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A selection of artists -- ranging from big names to obscure and mysterious gems -- from the '60s and '70s, the golden years of modern Persian music. A trip to a time when western sounds mixed with traditional Iranian music to create a new, unique and magical sound, full of soul, personality and emotion. 13 mind-blowing tracks of pure, unaltered, Persian bliss. Includes notes on the artists. Featuring Mehrpouya, Bijan, The Rebels, The Golden Ring, Tak Khal Ha, The Littles, Zangoleah, Fereshteh, Shahram Shabpareh, Googoosh, Kourosh Yaghmaei, Betti, and Mahasti.
Here we have a very special reissue, a landmark in the history of Spanish pop music: "La chica de plexiglas" and "La vision," the first two singles by El Aviador Dro y sus Obreros Especializados (released in 1980 and 1981), together with two tracks rescued from a lost 1980 recording session that were never released as a single. The collection is presented exactly as it was originally compiled on a 1983 mini-LP. To this day, this remains the most advanced techno-punk ever made in Spain. Think a Spanish version of Kraftwerk meets Devo meets The Residents. Futuristic electronic music created back when computers were the size of an entire room. Out of print since 1985, we're delighted to bring this groundbreaking gem of early-'80s Spanish pop back into circulation in collaboration with Discos Banana. Tracklisting>> Side A 1. La Chica De Plexiglas 2.Vano Temporal 3. Gestalt Side B 1.La Vision 2. Hal 9000 3. Laser
Side A
1. 自分のことだけ考えよう (Remixed by Cornelius)
2. Flow (Remixed by YANN TOMITA ”A BRAND NEW CADILLAC AND ETERNAL LIFE MIX”)
First released in 1971, Le Monde Fabuleux des Yamasuki is a delirious cult album that sounds as mischievous and unclassifiable now as it did then. Conceived not as a band but as a studio-born fantasy, YAMASUKI created a pan-cultural pop opera that gleefully ignored genre boundaries and common sense. Produced by Jean Kluger and written with Daniel Vangarde, the album sits at a surreal crossroads of psychedelic pop, funk, samba and bubblegum melodies. Phonetic pseudo-Japanese chants, performed by a children’s choir, collide with ritualistic cries from a Japanese judo grandmaster, turning each track into a playful piece of sonic theatre. What began as a single quickly expanded into a fully realised concept, one whose influence has travelled far beyond novelty. Elements of Yamasuki have resurfaced through reinterpretations, samples and pop mutations across decades, from underground soul and hip hop to mainstream chart pop and television soundtracks. Revisited today, Le Monde Fabuleux des Yamasuki remains a reminder that pop can be strange, joyful and inventive without explanation. It is music that laughs at rules, dances around definitions and proves that imagination never dates.
Lady Wray makes her highly anticipated return with Cover Girl, her third album on Big Crown Records. The album opener “My Best Step” says it all, “my next step is my best step”, and indeed she is taking her artistry to a new high and making the best music of her life. The celebratory Cover Girl takes listeners on a free-spirited joyride glittered with ‘60s and '70s-inspired soul and disco, ‘90s hip-hop and R&B, and perhaps the most defining element, gospel. Following the healing journey that was 2022’s Piece of Me, Nicole has performed on The Late Show With Stephen Colbert, NPR’s Tiny Desk, and toured the world. After this period of growth, Lady Wray is now ready to let her hair down and embrace all of what life has to offer. Reunited with producer Leon Michels (Norah Jones / Clairo / El Michels Affair) for the record, the outcome is effortless and undeniable, a reflection of their longtime collaboration that extends over a decade.
“I've gravitated more towards love and self-care with this album. Piece of Me was realizing that I was going to be a mother, and all those feelings were on my heart,” Lady Wray says. “Now I'm able to sit back and be a real boss. I got my career, my motherhood, and my marriage by the horns. I've grown into this more self-aware and beautiful flower for Cover Girl.” With an almighty voice, soul-stirring lyrics, and a magnetic personality, the singer-songwriter reflects her appreciation for her family, her faith, and her renewed love for herself—all of which drive her new record.
