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"Vancouver producer Patrick Holland aka Project Pablo’s house music goes breezy and back to basics on his debut full length and first release since moving to Montreal this Fall. “I Want To Believe” is a blue-tinged walk through Little Italy; chunky disco and hybrid house inspired by ultra-real types of smoothness like George Benson, Sade or Steely Dan (“Aja”, that is) and relocating perceivably dated cafe-culture styles of groove-focused house into a newly sincere context. Project Pablo’s bright and deep slant on easy-listening is built on sturdy but loose percussion, heavy bass grooves (some of which are provided by Jeremy Dabrowski of Montreal band Noni Wo) and insanely catchy/whistle-able melodic hooks. It’s traditionally funky but backlit with existentially spaced out textures and skewed by genre-splicings that spin cheesier elements into honest and at times meditative drifts, like opener “Sky Lounge” with reverberant synth fades on top a chunky 4/4 disco-influenced beat, or the downtime of “In The Mat” with a shuffled pace interspersed with pitched vocal “woop” snippets. Focusing on solid, functional dance components, “I Want To Believe” is scattered with taped out and wonky synth leads and punctuated here and there with goofed-out cappuccino clink-equivalents of cascading percussion and melodic keyboard flutters, blurring “lifestyle” ideals into rich, taped out moods for club and kitchen use."
Operating on the fringes of pure improv, organised chaos, minimal composition, lo-fi electronics and Italian spaghetti westerns, wide-eyed and with a healthy dose of DIY aesthetics lies the world of Jaan. It’s a poetic & cosmic universe, exploring “discreet music” whilst wandering on the edges of the Cat People soundtrack & Brian Eno’s more experimental output, in which you might yourself find floating, wandering or in the middle of a market place.
Jaan is a collective of one, a deliberately anonymous activistic unit with strong ties to the international art scene. Purposefully bypassing the know-it-all of the the internet & embracing the bygone mystery of dusty old archives and deep-dive searching, remarkably little is known about this project. Jaan is lead by veteran experimental sonic alchemist Jaan; they operate between Greenland, the Middle East and Europe, with frequent associates Lisqa, Mashid & Schneorr N. acting as local hubs for collaboration and exploration.
The purpose of this wilful obscurity: full focus on the actual music, whether live events or on recordings. Which brings us to Baghali, their first for World of Echo. It’s a deeply personal album, much like slowly browsing old family albums filled with vaguely remembered tales, some still very much present, some faded, leaving but a ghost-like reflection of what once was. Baghali was compiled over the course of a year on the road, trapped in snow storms, waiting for cancelled flights and stuck rides. It’s made up of snippets of diary, quick recordings on road sides, abandoned buildings, garden ruins, vast desert and focussed studio sessions, following a collage-like aesthetic and steeped in an exploration of non-lineair storytelling. There’s broken memories, a sense of displacement and an occasional yearning for what can’t be again, clouded in fever and unrest, but there is also hope, wonderment and bright colours seeping through the cracks in the wall. Jaan weaves home-made instruments, old tape loops, broken synths, beat-up reeds, dusty beat boxes and the occasional doom guitar squall into a tapestry of fractured sound, with tracks following their own inherent logic rather than following formats. Sounds crash in and out, field recordings placing the listener firmly in an environment then throwing several perspectives at once onto them, with individual elements - a wandering clarinet, a lone mandolin, a beat out of place yet perfectly in place - slowly walking in and out & doing their thing.
The whole album is alive, breathes, takes a wrong turn, gets lost, somehow finds its way again - effortless and with a unique sense of space and flow.
A flawless downbeat diamond is back in circulation with 10 year repress of Conrad Standish & Sam Karmel’s 1st EP as CS + Kreme - an essential jewel in the Naarm (Melbourne) crown along with fellow greats HTRK, Tarquin Manek, YL Hooi, Carla Dal Forno, Laila Sakini, et al Among our favourite records of the past decade, ‘EP1’ has become a true go-to when nowt else will suffice. For half an hour it caresses the senses and bathes bodies in blissed-out vox and velvet stroked textures that glisten with a certain, far-away Antipodean romance that simply transports and beautifully hurts every time. A case in point is ‘Devotion’, with dawn-break synth pads and calm heartbeat introducing a gorgeous Hindustani-style string motif and Clare Wolnick’s flute, before Conrad’s mantric vox just sets it off to a whole other plane. Or ‘Basic Instinct (Club Scene)’ that follows it, a track that to our ears always felt like a time-warped refraction of The Style Council’s sweaty, debonaire ‘Long Hot Summer’, pitch bent and pitch-fucked to absolutely heart-melting perfection; the care and attention to floating, dub-wise space and everything measured in its right place just leaving you with your heart-in-mouth like little else.
