MUSIC

"end of an era" was produced over a period of 23 years. It began with a few short recordings of lightly processed sine waves that came to me via Asmus Tietchens and Achim Wollscheid. The work on these resulted in a first version and release of "time is the simplest thing" (Three Poplars 2003) which I was never fully satisfied with, so I continued working on it further until a definitive version was completed in 2018. I began work on "time and again ... and again" in 2013 when experimenting with analog electronics. Again I made a first version that I was not entirely happy with and picked up again and completed it in 2022 with the help of Ronnie Oliveras who engineered parts of the remix. The titles for the pieces are related to American writer Clifford Simak whose novels and short stories have been a source of inspiration since adolescent days.

Debut album by Ani Zinc, member of the Spanish experimental duo Diseño Corbusier and co-founder of the iconic record label Auxilio de Cientos. Originally released in 1986, this record is a showcase of her radical blueprint, comprising sound collages and voice experiments, and also welcomes the use of conventional instruments such as drum machines and keyboards, resulting a richer and more diverse outcome. First time reissue of this much sought-after record on the highly collectable Spanish experimental label Auxilio de Cientos.

Back in 1980, The Pump sessions prefigured Nocturnal Emissions. The same personnel (Nigel and Daniel Ayers + Caroline K) was later credited in the first NE performance in March 1981. Throbbing Gristle and Cabaret Voltaire opened a path and a kind of DIY sound collage practice became popular in the underground. More punk than punk, right? With synth, bass, guitar and vocals, The Pump could almost be mistaken for a new wave band, but it was the start of a long, prolific and eclectic journey for Nigel Ayers, sole member of Nocturnal Emissions for quite a while now. Although it is not at all obvious, by 1980 Nigel had been exposed to a few dub tricks and mainly the otherwordly spatial sounds and breaks: «In the late 70s I became aware that dub producers such as Lee Scratch Perry, Prince Far I - and sound systems - were doing something with sound that was a very new and different approach. It was in the separation of recorded sound into very spatial elements, working very sculpturally with sound. I had absorbed the space concerns of Hendrix years before I got into dub, and the spatial elements within Gong, Hawkwind, early Pink Floyd, Velvet Underground, BBC Radiophonic Workshop, etc. When we did The Pump, we lived in Brixton and spent a lot of time absorbing dub in the streets and shebeens.» Growing up in the Peak District (northern England) during the 1960s didn't put one directly in touch with black culture or music. There was one black kid at school and «to see a black person you'd have to go to Manchester or Sheffield.» And mainstream culture tends to ridicule outsider forms and expressions, so a popular idea of reggae came through in things such as the novelty single "Johnny Reggae" by The Piglets, released in 1971. By that time, Nigel was already listening to a few reggae singles his dad brought home from Sheffield, where he worked. He remembers the labels being scratched and thinking it must be because the records were so rude, meaning lyrical content. His artistic inclinations led him to spend more time at home trying out his skills with Super8 films and pasting soundtracks onto them. One of the first he remembers was a loop worked out from side B of one of those singles (the traditional instrumental Version on reggae singles). First heard about tape loops from "Dr Who" on TV, a weekly show that imprinted strange sounds and sights on kids' minds since the first episode in 1963. More experiments followed, loops and cut-ups recorded to cassette with full conscience that non-musicianly, non-conventional approaches were sanctioned by such names as Captain Beefheart and Brian Eno. Punk made it easier for everyone aspiring to make a point with music, it created a context for rawness and spontaneity. «Punk was a necessary break from virtuosity, and a good thing. I dug punk, a lot of ideas about accessibility, tackling racism, sexism and species-ism, were brought to the foreground. And it created an infrastructure for the zine culture, and cassette culture, autonomous collectives & networked DIY.» Only the way most early punk bands recreated dub and reggae didn't strike a chord with Nigel Ayers: «That's more to do with questions of my own personal taste and preference, which is by no means fixed.» Things became more serious when "Tissue Of Lies" came out in 1980 and Nocturnal Emissions steadily became hot within the so-called industrial culture (or counterculture). Although never explicitly adopting a dub format, its techniques and inspiration certainly informed many of the more rhythmic tracks NE recorded over the years. «Personally I was trying to create something that integrated my own personal experience and had a focussed ethic in content, personnel, production and distribution. Women collaborators have been vital , for example, as active creators - not as set dressing. Caroline K (for example) had technical proficiencies that aren't often expected in a male-dominated music world, she ran her own studio and later became a telecommunications engineer.» Come 2010 and the love of dub finally surfaced explicitly on a very limited "In Dub" CDR. All the space is there, some might say also the industrial weight and - dare we say it - the weight of crumbling capitalism (notoriously visible after 2008). There's a sort of robotic pace in these dry statements of political commentary, not really the same as in 80s digital dancehall or 90s digidub. It sounds like the kind of autonomous zone dreamed about since the punk and cut-up years and informed by all the accumulated background in electronic music and knowledge and respect for dub pioneers. "In Dub Volume 2" appeared in 2020, also strictly limited, framed by the early stages of the COVID experience, expanding on the same sonics, gently dragging the listener along for a thoughtful ride. The music on both volumes was recorded at leisure over a period of roughly 12 years and it hovers timelessly above. Heavily synthetic, learned and respectful music, alienated and in sync with the desire to escape (even if temporarily) to an artificial and abstract safe zone. We now present carefully selected tracks from both volumes, given a proper boost for vinyl by Douglas Wardrop (Bush Chemists, Conscious Sounds).

