MUSIC

“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.

As mui zyu, Hong Kong British artist Eva Liu searches for a portal, wandering between nothing and everything in her pursuit of peace. On her second full-length album nothing or something to die for, she looks outward, embracing the chaos with each tentative step. With an eye to the absurd, it asks: how do we find the hole in the wall––the portal––to the path we all crave? mui zyu’s debut album Rotten Bun for an Eggless Century saw her explore her heritage, as she dived inward to find acceptance and healing. Now, instead of searching for answers from the inside, Liu raises her head to look at the world around her. As she attempts to understand the complexities and significance of human existence, she observes apathy alongside overwhelming chaos; the technological advancements of connection with the lack of meaningful bonds and the frustrations of upholding standards set by others. nothing or something to die for tries to decipher these juxtaposing truths, holding both the weight of those trying to destroy the world with the utter futility of it all.

Have You Been Good To Yourself will come as a surprise to anyone expecting more of the beat-driven R&B Johnnie that he and his sibling produced – including that compilation’s much-sampled title track. A mix of spoken word and gospel songs laid down direct to cassette, these ultra-rare home recordings draw from Johnnie’s religious upbringing and his history in the music business, which was interrupted in 1970 when he was sent to fight in Vietnam. Crate digger Jameson Sweiger found Have You Been Good To Yourself and a companion album, Real Education, released under the name Khafele Ojore Ajanaku in a Memphis thrift store, but it was noticeably Frierson’s work. They hadn’t made it far – they would originally have been sold at corner stores and music festivals in the Memphis area where Frierson continued to perform and host a gospel radio show, all the while working as a mechanic, laborer and teacher. The seven songs on Have You Been Good To Yourself are overtly religious; some, such as “Out Here On Your Word,” are strident and faithful; others, like the self-questioning “Have You Been Good To Yourself,” are more meditative. They reflect the difficult situation that Frierson was in when recording, shell-shocked from his time in the military and grieving the untimely death of his son. “He was really trying to find his way,” remembers Frierson’s daughter in Andrea Lisle’s liner notes. “And writing and making music were a way out for him.”

Nothing But Net presents “Perceptions”, the debut LP from Los Angeles producer/beat maker Jamma-Dee aka Dyami O’Brien. Jamma-Dee has been a figure in the west coast modern funk and boogie scene, both as an accomplished DJ and music producer, having released records under his own name and producing for the likes of Joyce Wrice, Mndsgn and others. From a musical upbringing in Los Angeles, Dyami’s adolescent obsession with record digging and beatmaking eventually led him to Dam-Funk’s renown Funkmosphere parties where he built friendships with key players in the LA funk scene and began to make a name for himself as a DJ and producer. In the second half of the 2010’s he released a series of EPs on Arcane and hosted the legendary Soul In Paradise show on NTS radio. His first full-length, “Perceptions” is a long time in the making. Beginning with studio experiments nearly a decade ago, a version of the album found its way to producer and Nothing But Net label boss Onra, who helped guide the project to completion. The album artwork was created by outsider soul music conceptualist and painter, Mingering Mike, whom O’Brien felt compelled to reach out to after discovering his work years earlier. Thematically, the artwork, record, and its title touch on very modern themes: the alienation of life in a world of instant-gratification, an overly-connected society of masks, distorted realities and shifting identities. Musically, “Perceptions” is the culmination of a life lived under the groove. Featuring a long list of collaborators, including Benedek, Mndsgn, Koreatown Oddity, the legendary Craig T. Cooper and fellow NBN labelmate, Devin Morrison, the double album touches on all of O’Brien’s musical influences. Album opener “Up N Down” sets the scene with it’s syrupy g-funk impressionism, before “Jamma’s Jam” bounces out of the speakers through an auburn-colored sunset haze of lush Rhodes chords and sparkling vibraphones. “It Takes A Freak” and “Datafile Groove” shuffle westward, re-imagining New Jack Swing grooves through a distinctly Californian lens. Elsewhere, the album touches on classic deep house rhythms (“Tic Toc” and “Silly”) and crystalline, downtempo R&B and UK street soul (“Joy”, “Saturday”).“U.R.” features legendary L.A. guitarist Craig T. Cooper laying down a network of stunning, silken guitar lines with absolute class. Over the course of these 15 tracks, Jamma Dee consolidates, renovates and perpetuates the sound of his influences. “Perceptions” is a masterclass in modern funk and soul production.

