a period of sustained reflection and change — “lots of goodbyes,” in Beth’s words. Farewells to family, to friends, even to her former self. These are songs from the mid-course of life, when looking ahead no longer yields what it used to, and looking back has a sudden, sharper focus.

(Auschwitz is the band name given to express their view on life. It has no connection to Nazism or racism and is not intended to discriminate or degrade any race, group, or individual.)

We are releasing a cassette of 87 minutes of previously unreleased live recordings by Auschwitz. The great band formed by the godfather of the Kansai Underground Naoto Hayashi, has marked 20 years since his passed away.

Side A: Live 81 consists of all unreleased tracks recorded from an exceptional live performance on the unknown date in 1981 and FRIGHT 7 DAYS in August of the same year. The early Auschwitz music is mostly unheard of until now, despite the buzz about impromptu performances featuring free-form guitar intertwined over repetitive beats like German rock, and it finally appears in the spotlight. This showcases that Auschwitz delivered an extremely cutting-edge live performance, similar to the post-punk style that flourished in Europe and the United States during the same period. Some tracks feature vocals by bassist Imanishi and drummer Nakajima and a glimpse of Hayashi’s side as a guitarist. It is a valuable testament to how Auschwitz was born through the chemistry of the musical expertise of these three artists.

Side B: Live 87-93 is a compilation of Auschwitz’s last live performance in Tokyo in 1993, a live performance at EGGPLANT in April 1987 just before the recording of their masterpiece “Rule of Spirit,” and a high-quality live performance from an unknown date, most likely around 1990. Starting with the far too beautiful “Journey Through the Night” in their last live performance, it mainly features songs and versions unavailable on previous live recordings, including the unreleased masterpiece “Ashes of Love” mentioned in the liner notes. Finally, it concludes with the latest track, “No Titled,” which was accessible to listen to Naoto Hayashi’s solo version on the Auschwitz Complete Box.

Sun, sea, and surf rock converge with dreamy hypnagogic pop on 'Dmaot,' the enchanting sophomore album by the guitar-wielding, vocal-harmonising trio, Rasco. Named after Charlie Megira's acclaimed track "At the Rasco" and influenced by iconic artists like The Cramps, Beach Boys, Elvis, April March, and others, Rasco carefully extracts the essence and distinctive sound of sixties surf and garage bands and distils them into a modern and distinctly Mediterranean context. Blending ethereal vocal harmonies with irresistible guitar riffs, Rasco skillfully creates a one-of-a-kind sonic blueprint that sounds like something you dreamed of hearing at Twin Peaks infamous Roadhouse. Electric guitarist Eden Atiya and bass guitar Gaya Wajsman first crossed paths in a smoky cave in Jerusalem, eventually teaming up with drummer Itay Hamudi to form Rasco. Their self-titled debut album, characterised by catchy guitar riffs entwined with mysterious, ethereal vocals, sung in Hebrew, garnered attention and playlistings from the likes of acclaimed pianist, singer, and composer Hania Rani, and Spotify’s editorial team. Rasco’s hypnotic guitar and vocal-heavy sound have earned the group coveted opportunities to share the spotlight on stage alongside global psych bands such as Altin Gun, Boom Pam, and Messer Chups. The trio’s musical journey has taken them on tour in Germany and led to their billing on Cologne's famed c/o pop Festival, solidifying their place in the contemporary psych and surf rock scene. 'Dmaot' (Tears) represents a significant evolution from Rasco's debut, showcasing a darker, and denser side with a shift towards the shoegazing sounds of the '80s. The album, produced by multi-instrumentalist Uri Brauner Kinrot, leader of Boom Pam, pioneers of today’s resurgence in Middle Eastern surf rock and now labelmates on Batov Records, packs a heavier punch while maintaining Rasco's signature hypnotising power. The album delves into dreamlike landscapes, capturing the essence of different scenarios. "Layla" conjures hazy night-drives into the mountains, whilst "Nahar/Rau" reflects prophecies in rivers, birds, and sand. "Suzi Suzuki" is an ode to Japan, and "Louisa" pays homage to Hamudi's Grandma. According to Eden, there's a prevalent theme of "nostalgia for something you've never experienced." Similarly, “Sleeping Sea”, hints at the omnipresent power of the sea, even at its stillest, with its brooding hammond chords and almost C&W guitar, paints memories of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Games”. 'Dmaot' also explores the dichotomy between life in the city and life in the countryside. Eden notes, "It's definitely something to define our songwriting by - the mix between electric heavier sounds and mystical, nature-inspired lyrics”. Commencing with a chime-like guitar motif before the first heavy wave of shoegaze-like tremolo hits, “Layla” alternates with an almost Lynchian pre-chorus, whilst the song earworms its way to your brain. “Nahur Rau” almost screams “garage rock anthem” with it’s clap-accompanied beat group rhythm, and fuzz guitar riffs, but the energetic delivery is balanced by Rasco’s laidback style. It would be remiss to omit mention of the group’s incredible cover of Tears For Fears’ “Head Over Heels”, that seamlessly connects The Smiths, Julee Cruise and the B-52s, in the group’s own haunting style. Rasco is a genre-defying trio that transcends the boundaries of surf rock and psych, creating a mesmerising blend of sound and emotion. 'Dmaot' is a testament to their evolution as artists and their ability to weave a tapestry of sonic landscapes into their own world.