Kinzua debut a ritualistic, zonked outernational ambience, downbeat and cyberpunk bliss on Vladimir Ivkovic’s Offen Music - RIYL Morphosis, To Rococo Rot, CS + Kreme, Black Zone Myth Chant. Formed by Lucas Brell in Berlin and Leipzig’s Marvin Unde (Qnete), Kinzua emerge from the German club undergrowth with hypnotic slants of brownfield-pastoral electronica and meter-messing motorik pulses on their first release ‘None of the Above’. Smeared over a double LP, the hour-long album pitchbends with a properly lysergic quality as it executes its functions between the folksy crackle of ‘First Chapter’ and the grungy, viscous, post-D&B rolige of ‘Breath’. Rhythmic prompts ranging from klassic kosmiche to ‘90s UK armchair music and contemporary dembow dancehall underline Kinzua’s lines of melodic thought and dream-textured electronics in swirling permutations that feel in-the-moment but ever rolling towards an uncertain horizon. Kinzua act as spirit guides for the mind expanding new generation of trippers, with effortlessly oily grooves and keen attention to detail that suspend a sense of disbelief and mesmerise to their method. Seductive oddities such as ‘Domestic Affair’ follow to Detlef Weinrich-esque electro on ‘Elevator Moving Flor’ and ‘Heidi Peter’ echoes original Harmonia from a bleaker perspective, while supremely groggy drone in ‘Surface’ gives way to arid dancehall abstraction on ‘Sahara’, and ‘Gobi’ slopes off on a crooked outernational tip to a highlight of Laila Sakini-like scenes in ‘The Dancing Smoke’ starring vox by GiGi FM reciting from Baudelaire’s ‘Les Fleurs de Mal’.

The bastard love child of Elvis and Lux Interior, Israeli guitarist Charlie Megira brewed a heady amalgam of ’50s trash rock, surf-y tremolo, and reverb-drenched goth during his all-too-brief 44 trips around the sun. He recorded seven albums worth of material in 15 years, primarily issued on CD-R, most of which is now unreadable or in a landfill. Armed with only an Eko guitar, a black tuxedo, and his signature wrap-around shades, Charlie Megira was a mold-breaking artist who disintegrated while we were all staring at our phones. We've chosen our 2 favorite cuts off his 2000 debut, Da Abtomatic Meisterzinger Mambo Chic. Hear as Megira channels the optimism of post-war America, narcoleptic surf, and the Twin Peaks soundtrack into a lo-fi masterpiece all his own. Sung in both Hebrew and English, Mambo Chic moves at a deliberate pace, unconcerned by the traffic of the modern world and wrapped in a blanket of Tascam 4-track hiss. On “Tomorrow’s Gone” Megira achieves the feat of being so far back in time that he’s somehow living in the future and waiting for the rest of us to arrive.