Personal Computer Music, 1997-2022 is the culmination of Chapter Music’s ongoing reissue series for Jeremy Dower.
"Reclusive Melbourne electronic figure Jeremy Dower announces a quarter century-spanning compilation of previously unreleased music, split into halves to showcase his unpronounceable 90s ambient techno project Tetrphnm, as well as the wistful faux-jazz recordings made subsequently under his own name.
Inspired at first by austere German techno such as Monolake and Mouse on Mars, Jeremy’s sound world grew to take in influences as various as The Sea and Cake, Joao Gilberto, Jaki Liebezeit and Alain Goraguer. But Jeremy worked through these touchstones all alone on the other side of the world, improvising systems of “subtractive composition” via cheap 90s sound cards, 12 bit samplers and banked noise gates. His music evolved in a parallel but separate world to genres later called IDM or Microhouse, but really it sounds like nothing but Jeremy Dower – magically inventive, touching and personal. Efficient Space comped a Tetrphnm track on their much-loved 2018 compilation of 90s Australian electronica 3AM Spares. But Personal Computer Music, 1997-2022 is your first chance to explore Jeremy Dower’s compelling musical history with the depth it deserves."
"Silk is the fantastic third LP by Maxine Funke, a New Zealand musician whose first recordings were with the legendary $100 Band (Funke, Alastair Galbraith, and Mike Dooley!), whose music was drifting experimental dust of a very high order. Maxine's first two solo albums, Lace (2008) and Felt (2012) (originally released as CDR on Galbraith's Next Best Way and a lathe on Epic Sweep, respectively), were reissued by Time-Lag to great acclaim in 2016, securing her place in the upper echelons of contemporary folk inventors. With the release of Silk, Ms. Funke manages to create an album that merges both of these style threads. Many of the tracks are cast in an intimate mood congruent with artists like Sibylle Baier, Barbara Manning, Myriam Gendron, Joanne Robertson, and other women who have pulled sweetly dark sounds from pockets of deep emotion, abetted largely by acoustic guitar. On a few other tracks, electronic instrumentals hearken back to her work with transceivers in the $100 Band days. The balance between these posts is delicately intoxicating. A readymade classic from start to finish, Silk travels a brilliant series of spaceways with grace and assurance. We should all be so lucky."
Respraying familiar bittersweet indie themes with contemporary DAW gloss, Danish duo Snuggle guide references to Cocteau Twins, The Sundays, Elliott Smith and Young Marble Giants thru modernist trip-pop structures that'll surely appeal to anyone into ML Buch, Erika de Casier, Smerz or that new James K record - another Escho smash basically.
Founded by Copenhagen underground mainstays Andrea Thuesen Johansen (of noise-rock trio Baby in Vain) and Vilhelm Tiburtz Strange (of smoove pop four-piece Liss), Snuggle is a fittingly modest Escho supergroup whose sound shouldn't be a huge surprise to devotees of the label. Baking themes that have been circling the RMC scene in the last few years, their debut album is almost sickeningly sweet - and hard to stop nibbling away at. It's a tray of detached, melancholy pop that's formed so flawlessly - rooted in a spread of sonic ingredients that we've never stopped going back to over the years - that it sits comfortably alongside contempo genre staples like 'Suntub'.
Theusen's voice falls somewhere between Alison Statton's and Harriet Wheeler's, cool, detached and achingly fragile, and is well matched by Strange's controlled but cannily penned miniatures. He sounds like Robin Guthrie covering 'Here's Where the Story Ends' at first on 'Dust', eventually offsetting the warbled, well-phased guitar chords with just-gritty-enough breaks that snap us in the direction of the trip-hop revival. Indie adorned with powdery boom-bap drums and samples wasn't a complete anomaly in the '90s - just poke thru the Grand Royal catalog and bands like Bran Van 3000 or Sukpatch, for example, who recently got a shot of adrenaline from Concentric Circles' reissue campaign. And the sound has finally come of age, an Ableton-era hallucination of music that's recognizable but not completely rinsed.
These elements are most prominent on the chugging, grungy opener 'Sun Tan' and the chirpy 'Driving Me Crazy', that's fleshed out with tasteful cello scrapes from Naja Soulie. But Snuggle lock into a deeper, more mysterious groove on 'Marigold' balancing out their dry, boxy drums with early Factory riffs before sliding towards Air's sensualized exotica in the final act, and Theusen's vocal melody is transfixingly twisty on 'Playthings', draped around splashy dubwise snares and a killer bassline from Strange. And although 'Sticks' sits way too close to the coffee table for our liking, 'Water in a Pond' sounds like Hope Sandoval singing Elliott Smith - unmissable, basically.
