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The 1971 film “3000 Kilometers of Trap - Shadow Of The Highway” Produced by and starring Jiro Tamiya, directed by Jun Fukuda, this suspense action film features the Mitsubishi Galant GTO racing across Japan from Kagoshima to Hokkaido, true to its tagline: “A sports car tearing down Japan's length.” Often compared to the American New Wave masterpiece “Vanishing Point,” it is a road movie. The music was composed by the masterful Norio Maeda. Piano that corners brilliantly, vibraphone that dashes through with flair, bass that races powerfully, drums that shift gears. Dynamism and stillness, obsession and desire, joy and sorrow. Thrilling performances and beautiful melodies maximize the film's appeal. As a soundtrack, and indeed as a representation of “Japanese jazz” from 1971, it possesses extraordinary quality. Such remarkable playing. It's regrettable that the exact personnel remain unknown, though there have long been whispers of a connection to Sound Limited (or The Third) led by Takeshi Inomata.
text by Yusuke Ogawa (UNIVERSOUNDS / DEEP JAZZ REALITY)
"Guerrero's guitar is the star here, using chord progressions and four note melodies that, alone may seem rudimentary, but meshed with everything else surpass any expectations of their promise as nimble and colorful pieces of musical texture. It's not like Guerrero uses the same formula either; each song takes on different forms and breathes new sonic qualities. The funk-fused "Tatanka" is a meticulously crafted vision of guitar riffs cut with delicate harmonics, while a track like "Thin Brown Layer" offers a lackadaisical showcase of Latin rhythm and flare. Hip hop, soul, acid jazz, blues, and folk all make similar contributions, making Soul Food [Taqueria] an experience that jams with nearly every mood... It's seductively good, it slaps you around and reminds you just how great simplicity can sound." - Dusted Magazine

WRWTFWW Records is extremely happy to present the official reissue of Safari's self-titled album from 1984. The Japanese jazz-fusion super gem is available now as a limited-edition transparent vinyl LP housed in a heavyweight sleeve with obi.
Originally released on fabled label VAP, Safari is a one-of-a-kind city pop-adjacent summer blend of AOR, smooth jazz, and sun-drenched boogie. The sole album from the all-star outfit was the brainchild of keyboardist Toshiyuki Daitoku and Japan-based Californian jazz-funk-latin-fusion bassist Gregg Lee. Together with a large team of experienced musicians, they created a lush, immaculately-arranged 8-track cruise filled with poolside grooves, breezy rhythms, and feel-good vocal harmonies.
Safari features the well-known title track which acted as the theme song for an 80s sports program on Fuji Television, the night-swim chill music tune "All Right in The Night", and the fan-favorite buoyant vacation hit "The Morning After". The official reissue is fully licensed and sourced from the original masters, with an audiophile cut by Sidney Meyer at Emil Berliner Studios, ensuring the warm, pristine sound this lost treasure deserves.
Safari is the second release from WRWTFWW's City Pop Series, following Momoko Kikuchi's beach classic Ocean Side, also available on transparent vinyl LP. The series, complete with a visual identity designed by Lopetz/Büro Destruct, also comes with a limited merch capsule, and more sun-soaked gems lined up for the future.



SQUANDERERS return to deliver "Skantagio", the follow up to their debut album, If a Body Meet a Body (Shimmy-Disc, 2024). “We were in the studio for one day, and performed all pieces on that first LP prior to breaking for lunch. Skantiago contains the pieces we performed after lunch,” says bassist and Shimmy-Disc founder, Kramer. “We may be SQUANDERERS, but we don’t dally. And we don’t labour over our spontaneous inventions while we’re in the studio.”

Chicago Underground Duo is the long-running collaborative project of composer/trumpeter/electronicist Rob Mazurek (Exploding Star Orchestra, Isotope 217, New Future City Radio with Damon Locks) and composer/drummer/mbiraist Chad Taylor (jaimie branch’s Fly or Die, Marshall Allen’s Ghost Horizons, Luke Stewart’s Silt Trio). Hyperglyph is their first album in 11 years, and 8th in the absolute cabinet of wonders that is the Chicago Underground Duo.