Very pleased and grateful to announce this ‘Home Comfort’ reissue by Mark Glynne and Bart Zwier, originally self-released in 1980. Maybe a bit of an unexpected title to appear in the LSD catalog but my love for this album goes back to my late teenage years and has had an addictive effect since, like a spleen infused magnet. With this album Glynne and Zwier, based in the Netherlands and connected to the Ultra scene, drew an insular blend of intimate post-punk and chamber (bedroom) songs with surreal scenic reflections. Probably its naked singularity defying categorization has left it so unnoticed, even 43 years after the making. It also features a reciting Marlène Dumas still quite unknown at the time. With biggest gratitude to Mark Glynne who instantly felt confident with my proposal to reissue this silent witness of lasting beauty. My long time Japanese friend You Ishihara (White Heaven, The Stars) who bought the LP when it came out in 1980 still considers it as one of his all-time favourites. This is what he writes about ‘Home Comfort’:“Resignation and fear in a desolate mental landscape. This album, which exists like a shelter for those who have quietly escaped through the backdoor of the world, vividly reflects the inner depths of the devastated Amsterdam of the early 80’s. A beautiful and sad, unmistakable masterpiece.”

Very pleased and grateful to announce this ‘Home Comfort’ reissue by Mark Glynne and Bart Zwier, originally self-released in 1980. Maybe a bit of an unexpected title to appear in the LSD catalog but my love for this album goes back to my late teenage years and has had an addictive effect since, like a spleen infused magnet. With this album Glynne and Zwier, based in the Netherlands and connected to the Ultra scene, drew an insular blend of intimate post-punk and chamber (bedroom) songs with surreal scenic reflections. Probably its naked singularity defying categorization has left it so unnoticed, even 43 years after the making. It also features a reciting Marlène Dumas still quite unknown at the time. With biggest gratitude to Mark Glynne who instantly felt confident with my proposal to reissue this silent witness of lasting beauty. My long time Japanese friend You Ishihara (White Heaven, The Stars) who bought the LP when it came out in 1980 still considers it as one of his all-time favourites. This is what he writes about ‘Home Comfort’:“Resignation and fear in a desolate mental landscape. This album, which exists like a shelter for those who have quietly escaped through the backdoor of the world, vividly reflects the inner depths of the devastated Amsterdam of the early 80’s. A beautiful and sad, unmistakable masterpiece.”

First making waves with the almost cult level ‘Hype Williams’ project, and then more recently solo and as part of the group Babyfather, the new 8 track LP sees Dean Blunt step back into the shadowy role of producer for a new band called Blue Iverson. It’s a vibesey one, this; digging a vein of smoke-hazed living/bedroom feels in eight parts that could almost be passed off as a Dam-Funk jam. Well, almost, but there’s still something off kilter and economical about the fidelity and mixing of the recording that hints it’s from the UK, or is even made to sound like the private pressed soul obscurities picked out by PPU. Hotep strongly reminds of those lush soul bits from Yves Tumor’s Serpent Music or even selected Letherette cuts released on Alex Nut’s namesake label. The image of Lauryn Hill on the sleeve is a cherry on the cake.

It's Ok, B U sees Kiefer go back to his roots, playing keys and making beats. Track titles reflect his journey to self-acceptance. Kiefer says, “I wanted to ‘allow myself’ to go crazy and express myself in the biggest, loudest way possible.” Artwork by María Medem.

Shades of Yesterday is the new covers album by DJ Harrison – 11 tracks that pay homage to his musical heroes, representing some of his most treasured childhood memories, out February 9th on Stones Throw. It was created over several years at his home studio Jellowstone, where he also created his previous two Stones Throw albums, 2021’s Tales from the Old Dominion and 2017’s HazyMoods. The announcement comes with a new song, too. “L’Anthropofemme” is a cover of French group Syntaxe.“L’Anthropofemme” was first introduced to DJ by Tyler, the Creator during an L.A. studio session where the two artists shared some of their most loved songs. Last year, Harrison shared “Lil Birdie”, a cover from Vince Guaraldi’s iconic A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special, and a cover of Donald Fagen’s “IGY”, which he decided to record after opening for the Steely Dan legend in his hometown of Richmond, Virginia. While DJ Harrison has spent his career as a sought-after collaborator, playing in the funk-jazz fusion outfit Butcher Brown and collaborating with Pink Siifuu, Joyce Wrice, and winning two Grammy nominations for his work with Kurt Elling, Shades of Yesterday was created solo, with Harrison playing almost every instrument himself.