The road is a wrinkled timeline. Uncanny flatness conceals unfolding textures, transparent layers and open tabs. The truck cuts the landscape, tracing the road with a line of mad logic that composites time, space, thought. On “Le Camion de Marguerite Duras,” French duo Jean-Marie Mercimek have returned with a road movie for the blind. Composed and recorded by Marion Molle and Ronan Riou over six years across France and Belgium, this unlikely distillation of microtonal MIDI composition, French B.O., and post-punk chansons brazenly expands the duos’ penchant for lowkey narrative spectacle.
Across “Le Camion,” sounds form a theatrical screen. Our ears are the curtains drawn wide and listening with a look that pans across the shot. No title cards, they cut straight to action. The truck is a camera, zooming and framing the tracks as scenes. Songwriting and sound design blur in a tangle of delicate economy. The balance of mutant music-boxes and dewy miniatures recalls otherworldly hits from Gareth Williams’ Flaming Tunes, Residents, and catchier corners of the Lovely Music catalog. Strange, sure, but this flick is never quite a cartoon. Molle and Riou’s vocals dilate into a cast of very human characters. Voices sing borrowed texts like untrained actors (playing themselves, in fact) stepping into the frame once before disappearing forever. And when they’re gone, you miss them. But here in the truck, it all comes back again under the cyclic spell of repose in perpetual motion. Turn up the radio and appuyez sur le champignon.
If you head north on 1-85 from Hillsborough, NC, and take the exit for 58 East, in fifteen minutes you'll reach Diamond Grove, a small unincorporated area in Brunswick County, Virginia on the Meherrin River. To most eyes, there's not much there—you'll have to drive to Lawrenceville for groceries or to South Hill for hardware. But hidden in this patch of Virginia piedmont are the remnants of a dairy farm established in the 1740s, its main house an old two up, two down beauty still outfitted with rope beds and all. Go there today and you'll hear distant sounds of someone working soybeans and cotton in the leased-out outbuildings, farm-use tires grinding gravel roads, frogs peeping, and chickadees singing out: chick-a-dee, chick-a-dee. But if you happened to pass through in September of 2023, you might've heard fiddle tunes ricocheting off the pines, BBS rattling-to-rest inside empties, and the sounds of Weirs recording their second LP and Dear Life Records debut: Diamond Grove. Weirs is an experimental collective grown out of central North Carolina's music scene—one that is equal parts oldtime and DIY noise. Non-hierarchical in form, past Weirs performances have included anywhere from two to twelve people. In September 2023, nine traveled up US-58 to pack into the living and dining rooms of the dairy farm main house, still in the family of band member and organizer Oliver Child-Lanning, whose relatives have been there for centuries. This Weirs lineup—neither definitive nor precious—includes Child-Lanning; Justin Morris and Libby Rodenbough (his collaborators in Sluice); Evan Morgan, Courtney Werner, and Mike DeVito of Magic Tuber Stringband; and stalwarts Andy McLeod, Alli Rogers, and Oriana Messer who played deep into those late-summer evenings. What resulted are the nine tracks of Diamond Grove, recorded with an ad hoc signal chain assembled from a greater-communitys worth of borrowed gear. The Weirs project began as tape experiments on traditional tunes Child-Lanning made under the name Pluviöse in winter 2019. This evolved into the first Weirs record, Prepare to Meet God, which was self-released in July 2020 and was a collaboration between Child-Lanning and Morris during COVID. The strange conditions of that debut—a communal tradition of live songs recorded apart in isolation—are undone by Diamond Grove, a record rooted in the unrepeatable convergence of people, place, and time. On the new record, Weirs continue their search for how best to forward, uphold, and unshackle so-called "traditional" music. They are songcatchers, gathering tunes on the verge of obscure death. Their wild, centuries-spanning repertoire plays like an avant-call-the-tune session—a kind of Real Book for a scene fluent in porch jams, Big Blood, Amps for Christ, and Jean Ritchie. Weirs catch songs whose interpretive canon still feels ajar—open enough to stand next to but never above those who've sung them before. These aren't attempts at definitive versions. The recordings on Diamond Grove feel like visitations rather than revisions. And the question Weirs asks on this record is not how to simply continue the tradition of their forebears, but how traditional music could sound today. For Weirs, the history of this tradition could be taken less from the folk revival than from musique concréte; less from pristine old master recordings than something like The Shadow Ring if theyd come from the evangelical South. One listen to "(A Still, Small Voice)" and you'll hear the power of the hymn give way to its equal: the floorboards, fire crackle, dinners made and eaten. This tension between preservation and degradation is the