The pair have played music together in a multitude of formations over nearly three decades, including their ongoing partnership in Mazurek’s large-format-skyward-expressionism vehicle Exploding Star Orchestra, in the expanded Chicago Underground Trio & Quartet (with guitarist Jeff Parker), and in a plethora of other assemblages. The early albums by the Duo have proven to be embryonic blueprints for the avant-jazz / electronic / indie rock hybridizations of the time, making them majorly important moments in the articulation of the “jazz” dimensionality of the then-burgeoning "post rock" sound. That sound, of course, was being transmitted far and wide due to the success of these groups as well as Mazurek’s Isotope 217 project with Jeff Parker, and the Chicago Underground’s frequent collaborators in Tortoise.
But the sounds being created by this extended family are and were far from static. Just as most of the still-working artists born of that Chicago era have evolved, reconfigured, and grown, Chicago Underground Duo has undergone a number of musical moltings, with the project always in the background of disparate individual aural investigations — always an option, always an outlet. As the project drops off and picks back up, the concurrent personal evolutions of Mazurek and Taylor make the Duo a true reflection of their own lives and friendship.
“Rob is my longest collaborator and also one of my best friends,” says Taylor, who first performed with Mazurek at a club in Chicago in 1988, aged 15.
“When it feels right we do it,” says Mazurek of the gaps in duo activity. “We have worked together and have been friends for a long time. This creates a kind of continuity not only in the music, but in our lives.”
Musically, there are certainly internalized nods here to AACM composers like Wadada Leo Smith, or albums like Don Cherry & Ed Blackwell’s “Mu” and El Corazon, but the songs of Hyperglyph exemplify Mazurek and Taylor’s individualities while also addressing another longtime influence on the Chicago Underground Duo sound — the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost of extreme studio editing in jazz-adjacent music, Miles Davis and Teo Macero’s Bitches Brew, In A Silent Way, and Get Up With It.
“Post production has always been a big part of our process,” says Taylor.
“Sometimes it just flows and we one-take a thing,” Mazurek elaborates. “Other things take time to ferment. We hit those hard in the post production.”
International Anthem engineer Dave Vettraino was indispensable as part of this process, recording and mixing the entire album at IARC HQ in Chicago. “We are very open and free in the studio,” says Mazurek. “Working with Dave is a joy because he is so intuitive and open with his approach as well. We can try anything with him. In this way it is more like a trio than a duo.”
Couple this trio’s take on the now classic cut-and-recut production techniques of Davis/Macero with Mazurek and Taylor’s longtime interest in deep electronic sounds (think Bernard Parmegiani, Morton Subotnick, Xenakis, Eliane Radigue, Plux Quba), transformative processing (think Autechre, King Tubby, Mouse On Mars, Carl Craig) and we can finally get close to understanding just where the duo lands in this lineage — this ongoing narrative each individual finds themselves in whether they see it or not. The Chicago Underground Duo, it seems, sees it.
While the musical language of Mazurek and Taylor can certainly be clocked in the slew of projects that they participate in together, the sound of a Chicago Underground Duo album is singular among them. Hyperglyph is no exception and could even be considered a distillation of that intuitive yet complex sound. A key can be found in the title of the album itself: highly complex geometric structures which can seem overly complex at first but, when thousands are arrayed in 3D space and with user training and adaptation, can significantly enhance perception and information assimilation and lead to new knowledge and insights.
The album opener “Click Song” kicks off with a blown-out horn chant from Mazurek, doubled by tuned bells and nestled into a muscular and symmetrical stereo-overdubbed polyrhythm from Taylor. Synthesized bass pulls our ears along cyclically, dropping in and out to almost severe dynamic effect while Mazurek and the subtle-yet-persistent bells elaborate upon the melody before ultimately departing from their repetitive psalm in favor of improvisation. It’s all held together by the steady, deep, chest-thump boom of Taylor’s kick drum pattern.