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!

Somehow, Jeremy deVine (self proclaimed Temporary Residence "overlord") convinced us to leave the mild December climate of Austin, Texas and to drive northeast to Baltimore (where Temporary Residence was based at the time) and record what would be our second record and our first for TRL. This was in 2000 and our means of transportation was a barely functioning, deathtrap of a family van loaded with our equipment, our clothes, several bags of snacks and a massive boombox (there was not a working stereo in the van). The trip took us a few days and we think we played some shows on the way there, but the memories are a bit clouded. We found Jeremy's house and knocked on the door. He answered and invited us inside. The place was in shambles. Boxes of records and CDs scattered about, art supplies crammed into every corner. The physical manifestation of our new record label was a shelf made of cinder blocks and a few planks. Also, it was freezing cold. Jeremy informed us that the house had no heat because nobody had paid the bill. We were concerned. We all slept that night in our parkas and hats and gloves. Then Jeremy woke us all up at seven in the morning (Jeremy doesn't really sleep much and apparently doesn't need to) and piled us all into the van. We would be driving to DC where we would be recording the album. Our first actual day of recording was discouraging. We couldn't play any of the songs right and we were all really nervous. The four of us were convinced that we had made a terrible mistake thinking that we could record an album that a label would actually send to stores for people to buy. At the end of the day, we got back into the van and headed back to Jeremy's house. None of us were feeling very good. We then stayed up all night talking with Jeremy. We told him how badly we thought the first day of recording went and how it might be best if we just packed up and went home. He didn't seem concerned. He said he had faith and that he knew that it would turn out alright. Actually, he didn't talk much about this horrible first day at all. Instead he talked about music and movies and art and food and growing up. He made us all laugh a lot. Eventually we fell asleep. Jeremy woke us at seven again and we drove to DC. And things went well. We recorded for the next few days, waking up early, driving to the studio, recording, eating at the famous Ben's Chili Bowl, recording some more, driving back to Baltimore, talking, sleeping, dreaming. Less than a week later, we had a finished record and it was time to go home. We said our goodbyes to Jeremy. We were happy and sad. Happy that we had just recorded a record that we were all excited about. Sad because we had made a new, great friend and we weren't sure when we would see him again. We left. (We scheduled some shows on the way home. One was in Syracuse. The show was in the basement of a house. The police came during our second song and made us stop. The next day our van wouldn't start. We were stranded. We lived in the attic of some kind strangers. For eight full days we read books and watched blizzards and ate Chinese food and went sort of nuts. We almost missed Christmas. But eventually we made it home).

"This-is-a-remix-record-but-not-in-the-traditional -sense angle. Remix tends to imply that a song has been remixed for the dancefloor, radio, etc. These are 'remakes' in which entirely new songs have been written using primarily 'Wedding Song No. 3' (see DC 144) for source material. Features the work of Directions in Music pioneer Bundy K. Brown, as well as man from U.N.K.L.E. Tim Goldsworthy, Tied & Tickled Trio and Tetsua's DJ Your Food."

PJ Harvey’s performance at the Avalon in Boston on November 2nd, 1998, is often remembered as an electrifying and intense concert experience. During this period, PJ Harvey’s live performances were known for their raw energy and emotional depth, with Harvey captivating audiences with her powerful vocals and dynamic stage presence.

Lauded for his contributions to Here We Go Magic and Art Feynman, Luke Temple brings his signature off-kilter grooves and melodies to his new project's debut album Certain Limitations. The trio's sound takes influence from the likes of Dire Straits and The Velvet Underground, weaving together intricate guitar work, and a propulsive rhythm section, with a touch of jazz sensibility that recalls the ECM catalog. A product of serendipity, The Cascading Moms were formed when in need of a band for an upcoming show, Temple brought together Kosta Galanopolous, a collaborator from his Art Feynman project, and Stuart, a musician he already knew in LA. When these three came together to rehearse, a spark ignited, revealing a creative connection that transcended that first show that brought them together.