inner light of Diamond Grove. Take "Doxology l": the melody of "Old Hundred", a hymn from the Sacred Harp tradition, is converted to MIDI, played through iPhone speakers, and re-recorded in the September air. To some revivalists, this hymn sung with all the glory of fake auto-tuned voices might sound sacreligious. But ears attuned, say, to the hyperpop production of the last few decades will immediately understand the tense beauty of hearing digitallyartifacted shape-note singing. This same tension animates "l Want to Die Easy." Weirs' version draws from A Golden Ring of Gospel's recording, monumentalized in the Folkways collection Sharon Mountain Harmony. The melodies, words, structure are largely unchanged. But the "'pure" clarity of voice in the early recording is gone. In its place, we hear the distancing sound of the dairy farm silo where Weirs recorded their version, its natural two-second reverb replacing pristine proximity. In this way, the sound of the recording site itself becomes equal to the traditional performance. The beating heart of Diamond Grove is Weirs's take on "Lord Bateman," a tune Jean Ritchie called a "big ballad:" played when the chores were done and the night's dancing had stopped. It is an 18th-century song—as old as the Diamond Grove farm—about a captured adventurer, described by Nic Jones as embodying the spirit of an Errol Flynn film. Like many great and often a cappella renditions, this "'Lord Bateman" is voice-forward, foregrounding the gather-round-children importance of yarn spinning. What's new here is the immense drone that transubstantiates the narrative into a ceaseless body of elemental forces. It's an eye-blurring murmur of collective strings that adds to the canon of Ritchie and June Tabor as much as to Pelt's Ayahuasca or Henry Flynt's Hillbilly Tape Music. While Diamond Grove isn't explicitly about the old dairy farm where it was recorded, it can't help but resemble it. Old English ballads like "'Lord Bateman" and "'Lord Randall" spill into fields once 'granted' by the British Crown. Tragic songs like "'Edward" stagger across Tuscarora trails and postbellum cotton rows. Hymns like "'Everlasting l" and "Everlasting Il" catch a moonlight that's been falling through double-hung windows since Lord Bacon's Rebellion. And the nocturnals still trill and plows still till a music uncomposed, waiting for any and all ears to chance upon it. Diamond Grove, in these ways, is history. It is a place. It is time. It is songcatching, liveness, tape manipulation. Like the low-head dam that the word weir implies, it is a defense against the current. It is a defense of regional lexicons against mass-produced vernaculars; a defense against the belief that we can simply return to a simpler time; a defense against the idea that folk music must remain "pure"; a defense against the claim that a dream of the future latent in lost histories is irretrievably lost. Against all that, Diamond Grove defends traditional music by making it sound like the complexity of today—because it knows that such music, and all the histories caught up in it, has a role to play in the days to come.
Gen’s fabled copy-of-1 acetate, made in 1968 with schoolmates, is reissued for wider consumption, offering an unmissable glimpse at the early stirrings of a notorious “wrecker of civilisation” and one of the most significant artists of their time .
Before PTV, before Throbbing Gristle, and leading up to action with COUM Transmissions, one Neil Megson made their first foray into recorded music with some pals in their parents attic in Solihull, West Midlands. Spurred by readings of occult literature, Fluxus and John Cage, and footage of psychedelic “happenings” by Bohemian beatniks in London, Megson and pals experimented with janky equipment to make a cute lo-fi racket of giggles, chants, brays, bittersweet witter and poetry, as recited in the instantly familiar nasal tang of ‘Rather Hard to Libel’. It’s effectively the sound of grammar school boys having a laugh in the late ‘60s, but also serves as the seed for a remarkable, notorious, and enduring oeuvre that catalysed countless others to write, make art and music in their wake.
“POLITE WARNING by Genesis Breyer P-Orridge, 2008: Previously thought to be missing, these never before available songs were created on extremely primitive equipment in the attic of 6 Links Drive, Solihull, Warwickshire, England by Genesis Breyer P-Orridge and friends using Thee Early Worm as their collective group name. Only one copy had originally been pressed on an acetate. This disc and its corresponding analog reel-to-reel master tape were discovered in the Porridge With Everything Archives by Ryan Martin during a recent re-organization. This album is mastered directly from the original reel to reel tape and is made available to devotees of Genesis Breyer P-Orridge’s life-long musical body of work as a missing link, and curiosity, that reveals significant structural themes and sonic textures that, with hindsight, can be seen to have remained central to her creative processes ever since. Please be aware that this is inevitably a low-fi recording intended for collectors and researchers.”