“There has always been a lot of African influence in the rhythms we play,” says Taylor. “With this record, specifically, we utilize rhythms from Nigeria, Mali, Zimbabwe, and Ghana.” Taken as a whole, spiritually, this introductory three-minute stomper lives somewhere between a Tuareg wedding and the most hypnotic moments of the click songs of Northern Africa.
Title track “Hyperglyph” follows, and begins with a chromatic moving harmony played by Mazurek on the RMI electric piano, an instrument famously utilized on Miles Davis’ groundbreaking Filles de Kilimanjaro. The vibe here, though, is one of unyielding, trancelike repetition. The trumpet introduces the time, with Taylor's chunky smacking rhythm hitting hard from the get go. Eventually, the tune undergoes a transformation, with the back and forth of melody and rhythm hitting a fever pitch. A pitch-shifted trumpet becomes a New Orleans march baritone. Dennis Bovell-style dub sounds enter (or, maybe, reveal themselves) at the start of the song’s final movement, followed by wordless incantations. Swelling and saturated, the track sounds as if it’s about to tear itself apart. Static pulsing merges and overtakes the recorded percussion to present a new rhythm of hissing electronics — the harnessed wailing of the unleashed ghost in the machine. A spiritual awakening from the bowels of the earth.
“Hemiunu”, a Chad Taylor composition, is a waltz based around a simple piano figure repeated throughout. A folk melody from anywhere, the kind that’s been in the air for as long as anyone can remember. One might imagine the melody played clawhammer on an Appalachian afternoon, bowed somberly on the Chinese erhu, or hummed nonchalantly on the factory line. From the jump, Taylor’s percussion threads itself into the sound of a well-worn upright piano as the high register is haunted in wide stereo by that roiling RMI electric piano in octaves, alternately dubby and harplike. Enter Mazurek with another folk-like melodic phrase. Pause. Again. Pause. Leaving room for the now densely waltzing bouquet to bloom before diving deep into laser-sharp Lee Morganesque territory with a wildly vibrating high trumpet cry, but with a tone Mazurek owns completely.
The deeper reference for Mazurek’s most untethered emotional playing is his late friend and mentor Bill Dixon, an extraction most apparent in the three-part "Egyptian Suite.” At the start of part one (“The Architect”) a cyclical pattern from Taylor becomes a bed for Mazurek’s repeating, descending, synthetic-Egyptian scaled theme. This call to action dissolves into the second movement, “Triangulation of Light,” where Taylor’s bowed cymbals set the stage for an exploration of microtonal color with and against the occasional joining and un-joining of tones that stretch the frequencies to their limits from Mazurek's open and half muted trumpet. Like a tornado siren in the distance, breaking through the membrane of storm clouds on the horizon, in search of another siren.
The third and final movement, “Architectonics of Time,” announces itself with free rolling swaths of percussion from Taylor à la Robert Frank Pozar’s mind-bending percussion on The Bill Dixon Orchestra’s classic Intents and Purposes. Here, though, the lineup is limited to two, with no overdubs or post-production. Taylor's singular style and Mazurek's tonal painting coalesce into a maelstrom of intervallic tone and beat before the final repeat of the lead melody from the suite’s first movement. It truly feels like reaching the summit. It’s pure and free duo interaction, the symbiosis of 30 years.
“Succulent Amber,” the final track on Hyperglyph, could fit just as easily on side two of Autobahn. After a brief modular synth-induced pan-harmonic melody shift, a steady kalimba is joined by the gentle intermittent raindrop-melodicism of the RMI electric piano in this understated final duo performance, unadorned by further studio arrangement. It’s a full-on comedown moment after the intensity of “Egyptian Suite,” though rather than winding down or petering out, here the Chicago Underground Duo still manage to point toward some kind of incoming mystery with four sudden-yet-patient ascending chords on the low-register of the RMI electric piano just before the curtains close. The piano notes end on a leading tone, leaving the resolution to the listener.