With his third album, The Big Swim, on Les Disque Bongo Joe, Augenwasser ventures once again into the paths of synth wave exploration with a pop feel. Still laced with the folk textures of his early days, he nevertheless develops a dance approach that can at times be akin to melancholic drone. His music takes you to an imaginary, dark club, lulled by a haunting rhythm, surrounded by the fumes of the night, where it is possible to indulge in that quiet voice that has already confessed that it is too late but will never stop repeating its soft, cold poetry. "You'll realize one sad morning/some things change without a warning." In the same way that we realize as a child that things are bigger than they seem, so we discover the music of Augenwasser. A simple and disturbing melody, beautiful and sincere, declined to excess, which grows with each track, as a stream turns into a lake, a music that builds a world of broken papers and enchanted ideas.

"As a discarded record collection of notorious Cafe Extase crossed their path, Left Bank constructed their own warped version of club music. The era was acid-jazz, p-funk and rare groove, the records covered in thick layers of mold and dust. Recorded a few streets from where the action once took place, Kelder Extase forms a musical resurrection of a basement that has disappeared."

Kumachan Seal: solo project of Japanese vocalist/keyboardist/songwriter Sairi Ojima, who has been playing in numerous indie bands, including Neco Nemuru, since her teens. She began her solo career in 2013, and released her first cassette in 2017. This EM Records release is her first CD/LP album, with all compositions by Ojima, who co-produced the album. Each of the eleven songs reveals beguiling layers of detailed and surprising sounds, with Ojima’s DIY sonic core embroidered by vibrant and colorful beats and guitar from EM artist Le Makeup and the quintessential ambient-pop synths and keyboards of fellow EM-er Takao. Le Makeup mixed ten of the eleven songs, with Takao mixing “China Sandwich”. The heart of Ojima’s musical identity is her clear, aqueous voice; apart from one instrumental, all the tracks here feature that mellifluous voice, but in an interesting twist, only half the songs have lyrics, with the remainder employing her wordless voice as melodic and textural elements. Although Kumachan Seal can be heard as a sort of bedroom pop filtered through ambient music and the new-age revival, listeners will note that the final two songs, “Atsumono” and “Tiny Cell”, are respectively a slightly skewed four-on-the-floor track and a lightly skanking Doo-wop-flavored confection, slightly reminiscent of the UK’s Brenda Ray. 
This album, full of Ojima’s calm and cool observation of the world, is available on CD, LP and DL, and includes an English lyric sheet. 

Holy Hour delves into the intricate theme of romantic obsession and addiction, artfully intertwining emotions and experiences to create a captivating narrative. The writer portrays the subject of their affection as the center of their universe, elevating them to the status of a metaphorical religion. With each track, the album invites listeners to explore the complexities of love, desire, and the profound impact it has on the human psyche.