The bastard love child of Elvis and Lux Interior, Israeli guitarist Charlie Megira brewed a heady amalgam of ’50s trash rock, surf-y tremolo, and reverb-drenched goth during his all-too-brief 44 trips around the sun. He recorded seven albums worth of material in 15 years, primarily issued on CD-R, most of which is now unreadable or in a landfill. Armed with only an Eko guitar, a black tuxedo, and his signature wrap-around shades, Charlie Megira was a mold-breaking artist who disintegrated while we were all staring at our phones. In 2006, Israeli garage-nik Charlie Megira took a sonic turn while partnered with Israeli multi-instrumentalist Michal Kahan. The duo wasted no time forging a new path, swapping Megira’s trademark reverb for echo, and guitar-noir for new wave. Their third album together, Charlie Megira And the Hefker Girl is an unabashed continuation of gothy ’80s archetypes employed by Joy Division, The Jesus and Mary Chain, and The Cure. With little impedance, the album fits into Megira’s ageless world of cross-pollinated genres and styles.

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

Liner notes by Mats Gustafsson: Alone at night. Large church room. Lots of air. Stone. Wood. Glass. Quietness. Stillness. The dead and the alive. Surroundedness. Existentialistic matters spinning. Peaceful state of mind. The dialectic equilibrium of complete stillness and deeper thoughts on contra- resistance on local and global levels. Fighting (y)our stupidities. Contra. I have never ever before gotten myself into such an unusual setting for a recording project. And yet, so simple. So naked. So peaceful. Alone at night. As we all are. I borrowed the keys to the beautiful church of Gustafsberg, from my neighbor Rune. I went there at midnight. Set up my recording gear. Old school DAT machine, tube pre-amps and two AKG 414s in an extreme stereo set-up, close to the horn. The horn of choice. The contrabass sax. The monstrous sax-machine “Tubax” made by the German engineer Benedikt Eppelsheim at the turn of the century. I sat down in the first row of benches. Breathing. Preparing. Contemplating. The saxophone positioned in the very middle of the church, close to the altar. More than 6 hours straight of low-end sax noise and many breaks later: the sun set. At around 7 am… I was done. I was alone the whole night. And yet, not all alone. Some things were going on in that church. In that room. I kid you not. Never audible. But strongly felt. Whatever presence of the old or new gods - old and new dreams - it effected the music and my mind. I let it happen. I let it all flow. Alone at night. There is nothing to explain. -Mats Gustafsson 2003/ 2021

Hot second drop of jazz fire led by saxophonist Julian Siegel, and underpinned by the deftly muscular rhythm section of Leon Brichard and Gene Calderazo, recorded live at Mu, Kingsland Road, Dalston. Another sureshot from London’s Ill Considered Music label, whose collective counts Idris Rahman and Leon Brichard among a broader rotating assembly of free improvisers, this one attests to their midsummer ’22 show with an upfront, live, room recording witnessing Brichard and Rahman, plus drummer Calderazo sweeping between rousing, swarming spiritual jazz impulses and a more self-contained 2nd half. Quick on the heels of their April performance at the same venue, the July show shuffles the line-up to feature Brichard on double bass, not electric, with Bruno Heinen joining on piano, and swapping out Rahman for Julien Siegel on tenor sax. The asymmetric twin engine of Calderazo/Brichard’s rhythm section are loosely attuned in roiling, diffractive syncopation to propel the darting quick/slow melodies of Siegel and Heinen’s flourishing keys in the lusher first part, before they come deeper inside the pocket on the proceeding part of pent hush and bluesy swag, prepping the way for Heinen’s keys to really take centre stage in a quietly rapturous and woozy finale.