Once we’ve climbed the mountain, they remind us, we have to deal with what’s on the other side.


Zither Suite is the fifth OPE album. It was recorded in my apartment in Kortedala, just outside of Gothenburg. No neighbours were harmed in the recording process. The title track opens with a bitter sweet bass melody that I first recorded some 10 years ago, but it's been fermenting ever since and finally reached maturity. The zither that gave name to the record (and the first track) was a find from the local charity shop. While it's not featured on every track of the album it's a crucial part of the feel of the album as a whole. It's the rug that ties the room together.
The tracks on this album are all original compositions with the exception of Jämtland which is based on an old Swedish folk melody, reported to have been played by musicians in Jämtland as early as the late 1700s. The county of Jämtland is forever claiming a tounge in cheek sort of independence from the Swedish governing body (in spirit rather than in actual policies) and Jämtlandssången is it's unofficial national anthem.
-Gustav Horneij

"Onkiniemi Ateljee is a cultural space established in a disused knitting factory in 2020, at a time when the Covid pandemic had been raging for roughly half a year. Globally, countermeasures to the disease and the threat it posed were varied, but the effects were universal. Communal rituals, such as live music gatherings, became rarer or changed in nature. The most you could do was put a record on while boiling masks in the evenings. Every now and then I’ve heard people speak of experimental or otherwise exciting music as something one is “exposed to”. By the spring of -22 gathering together in Onkiniemi’s autonomous Habbo Hotel was once again a relaxed affair. The sound lived in the box-shaped confines of the atelier, splashed forth like warm water and upon reaching living ears foamed like hand soap. On that April Fool’s Day Oiro Pena’s playing would’ve moved anyone from Tokyo to Torino to Tohmajärvi alike. That’s how small the world is at best. Let us be exposed!" - Ville Väisänen
Jiyu presents a rich tapestry of phat analog synths, lush brass arrangements, psychedelic vibes, highlights of soloistic instrumental performances and a dense, organic jazz approach with drum grooves and percussion at its core. Once again, guitarist, and producer, Emil Jonathan, collaborates with Thomas Dietl, on drums. Their partnership on this new album, combined with the consistent percussive rhythms from the musical soulmate, Karl Bille, and conguero Rune Harder Olesen, adds an earthy, hand-played contrast to the more electronic rhythm tracks on their dreamy, mellow jazz, ambient, hip-hop, and attention-grabbing debut album, "Caught in the Rain at the Tea Shop," released in 2021. This record seamlessly intertwines with Emil Jonathan's deep roots in jazzy dub’n soul, latin, tango-dub, dancehall and experimental hiphop, influenced by his past projects and collaborations with artists such as von Daler & Low Pressure, EMO, Natasja, Dj Vadim, Boozoo Bajou, and Les Gammas. Ken Linh Doky, plays the wurlitzer piano on three tracks, and the collective-like band structure offers a number of musicians on horns and choir, like the brothers, Bo and Lukas Rande, on flugelhorn and sax (Mames Babegenush), and Gustav Rasmussen, on trombone (Sunbörn/KutiMangos)

Harnessing the chaos born from endless jams in a remote, rented farmhouse, the album dives deeper into their punk approach to jazz, while opening up space for long-nurtured fascinations with electronic textures and cinematic oddities. Their third album, it features previous singles feely, and bamboo.
The title was pulled from a bank of favourite names after the band saw Ez’s artwork; a quirky world of three cell-like flats housing absurd creatures. 'frank dean and andrew' nods to the anonymous, everyday passersby whose lives quietly unfold in the background of a nondescript town.