DIY pop master from Saitama, JAPAN. love psychedelic pop/anime/dreamy pop

Sam Hall’s new album as ghost orchard, ‘rainbow music’, is a collage of patience and meditation. The record was written in two halves, between the summer of 2020 and the spring of 2021, and is filled with nuances as quietly imperceptible as the seasons, or the profound movement of time, where one day looking back you realize your whole spirit has shifted. Where 2019’s critically revered ‘bunny’ was a love letter to a romantic relationship, ‘rainbow music’ documents the culmination of Hall’s first personal experience with loss in several forms. At the end of 2020, his longterm childhood pet passed away, and with it the last continuing threads of familiarity between being a kid and adulthood. Still based in the Grand Rapids, Michigan town he’d grown up in, the static ease of familiar living seemed to be coming apart at the seams, as friends moved on to bigger cities, relationships shapeshifted and in a short period of time, another kitten he’d adopted passed away prematurely, leaving Hall to question the trajectory in which he himself was headed. Recorded in the house that Hall currently lives in, ‘rainbow music’ is a timestamp of this environment. A myriad of shows used to take place at the residence, and the space still reverberates with the residual echoes of people as they pass though. Hall remains fascinated with the remnants of things left behind, and his home is replete with furniture and miscellaneous objects that reflect the core of his compositions: sonic maximalism paired with attention to detail. His music feels steeped in this place he has painstakingly decorated, where, much like the songs of ‘rainbow music,’ each individual object provides its own history and underlying connectedness to part of a greater collection. Bristling with the familiarity of being a stranger in someone else’s living quarters, amidst all their belongings and hoarded treasures, the album’s linear qualities remain rough around the edges, like gradually filling in the color of someone you’re just getting to know. “I love creating rooms,” Hall emphasizes, and this record “feels more inside of me than anything.” The oldest (and only proper love song), “soot,” was the first song to come after a period of static creativity, and effectively opened a floodgate that inspired him to finish half of ‘rainbow music’ in the forthcoming two months. Each track weighs with its own impact, as Hall grapples with endings and beginnings side by side, a rebirth that Hall equates to be as cathartic as crying. Many came about in a sudden stream of consciousness: the bare-boned structures of “rest” were recorded entirely in a day, and was an immediate reaction to his pet’s death and a way to process those feelings. More upbeat “maisy” and glitch-filled “cut” also came together tangentially to one another. “I feel more secure in my relationship to music,” Hall muses. With his previous work, “I was trying different things on, but ‘rainbow music’ feels more certain: this is me for better for worse at this period of time.” There’s a push and pull across the eleven songs, a sort of immediacy that’s made even more effective by Hall’s retrospective reflection. “comfort (rainbow)” was written in half prior to most of the grief that would alter Hall’s life, and was completed months later by the tuner who fixed the upright piano in his house. Produced almost entirely by Hall, the only further collaborator was Bennett Littlejohn (who has also contributed to Hovvdy and Katy Kirby’s projects), and these specific touches are integral to the cohesive footprint of ‘rainbow music’s miniature universes. Hall has previously described his work as “memory storage”, and in a way ‘rainbow music’ functions as an hourglass measuring out spoonfuls of both the past and future. An oscillating palette of instruments flit between acoustic guitar, piano and even fluttering drum and bass, where synths patter like barely discernible heartbeats and vocals feel more like an instrument than decipherable words. Hall has never released the lyrics to his music, but throughout the album’s insular quality sometimes you can hear smidges of the outside world from far away; a call and return echoed by repetition where meaning is sketched out in a dreamscape and a subtle darkness always surrounds the fringes. Like “songs in the key of life,” the title ‘rainbow music’ refers to the myriad of colors and qualities within Hall that are refracted throughout. It’s a symbolization of hope and the aftermath, the flickering light at the end of the tunnel (or “when a rainbow shows up after a big storm”). “Wish I could have fun anymore,” Hall ruminates on “dancing”, as well as confessing he “wish he made more upbeat bangers.” But reality packs more of a punch, and this collection of songs sees him finally be at peace with the current state of affairs. Relatable to anyone who has contemplated what it means to settle down, or even just catch your breath in an era where anguish is commonplace, the release of ‘rainbow music’ is a happy ending in its own right, a marker of survival that remains close to the bone.

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…" Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within." "I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them. "Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone." "People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something. "That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me." In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

Kumachan Seal: solo project of Japanese vocalist/keyboardist/songwriter Sairi Ojima, who has been playing in numerous indie bands, including Neco Nemuru, since her teens. She began her solo career in 2013, and released her first cassette in 2017. This EM Records release is her first CD/LP album, with all compositions by Ojima, who co-produced the album. Each of the eleven songs reveals beguiling layers of detailed and surprising sounds, with Ojima’s DIY sonic core embroidered by vibrant and colorful beats and guitar from EM artist Le Makeup and the quintessential ambient-pop synths and keyboards of fellow EM-er Takao. Le Makeup mixed ten of the eleven songs, with Takao mixing “China Sandwich”. The heart of Ojima’s musical identity is her clear, aqueous voice; apart from one instrumental, all the tracks here feature that mellifluous voice, but in an interesting twist, only half the songs have lyrics, with the remainder employing her wordless voice as melodic and textural elements. Although Kumachan Seal can be heard as a sort of bedroom pop filtered through ambient music and the new-age revival, listeners will note that the final two songs, “Atsumono” and “Tiny Cell”, are respectively a slightly skewed four-on-the-floor track and a lightly skanking Doo-wop-flavored confection, slightly reminiscent of the UK’s Brenda Ray. 
This album, full of Ojima’s calm and cool observation of the world, is available on CD, LP and DL, and includes an English lyric sheet. 

