MUSIC

牧歌的ニューエイジ・フォーク大傑作『Pentimento and others』を残した人物であり、サンフランシスコ拠点のフォークロック・バンド、Citayのメンバーとしても知られるニューヨークを拠点とするギタリスト/作曲家のEzra Feinbergによる最新アルバム『Soft Power』が〈Tonal Union〉からアナログ・リリース。当店お馴染みの名ハーピストMary Lattimoreに、シューゲイズ・ドローン/アンビエント名手Jefre Cantu-Ledesma、マルチ奏者のRobbie Leeといった面々と共に精巧に作り上げた親密でゆとりのある珠玉のアンビエント・フォーク作品！限定300部。

'Imerro' is a collection of song odes to both heat and desire, closely felt. Its title literally presented itself to Diab from a random page contained in a poem by Ezra Pound found in the book ‘The Imagist Poem’. Searching for its meaning, Diab discovered that Imerro is “a Greek word for ‘desire for, I desire you’, yet nothing could substantiate its truth. “It made sense, almost like it had chosen me. An obscure word for Desire, one that might not even exist, or is so ancient that nobody really remembers it meaning anything. It's just a sound, like an album.” Imerro finds Caton at his most expressive and free-spirited. Inviting the music to find him, almost by osmosis, foregoing any preconceptions of playing any instrument he is unfamiliar with or regrets not learning during adolescence. This is music for wide screens: the result is an undeniably evocative, moving and mysterious voyage. Imerro was recorded in late July and August of 2021 at Risque Disque Studio in Cedar, BC, during the summer’s unprecedented second “heat dome”, which saw temperatures soaring to over 40 degrees. Recorded with regular collaborator and engineer Jonathan Paul Stewart, the pair journeyed by boat to the studio to a place with minimal distraction with a plan of “simple ecstatic improvisation.” Diab explains: “I wanted to place myself in a space for creation with little thematic pretence, with the belief that music ‘shows its face’ as you move along. I would pick up an instrument, whether I had experience playing it or not, and make a sound. If it wanted to be played, it would play.” ‘Ourselves At Least’, the rhythmic album opener gracefully leaps and bounds with a human-like metronome at its core, capturing a rush of elatedness felt by Diab over the course of its late night creation. ‘Lunar Barge’ bursts into life with tone-bending bow strikes that glide across Diab’s guitar towards a climatic peak before the track drops into an electronic/acoustic trance. Inspired in part by the rhythmical works of Huun-Huur-Tu and the animated cello play remindful of Arthur Russell. “Lunar Barge is a track for a dry, hot night in the forest (which it quite literally was.). I roamed around the floors of the studio picking up any instrument standing out in the moment, and tried to see if it had anything to say.” ‘The Excuse of Fiction’ sees Diab return to free-flowing guitar play, the chosen instrument of his youth. He loops layers to form an ethereal backbone before plucking further melodies from the air on top. The result is a cinematic guitar-laden expanse brimming with optimism and nostalgia. The title references a quote by Zizek: “We need the excuse of a fiction to stage what we really are.” Themes of remembrance, yearning and desire pervade the album's 9-tracks with a palpable presence as we reach ‘Quatsino Sound’, named after an inlet on Northern Vancouver Island where Diab grew up. It features hoopoe birdcalls which were sampled from a found cassette tape of African sounds before being randomized until it became rhythmic, then embellished with synth lines, bass drops, and bowed layovers. The album centres around the nocturnal ‘Crypsis’ with Diab sleepily playing notes on a switched-off Wurlitzer before dampened piano chords, bow scrapes, and noisy glitches reverberate. ‘Erratum’ erupts with untamed force from a war cry of screaming saxophone layers reminiscent of Colin Stetson. Its visceral thirst and energy seem to be a response to the heat of the night and Diab’s urge to play the instrument he loved but had yet learnt. ‘Tiny Umbrellas’, an improvised pass of banjo, bowed guitar and ethereal modular synths breathes a contemplative pause before ‘Surge Savard’ chimes in. This whirlwind closer started life as a longform jam under the influence of psychedelics; its modular synth, air organ, guitar and sax lines were initially improvised with final touches made at Watch Yer Head studio.