Ghanaian hiplife phenom Yaw Atta-Owusu presents charming results of his first studio session since 1994’s sleeper hit ‘Obaa Sima’, which found an overdue, cult audience via the blogosphere as one of Awesome Tapes From Africa’s earliest and greatest drops in 2015. If you weren’t snagged on the ohrwurming keys, vox, and groove of the title tune to Ata Kak’s ‘Obaa Sima’ in 2015, you probably weren’t going to the right clubs and checking the right sites. 10 years later it still kills and is set to be joined by this fresh haul from the Bishop Beatz recording studio in Kumasi, Ghana, where Ata Kak laid down ‘Batakari’, his 1st recordings in three decades, recapturing the moxie of his original sound on six cuts that betray time and space travelled within more ambitious arrangements of signature fast chat factored by layered harmonies and rhythmic variegation. “Honed in studios around Kumasi over the last several years, the songs feature the rapper-singer’s acrobatic rap, signature scatting, dramatic drums and even traditional Akan harp. The compositions are more ambitious than his earlier work, with more complex arrangements and layered harmonies. Ata Kak’s new songs are also the natural expression of a restless artist—he is a prolific poet and author of a half-dozen books, as well as an active gardener and busy painter. Born in Ghana in 1960, Ata Kak wasn’t always involved in music. But his travels and openness to the world lead him into the music industry. While living in Germany, he was invited to play drums in a reggae band and subsequently played in highlife bands in Ontario after moving to the Toronto area. He recorded “Obaa Sima” there at his home studio and released it in Ghana in 1994. He didn’t participate in music much in the intervening years until “Obaa Sima” was reissued in 2015. He started performing his song live with the help of a brilliant cast of London-based musicians and has toured three continents and played to thousands of fans in venues of all kinds.”
W.25TH is proud to announce the reissue of Cindy Lee's Cat O' Nine Tails, originally released in 2020 as an extremely limited edition of 50 lathe-cut LPs housed in silk-screened jackets. This essential collection, released in the wake of What's Tonight To Eternity, has long captivated die-hard fans with its perfect synthesis of classic songwriting and classical composition.
The album opens with the gothic drama of "Our Lady Of Sorrows," flowing into the manic exploration of the title track before settling into the dusty western atmosphere of "Faith Restored," showcasing Patrick Flegel's exquisite guitar work. Together, these tracks create a cinematic journey that feels like the soundtrack to the coolest film the late '60s never made. The emotional centerpiece arrives with "Love Remains," a lush and sweeping ballad that introduces Flegel's beautiful voice in all its bruised-heart glory.
Side Two delivers the epic conclusion of "Cat O' Nine Tails III"—a live show closer that completes the suite with devastating effect—before unveiling the absolute showstopper "I Don't Want To Fall In Love Again." Tender and fragile in that distinctly Flegel way, it achieves the rare balance of familiar intimacy and startling uniqueness. The album closes with "Bondage Of The Mind," an ethereal soul shuffle that showcases nine songs from a crucial period in the Cindy Lee evolution.
Four digital dancehall scorchers with two accompanying 8-bit versions meticulously crafted with the soundsystem session in mind!
Tapes has been spreading wonky saturated riddim goodness since his ground breaking “Hissing Theatricals” EP in 2009. Now, after a brief hibernation in the northern spawning pools, he’s spinning up his reels once again to present a new killer set of amphibian friendly, nintendo-fied sound system depth charges!
The “Photos of My Frog EP” is croaking off with its oddly addictive namesake: a surefire pond party starter – Ribbit! Hopping along, the adorable but tuff “Cleat Skank” and its gameboy driven pollywog follow, swinging their 8bit melody lasso till the cows come home. Yeehaw!
“Ramp Up” on B is a dense and raw FM synth digi banger, sure to fry any nearby circuits, so best beware! “Back Cramp Riddim” then turns up the low end even more and swirls its drums and synths into the next delay vortex, warping into a pixelated 8bit conclusion.
Whatever your taste in insects there’s something on this record for any lover of vintage dancehall and amphibious wild life alike!
In 2023, k.d.b lived in a crumbling farmhouse on the edge of the River Maas. Each morning, he’d wake at 6:00 and walk along the river’s bank with his dogfriend Miemel, pausing at sunrise for a cup of coffee.
It’s 6:34, and a thick rug of mist rolls out across the river. It’s so dense that k.d.b can’t see the water beneath it. Then comes the sun: a single ray cutting through the mist like a tube of light, landing on Miemel’s face. In her mouth is a CD she’s picked up, and on the CD is the title Instrumental Romance.
'What is Instrumental Romance?' thinks k.d.b. 'Romantic instrumentals? Or a romance used instrumentally? As in, a romance used to get something—like love?'
Miemel drops the CD and turns her attention to a stray purple grape on the path. Grapes are poisonous to dogs, and as she bends toward it, k.d.b. shouts, “NO!” At that precise moment, a large fish rises from the mist. It launches into the air, mouth wide open, and hangs there above the clouds. His shout, having traveled across the river, bounces back towards k.d.b with a “NO,” and in perfect synchrony, it appears the fish is also shouting at Miemel. The timing is so perfect, they can’t be sure it isn’t.