Pulling back the curtain on its creation further, the band reveals, “The album was recorded at the end of a year of extreme highs and lows. The tensions play out in the music in weird ways... the feeling of the music is very particular, and peculiar. Most UK Jazz music can end up too arranged and neat, or generally optimistic in mood, whereas this album goes the other way in all aspects.”
At the album's core, the glitchy, late-night focus track red in tokyo features Chinese-Vietnamese-British rapper Jianbo, whose grimey, distorted flows cut through growling guitar riffs and a dragging, drill-like drum line. “It’s a weird, grimey anger with a touch of no-wave and post-punk,” the band explains, “Hari’s bass ended up sounding like a Japanese Koto”. The intensity is fitting, as Jianbo recounts a tense moment in Tokyo that left him “seeing red.”
Shifting through moods, the second track oscillates to life with a dubby bassline and bursts of distant, animalistic commotion, like a flock scattering after a disturbance. With unsettling keys and guitar, the instrumental upends the familiar contours of jazz and leaves a lingering unease as part of what the band calls the album’s “weird, off-key” side. Equally unexpected, the title, horticulturalists nightmare (birds), taps into the surreal fear lurking in the pulsing soundscape.
That freeform, borderless creativity carries into grilly, where the keys lay out the pace and mood. “The tempo and the ambience frame the track to be like a dance tune, but with a darkness from Burial-type ambiences and pulsing drill-style delays,” the band notes. As horn layers clear the haze, the jam’s raw energy and feeling come together as a transportive piece.
Taking a dip into the melancholic, toucan opens with a whir and solemn, ceremonial horns, underpinned by a mellow harmony that moves into far-off, choral-like overlays. Opening with a similarly dystopian eeriness is location, the band’s favourite. From the heavy slump of the drums to the three-piece horns of Dan, Akers, and Jonny, which counterpoint each other in a sea of reverb. The tune is named after a Playboi Carti song of the same name, inspired by the opening synth movement.
The title track, frank dean and andrew, flickers with a bittersweet nostalgia, capturing for Ebi Soda, a modern sense of indifference, a stay-at-home, it-is-what-it-is kind of resignation. It mirrors the mood of the figures on the album artwork: sitting alone in flats, suspended in quiet isolation. Lou’s chords, Hari’s chordal bass, and Sam’s laid-back tempo lay down a "loose, Midwest, emo undercurrent, a tone that runs deep in much of the hyperpop" the band had been absorbing. Will vocalises through the trombone, making it sound as though someone is singing down a crackling phone line. A flugelhorn overdub adds more warmth to the track’s slow-burning atmosphere, with trombone and sax joining the mix in the second half.
Closing the album is insectoid creatures are infesting the land, beginning as a dissonant, scattered hellscape of wailing improvisations, freewheeling robotic noise, and buckling delays that eventually rupture into a cinematic scape, giving way to an ascending sequence of hopeful, mood-settling melodies.
As a whole, the album’s character arises from stylising with production and mixing. The approach fluctuates between focusing on ambience and reverb, drawing from UK dubstep influences like Zomby, Burial, and Joe Armon-Jones’ collaborations with Maxwell Owin, and embracing the raw, grainy DIY ‘mixtape’ sound, inspired by artists like Athletic Progression, Yameii Online, and Playboi Carti.

Harnessing the chaos born from endless jams in a remote, rented farmhouse, the album dives deeper into their punk approach to jazz, while opening up space for long-nurtured fascinations with electronic textures and cinematic oddities. Their third album, it features previous singles feely, and bamboo.
The title was pulled from a bank of favourite names after the band saw Ez’s artwork; a quirky world of three cell-like flats housing absurd creatures. 'frank dean and andrew' nods to the anonymous, everyday passersby whose lives quietly unfold in the background of a nondescript town.
Pulling back the curtain on its creation further, the band reveals, “The album was recorded at the end of a year of extreme highs and lows. The tensions play out in the music in weird ways... the feeling of the music is very particular, and peculiar. Most UK Jazz music can end up too arranged and neat, or generally optimistic in mood, whereas this album goes the other way in all aspects.”