Official reissue of the debut album from fabled Japanese folk singer-songwriter/actress/writer Hako Yamasaki, released in 1975, at only 18 years old, on legendary independent label Elec Records. Tobimasu is a masterpiece of melancholy carried by one of the most beautiful, emotional, melodic, and haunting voices in the history of Japanese music. Hako Yamasaki is considered a pioneer in both the creative boom and the rise of feminism of 1970s Japan. This album is released in conjunction with her follow-up Tsunawatari, also available on WRWTFWW Records. Folk, Alternative, Psychedelic, Soft, Poetic

Damião Experiença's surreal, self-released run of LPs are among Brazil's most bizarre subcultural treasures, a blown-out mix of psychedelia, freak folk, prog and reggae that defies convention at every loose beat. 'Planeta Lamma' attempts to condense the output for curious beginners, cherrypicking crucial moments from the Brazilian legend's vast catalog. Mindboggling gear. Self-taught outsider Damião Ferreira da Cruz, aka Damião Experiença, is considered to be the Brazilian answer to Captain Beefheart, Daniel Johnston, Jandek or Moondog, a wildly inventive fringe hybridist whose dadaist, semi-improvised songs - often sung in his own invented dialect - have found him a dedicated cult following. Famously press-shy and irritable, Damião was born in Bahia, escaping as a pre-teen to Rio de Janeiro, where he joined the Brazilian navy. Legend has it that Damião hit his head when he fell from a ship's crow's nest, which could explain his unpredictable moods, but he left the navy in the mid-1960s, working as a pimp to fund his private press releases. Damião's moniker was an homage to his favorite band, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, but the music doesn't exactly come across as a tribute. Singing in his own 'Planet Lamma dialect', Damião improvised on instruments he never learned how to play, assembling his voice into ritualistic, overlayed chatters and one-string guitar riffs into a lumbering, reggae-esque chug. Drums might match up, or might not, pattering in the background to add psychedelic thrust, rather than a rhythmic backbone. At its best, the music sounds like multiple records playing at the same time, held together by Damião's charismatic, garbled tones. 'Planeta Lamma' might share a name with Damião's 1974 debut, but it's not the same album. Confusingly, both records begin with the same track (the brief '1308 Registrou Gravou Rose Oliria Experiença'), but this edition quickly goes off piste. The focal point of the first side is the chaotic 'Ritmo Linguagem Planeta Lamma', a densely layered 20-minute romp that Damião released in 1999 (as far as we can tell). The side ends with 'Planeta Lamma' from the debut album, and the second side is mostly taken up by 'Sol', another lengthy, freeform experiment that's taken from the Brazilian multi-instrumentalist's late period. Jazzy and unpredictable, it's a frothy blast of angular funk that's got us confused and completely absorbed. One for the cranks!

In the late 1960s, Antonio Infantino linked his name to the Beat world and to italian performance and gestural music circles (Bussotti, Chiari, Curran). A poet and singer, a tireless devotee of the musical traditions of Southern Italy, he focuses his research mainly on the mysterious phenomenon of Tarantismo, a cultural syndrome of hysterical type found in the Mediterranean air and made famous by the studies of Ernesto De Martino. With his group, Infantino twists and reinvents the traditional repertoire of Basilicata, creating an entirely new and original songbook. The music reflects the states of Trance induced by the bite of the spider tarantula, with obsessive and hypnotic rhythms characteristic of the incandescent blood of the peasant world. A deep and universal human sound, it also takes its cues from Dylan's folk revolution and the frenetic drums of North Africa.

We invite you to enter the strange and enchanting world of Nino Gvilia, where nothing is quite what it seems. These two ep's (presented on one disc in March 2024) draw you deep into her dreamlike sound-world of hushed late night atmospherics and surreal songwriting. Born in Poti, near Lake Paliastomi in Georgia, Nino Gvilia is a singer-songwriter whose lyrics offer up meditations on what it is to be human in the 21st Century, and aim to carry us beyond into ecology and the politics of the non-human world. Her songs are influenced by folk and minimalism and make use of magnetic tapes, field recordings, vocal samples of contemporary thinkers and philosophers, and an array of strange instruments and vintage textures, drawing for us an intense dreamlike atmosphere. On these two EPs, Nino Gvilia collaborates with Zevi Bordovach (synth / keyboards) and Pietro Caramelli (electric guitar / vocals), with Giulia Pecora and Clarissa Marino adding violin and cello. Now I should tell you that Nino Gvilia does not exist. She is a purely fictional character invented in order to help us reflect on the place of the songwriter in times of global crisis.