The fish falls back down, entering its watery world with an eerie, splashless silence, leaving k.d.b and Miemel standing open-mouthed on the bank. Before they can register the perfection of this duet, another fish (or maybe the same one again) rises from the mist in the exact same spot and launches into the air. Without thinking, k.d.b shouts again. The word “ROMANCE” comes out. This time, however, he is slightly too late, and the word is too long, so “ROMANCE” lingers on after the fish has already fallen back down.
'What even is romance?' thinks k.d.b. 'The construction of mystery or excitement with dead red flowers and timing?'
A foghorn sounds behind him, and k.d.b turns 180 degrees to see a boat moving freight, right to left, along the River Maas. 'That’s strange', he thinks. 'If the river is there, then what’s that behind me, below the mist?'
Staring at the boat and its shipping containers as they float out of sight, k.d.b imagines a man. The man is standing at the bottom of a small valley, holding a fish. 'Who is this man, and what does he want?'
- Jacob Dwyer
If you head north on 1-85 from Hillsborough, NC, and take the exit for 58 East, in fifteen minutes you'll reach Diamond Grove, a small unincorporated area in Brunswick County, Virginia on the Meherrin River. To most eyes, there's not much there—you'll have to drive to Lawrenceville for groceries or to South Hill for hardware. But hidden in this patch of Virginia piedmont are the remnants of a dairy farm established in the 1740s, its main house an old two up, two down beauty still outfitted with rope beds and all. Go there today and you'll hear distant sounds of someone working soybeans and cotton in the leased-out outbuildings, farm-use tires grinding gravel roads, frogs peeping, and chickadees singing out: chick-a-dee, chick-a-dee. But if you happened to pass through in September of 2023, you might've heard fiddle tunes ricocheting off the pines, BBS rattling-to-rest inside empties, and the sounds of Weirs recording their second LP and Dear Life Records debut: Diamond Grove. Weirs is an experimental collective grown out of central North Carolina's music scene—one that is equal parts oldtime and DIY noise. Non-hierarchical in form, past Weirs performances have included anywhere from two to twelve people. In September 2023, nine traveled up US-58 to pack into the living and dining rooms of the dairy farm main house, still in the family of band member and organizer Oliver Child-Lanning, whose relatives have been there for centuries. This Weirs lineup—neither definitive nor precious—includes Child-Lanning; Justin Morris and Libby Rodenbough (his collaborators in Sluice); Evan Morgan, Courtney Werner, and Mike DeVito of Magic Tuber Stringband; and stalwarts Andy McLeod, Alli Rogers, and Oriana Messer who played deep into those late-summer evenings. What resulted are the nine tracks of Diamond Grove, recorded with an ad hoc signal chain assembled from a greater-communitys worth of borrowed gear. The Weirs project began as tape experiments on traditional tunes Child-Lanning made under the name Pluviöse in winter 2019. This evolved into the first Weirs record, Prepare to Meet God, which was self-released in July 2020 and was a collaboration between Child-Lanning and Morris during COVID. The strange conditions of that debut—a communal tradition of live songs recorded apart in isolation—are undone by Diamond Grove, a record rooted in the unrepeatable convergence of people, place, and time. On the new record, Weirs continue their search for how best to forward, uphold, and unshackle so-called "traditional" music. They are songcatchers, gathering tunes on the verge of obscure death. Their wild, centuries-spanning repertoire plays like an avant-call-the-tune session—a kind of Real Book for a scene fluent in porch jams, Big Blood, Amps for Christ, and Jean Ritchie. Weirs catch songs whose interpretive canon still feels ajar—open enough to stand next to but never above those who've sung them before. These aren't attempts at definitive versions. The recordings on Diamond Grove feel like visitations rather than revisions. And the question Weirs asks on this record is not how to simply continue the tradition of their forebears, but how traditional music could sound today. For Weirs, the history of this tradition could be taken less from the folk revival than from musique concréte; less from pristine old master recordings than something like The Shadow Ring if theyd come from the evangelical South. One listen to "(A Still, Small Voice)" and you'll hear the power of the hymn give way to its equal: the floorboards, fire crackle, dinners made and eaten. This tension between preservation and degradation is the inner light of Diamond Grove. Take "Doxology l": the melody of "Old Hundred", a hymn from the Sacred Harp tradition, is converted to MIDI, played through iPhone speakers, and re-recorded in the September