Lead single “You’re Gonna Win” is a report to the dance floor, feel good banger. Cole lets loose while naming and claiming her power “I do not care who came before me, after me there will be none” as she likens her company to winning the lottery. The Fabulous Rainbow Singers choir joins on the chorus taking the whole affair to church and putting it next to the finest gospel-disco records ever pressed. “Be a Witness” is a funky, mid-tempo powerhouse that would make Prince proud. Nicole finds the perfect groove over punchy drum machines and infectious synthesizers, singing about a love destined to happen, and spreading the good vibes to everyone in earshot. Cover Girl’s title track is one of the album’s most vulnerable moments. Lady Wray delivers a show-stopping performance over the stripped down track as she details her journey to finding herself again: “I lost myself trying to please someone else / I want to be me again.” The title stems from a childhood nickname she earned for her consistently manicured style. Lady Wray explains. “As I grew up and got into the music business, I lost that happy part of me. I see that happiness in my daughter, who’s just beautiful, talented, and smart. ‘Cover Girl’ is me going back to that little girl. It’s about getting back to loving yourself and healing.” Similarly on “Where Could I Be,” she reclaims the happiness and sense of identity that she lost focus of through life’s struggles. Nicole gushes about her love and respect for her marriage on “Best For Us” & “Hard Times”, both acknowledging the imperfection and referencing the strength and resilience of true love. She sings to her daughter on “Higher,” teaching her how to love and be loved, encouraging her to be confident and persistent.
Lady Wray was born to sing, sharing her soul and her life with us through her music. She has amassed a diehard worldwide fanbase with her relatable messages and incomparable voice. Whether singing of her struggles or strengths, there’s a comfort that comes from the way she makes us know we are not alone in any of it. Nicole Wray is inspiring and uplifting. Having been through a lot, she’s taken all of it and made herself a better person and a better artist.
“You need to rule your own world. Don't let anybody get in your way. You rock with your dreams until the wheels fall off,” Lady Wray says. “That's what I've been doing with my career since 1998. I know who I am and what I bring to the table. It's been a heck of a journey, and I feel so happy to be making the best music of my life.”
Even after years of living in the same area, there can be mind-bending moments of revelation about its layout. An attempt to avoid traffic, or a time-killing meander on a weekend morning gives way to a mix of novelty and confusion as a new pocket of the district materializes like a dream about hidden rooms in a childhood home. Suddenly a recognizable cross street appears, and for a few seconds it’s hard to reconcile with all the new ground that was just covered. Just around the corner the old landmarks take shape, and logic returns. Despite spending the last several minutes in a seemingly unfamiliar place, perhaps you barely left your own neighborhood, if at all.
This kind of pathfinding lies behind the name Way Through, a collaborative album between Toronto musicians Chris Cummings, Joseph Shabason, and Thom Gill under the moniker Cici Arthur. Seeking to create large-scale setpieces to showcase Cummings’ vocals and writing, producer-instrumentalists Shabason and Gill have parked their brand of smartly subverted adult contemporary aesthetics near the mid-century slink of Antonio Carlos Jobim, or the romantic opulence of Frank Sinatra. Way Through takes the communal spirit of Shabason’s previous ventures to panoramic heights, featuring everyone from drummer Phil Melanson (Sam Gendel, Sam Amidon, Andy Shauff) and frequent collaborator Nicholas Krgovich, to famed arranger and violinist Owen Pallet who helms an honest-to-God thirty-piece orchestra for the affair. Perhaps most importantly, vocalist Dorothea Pass winds glassy harmonies through all the moving parts, emulsifying the core trio’s take on a heyday Capitol Records session. The result is akin to so much music in Joseph Shabason’s orbit in that it spins around a centerpoint of humanness and vulnerability, placing even its most colossal elements comfortingly within arm’s reach.
The seeds of the album were sowed in 2020 when Chris Cummings lost his job of twenty years amid the COVID shockwaves. In his early fifties with his Plan A having lapsed, Chris found himself diving into full-time music creation for the first time in his life. The leap of faith inspired his collaborators, galvanizing them to thoughtfully tailor arrangements just for him. “I wanted to make a really big sounding record for Chris, to really figure out a way to call in favors and make this album as grand as I possibly could,” Shabason recalls of Way Through’s Creed Taylor ethos. “I really wanted Chris to sing to fully mixed songs so that it was in the spirit of playing with a full band with all the energy of hearing an orchestra swell behind him with horns blaring,” he continues, “and I think this is the grandest approach to making a record that I have ever embarked on.”