Memotone from Bristol released eclectic ambient folk jazz record.

Mysterious Japanese singer song writer. Originally released 2009.

Mysterious Japanese singer song writer. Originally released 1999.

A Colourful Storm begins 2024 with a luxurious suite of daydreaming introspection courtesy of Unchained, the longstanding solo project of Nathaniel Davis. Recorded at home between 2020 and 2023, Gabbeh is the latest expression of Davis’s guitar-based instrumental musings and represents an almost two decade-long stylistic evolution of his self-released noise tapes and CD-Rs into romantic, bossa nova-influenced melody-making. He wrote the tracks sporadically, with minimal instrumentation and intervention. Electric guitar, bass improvisations and rhythms from an old drum machine are layered and given new life, the space between them softly breathing with minutiae of the everyday: the buzz of cicadas, the passing of cars, the whistling of passersby. The psychogeography of Grenoble, Davis’ home since 2018, played a conscious role in the weaving of Gabbeh’s fabric: “I think certain songs reflect, in ways, Grenoble’s natural surroundings. ‘Drac’ is named after the river that flows from the mountains down to the city… ‘Dru’ is the name of a well-known peak near Chamonix”. And from the city’s strange humidity, alpine surroundings and significance in the lives of, say, Henri Fantin-Latour and Stendhal, feelings at once hopelessly romantic and deeply melancholic permeate throughout the album. Opener ‘Largo’ sets the mood, its primitive samba rhythm concealed by a cloud of saudade, guided by the spirit of Wes Montgomery. “I take inspiration from Wes’s disregard for conventional technique and his insistence on feeling above all else,” reflects Davis, who also cites the multifaceted dexterity of Toninho Horta and lucid expressionism of Maurice Deebank as influences on his work. The bebop sensibility follows suit in the title track, the tension between its angular picks and percussive shuffle a wondrous balancing act, while the intoxicating sway of ‘Rambler’, an updated version of a track Davis self-released in 2020, is perhaps the most poignant expression of longing and loss we’ve heard in recent years. Pure atmospheric bliss floating into the clouds, Gabbeh captures a longing for endless, hazy days.

Released in late 1968, the second Pearls Before Swine record continued to deliver music with a preternatural sense of what the youth of America wanted to hear. One Nation Underground had been a surprise hit when released in 1967 by the hipster free-jazz indie label ESP, receiving an incredible organic response, with continuous underground radio play and sales. Coming from obscurity in Florida into a position of speaking to people everywhere, Tom Rapp and his bandmates felt emboldened to embark upon an evolved piece of record making. The music of Balaklava strips away the manic, post-garage band diversity of the first album, instead grounding the production around Tom Rapp's guitar and singing, with the touches of instrumental color all the more dramatic and striking. Producer Richard Alderson utilized breathy sweeps of reverb, sound effects, tape manipulation and spoken word recordings along with an array of instrumental overdubs including banjo, marimba, organ, clavinet, flute, English horn and strings (played by the band along with New York jazz session players Bill Salter and Al Schackman, plus The Fugs' Lee Crabree and legendary saxophonist Joe Farrell, with Selwart Clarke and Warren Smith contributing string arrangements) to reach for the universal space sought in Tom Rapp's meditative, existential songs. The message writ between the leaves of Balaklava -- WAR NO MORE -- is elegantly written . . . Musically, the message is conveyed with one or two passing lyrical references, letting Tom Rapp's use of literary reference and allegory dwell on the transcendence of love and pastoral beauty in life, achieving a stinging impact, as much by what isn't said as what is. This sets Balaklava apart from much of other protest music from the Vietnam era -- and it has allowed it to age gracefully into the 21st century. Like One Nation Underground before it, Balaklava celebrates 50 years of life in stunning fashion. Original producer Richard Alderson has remastered the album, restoring the precision of the original mix -- and in the process, revealing fantastically dynamic performances and dispersing the haze of the years that had gathered over latter-day editions of Balaklava. The music and message it intended to deliver to the world are still needed, the peace still sought. The fight to understand and to change is still ongoing. And so, Balaklava has fresh purpose, after all this time...

