MUSIC
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FELT survey Copenhagen's contemporary jazz scene with RMC graduate Vincent Yuen Ruiz’s intimate and strikingly minimal rendition of stifled percussion, spacious piano and precise double bass work, tipped FFO of The Necks x Talk Talk, naturally. Ruiz is a seasoned jazz player who's also nursed a parallel reputation as a post-rocker, formerly playing bass in Plaistow. And it's this knowledge of a world outside of jazz that gives 'Trio' its edge. It's not a post-rock record, by any means, but it's not pure jazz either - or at least, it doesn't sound as if it's confined by the aesthetic. The ensemble formed in 2019, but their last record together, 2021's 'Le seul salut que je connaisse', was recorded as a six-piece. Ruiz strips the sound to its bare bones on 'Trio', relying on unusual percussive sounds (provided by drummer Anders Vestergaard) to fill in some of the gaps. And although Rasmus Kjær takes a de facto lead roll on piano, it's the rhythm section, commanded by Ruiz on double bass, that makes 'Trio' so fascinating. There's an almost meditative sense of calm to opener 'Choral', with Vestergaard's bowed cymbal tones providing a neat bed for Kjær's Bach and Ravel-inspired flourishes. The tension is only released when Ruiz's soft bass enters the frame, played somewhere between improvisation and composition, minimalism and decelerated chamber jazz. Just as he slimmed down his ensemble, Ruiz slims down the pieces themselves, condensing and distilling his ideas so the record never gets busy, or outstays its welcome. Just head to the central piece 'Weaving', beautifully balancing its measured piano with Vestergaard's odd flurries of percussion that sometimes appear for just a second. We can hear post-rock - particularly the variety that Talk Talk perfected - but our brains are also directed into filling in the gaps. 'Trio' is an album that lives and dies on its pauses, focusing on decaying notes and echoing rhythms in all their quiet beauty.
Twenty years ago, somewhere in Scotland, an album emerged that felt like a missing link between The Black Dog, Chain Reaction and Irdial. It was released by the enigmatic Glasgow producer Pub on his equally mysterious label, Ampoule.
The album, Do You Ever Regret Pantomime? (2000), has since become the stuff of local folklore — a key work in the UK’s rich IDM and ambient lineage, and one of the most celebrated records of the early noughties. Bizarrely, it even made its way into the Billboard Top 100.
Do You Ever Regret Pantomime? also stands as a defining statement from a producer who has chosen to remain in their own space — one where everyone is welcome. Records like this are about losing yourself in sound and creating your own universe to explore.
Across its 70 minutes, you’re drawn into a deep matrix of spacious chords, abstract textures and gently shifting rhythms.
The 2020 reissue has been remastered and cut at Berlin’s Dubplates & Mastering, pressed as a 2x12”, and features new artwork alongside a bonus track.
A multifaceted artist between meta-theatre, music, and poetry. Toji Tojima builds "visible music" from voices, traditional instruments, and everyday objects. Modern folk infused with art wave and the apocalypses of the everyday.
If it's extreme, leave it to us. Challenging the sound, playing with the sound, laughing at the sound. A docking of debut recordings from the most talked-about street artists and "sound collages & sound gags" by pro musicians with eccentric ideas. An exciting, bold, and humorous "bright" New Wave omnibus album. Featuring artists like: Kaoru Sato (EP-4), Masumi Hara & BANANA, Shingo Tomoda, Chinju, Mammy, MUZEUM, and more.
Fukuoka, early '80s. In the backstreets of Hakata, between neon lights and moonlight, three figures shaped darkness and grey shades from the Far East. The "Moonlight" EP and all the Neo Museum rarities finally collected in one vinyl release: the most ritualistic and lunar side of Japanese new wave shines again.
Originally released in 1980 and long regarded as one of the most avant‑garde statements of its era, Hansten Klork captures Metabolist at the intersection of post‑punk restlessness and uncompromising experimentalism. The album’s stark textures, motoric rhythms, and hypnotic minimalism reveal a band equally indebted to kraut‑rock repetition, post‑industrial atmospheres, and the austere clarity of minimalism—creating a distinct, unsettling sound that still sounds contemporary today. This reissue restores the original record in full and adds six rare bonus tracks drawn from the band’s singles (“Drömm/Slaves,” “Identify”) and the split 7‑inch with Die Form. These extras expand the album’s narrative, showcasing Metabolist’s willingness to push structural and sonic boundaries—short, fierce sketches and elongated, trance‑like explorations that map the group’s experimental trajectory.