At the album's core, the glitchy, late-night focus track red in tokyo features Chinese-Vietnamese-British rapper Jianbo, whose grimey, distorted flows cut through growling guitar riffs and a dragging, drill-like drum line. “It’s a weird, grimey anger with a touch of no-wave and post-punk,” the band explains, “Hari’s bass ended up sounding like a Japanese Koto”. The intensity is fitting, as Jianbo recounts a tense moment in Tokyo that left him “seeing red.”
Shifting through moods, the second track oscillates to life with a dubby bassline and bursts of distant, animalistic commotion, like a flock scattering after a disturbance. With unsettling keys and guitar, the instrumental upends the familiar contours of jazz and leaves a lingering unease as part of what the band calls the album’s “weird, off-key” side. Equally unexpected, the title, horticulturalists nightmare (birds), taps into the surreal fear lurking in the pulsing soundscape.
That freeform, borderless creativity carries into grilly, where the keys lay out the pace and mood. “The tempo and the ambience frame the track to be like a dance tune, but with a darkness from Burial-type ambiences and pulsing drill-style delays,” the band notes. As horn layers clear the haze, the jam’s raw energy and feeling come together as a transportive piece.
Taking a dip into the melancholic, toucan opens with a whir and solemn, ceremonial horns, underpinned by a mellow harmony that moves into far-off, choral-like overlays. Opening with a similarly dystopian eeriness is location, the band’s favourite. From the heavy slump of the drums to the three-piece horns of Dan, Akers, and Jonny, which counterpoint each other in a sea of reverb. The tune is named after a Playboi Carti song of the same name, inspired by the opening synth movement.
The title track, frank dean and andrew, flickers with a bittersweet nostalgia, capturing for Ebi Soda, a modern sense of indifference, a stay-at-home, it-is-what-it-is kind of resignation. It mirrors the mood of the figures on the album artwork: sitting alone in flats, suspended in quiet isolation. Lou’s chords, Hari’s chordal bass, and Sam’s laid-back tempo lay down a "loose, Midwest, emo undercurrent, a tone that runs deep in much of the hyperpop" the band had been absorbing. Will vocalises through the trombone, making it sound as though someone is singing down a crackling phone line. A flugelhorn overdub adds more warmth to the track’s slow-burning atmosphere, with trombone and sax joining the mix in the second half.
Closing the album is insectoid creatures are infesting the land, beginning as a dissonant, scattered hellscape of wailing improvisations, freewheeling robotic noise, and buckling delays that eventually rupture into a cinematic scape, giving way to an ascending sequence of hopeful, mood-settling melodies.
As a whole, the album’s character arises from stylising with production and mixing. The approach fluctuates between focusing on ambience and reverb, drawing from UK dubstep influences like Zomby, Burial, and Joe Armon-Jones’ collaborations with Maxwell Owin, and embracing the raw, grainy DIY ‘mixtape’ sound, inspired by artists like Athletic Progression, Yameii Online, and Playboi Carti.

Lindsay Olsen aka Salami Rose Joe Louis is a genre traveller multi-instrumentalist female producer and a signee to Flying Lotus's Brainfeeder label. She returns with her most personal album to date on April 25th, 2025.
Delightfully raw and heartfelt, ‘Lorings’ is a collection of songs that find SRJL displaying her vulnerability through a playful and sonically explorative lens. “I was hoping to bypass the distillation process of overthinking outside perception,” she says. “Each song feels like a significant section of my personality has been carved out and put on a platter for public consumption, which is a devastating thought [haha].”
This record she made almost entirely autonomously on her trusty Roland MV8800 workstation. For a couple of songs, SRJL invited a handful of exceptionally talented friends to collaborate: guitarist/producer Flanafi (with whom Olsen partnered for the collaborative album ‘Sarah’ in 2024); Omari Jazz (Black Decelerant); Luke Titus and Sergio Machado Plim.