The feeling that Anastasia Coope's music transmits seems to emanate from a precipice beyond the material world, like a void or memory pressing up against the veil. It’s exacting and enveloping, but unmoored in space and time: ghostly, spectral, far-out folk. Darning Woman, her debut album, feels like a dispatch from another past. Akin to lullabies or nursery rhymes, its minimal folk instrumentation contorts into something staccato and strange led by Coope's expressive, stratified vocals. In spite of the suggestion of antiquity that runs through Darning Woman, 21-year-old, Brooklyn-based Coope is very much a contemporary artist. Born to an English father and American mother (whose original Martin acoustic she uses to compose), she was raised in the New York village of Cold Spring. The lonely landscapes and small towns of the Hudson Valley populate her songwriting, setting wintry backdrops against the acrobatics of her voice. Her experience making this record was a largely insular one, too; she began recording music while staying at a relative’s empty home in Beacon, NY, experimenting with recording software in an empty living room, singing directly into the open space. Until that point, Coope had only thought of herself as a visual artist, not a musician– but it felt right immediately. Throughout the next year, she worked to invent the lush, sweeping universe conveyed here. Her voice is the core of this work - emotive, oscillating between shadowy effervescence and something more guttural, building atop itself. Coope spent months teaching herself to sing in a new way, through hocketing and layering her voice, constructing choirs of herself. These songs often start from a chorus or phrase that gets stuck in Coope’s head and bloom into chaotic, fractured earworms. There’s a slew of past cultural touchstones that inform her approach to music making – the avant-garde art rock of the ‘80s; Trish Keenan or Su Tissue or Brigitte Fontaine; medieval choruses; church choirs; contemporary folk; romantic close harmonies groups of the ‘50s; Meara O'Reilly’s Hockets for Two Voices. But rather than the sonics of those works, Coope was instead moved by the ephemera surrounding them, their songs’ abilities to conjure whole worlds. Here, the lush, romantic opener “He Is On His Way Home, We Don’t Live Together” is the portal into Coope’s universe. It teeters in, disquieted, a choral slowburn building into something between hysteria and euphoria, with a slinking piano and a jarring electric guitar line closing out the din. On later songs, like “Sounds of a Giddy Woman,” the auditory illusions became tactile as she composed: “I was able to envision a room of things happening, rather than me just building something,” Coope says. “The record was me starting to think spatially about music.” Coope’s songwriting revolves around intuition and aesthetics, rather than precise lyrical storytelling; she has a striking ability to invoke a sense of movement with her makeshift mantras. The word “woman” appears repeatedly throughout the album’s song titles, but for Coope, that was an unconscious motif. “The word ‘woman’ was having a physical idea of what my songs were trying to represent through this idea of a muse or an idol or an icon,” she says. “It was a mix of the idea of being maternal, of housekeeping, and then also the idea of a character, a star.” The title track serves as a skeleton key for the entire record; “Darning Woman” is a hyperphysical sing-song, a literal instruction to darn and repair, the wane and waxing repetitions that make up a life. It’s the umbrella under which the rest of the songs live. Decisive in its fervor, it loops around nesting: mending, cleaning, housework – collecting, building, and decorating – the hands-on, tangible aspects of at-home life. These songs are built from that, and mantras plucked from the ether or poems and fragments of overheard conversations jotted down, transformed into an entity unknown. Like Coope’s paintings, drawings, and mixed media artworks, which occasionally feature among the imagery in her album and single materials, her songwriting yields an esoteric distance. It’s the feeling of the work pushing back on you, holding you at arms’ length. It invites you to see, to feel, rather than know – but for all that’s arcane here, Darning Woman is rooted deeply in the things we can touch. --Libby Webster

After more than 6 years of silence, Abschaum is finally back with a new album, and it was about time because this new opus is sublime!! ‘Shamanic’ Chris (Abschaum’s mastermind), made alone this magnificent piece of Folk, Ambient, Kraut music, that he carefully recorded in the mountains of Jura, experimenting with his guitar and a little electronic set-up, composing beautiful melodies and singing French lyrics with powerful voice to bring us to another level of harmonies, the all merged with special atmospheres that are not without remembering Eno or Froese sometimes. In our opinion, this record could easily been recognise as a timeless masterpiece in the future.