ortland, Oregon-based musician Graham Jonson started early: playing piano as a toddler, finding the music of J Dilla in fifth grade, and self-releasing singles by age 16. First appearing under the name quickly, quickly in 2017, his project’s profile has since grown fervently with fans in the beats-oriented corners of SoundCloud, YouTube, and Reddit. Some of his early tracks tally north of 10 million plays on Spotify. The figure isn’t meant to flex as much as it is to point out that Jonson’s work has resonated without the traditional industry levers; he is a wunderkind DIY internet success story, but, by his own assessment at the present age of 20, he’s only now getting serious. With The Long And Short Of It, his Ghostly International debut, Jonson reinvents his project as a full-fledged songwriter, vocalist, and arranger, playing nearly everything from drums to keys and guitar. The resulting sound straddles jazz, hip hop, R&B, and psych-pop while suggesting a wholly genre-less path forward. Recorded during and after a short-lived move to Los Angeles, songs find Jonson cool and comfortable, navigating the planes between anxiety and apathy, distance and desire with lyrical vulnerability and introspection. A student of the Stones Throw catalog (his favorite is Madlib’s Quasimoto), Jonson remains rhythm-driven at heart, trusting his instincts in this new palette of organic instrumentation and verse-chorus structure. Tracks glide and bump with tasteful care to tempo as his scene-building and storytelling knack comes into focus. Jonson’s past material often suited passive listenership, the kind of bedroom-produced beat music that offers secondary utility and function as a companion to primary activities. The Long and Short of It showcases an evolutionary step into a style that uses chops cultivated in that niche that demand a more active listenership. That attention is rewarded with earworms, dazzling production flare, and earnest, genre-spanning songwriting. Opener “Phases” launches on the radical wisdom of the album’s sole vocal feature, courtesy of renowned poet and activist, Sharrif Simmons, who contributes a psychedelic poem spanning cosmic existentialism — something he wrote off the cuff during a session. As the fiery spoken word unfolds, a frenzy of drum grooves from Micah Hummel and strings from Elliot Cleverdon rise higher into the mix, all setting the stage for Jonson’s debut at the mic and keys. The back half of “Phases” shifts into a hypnotic instrumental, the drums interlocking on guitar lines, pausing for a spacious break before reassembling twice as potent, riding into a blissful, cathartic saxophone solo by Haily Naiswanger. The next track, “Come Visit Me,” was penned for Jonson’s girlfriend, a simple, sweet homesick plea for her company in Los Angeles, where he was secretly struggling to adjust. Ultimately he would move back to Portland after 11 months and scrap much of the music he wrote in LA, unhappy with the material’s reliance on sampled drum breaks and synths. He held onto a few bits though, including this tender dispatch, building it out into a bass-grooving slow jam, adding a verse from his perspective two years later. “Shee” was written on his girlfriend’s guitar and every line glows with uncomplicated adoration. He is captivated in this daydream, which drifts off into a haze of strums and hums. We wake to the looping drums of “Leave It.” Above the pattern, layering piano and guitar, Jonson pokes holes in himself — his “cognitive dissonance,” being “too jaded” to see what’s right in front of him – the notions blurring back into that haze on an outro of sublime ambient psych-jazz. Jonson returns to the piano for “I Am Close To The River,” the place he goes to break a creative rut, as he was the morning this bittersweet melody entered his mind. He says the song is loosely based on a psychonautic experience he had along the Willamette River. Once home, he put the song to paper, over time arranging a bucolic mix of shimmering chimes, saturated percussion, and orchestral strings from Elliot Cleverdon. A highlight on the record’s b-side, “Everything is Different (To Me)” features all the traits of the new quickly, quickly in one ambitious suite: a catchy guitar loop, a classic hip-hop drum break, a swell of strings, and sly chord progression changes, all in clever contrast to Jonson’s lyrics detailing bouts with lethargy. The album ends on a series of questions in the poignant “Wy,” a delightful resignation. Jonson, lonely in LA, spins the hypochondriac wheel and checks off concerns that seem to plague internet dwellers; his neck hurts, his hands are shaky, his stomach feels off. He dismisses his need to self-diagnose and opts to lean into the moment through music. A billowing outro builds on airy synths, his contemplative guitar strums, and a soothing water droplet sound. The comedown is “Otto’s Dance,” a brief instrumental reverie nodding to one of his favorite Brazilian albums, Milton Nascimento and Lô Borges’ Clube Da Esquina. That’s The Long And Short Of It, a summary of transition, self-validation, and a great leap forward in a young artist’s life.