Hot second drop of jazz fire led by saxophonist Julian Siegel, and underpinned by the deftly muscular rhythm section of Leon Brichard and Gene Calderazo, recorded live at Mu, Kingsland Road, Dalston. Another sureshot from London’s Ill Considered Music label, whose collective counts Idris Rahman and Leon Brichard among a broader rotating assembly of free improvisers, this one attests to their midsummer ’22 show with an upfront, live, room recording witnessing Brichard and Rahman, plus drummer Calderazo sweeping between rousing, swarming spiritual jazz impulses and a more self-contained 2nd half. Quick on the heels of their April performance at the same venue, the July show shuffles the line-up to feature Brichard on double bass, not electric, with Bruno Heinen joining on piano, and swapping out Rahman for Julien Siegel on tenor sax. The asymmetric twin engine of Calderazo/Brichard’s rhythm section are loosely attuned in roiling, diffractive syncopation to propel the darting quick/slow melodies of Siegel and Heinen’s flourishing keys in the lusher first part, before they come deeper inside the pocket on the proceeding part of pent hush and bluesy swag, prepping the way for Heinen’s keys to really take centre stage in a quietly rapturous and woozy finale.

Shirk is the new AOR flavored free improvisation solo album by Sam Shalabi featuring Eric Chenaux and Nadah El-Shazly where Synth Pop and Sound Poetry fester. Sam Shalabi is an Egyptian-Canadian composer, improviser and guitarist living between Montreal and Cairo. Starting out during the late 70s punk era, his work has evolved into an experimental synthesis of modern Arabic Music that incorporates free improvisation, traditional Arabic music, noise, classical, text, and jazz. Other than his numerous solo albums, he is a founding member of Shalabi Effect, a free improvisation quartet that bridges western psychedelic music and Arabic Maqam. He has also released four albums with Land Of Kush, the experimental 30-member orchestra which he directs. He has appeared on over 30 albums and toured Europe, North America and North Africa.

Bruno De Angelis and Giovanna Gulinello unwittingly met in London in the late 70’s, after being introduced by a mutual friend. Both Bruno and Giovanna arrived with varying ambitions. Giovanna wanted to learn English or be a painter, while Bruno found work at the Royal Post Office, which he found testing. It wasn’t until Bruno rescued Giovanna from an awkward date that the pair became a couple. At the time, music was just something they did for fun. Bruno already had an acoustic guitar and G bought a bass. Those were the days when you could start a new band, whether you could play or not, and new independent labels were springing up. Rough Trade Records was literally around the corner. In 1981 the pair moved back to Italy and found an apartment in Rome. It’s here that they began to focus on their music and where they started ‘recording’ their tracks. First, they would record the rhythm, maybe add the Gigster (the name of their “cheap drum machine”), the bass, and then, as they made a copy of the first cassette onto a second cassette they would add guitar, more synth, or both at the same time. After that, it was not unusual to copy from the second cassette back into the first cassette adding even more “stuff”. As with many artists during the early 80’s, the Influenza Prods’ sound was the direct result of the accessibility of emerging electronic instruments and the recording equipment available to them. The duo was resourceful and inventive, acquiring new equipment as resources allowed. They recorded dialogue from British Soap Operas on their TV set, which were later added to their tracks, while further making use of their family’s cutlery sets, which were used to fill in certain percussion sections The duo’s homespun recordings found a web of admirers in the unofficial distribution of tape trading and mail-art scenes. Despite the DIY ethos and the fact that most tapes were handmade, the Influenza Prods managed to ‘release’ three tapes which comprised of the Greatest Tits (1983), Cheek-A-Bomba (1984) and Quasi Solo (1985). Bruno and Giovanna were sadly subjected to serious family problems, including the loss of loved ones in their lives and eventually parted ways, concluding the Influenza Prods. However, to this day they remain close friends who keep in touch regularly.

Last album recorded by Colombian rock pioneers Los Speakers in 1968 after leaving behind its affinity with yéyé and go-go music. One of the most brilliantly whacked-out psych LPs to emerge from South America. Originally self-released on their own Producciones Kris label, this is an almost impossible to find cult record. First time reissue.