"Kevin, a new collaboration between Ben Bondy and Mister Water Wet, presents what feels like a time-machine hidden in the back of your closet. ‘Laundry’ pleasantly haunts listeners with phantom purrs, harmonies, hums and horns. This project is a hand reaching through the void and out of your speakers responding to moments of isolation and pining with resounding gratitude. It makes space for warmth in slow-healing wounds; the gift of reset that is born from the call and response between friends." -Yves B. Golden

Strut present the first international reissues of two classics of South African jazz by Malombo Jazz Makers, ‘Malompo Jazz’ (1966) and ‘Malombo Jazz Makers Vol. 2’ (1967). Formed in Mamelodi township near Pretoria, the group started out as Malombo Jazz Men with Julian Bahula on malombo drums, Abbey Cindi on flute and Philip Tabane on guitar. Fusing traditional and improvised rhythms with jazz, Malombo became renowned as one of the first South African bands to fully connect jazz with the African traditions. Despite his undoubted genius, Tabane became erratic on tour and Bahula brought in another Mamelodi-based talent, guitarist Lucas “Lucky” Ranku, renaming the band Malombo Jazz Makers. The group played stadiums and festivals and were soon signed to Gallo. Recording at a studio in Pretoria, the trio debuted with the album ‘Malompo Jazz’ in 1966, showcasing the simple, spacious beauty of the Malombo sound and Abbey Cindi’s compositions, with Mahotella Queens’ Hilda Tloubatla on guest vocals. The partner follow-up album ‘Malombo Jazz Makers Vol. 2’ was recorded a year later, continuing the earthy flow of Malombo’s music. The two albums have since been recognised as unique landmarks of South African jazz through popular tracks like ‘Sibathathu’, ‘Jikeleza’ and ‘Emakhaya’. Alongside full original artwork, the albums feature a new interview with Julian Bahula.

The official re-release of this psych-folk masterpiece, circa 1973, comes equipped to satisfy with two bonus tracks. Take a hit of Red Hash.

Dub, Folk … Rat Heart lands on Modern Love’s 7” series with two asymmetric ohrwurms, featuring Ben Vince on the stunning saxophone-led A side, with a wildly morose Spanish guitar ballad on the flip.

The definition of the word 'fado' is technically 'fate', though the Portuguese meaning bound up with this term is more complex. The music itself can be fairly closely compared with that of Greek rebetika - also the American blues or the original working-class tango music of Argentina and Uruguay - and similarly takes it's common subject matter from the various cruel realities of the world. Though perhaps what distinguishes fado in character is it's often poised acceptance of the pains of life rather than protestation or resistance - as writer Paul Vernon says "It speaks with a quiet dignity born of the realisation that any mortal desire or plan is at risk of destruction by powers beyond individual control" Death Is Not The End compile here a spine-tingling collection of fado recordings, taken from records issued in the mid 1910s through to the 1930s. The fado's Lisbon and Coimbra variants are presented here by some of the music's earliest recorded stars - spanning a time period leading up to the emergence of the fado's all-conquering star, Amália Rodrigues.

Hold on to your mind! Led by Belfast-born phenom David Lewis, Andwella made three LPs circa 1970 for London's Reflection label, redolent with Cream-y rock workouts, soaring post-Sgt. Pepper psych experimentation, and earthbound laments The Band might've dreamt up at Big Pink. Barely heard back then, they now conjure a popular rock fantasia to challenge the most expertly composed and orchestrated songs of the era. This deluxe set includes meticulous reproductions of the band’s 3-LP discography, plus an ephemera-packed booklet detailing Lewis's brief moment as a downbeat songwriting visionary at the height of his powers.

Carmen Villain returns with the 'Planetarium' EP, the follow-up to her 2013 debut, Sleeper. In the span of the last few solitudinous years, the US-born, half-Norwegian and half-Mexican has honed and nurtured her songwriting and production craft, while still drawing from the gossamer atmospheres of 'Sleeper.' She weaved the hyper-personal songs in peaceful seclusion, creating starry tapestries of field recordings, piano, guitars, programmed drums and synths.