Sam Hall’s new album as ghost orchard, ‘rainbow music’, is a collage of patience and meditation. The record was written in two halves, between the summer of 2020 and the spring of 2021, and is filled with nuances as quietly imperceptible as the seasons, or the profound movement of time, where one day looking back you realize your whole spirit has shifted. Where 2019’s critically revered ‘bunny’ was a love letter to a romantic relationship, ‘rainbow music’ documents the culmination of Hall’s first personal experience with loss in several forms. At the end of 2020, his longterm childhood pet passed away, and with it the last continuing threads of familiarity between being a kid and adulthood. Still based in the Grand Rapids, Michigan town he’d grown up in, the static ease of familiar living seemed to be coming apart at the seams, as friends moved on to bigger cities, relationships shapeshifted and in a short period of time, another kitten he’d adopted passed away prematurely, leaving Hall to question the trajectory in which he himself was headed. Recorded in the house that Hall currently lives in, ‘rainbow music’ is a timestamp of this environment. A myriad of shows used to take place at the residence, and the space still reverberates with the residual echoes of people as they pass though. Hall remains fascinated with the remnants of things left behind, and his home is replete with furniture and miscellaneous objects that reflect the core of his compositions: sonic maximalism paired with attention to detail. His music feels steeped in this place he has painstakingly decorated, where, much like the songs of ‘rainbow music,’ each individual object provides its own history and underlying connectedness to part of a greater collection. Bristling with the familiarity of being a stranger in someone else’s living quarters, amidst all their belongings and hoarded treasures, the album’s linear qualities remain rough around the edges, like gradually filling in the color of someone you’re just getting to know. “I love creating rooms,” Hall emphasizes, and this record “feels more inside of me than anything.” The oldest (and only proper love song), “soot,” was the first song to come after a period of static creativity, and effectively opened a floodgate that inspired him to finish half of ‘rainbow music’ in the forthcoming two months. Each track weighs with its own impact, as Hall grapples with endings and beginnings side by side, a rebirth that Hall equates to be as cathartic as crying. Many came about in a sudden stream of consciousness: the bare-boned structures of “rest” were recorded entirely in a day, and was an immediate reaction to his pet’s death and a way to process those feelings. More upbeat “maisy” and glitch-filled “cut” also came together tangentially to one another. “I feel more secure in my relationship to music,” Hall muses. With his previous work, “I was trying different things on, but ‘rainbow music’ feels more certain: this is me for better for worse at this period of time.” There’s a push and pull across the eleven songs, a sort of immediacy that’s made even more effective by Hall’s retrospective reflection. “comfort (rainbow)” was written in half prior to most of the grief that would alter Hall’s life, and was completed months later by the tuner who fixed the upright piano in his house. Produced almost entirely by Hall, the only further collaborator was Bennett Littlejohn (who has also contributed to Hovvdy and Katy Kirby’s projects), and these specific touches are integral to the cohesive footprint of ‘rainbow music’s miniature universes. Hall has previously described his work as “memory storage”, and in a way ‘rainbow music’ functions as an hourglass measuring out spoonfuls of both the past and future. An oscillating palette of instruments flit between acoustic guitar, piano and even fluttering drum and bass, where synths patter like barely discernible heartbeats and vocals feel more like an instrument than decipherable words. Hall has never released the lyrics to his music, but throughout the album’s insular quality sometimes you can hear smidges of the outside world from far away; a call and return echoed by repetition where meaning is sketched out in a dreamscape and a subtle darkness always surrounds the fringes. Like “songs in the key of life,” the title ‘rainbow music’ refers to the myriad of colors and qualities within Hall that are refracted throughout. It’s a symbolization of hope and the aftermath, the flickering light at the end of the tunnel (or “when a rainbow shows up after a big storm”). “Wish I could have fun anymore,” Hall ruminates on “dancing”, as well as confessing he “wish he made more upbeat bangers.” But reality packs more of a punch, and this collection of songs sees him finally be at peace with the current state of affairs. Relatable to anyone who has contemplated what it means to settle down, or even just catch your breath in an era where anguish is commonplace, the release of ‘rainbow music’ is a happy ending in its own right, a marker of survival that remains close to the bone.

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…" Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within." "I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them. "Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone." "People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something. "That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me." In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

Giving sequence to the smooth noir Guerrinha first discovered in 2018’s "Wagner" LP (self-released), "Cidade Grande" expands the midi jazz quartet to an ensemble. Whereas "Wagner" dealt in firmly sculpted motifs, here we approach fusion territory, improvisational fury, while somehow still treading in a thick, longing, atmosphere. Themes will erase themselves between Joe Zawinul and Koji Kondo while erratic snare rolls à la DeJohnette froth continually. One feels surrounded, at one and the same time, by the vulgar elegance of office buildings and the stillness of one's own childhood bedroom, pitch black except for a portable videogame's screen, way past bedtime. Tracks "José pt. I" and "II", opener and closer of "Cidade Grande", offer glimpses into our opaque protagonist. In stripped-down keys and synth arrangements, windy soliloquies out of Rheji Burrell’s APTs overtake Hejiran landscapes. José is damned to megalomania—just like any other inhabitant of the big city, Guerrinha would add.