Treasure Dub captures Arthur ‘Duke’ Reid at the controls, transforming his Treasure Isle productions into spacious dub workouts. Bass and drums take centre stage as vocals and instruments flash through echo, reverb and sudden drop-outs. Rooted in Reid’s hugely influential Kingston studio work, it’s a potent dose of Jamaican dub from one of the producers who helped define the sound.
You can recall John Lurie from his amazing performances in Jim Jarmusch ‘Permanente Vacation’ or ‘Stranger Than Paradise’ (even his cameo in Paris, Texas and Desperately Seeking Susan), but the long & tall man from Minneapolis is essentially an outstanding musician. From 1979 onwards he was the leader of The Lounge Lizards, a band he put together in downtown New York with the help of brother Evan (piano, organ), Arto Lindsay (on guitar), Steve Piccolo (on bass) and Anton Fier on drums. Their music was ironically labeled as "fake jazz", being their style a combination of punk rock attitude and no wave with strong doses of jazz. Over time they became increasingly appreciated for their originality which combined musical experiences gathered from all over the world, welcoming new members in the crew such as Tom Waits guitarist Marc Ribot. Their music still stood the test of time and their first live appearances are set to be remembered as wild and sophisticated at the same time.
From 1993, a hallmark UK Dub album returns to the light. Pressed in small run and extremely hard to find. Produced at Earthquake Studio by TNT Roots and Winston Dread. Raw, undiluted music reflecting the evolution of Dub and contains the seeds of all their future work. Heavy sounds that stand the test of time. Back on the streets after 30 years,fully restored and remastered to honor the dubplate masters of UK Sound System culture.
Debut Short Span LP from Miles ov Demdike Stare, Pendle Coven and Suum Cuique fame, co-founder of the DDS label, longtime pal, and in recent years mastering engineer to countless releases you’ll find strewn accross these pages. It documents 30 years of "warm up" jams, spanning many modes and eras in inimitably deep and fractious style... "The practice of dub techno and its tendrils is a fundamental for me, both aesthetically and from an engineering perspective. I start every recording session with a dub inspired jam, the first piece I ever recorded in 1996 was an effort to recreate Phylyps Trak with only a Korg X3 and an Ibanez PUE5 (borrowed from Gary Howell). It was an awesome introduction to jamming, and the footing stones of noise, delay and saturation were explored with my foot hard on the enthusiasm pedal. These practice jams are in some sense cathartic, the first step taken again & again, which helps me move forwards each session and additionally helps to 'warm the circuits' both of myself and the machines. After realising the genius of Basic Channel is akin to the genius of peasant food, using every ingredient with nothing left to waste, (up to and including the oft maligned working noise of the machines themselves), this was a watershed moment for my own subjective progression. No longer tied to just emulation of something inspiring, but taking these learned tools into other areas of music helped to break free from a strong current of influence and also to progress into other areas with the new toolbox. Dub: The importance of the dub pioneers should never be understated, in modern music and my own practice. Yet with my initial inspiration being two german dudes issuing extreme techno variants with obscured label designs, who then signposted their listeners to their own inspirations (via their Wackies re-issues or nodded to on their Rhythm & Sound/Burial Mix sub-labels), meant that I started late and travelled backwards. Learning to notice the live mixing of Mikey Dread or Lee Perry when the faders are bleeding through even when turned down, (echoed in BC's Quadrant Dub), or the brash send effects literally thrown into the mix also taught me that 'rough' mixing can inject a recording with life, uniqueness and the most right wrongness. Looking back Basic Channels very few elements helped me realise that the rules to be understood, are also the best ones to be broken. Push the mixer into the red. Amp that noise up from the tape delay cos it sounds sick. Pseudo side-chain effects cos the kicks are way too loud and the mixer can't sum it nicely. Spam the send knob into the delay units now, now and now. Carelessness. Noise: Once I wrapped my head around the intrinsic 'noise' element that set those records apart, this became a torchlight into the alt noise movements which I was tentatively exploring at the time, and also is