This is alga marghen’s third installment of Smegma’s original “Suburban Primitive Avant-folk music” Period (1973-1975) based in Pasadena, featuring three previously unreleased tracks from the deep vault of their home recordings. In the beginning, the Band Smegma had only one rule. No Musicians. Starting from scratch, they took the Road much less traveled. They were inspired by outsider musical artists of the time such as John Cage, Sun Ra, Captain Beefheart, Wild Man Fisher, Art Ensemble Of Chicago, etc. and they recorded every experiment with youthful enthusiasm. Mostly they only succeeded in tormenting their own friends and neighbors (except for the few who joined the band), but somehow they never chose imitation, but stumbles on a path that allowed Past (shamanistic) and Future (space) sounds to lead the way. The titled track gently pulls you in and carries you off with a way-out inner-mind group Jamming/not-Jamming trip, featuring Prepared Piano, Modular Synthesizer, Human Mouth sounds, Pan Pipes, Tabla and Electric Bass Guitar. “Rainy Day Mushroom Pillow” (definitely not the 1960s pop Hit) rips you straight into a high energy New Year's Eve Party Jam, in a romping free jazz style with stream of consciousness vocals and exuberant alto sax solos. Side B starts with Beatnik finger Popping and wild dogs barking from a record player, while breathless flute playing leads you down the rabbit hole of mysterious group vocalizing, including imitating the cry of the wild Tropical Parrots that lived in the palm trees in the front yard of the house in Pasadena that they had lived in. Always out of sync with their own time, 49 years later, these tracks still throb and pulsate Beautifully with their own inner logic.

Recorded in 1997 in Vienna as part of a workshop named "Greguar" which took place at the University of applied Arts in Vienna, and was produced by the Institute of contemporary Art Vienna. Official re-release!

Limited edition of 500.

Legendary Texan artist Terry Allen occupies a unique position straddling the frontiers of country music and visual art; he has worked with everyone from Guy Clark to David Byrne to Lucinda Williams, and his artwork resides in museums worldwide. Widely celebrated as a masterpiece—arguably the greatest concept album of all time—his spare, haunting 1975 debut LP Juarez is a violent, fractured tale of the chthonic American Southwest and borderlands. Produced in collaboration with the artist and meticulously remastered from the original analog tapes, this is the definitive edition of the art-country classic: the first reissue on vinyl; the first to feature the originally intended artwork (including the art prints that accompanied the first edition); and the first to contextualize the album within Allen’s fifty-year art practice.

NAFF013 ∞ the Pearl ∞ Sensational x Planteaterz The Pearl is a collaboration between Planteaterz and the mercurial NYC rap-mystic, Sensational. The EP features four songs recorded in the winter of 2021 with Sensational on the mic and eaterz on production, and is accompanied by instrumentals and killer remixes by Maara, J. Albert, and Lowjack. The Pearl is a sound, a world, and definitely a vibe. We’re pleased to share the fruits of this collaboration with you here.

All Genre artist & beatmaker in anonymity Droopy Eye debuts the full-length album Embruja. After nearly a decade of exchanging genre-fluid demos and audio email attachments with Leaving Records founderperson Matthewdavid, Embruja surfaces as the perfect anomaly with playfully aligned experimental sonic & philosophical influences that include Terence McKenna x Underground UK Dance Music Culture, and The LA Beat Scene.

Across two 7"s, 'Death Or Glory' (1982) and 'Death Rocks' (1983) and one 12", 'Anguish' (1982) Jimmy Smack carved his own bleak chasm amidst the Los Angeles death rock scene that he inhabited. After decades dormant in the crypt, Knekelhuis compiles Smack's full recorded output, providing it a lavish place to rest on the 'Death Is Certain' LP. The album comes with a printed inner sleeve featuring rarely seen archival photos, liner notes by Cooper Bowman and excerpts from an interview with Jimmy Smack by Juan Mendez (Silent Servant).

This is the second album released from HIFUMI Records in 2000.