air. To some revivalists, this hymn sung with all the glory of fake auto-tuned voices might sound sacreligious. But ears attuned, say, to the hyperpop production of the last few decades will immediately understand the tense beauty of hearing digitallyartifacted shape-note singing. This same tension animates "l Want to Die Easy." Weirs' version draws from A Golden Ring of Gospel's recording, monumentalized in the Folkways collection Sharon Mountain Harmony. The melodies, words, structure are largely unchanged. But the "'pure" clarity of voice in the early recording is gone. In its place, we hear the distancing sound of the dairy farm silo where Weirs recorded their version, its natural two-second reverb replacing pristine proximity. In this way, the sound of the recording site itself becomes equal to the traditional performance. The beating heart of Diamond Grove is Weirs's take on "Lord Bateman," a tune Jean Ritchie called a "big ballad:" played when the chores were done and the night's dancing had stopped. It is an 18th-century song—as old as the Diamond Grove farm—about a captured adventurer, described by Nic Jones as embodying the spirit of an Errol Flynn film. Like many great and often a cappella renditions, this "'Lord Bateman" is voice-forward, foregrounding the gather-round-children importance of yarn spinning. What's new here is the immense drone that transubstantiates the narrative into a ceaseless body of elemental forces. It's an eye-blurring murmur of collective strings that adds to the canon of Ritchie and June Tabor as much as to Pelt's Ayahuasca or Henry Flynt's Hillbilly Tape Music. While Diamond Grove isn't explicitly about the old dairy farm where it was recorded, it can't help but resemble it. Old English ballads like "'Lord Bateman" and "'Lord Randall" spill into fields once 'granted' by the British Crown. Tragic songs like "'Edward" stagger across Tuscarora trails and postbellum cotton rows. Hymns like "'Everlasting l" and "Everlasting Il" catch a moonlight that's been falling through double-hung windows since Lord Bacon's Rebellion. And the nocturnals still trill and plows still till a music uncomposed, waiting for any and all ears to chance upon it. Diamond Grove, in these ways, is history. It is a place. It is time. It is songcatching, liveness, tape manipulation. Like the low-head dam that the word weir implies, it is a defense against the current. It is a defense of regional lexicons against mass-produced vernaculars; a defense against the belief that we can simply return to a simpler time; a defense against the idea that folk music must remain "pure"; a defense against the claim that a dream of the future latent in lost histories is irretrievably lost. Against all that, Diamond Grove defends traditional music by making it sound like the complexity of today—because it knows that such music, and all the histories caught up in it, has a role to play in the days to come.
Ghanaian hiplife phenom Yaw Atta-Owusu presents charming results of his first studio session since 1994’s sleeper hit ‘Obaa Sima’, which found an overdue, cult audience via the blogosphere as one of Awesome Tapes From Africa’s earliest and greatest drops in 2015. If you weren’t snagged on the ohrwurming keys, vox, and groove of the title tune to Ata Kak’s ‘Obaa Sima’ in 2015, you probably weren’t going to the right clubs and checking the right sites. 10 years later it still kills and is set to be joined by this fresh haul from the Bishop Beatz recording studio in Kumasi, Ghana, where Ata Kak laid down ‘Batakari’, his 1st recordings in three decades, recapturing the moxie of his original sound on six cuts that betray time and space travelled within more ambitious arrangements of signature fast chat factored by layered harmonies and rhythmic variegation. “Honed in studios around Kumasi over the last several years, the songs feature the rapper-singer’s acrobatic rap, signature scatting, dramatic drums and even traditional Akan harp. The compositions are more ambitious than his earlier work, with more complex arrangements and layered harmonies. Ata Kak’s new songs are also the natural expression of a restless artist—he is a prolific poet and author of a half-dozen books, as well as an active gardener and busy painter. Born in Ghana in 1960, Ata Kak wasn’t always involved in music. But his travels and openness to the world lead him into the music industry. While living in Germany, he was invited to play drums in a reggae band and subsequently played in highlife bands in Ontario after moving to the Toronto area. He recorded “Obaa Sima” there at his home studio and released it in Ghana in 1994. He didn’t participate in music much in the intervening years until “Obaa Sima” was reissued in 2015. He started performing his song live with the help of a brilliant cast of London-based musicians and has toured three continents and played to thousands of fans in venues of all kinds.”