evidently a connection or thread into them. Whether the Industrial/Post Punk UK scene (This Heat, TG, A Tent, F.E.) or the prolific output of the US Noise scene (Wolf Eyes, Live & Shave in LA, and subsequently following the lineage all the way back to Chrome's Alien Soundtracks), I had finally discovered a connection from techno to this 'free for all' corner of music. This input from the Noise arena of sound is, in my experience, an all important step for a sonic artist, taking it's roots and extending out from Stockhausen/Pierre Henry and utilised/warped/mangled by thousands of adventurous pioneers ever since, I now see the line separating the high brow and the low brow is actually an artery carrying information from the head to the heart. Vault is a selection of these jams that precede each of my solo recording sessions, for 30 years I've recorded hundreds of these 'workouts'. They are never intended as serious statements, just moments of naive enjoyment, yet most importantly they are time & space captured as practice. The objective is always a warm up exercise, but sometimes those exercises turn a different corner, with a certain focus or direction dependent on what random samples are left in my machines from the previous session, instead of conscious choices, these unconscious elements can facilitate those 'positive mistakes' that make a piece of sound retain a different feel or colour and thus become special, or at least special to the creator. I am quite conscious that the 'record everything' aspect of my ethos has been invaluable in cataloguing and saving these jams, while the attitude of carelessness during this process (after all, it's only a warm up jam) invites more enjoyment than seriousness ever could. Even if you don't feel the piece at the time, record it, because some years later it may well fit, or become relevant in a way you never intended." -Miles
“Milton,” released in 1976 by Brazilian music legend Milton Nascimento, is a profound masterpiece that blends MPB, bossa nova, and Latin jazz. His deep and gentle vocals, combined with Toninho Horta’s delicate guitar arrangements, create a sound that is both urban and rooted in tradition. Featuring lyrics in both English and Portuguese, the album is recognized as a symbol of MPB’s maturity and international reach.
Think about Can as performed by a shaman commune ! Two long LP-side size compositions, focusing on tribal rhythms (without real drummer), heavy-folk and electronic samples and loops. Takahashi Yoshihiro (Brast Burn) was the man behind this cultish project originally released in 1974. Buried deep in time, this obscure artifact is something of a revelation. No group information was ever given, and no production date or location is indicated, however, it would seem that this record and the "Brast Burn" LP (also reissued by Paradigm) are both by the same group of Japanese nutters and that they were both recorded in the mid seventies in Japan. But all you really need to know is that it is stone cold fantastic, a wild and manic trip full to the brim with hypnotic jams constructed from all manner of eclectic instruments.
The tribal blues sound is augmented with fascinating tape experiments, electronics, environmental sounds, moaned (howled) vocals and a host of musical delicacies, as dangerous as they are delicious. The influence of German bands such as Can, Faust and Guru Guru is evident throughout, so too is the influence of the good Captain (Beefheart that is) whose gut wrenching blues dirges find compadres in this unearthed swamp. Deranged psychedelic music for anyone with a passing interest in Kraut rock, the new Japanese psychedelic scene (most of whom owe these pioneers a great debt) or great music from the edge of the solar system. Recommended.<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6kWuJcXCYCM?si=qzWOtQkBPaAemmZ5" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" referrerpolicy="strict-origin-when-cross-origin" allowfullscreen></iframe>
Viva is the second album by the German band La Düsseldorf, realized in 1978 and it is considered its most successful release. Indeed, the album contains both the singles "Rheinita", which was their most successful single, and "Cha Cha 2000"; an expansive and utopian piece that mixes repetition, piano passages, chants, and electronic textures into a kind of dreamlike manifesto for a more ideal society. Probably the band’s most famous song. The album represents a combination of modern electronic textures, pop clarity, and krautrock experimentation which has secured Viva a lasting place in the history of German experimental rock. This vinyl reissue is the first after fifteen years.