Kinichi Motegi (Fishmans, dr) participated in this ambitious album, which was recorded simultaneously with live instruments under the theme of "brown, light blue, and green = sky, earth, and natural trees" to contain the body heat and even the atmosphere of the place with humans and instruments. The album is a unique work with a fairy-tale, nostalgic worldview and experimental musicality full of humor, and the covers of "Give me a good word" by the Fishmans and "Minna yume no naka" by Kounosuke Hamaguchi are also wonderfully expressive!
The analog mastering by ZAK, who recorded and mixed the album at the time of its production, is used for The jacket photo by Masafumi Sanai is also a mysterious one.

First ever reissue of those legendary recordings from 1961! Edition of 600 copies, double CD in 6-panel digipak in slipcase, with 12-page illustrated booklet and linernotes by Asger Jorn in french & english. "Musique Phénomenale" was recorded by Asger Jorn & Jean Dubuffet between December 1960 and March 1961 in Paris, and first published in 1961 as a box containing four 10" records in an edition of 50 copies (+ 6 copies H.C.) by Galleria del Cavallino, Venice. 61 years after it's original release this first ever reissue was produced in an edition of 600 copies by Daniel Löwenbrück / Edition Hans Pumpestok, København, in cooperation with Fondation Dubuffet, Paris.

76 minutes collection of recordings made at the Friedrichshof commune between 1982 and 1990. Performed by Otto Muehl and members of the commune. Includes actionist group-music, improvised conceptual pieces, and barpianist-songs. Artist co-founder of the Viennese Actionism (with Hermann Nitsch, Günter Brus and Rudolf Schwarzkogler), controversial founder of the sulphurous utopian community of Friedrichshof in 1972 (which will earn him seven years in prison in the 1990s), Otto Muehl (born 1925 in Grodnau, Austria, died 2013 in Moncarapacho, Olhão, Portugal) staged a series of "material actions" from 1963 to 1970, for film and photography, in which the body becomes part of the environment. Since then, he has developed his work as an enterprise of "surpassing pictorial painting by representing the process of its destruction", with the idea that the body is also an "object" to be shaped, the living body, as well as the social body, art and life being inseparable.

Back in the early ‘90s, whenever the pirate radio MC announced “a pause for the cause”, I usually pressed pause on my cassette recorder. That’s something I would regret years later, when ad breaks had become cherished mementos of the hardcore rave era. Luckily, back in the day I often left the tape running while I went off to do something else. So a fair number of ad breaks got captured accidentally for my later delectation. Not nearly enough, though. So in recent years I started combing through the immense number of pirate radio sets archived on the internet. Sometimes the tracklists would note “ad break” or “ads”, helping to narrow the search. But often I’d just stumble on a bunch in the middle of a pirate show preserved on YouTube or an oldskool blog. A few of my original unintended “saves” and latterday “finds” are included in this wonderful collection by audio archaeologist Luke Owen. It’s the latest in his series of compilations of UK pirate radio advertisements, with this volume focusing on the audio equivalent of the rave flyer: MCs breathlessly hyping a club night or upcoming rave, listing the lineup of deejays and MCs, boasting about hi-tech attractions like lasers and projections, mentioning prices and nearest landmarks to the venue, and occasionally promising “clean toilets” and “tight but polite security” (“sensible security” is another variation). Some of these ads are etched into my brain as lividly as the classic hardcore and jungle tunes of that time. (Most rave ads incorporate snippets of current music, of course – big anthems and obscure “mystery tracks” alike). Names of deejays ring out like mythological figures: who were Shaggy & Breeze, Kieran the Herbalist, Tinrib, Food Junkie? Putting on my serious hat for a moment, I think these ads are valuable deposits of sociocultural data, capturing the hustling energy of an underground micro-economy in which promoters, deejays and MCs competed for a larger slice of the dancing audience. But mostly, they are hard hits of pure nostalgic pleasure, amusing and thrilling through their blend of period charm, endearing amateurism, and contagiously manic excitement about rave music’s forward-surge into an unknown future. The best of these ads give me a memory-rush to rival the top tunes and MC routines of the era. — Simon Reynolds, author of Energy Flash: A Journey Through Rave Music and Dance Culture.