Ghanaian hiplife phenom Yaw Atta-Owusu presents charming results of his first studio session since 1994’s sleeper hit ‘Obaa Sima’, which found an overdue, cult audience via the blogosphere as one of Awesome Tapes From Africa’s earliest and greatest drops in 2015. If you weren’t snagged on the ohrwurming keys, vox, and groove of the title tune to Ata Kak’s ‘Obaa Sima’ in 2015, you probably weren’t going to the right clubs and checking the right sites. 10 years later it still kills and is set to be joined by this fresh haul from the Bishop Beatz recording studio in Kumasi, Ghana, where Ata Kak laid down ‘Batakari’, his 1st recordings in three decades, recapturing the moxie of his original sound on six cuts that betray time and space travelled within more ambitious arrangements of signature fast chat factored by layered harmonies and rhythmic variegation. “Honed in studios around Kumasi over the last several years, the songs feature the rapper-singer’s acrobatic rap, signature scatting, dramatic drums and even traditional Akan harp. The compositions are more ambitious than his earlier work, with more complex arrangements and layered harmonies. Ata Kak’s new songs are also the natural expression of a restless artist—he is a prolific poet and author of a half-dozen books, as well as an active gardener and busy painter. Born in Ghana in 1960, Ata Kak wasn’t always involved in music. But his travels and openness to the world lead him into the music industry. While living in Germany, he was invited to play drums in a reggae band and subsequently played in highlife bands in Ontario after moving to the Toronto area. He recorded “Obaa Sima” there at his home studio and released it in Ghana in 1994. He didn’t participate in music much in the intervening years until “Obaa Sima” was reissued in 2015. He started performing his song live with the help of a brilliant cast of London-based musicians and has toured three continents and played to thousands of fans in venues of all kinds.”
Bebedera takes the style of Tarraxo to a heightened awareness of its sexual nature. Tight, wicked layers of percussion, a suggestive ID ("Drinking is his life"), a slow pace that's not only perceptively slow, it sounds charged with intent, even malice, dissolution. Letting go of morality may be the big attraction in the music, permission to get down, this time in a heavy, conspicuous manner instead of a spiritual, breezy floatation. One has to recognize the impulse in ourselves. Once at peace with this rough nature, there are sublime grooves to follow, mind-boggling arrangements, a freedom from judgement in connecting with what may seem to be at first a very masculine take on dancefloor sensuality but which is in fact only human. Just with less filters.
In other ways, an aural combination of metal and flesh produces this notion of a cyborg, a very expressive physical body making its weight known to everybody around, a sort of walking fortress as in the "Moderan" group of sci-fi short stories. A glorious rattle of lata percussion, scraps from the junkyard. A sense of unease, even slight danger starts a flow of adrenalin. According to DJ Marfox, it's not the only thing flowing, there's also a strong desire for intercourse when a Bebedera tarraxo is playing. His very distinctive style has been a cult favourite for years. Accordingly, it took years to make contact, to reach an agreement, and the result is a set of classics that stretch as far back as 2014. Still the same punch, still the feeling no one has really stepped into this territory with such force.
Flipping the construct on its head, there's two Bebedera house tracks, we'd say almost an oddity, an abrupt change from the previous density of atmosphere, though they retain all the percussive bounce. Sensual, sure, a different tempo also letting through a romantic disposition other than the sheer physical attraction. One of the titles sums up the aesthetical power at play: "I Will Beat The Top High". As in reaching further out, further up. Wanting to. Time freezes - 2014 and 2016 (production years of these two tracks), fold up and melt into the Present. Where it matters.
Can you believe it? Devendra Banhart's Cripple Crow - originally released by XL in 2005 - is turning 20 years old. This was the 5th album from the Venezuelan American artist who is considered the pioneer of the "Freak Folk" and "New Weird America" movements. To celebrate - Devendra has compiled a reissue of the out of print release that features a 3rd Bonus LP (on Clear Green Smoke!) featuring 9 bonus tracks, including 1 B-Side, 5 previously unreleased demos, 2 previously unreleased live tracks, and 1 unearthed smash hit from the recording sessions. This release is the first on his newly created Heavy Flowers label. The album received a "Best New Music" 8.4 review from Pitchfork upon its release. The release date will fall 1 day prior to the actual 20th Anniversary, which will be the first time Devendra is early for anything. Now THAT is something to celebrate!
'Transplant Rejection’ is the second in a trilogy of cassette albums released via Muscut in the latter half of 2022. The work of Estonian artist and IDA Radio co-founder Robert Nikolajev, this collection of seven ‘almost’ dark ambient tracks embody the melancholy of autumn whilst hinting at the forthcoming eternal winter. A man with many hats, Nikolajev operates on the fringes of the leftfield house underground for labels such as Incienso, Collect-Call and Sad Fun as well as being one half of the sporadic DIMA DISK act with Ragnar Rahouja. Eschewing the more rhythmic side of his productions for this Muscut tape, Nikolajev taps into the fictional soundtrack atmospheres the label is known for and brings his own brand of wistful, introspective world-building by way of machine harmony to the now Tallinn based imprint.
There’s a lo-fi, grainy quality running throughout the collection, a kind of sepia-toned nostalgia that envelops the listener and disorientates any perception of time or place. Buried vocal fragments sit in the mix on ‘Stifled’ alongside decaying synthesiser drones whilst ‘DDM’ channels an edgy post-rock dirge with its use of sagged bass guitar. Overall, an inspired look into the more ‘at home’ side of this increasingly prolific Estonian artist.