Marina Herlop is often described as a pianist, a lingering remnant of her classical training. But what strikes the listener on Herlop’s breakout track miu is the intricate trickery of her voice, tracing rhythmical clusters around the subtlest of musical beds, in a technique inspired by Carnatic music of Southern India. miu, the opening track of Herlop’s new studio album Pripyat, was among the first songs that the young Catalan artist made on a computer, after two albums - 2016’s Nanook and 2018’s Babasha - that brought spectral elegance to the sound of piano and voice. This spirit of adventure continues into Pripyat, Herlop’s first full album produced on a computer, and her most intensely emotional work to date. Listening to Pripyat you can feel the emotional toil and creative endeavour that went into the record. Fans of Nanook and Babasha will recognise the combination of melancholic piano and elegant vocal lines that is found on Pripyat tracks like abans abans. But Pripyat has a far fuller, almost chaotic sound when compared to Herlop’s previous work, with the addition of electronic drums, electric bass lines and a wealth of sublime production effects. Added to this production expertise are songs of incredible grace and poise. Kaddisch is a spectral torch song rendered in emotional 3D by Herlop’s gorgeous voice; ubuntu has a feeling of deep longing and lingering sorrow; and shaolin mantis is like a pop song refracted through disorienting production effects and percussive vocal cut ups. Pripyat is the perfect combination of computer production trickery and intimate emotional release.

Due to unprecedented delays in global production, we are anticipating a May 2022 release date for the upcoming Kazuki Tomokawa releases. Kazuki Tomokawa—poet, soothsayer, bicycle race tipster, actor, prolific drinker, self-taught guitarist, and living legend of Japanese sound—catapulted into Tokyo’s avant-folk scene in the mid-1970s with his cathartic and utterly electrifying performances. Straight from the Throat, Tomokawa’s second album, released in July 1976 from Harvest Records, finds the musician in his truest form: as the “screaming philosopher” he would come to be called—cynical but fair, cheeky and melancholic, and looking at the world with truth-seeking eyes. In Straight from the Throat, Tomokawa shrieks, wails, shouts, and croons with ritualistic abandon—his avant-folk stylings are tinged with psychedelia and, at moments, swell into ground-shaking rock. He speaks of adolescence, passing hearses, and wedding chapel cars in a poem to his younger brother, Tomoharu, and watches ice melt on the Mitane River with spring’s turn. Tomokawa’s sound is, as Kiichi Takahara would later dub it, “I-music”: revelatory and deeply intimate songs that turn to the quotidian, the domestic, and the interior. They are portraits of a man in search of meaning, who is taking stubborn control of his life. As he croons in “The Spring Is Here Again Song,” “I’ll drink till I’ve had my fill / And fall in love until I die.” Kazuki Tomokawa (b. 1950) is a prolific singer-songwriter from Hachiryū Village (now the town of Mitane) in the Akita Prefecture area of northern Japan. Since his first release in 1975, he has recorded more than thirty albums. The 2010 documentary about his life, La Faute des Fleurs, won the Sound & Vision award at the Copenhagen International Documentary Film Festival, and that same year saw the Japanese release of the book Dreams Die Vigorously Day by Day, a collection of his lyrics spanning forty years. His most recent albums are Vengeance Bourbon (2014) and Gleaming Crayon (2016), both on the Modest Launch label.

At the tender age of twenty-five, while he was working part-time at an Italian restaurant in Tokyo’s Kamata district, Kazuki Tomokawa released his debut record, fittingly titled Finally, His First Album. While he had already penned hundreds of songs, including his first single “Try Saying You’re Alive!,” written on a long train ride past fields and rice paddies, it was this recording that introduced Japan to one of its most unique musicians of the postwar era. Each track, as record label exec Kiichi Takahara writes in the LP’s liner notes (here translated for the first time), is not a song but a “flesh-and-blood human being,” birthed by the singer-songwriter and the raw, guttural cries that would become a hallmark of his incomparable sound. 1970s Japan was a time and place marked by a profound desire for authenticity amidst the onset of television and media saturation. Tomokawa arrived on the scene as a musician with“the personality of a hydrogen bomb,” to borrow a phrase from his frequent collaborator Toshi Ishizuka. In an unwieldy interview included here, members of the notorious leftist band Zun? Keisatsu (Brain Police) put it bluntly: here was a man surrounded by the “disingenuous,” the “wishy-washy,” and the “superficial,” who was delivering “real life, unvarnished.” These songs are lullabies for the lost, staring not into the void but—as the fourth track declares—from inside it. Finally, His First Album is the first of three Tomokawa records to be reissued by Blank Forms Editions in conjunction with the US release of Tomokawa’s memoir, Try Saying You’re Alive!, the first-ever English translation of his writing. This debut captures the self-assured trademarks that Tomokawa would hone over the course of decades. Multiple tracks are performed in his native Akita dialect, a distinct and highly regional vernacular of northern Japan seldom heard outside the prefecture—and even more rarely heard in music. Tomokawa’s lyrics locate profound interiority in the rituals of everyday life, and are sung against sparse folk arrangements of tender, lilting chords—a prelude to the rock and electronic stylings to come in later years. A self-proclaimed “living corpse,” Tomokawa wallows, whispers, shouts, and cries, yet still, through his existential doubt, asks to be heard. Kazuki Tomokawa (b. 1950) is a prolific singer-songwriter from Hachiryu Village (now the town of Mitane) in the Akita Prefecture area of northern Japan. Since his first release in 1975, he has recorded more than thirty albums. The 2010 documentary about his life, La Faute des Fleurs, won the Sound & Vision award at the Copenhagen International Documentary Film Festival, and that same year saw the Japanese release of the book Dreams Die Vigorously Day by Day, a collection of his lyrics spanning forty years. His most recent albums are Vengeance Bourbon (2014) and Gleaming Crayon (2016), both on the Modest Launch label.