'Ahora', the new record by Melenas is the exact opposite of "that difficult third album". While other bands might be suffering from a lack of inspiration typical of that delicate creative moment, our Spanish quartet reappears more invincible than ever, reassembled with a collection of dazzling songs, and revitalized with a splendid new palette of sounds that raises the following question: can you make jangle pop and garage rock with synthesizers? Listening to songs like 'K2' or 'Bang' the answer is a resounding yes, because the glorious throb of the analog keyboards that dominate 'Ahora' does not betray Melenas' sound, that bubbling vibration that the guitars provided until now, propelling their songs to the pop heaven. The new textures that vintage synths like the Korg Delta or the Yamaha PSR-36 provide maintain that immediacy, and also imprint fascinating new shades of color by stretching the band's sonic identity, transforming it with new nuances, from the crystalline pop of '1986' to the somber but moving undertones of 'Flor de la Frontera'.


 Moreover, this new wealth of tonalities is in keeping with an album in which Melenas have a lot to say: its title ("Now") aspires to vindicate, according to the band, "the importance of time, to reflect on how we live our everyday lives, with whom we share our moments and how we want (or don't want) to do it". An exploration of their own identity, of their relationships with others, and of the importance of " togetherness, shared feelings and shared action". Their intentions to "convey a moment of halting and reflecting on the present to know what we want to remain and what we need to leave behind" are brilliantly captured in verses such as "El tiempo que pasó ¿a quién se lo dí? / Desde hoy ganaré lo que perdí" (The time that passed, who did I give it to? / From today I will gain what I lost") or the irresistible "Lo bonito se acaba, me dijo mi ama / Este fuego calienta o te puede quemar" (What is beautiful always comes to an end, my mama told me / This fire can heat you up or burn you down). 


At the same time, musically, the new sonic vibes symbolically delve deep into those themes: the concept of togetherness is conveyed in the vocal harmonies, more abundant and elaborate than ever. The concept of time, by means of some astounding sequencers, arpeggiators, and mechanical rhythms. Combined with Melenas' knack for pop, these elements turn many of these songs into an exciting mixture of darker, machine-like shades (the cold wave echoes of 'Flor de la Frontera', the kraut rhythm of 'Bang') with heavenly melodies. All this is woven together with a wealth of dazzling electronic arrangements (check the gorgeous Korg Monologue and Moog textures on '1.000 canciones'!), handcrafted to perfection but played with the energy of a live band, in a very post-punk conjunction of synthesizers with real bass and drums. The outcome includes such wonders as 'Dos pasajeros', 'Tú y yo', or that banger named '1986', which sounds like contemporary pop but is propelled by the same spirit with which new wave bands in the early 80s used analog synths as if they were garage-rock Farfisa organs. Or the beautiful 'Promises', with its synthesizer riff destined to become a neo-synth pop classic. 

Ahora' is the confirmation of a wonderful anomaly that at this point should no longer surprise anyone: the fact that a Spanish band that writes and sings in Spanish is released in the US as part of the prestigious Trouble In Mind label. It also encompasses an enormous desire to 'seize the moment' at a time when Melenas are more in command of their creative powers than ever. Not so much to give a new twist to their music - which is still essentially rooted in a love of pop - but to invest their songs with a new electronic energy and vibe. With these ingredients, let's hope the future holds 1,000 more songs from Melenas.

US-born, Norwegian-Mexican artist and producer Carmen Villain's fourth album Only Love From Now On is out February 25th, 2022 on Smalltown Supersound. The culmination of a build-up that began with a turn in sound evident on 2019's Both Lines Will Be Blue, Only Love From Now On presents Villain’s aesthetic blossoming into something unexpected, benevolent in its composure and altogether luxuriant in its sensuality.If her themes are wide, philosophical, and occasionally abstract, the emotional tenor of Hillestad's music is clear and purposeful. Makes sense that her key musical touchstones are dub, ambient, and cosmic jazz – flexible vehicles for tranquil wonder.Listening to Only Love From Now On is simultaneously comforting and alluringly strange. Partly it’s the contributions of guests Arve Henriksen (trumpet, electronics) and Johanna Scheie Orellana (flutes). Partly it’s the fluidity between instruments – such as clarinets – field recordings, the studio, jam, and careful composition. She calls the process a conversation with sound that occurs in her deliberate attempts to experiment with new methods, like granular synthesis, for her music-making.Only Love From Now On is fueled by the sense of scale in feeling small in the face of things so large, the contemplation of how the biggest impact we can have is in the people close to us, the attempt to make sure that impact is a positive one, and the choice to try to focus on love instead of fear. Hillestad describes it as "wishing to maintain a sense of careful optimism for the future, while on the cusp of something unknown."