Lead single “Inside” was born of a tumultuous chapter in Olsen’s life – one that she hopes never to repeat. Floating atop gently revolving Polybrute arpeggios, it’s a sombre but incredibly beautiful and powerful song. “My hope, by putting this song first on the record – and making it the first single – is that some of the songs that follow have more levity and hope, leaving this heaviness behind,” she surmises.
Elsewhere on ‘Lorings’, Olsen addresses themes of imposter syndrome, falling in love, heartbreak, the idea of family and parenthood, superficiality, her frustrations with the music industry (“I dunno the way… For I cannot play… The game”). She does revisit more familiar tropes too as exemplified by “Motorway (feat. Flanafi)”. “I feel like the world is being confronted with an enormous lack of humanity at the moment and it feels impossible to comprehend how people can be so cruel,” she declares.

Indonesian duo KUNTARI make music that's so distinctive, they had to devise their own genre: primal-core. On 'MUTU BETON', multi-instrumentalist Tesla Manaf and percussionist Rio Abror dialog with both history and their tropical surroundings in Bandung, West Java's mountainous capital. Using the cornet and hulusi, a free reed instrument made from a bottle gourd and bamboo pipes, Manaf echoes the bellows of local elephants, orangutans and rhinos, grazing Abror's ancestral Indonesian rhythms with potent overdriven riffs and evocative microtonal chimes. It's music that's profoundly atmospheric and simultaneously raw, recorded live to fully encapsulate the dynamic and deeply human interaction between the two seasoned players. There are elements of sludge metal, noise and post-hardcore, references to traditional folk music and jazz, and gestures towards sound art, 20th century minimalism and dark ambient, but what KUNTARI do is completely idiosyncratic - it's hardly surprising it needed a similarly unique categorization.
Manaf started KUNTARI as a solo project, debuting in 2020 with 'Black Shirt Attracts More Feather' and animating his nimble instrumental improvisations with bold electronic processes and booming synthetic drums. And by the time he recorded 2022's acclaimed 'Last Boy Picked', his approach had evolved significantly; prioritizing organic sounds, he played prepared cornet and piano, bringing in additional percussionists to help devise a ritualistic rhythm section. Abror was one of those performers, and ended up sticking around, playing on 2023's furious 'LARYNX/STRIDULA', the stylistic precursor for 'MUTU BETON'. At this stage, the duo have racked up a litany of accolades and collaborated with a spectrum of like-minded artists, from noise deity Keiji Haino to fellow Indonesian free-thinker Rully Shabara, who's best known for his work with Senyawa and avant-garde supergroup OSMIUM. 'MUTU BETON' plays like a lap of honor, showcasing their most kinetic and most feral recordings to date.
On 'Parai', a two-part composition made for Singapore-based artist Priyageetha Dia's multimedia installation LAMENT H.E.A.T, KUNTARI surround loose, rattling polyrhythms with blood-curdling, animalistic calls and industrial strength chugs from Manaf's prepared guitar. The artwork honors indentured laborers forced to extract rubber in Southeast Asia, and KUNTARI's response is an incisive critique of colonialism, celebrating the region's ancient rhythmic forms and sharpening their edges as they barrel into the future. Upsetting the logic of academic American minimalism, KUNTARI disrupt winding Reichian xylophone, glockenspiel and marimba repetitions on 'Kerak Terusi', wielding swinging ceremonial thuds from Manaf's Rebana, a cow skin drum that often accompanies Indonesian Islamic rituals.
They confront local sonorities even more directly on 'Miamch', a commission the duo made for Yogyakarta's Festival Kebudayaan, dueling on saron, a single-octave metallophone, and a Javanese gamelan set, and don't just follow the expected path. The familiarity is soon replaced with eccentricity as eerie resonances and reverberations sweep across the rhythmelodic patterns. Rough-edged technoid patterns are bent into new shapes on the abrasive 'Paniscus', and on 'Bessing', KUNTARI do their best to recreate the singular atmosphere of a local trance ritual, interrupting howling spirit voices and jangling chimes with blackened, grindcore-inspired riffs. KUNTARI surpass even their own high standards with 'MUTU BETON', folding history and geography in on itself and suggesting a trailblazing Indonesian cultural movement that's not restricted by highbrow Western conventions. It's not just automation and technology that drives progression, it's interaction and observation. And there's nothing more primal, or revolutionary, than that.