Brought to life in 1976 on his small imprint Stars, In Dub is one of the most sought after Tappa Zukie album. Alongside Man Ah Warrior it is a mandatory purchase for any reggae lover more akin to the spacey reverberation of the studio facilities. With his deep, rumbling bass and the prodigious engineering of King Tubby (the album was cut at his own studio) the record still maintains his adventurous tenure. This crucial re-issue present the complete original tracklist with the addictions of two extra tracks. Dig deep into the ark-eology of dub side.<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DXl7e7BbI5Q?si=tckc7kJqvCk7b6Cg" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" referrerpolicy="strict-origin-when-cross-origin" allowfullscreen></iframe>
Taco weaponise the very idea of “tako” - octopus, kite, bunion, drunk, bald head - into a mutating post‑punk organism, a rotating guerrilla cell whose songs behave like incidents rather than compositions. “Tako” is one of those Japanese words that refuses to sit still. It can mean octopus, kite, bunion; it’s also slang for bald men, shaved heads, red‑faced drunks staggering home. The term slips between bodies, objects and insults, picking up grime and humour as it goes. In the early 1980s it became something else again: the name of a loose music and performance collective whose shows felt less like concerts than controlled disturbances. Taco emerged at the start of the decade as part of Japan’s post‑punk alternative wave, a shifting network of players orbiting Harumi Yamazaki, ex‑member of Gaseneta and the group’s volatile core. Around her gathered friends, acquaintances and fellow travellers from the Tokyo underground, forming a band that refused fixed membership, fixed genre, fixed anything. From the outset, Taco behaved more like a guerrilla unit than a conventional group. Personnel connected, collected, interrupted, scattered; line‑ups changed from gig to gig, and sometimes from piece to piece. Sound and image were treated as transient weapons to be deployed and discarded. Performances could happen with or without Harumi - reinforcing the sense that Taco was as much an anonymous mercenary outfit as it was a band, a name that could mask any number of combinations and intentions. What remained constant was the drive to send out music and noise that felt like it existed only for that night, that room, that confrontation, and then evaporated. In 1983 Taco released its first album, an anomalous, collaborative document that detonated across Japan’s underground as something both of and against its moment. The record functioned as a kind of local all‑stars compilation: key figures from the scene dropping in to contribute, while Harumi supplied the lyrics that stitched the whole together. Each track sounded like the reverberation of a particular cluster of people and circumstances - a conglomeration of voices, instruments, mistakes and impulses. Yet running through all of them were Harumi’s words, delivered with a force that turned scattered pieces into a single, bristling wave. The album didn’t simply collect songs; it spawned an “incident,” a disturbance that spread by word of mouth, tape dub and rumour. Then, as suddenly, it was pulled back: a separate scandal over some of the lyrics led to the records being recalled, ensuring that only a small number of copies ever made it into private hands. A second release followed in 1984: a 12" EP built around a live recording from the end of 1982. If the debut was a collage of sessions and personalities, this document caught Taco as a unit on stage, and what it revealed was an unexpectedly coherent musical engine beneath the chaos. For a band of indeterminate membership that specialised in one‑off performances, the playing here feels locked in without being smoothed out - grooves, fractures and eruptions held in tense balance. The record captures the power of Taco’s legendary live shows, but it’s Harumi Yamazaki’s presence that sears itself into memory: inflammatory, sensational, masochistic. Her muttered phrases and sudden screams ride over, and often wilfully against, the beat, treating rhythm as something to be taunted rather than obeyed. The effect is of a voice confronting the audience like a groundswell, an undertow that doesn’t care whether or not you keep your footing. One of Taco’s members once described the project as “an alternative counter organization”: a setup in which indeterminate participants fan each other’s heightened desires for personal revenge and retribution. In their words, Taco is “an ecosystem of tangible and intangible mouldy slime which accumulates in order for emotions to be acted out, both indoors in the studio, or outdoors on stage. That’s why the avenger can often end up being the victim.” It’s a metaphor that fits the music: thick, unstable, mutating, made from residues and leftovers as much as from polished ideas. Emotions congeal, are performed, and then rebound on those who unleashed them. The “alternative counter organization” is not a party or a platform; it’s a fragile, dangerous zone where sound becomes a way to test how far you can go before your own force turns back on you. The Alternative Counter Organization brings this history into focus not by tidying it up, but by acknowledging Taco’s refusal to be pinned down. It honours a group whose performances really were “like nothing before or since,” born from a word that already meant too many things and happy to add a few more.
An archival compilation that brings together My Bloody Valentine’s 1988 John Peel Session and rare tracks from the same period.