Oleksandr Yurchenko (1966—2020) was a Ukrainian musician and illustrator. In 1990s and 2000s he took part in different bands from Kyiv, such as Electricians, Yarn, Blemish, Suphina’s Little Beast etc., and he also collaborated with Svitlana Nianio and Katya Chilly. Yurchenko is one of the brightest representatives of the Ukrainian independent scene in 90s. Meanwhile, he is one of the most mysterious musicians of this era, being a private person, especially in the late 2000s, when Oleksandr had to leave music because of his illness, but he focused on doing book illustrations and graphic works. In 2010s some of his early records were published, and he was asked for an interview, but he refused, suffering from a serious disease at that time. In April 2020, Oleksandr Yurchenko died, leaving behind a great musical legacy. His main work, “Count to 100. Symphony #1,” was documented in August 1994. Oleksandr used strings instrument of his own invention. Yurchenko took the longboard to make the instrument, installed guitar pickups and 4 strings, and played on it with a bow. It was lost in the 2000s, but the musician remembered that it looked like a long zither. The recording session was held by Oleksandr at home, using guitar delay effects, loops, and Oreadna portable cassette recorder. He tuned the instrument in a special tone, improvising on it for 25 minutes. This drone symphony can be compared with the works of such avant-garde composers as Glenn Branca. However, it sounds innovative, especially for Ukrainian music. Despite it, Yurchenko could not publish this work officially in the 90s and made only a few copies for his own friends. At the beginning of the 2000s, he decided to edit the original version of the symphony. Oleksandr tried to restore the recording a bit, using some effects to make the sound more massive and clear. At the end of the work on this project, Yurchenko left this version in his archive but decided to publish the original recording in the late 2010s. “Intro” is the most mysterious recording from Yurchenko’s archive. Nobody could remember where and when it was recorded, so we can assume that it was made at the beginning of the 90s like a sound experiment because it was found on cassette tape with others recordings of the band Yarn. Also, there is a suggestion that it might be a Casio SK-1 sampler and some old Soviet keyboards. Merta Zara was a family project of Yurchenko and his wife, Svitlana Neznal. They had only one home recording session in 1994. Oleksandr was playing an electric cello of his own invention, and Svitlana was playing on mandolin and singing. As a result, they recorded only one track, "Dress," which appeared on the cassette compilation "Skhovaysya" in 1995. Apart from it, they recorded a few instrumental playbacks, which were found on cassette tape in 2021. Yurchenko was a big appreciator and knower of Central Asia’s music, and it influenced his own music, including Merta Zara, where traditional music and his melodist skills are intertwined. Playbacks were recorded in the beginning of 1995. It was also a home session, making instrumental playbacks for the album “Znayesh Yak? Rozkazhy” (Know How? Tell Me), recorded in collaboration with Svitlana Nianio. It should be assumed that Oleksandr used the same instrument and effects as he used during the “Count To 100” session. Some of these playbacks survived in his archive, but the rest of them were lost. The first one is an 8 minutes drone composition, which was played on a string instrument with a female voice on the background, and the second is the weird track where whirligig was used as an accompaniment. So, we can consider these recordings not only as playbacks but as Yurchenko’s solo stuff. Solo recordings of Oleksandr Yurchenko, made in 1994—1995, are paying attention, especially in experimenting with sound, searching the new ways of creative freedom, and they give a possibility to learn more about the Ukrainian experimental scene in the 90s.