dreamcastmoe is the recording project of singer, songwriter, producer, and DJ Davon Bryant, a lifelong resident of Washington, DC. His music moves freely between moods and modes, hypnotic, romantic, traversing electronic, R&B, funk, soul, and hip-hop — Resident Advisor dubs it "soulful, cross-genre dance music." This ability to adapt and finesse, to twist in different directions while staying true and coherent in vision, can be traced to his home city and its complex cultural history. "Most Black kids in DC don't ever get to this point," he says. "This is what I am making this music for, in the DC tradition of soul and empathy and love that is rooted in this city. My music is for real people dealing with shit every day." A versatile, modern artist and collaborator, dreamcastmoe has thrived in the underground since his first uploads to Soundcloud and Bandcamp in 2017 and subsequent releases with labels like People's Potential Unlimited, Trading Places, and In Real Life Music. Bryant's laid-back personality, emotional honesty, and infectious energy shine through his work and how he talks about it, as Crack Magazine notes in their 2021 Rising feature: "a steady combination of confidence, creativity, and calmness." He grew up playing drums in church; he's worked dead-end jobs, had ups and downs, even sold off all his gear one time, but never stopped reinvesting in himself. He is quick to praise his co-producers, rattle off influences — the visual feel of NBA 2K, the comedic timing of Bernie Mac, the savvy legacy of Duke Ellington, for starters — and credit resourceful DC breakouts like Ankhlejohn that showed him the roadmap. His voice, a steady instrument, seemingly connects it all, capable of slow falsetto flow, swaggering talk-rap, and outright croon. His storytelling style is choppy yet fluid, like a mixtape, which is how Bryant sees Sound Is Like Water, his debut on Ghostly's International's freeform label, Spectral Sound. The two-part project culminates as a full-length LP release in November 2022. The first side, released as Part I, opens on the blurred beats of “El Dorado,” which dreamcastmoe dedicates to his journey. It’s a head-nodder, an off-kilter earworm co-produced by Max D (Future Times, RVNG Intl, etc.), with Bryant harmonizing hooks with synth jabs and a pitched-down presence. “This song is a chant that keeps me moving towards the places I want to be. My journey mostly digs into my love (sometimes a lack of) for self and allowing myself that space to grow.” “Complicated” is the slow jam, delivered smoothly from a Saturday night crossroads. dreamcastmoe is contemplative and committed — gliding and locking ad-libs into skittering rhythms courtesy of co-producer dawson — but also willing to let something go, “acknowledging that everything in life IS NOT easy.” “RU Ready” takes off from the jump as a tribute, challenge, and promise to his partner and his city (“The times you sat with me when I needed you the most / Told me the things that I needed to see / Young black man, really trying to be what I can be / And I'm really from DC). In its potent two-plus minutes, the sonics (co-produced by ZDBT) press the message, all cymbal crashes, breakbeats, and serrated synth lines. “Cloudy Weather, Wear Boots” is a blitzing dance-punk track made in collaboration with Jordan GCZ on Bryant’s first trip to Amsterdam. Lyrics land in a dream state; the club is heaven’s gate, and Bryant is shaking the clouds from his back. “Sometimes we just need to hit the dancefloor and let go of everything.” The album’s flipside opens on “Much More,” the first of two synth-and-beat ballads co-produced by ZDBT. Bryant sees the track as a pledge – “to myself that ‘I'm much more’ and whoever I'm with deserves more. We both deserve the best version of myself. The best version of each other.” Later on “Long Songz,” he claims, “I’m not writing love songs no more,” prioritizing the vibe with “all my day ones.” He calls it “a cry for more normal moments. Everything doesn’t have to be a fantasy love story, more time spent getting to the money, growing, and making a way.” He saves two of his most propulsive cuts for the finale, co-produced by Sami, co-founder of DC dance label 1432 R. As their titles suggest, “Take A Moment” and “Make Ya Mind” operate as anthems for movement, with Bryant free-flowing commands above wildly-styled percussion. Per Bryant, the latter is both “wake & bake jam” and a “dance floor bomb.” His parting line: “Action / You got to show me action / Reaction.” The world of dreamcastmoe straddles virtual reality and the realness of DC, images both imagined and lived-in. Bryant has a knack for unexpected melodies but what makes his music so exciting is his capacity to defy the expectations of genre and image. A fluid ingenuity and vulnerability bottled by Sound Is Like Water, and this is just the beginning.