Ben LaMar Gay’s de facto debut album, 'Downtown Castles Can Never Block The Sun', was our attempt to introduce the legendary Chicago composer / improviser / renaissance man to the rest of the world with a compilation of tracks from 7 albums he made over 7 years (though he hadn’t yet made the effort to actually release). The material showcases Gay’s penchant for genre-hopping – from Steve Reich-ian soundscape voyages to Don Cherry-esque polyrhythm treks to Jorge Ben-style vocal-and-string earworms – while keeping his singular musical voice in focus.
In the years since its release, this long OOP collection has become a touchstone, foreshadowing the breadth and scope of Gay’s output since. The songs-between-the-songs warped Soul Americana madness and beauty of 'Open Arms To Open Us', the unhinged long form freedom of 'Certain Reveries' – each fresh mode would defy expectation if without the context established by Downtown Castles. To quote our OG announcement of the album: “to call it ‘eclectic’ would only scratch the surface. This music is everything.”
The IA11 Edition of this LP comes with an IARC2025 obi strip plus a 4-page insert booklet featuring new (old) photos and new liner notes by musician (and longtime BLG friend/collaborator) Gira Dahnee.

"Sametou Sawtan translates from the Arabic to “I Heard A Voice”. Spooky or spiritual, however one reads the phrase, it speaks to the ability of sound and language to cause pause, steal attention, and open us to the moment. Likewise, the music of SANAM blurs tender frenzies and fire-scorched ballads, collapsing free-flowing rock and jazz frameworks into deeply rooted Arabic tradition. To hear them in full flight is to be held in the present and reorientated towards an open horizon.
The record processes feelings of distance and dislocation. Whether in the yearning ballad “Goblin” or the slow-burning, autotune-doused freakout of “Habibon”, Sametou Sawtan captures the striving for stable ground in a world seldom capable of offering it. It rides the mesmerizing intensity of the SANAM live experience while affording their music nuance, depth, and tremendous dynamic range.
Like their debut, lyrics for many tracks are borrowed, words placed into new contexts to process the present. “Hamam” reinterprets an Egyptian folk song. In “Hadikat Al Ams”, the cracked hard-rock stomp propels text by contemporary Lebanese writer Paul Shaoul. And both “Sayl Damei” and the title track use poems by twelfth century Iranian poet and groundbreaking mathematician Omar Khayyam."

Originally released in 1973, Dzyan’s second album "Time Machine" marked a shift from vocal prog-rock to a unique blend of jazz, ethnic, and acid-rock influences. Showcasing virtuosic musicianship, it stands as a pioneering work in German rock, ahead of its time. Originally released in 1973 on famous German label Bacillus, Dzyan’s 2nd album “Time Machine” showed a “new” Dzyan line-up consisting of guitar player Eddy Marron (also playing a lot of other string instruments), bass genius, band founder and “mastermind” Reinhard Karwatky and drummer Peter Giger. Produced by Peter Hauke and recorded and mixed by great engineer Dieter Dierks the trio performed on Time Machine a new sound mutating away from vocal-prog-rock of the first album to explore further jazz and ethnic tonalities with far more space-out and exotic improvisations to an unusual hybrid of acid-rock with serious jazz chops approaching “Mahavishnuland”. Time Machine offers virtuous and unorthodox musicianship with a high and very own esthetic quality. Existing in a no-man’s land between jazz and rock, and as a pre-cursor to the post-rock crowd of the ‘90s, Time Machine was well ahead of its time. A highlight in German rock history.