Under the presidency of Bradley Zero, London's prestigious label , which has produced numerous masterpieces and is also focusing on contemporary jazz, has collaborated with labelmate Vels Trio keyboard player Jack Stephenson-Oliver. The latest work by SAUL, a collaborative project by producer Barney Whittaker (aka Footshooter). Includes songs featuring guests such as Ezra Collective saxophonist James Mollison and South London MC Natty Wylah. It is a supreme jazz album that blends the vibes of bedroom pop/soul that are familiar to the LA crowd with the energy and blackness of spiritual jazz. In the second half of this year, he will perform with Kamasi Washington, one of the great icons of contemporary jazz, so it's a must-see!SAUL enlist the help of talented friends for their new EP - a feel good, summer-ready soundtrack, bursting with uplifting synths and groove-heavy broken beats SAUL, is a joint project from the minds of Jack Stephenson-Oliver (keys player of fellow Rhythm Section INTL signee, Vels Trio) and producer Barney Whittaker, aka Footshooter. With the success of their individual projects - Vels are soon to embark on a tour across the UK and Europe and Footshooter is growing from strength to strength following releases on Astral Black and Dance Regular - it’s exciting to hear what the duo will think up next. When the two of them get together their jam sessions result in a fusion of jazz and broken beat. Atmospheric keys and synths interweave with programmed drums, laying the perfect ground for the all star cast of featured artists assembled for this record. Collaboration is a key element to the creative output of SAUL, shining a light over individual and collective talents. Their second release, Mutualism, promises a stellar line-up of musical interaction. In the words of Barney, “the feature performances are all very different, the way they worked on the tracks really brought each one to life in a big way”. The project starts with the sounds of sunrise. Opening with The Light, is Allysha Joy, a member of another group on Rhythm Section’s roster, 30/70. She crafts uplifting melodies that move gracefully through bouncy Rhodes chords. This track shines with sun-focused energy and up beat grooves that provide the perfect soundtrack for long summer festival days. On Coalesce, featuring South London MC Natty Wylah, lofty, cloud-like atmospheres are built above classic Moog synths. The hypnotic bass and lead notes are equal parts hopeful, eerie and curious, matching the optimistic promise offered by Wylah’s hook: ‘don’t you want to find somewhere better?’. Subjects flow from party-focused lyrics to poetic streams of consciousness as Natty adopts a dreamy sung delivery by the end of the track. The Ep comes to a serene close with a feature from ‘aden’ - recipient of the 2021 Fred Perry x Nicholas Daley Music Grant. The early image of sunlight may have faded, but the energetic focus of the project never dies. Swirling synths circle around sharp bass stabs, with a driving bassline taking over into the hook. Other major features include the unmistakable tone of Lex Amour. During Flowers, her laid back, spoken style is accompanied by a slowed down G-Funk-inspired instrumental. With an illustrious list of collaborators already to her name (such as Kojey Radical, Wulu, George Riley and Ego Ella Mae) and sell out shows across the country, she makes her lyrical prowess evident. Lex effortlessly switches between rhythmical flows to hypnotic layered melodies - elevating the production to another level in the process. The synergy between producers and vocalists is evident; the collaborations equal far more than the sum of their parts. In ‘Mutualism’ we see Saul’s vision fully come to fruition. The synergy is apparent, the possibilities - endless and the respect - mutual. Aside from the Vocal guest appearance, Mutualism is also packed with instrumental cameos. SAUL turn to Ezra Collective’s sax player James Mollison on the track Can’t Wait. The seasoned five-piece are set to perform alongside the modern day jazz pioneer Kamasi Washington later this year. Mollison shows his range on this song as energy flows from soaring highs to long sustained lows, allowing a hint of dub influence to come to light. SAUL’s newest release signals two musicians at the height of their artistic expression, drawing resources and influences from wherever is inspiring them most. This collaborative methodology produces a sound that is constantly evolving, illuminating new faces and sounds with each project that passes.

Up next from Mood Hut we have the debut LP from Local Artist aka Ian Wyatt. Previously known for his underground party starters Dancer and Touch Tone. This time Ian takes us further towards the intimate end of the radio dial, recording music as a way of processing the emotions of watching his father and partner battle cancer pre-pandemic. Themes of love, loss and life emerge in a moody brew to help you through. In Local Artist’s world, the sun is setting on our old selves. Tonight is a slow ritual of letting go to gradually make room for the new. We’ve been up all night. It’s almost dawn and beyond the horizon, we can trust the light that morning brings. RIYL - Jon Hassell, Laurie Anderson, Loose Ends, Sade, slow burns, ambient RnB, hypnotic funk, feeling better when you're feeling bad.