The resulting outsize backdrop sits in poetic contrast to Cummings’ comparatively discreet delivery and intimate lyricism. Steering the Shabason-Gill cruise liner with delicate intonation and quiet introspection, Cummings paints a picture of city lights gleaming in rain puddles, mapping subtle emotional territories within the urban gloom while resigning in a kind of joyous ennui. “If I could be all that once looked so great and grand, I would have died for an occasion to rise to,” he sings through the horn section of ‘Cartwheels for Coins’, “but it’s a gray sky, nothing to say, mixed emotions always get in the way”. Lines like these epitomize Way Through; when the bandstand empties out and the singer finds himself alone on a darkened soundstage, the emotional complexities of life still lie waiting to be confronted. Cummings lends a literary counterweight to Shabason and Gill’s sonic splendor, and in doing so spotlights the inherent tension between pragmatism and ambition. As a film major who was raised by community theater actors before taking up music as his main creative outlet, it’s evident that Cummings has grappled with this polarity in his own life (not to mention the perfect sense this makes out of Way Through’s filmic overtones).
Punctuating the cinematic heft, the decidedly uptempo midpoint ‘Damaged Goods’ bounces and strolls around Dorothea Pass’s doo-wop harmonies giving affirmation to anyone coming out of a troubled relationship, while the successive piece ‘Prior Times’ addresses those very relationships head-on. “Honestly, I was-- and am still-- very affected by romantic relationships I had before I met my wife,” Chris admits, explaining that the track “tells about a time when I was caught in an unhappy situation, looking back on happier times, and being hit with the painful realization that time doesn't go backwards.” With its understated Samba lilt, the song lands Cici Arthur closest to their aforementioned Jobim/Gilberto target and serves as the stylistic centerpiece. The pensive and movielike ‘No Fight Or Flight (So Much Tenderness)’ brings the album to its finale over one of Owen Pallet’s verdant string arrangements, marking one of the fullest realizations of Joseph Shabason and Thom Gill’s production aspirations-- and likely reaching far beyond what Cummings ever imagined when his life completely changed a few long years ago.
Back in 2020, newly careerless and grasping at an uncertain future in a world of uncertain futures, Chris found himself taking exploratory bike trips through nearby suburban areas he’d never been to before. His attempts to avoid the bustle of major roads would lead either to dead ends or completely new ways of seeing the geography of a city he’d lived in for decades, mirroring the joy and heartbreak of life’s circuitous path. “What good are dead ends when I’m looking through a way through,” he repeats on the album’s title track over the crest of a weary and sweet brass section. “When the miracle you’d hoped for never comes it’s hard to take, but it’s your fault for hoping.” For all of Way Through’s orchestral technicolor wonder, Cummings delivers refreshingly honest doses of realism about how dreams unfold across a lifetime.<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/86pMq1IpjAc?si=4ewpJcmKv3MgzHNL" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" referrerpolicy="strict-origin-when-cross-origin" allowfullscreen></iframe>
Following his critically acclaimed collections Electronic Music from the Seventies and Eighties and Electronic Music from the Eighties and Nineties, Carl Stone pairs Baroo (March 2019) with a double-LP album of recent works, including the final section of "Fujiken", his epic journey through southeast Asian field recordings and street cassette culture. On all six tracks, composed between 2013 and 2019, Stone’s pan-global playground of looping synths and Asian pop culture remains as fertile as ever, digitally shattered into unimagined patterns and gestures, either through the MAX programming language or (in the case of "Kikanbou") by generating live loops within an Elektron Octatrack sampler. The title track is the first recorded release from Stone’s ongoing collaboration with the Japanese vocalist Akaihirume. Elsewhere new influences come from rock (the slow drum break of "Bia Bia"), disco (the Nile Rodgers-esque guitar riff "Kikanbou") and hip hop (the frenetic percussion loop of "Han Yan"). Their diversity only adds to Stone’s borderless musical vision, a world where rhythm becomes atmosphere, song becomes beat, and pop becomes art.
Perhaps the most interesting PAN in a minute; ‘Lila’ is the label debut from Paris-based Algerian Mohamed Bourouissa, best known as a visual artist but now offering a glimpse into his musical practice for the first time, blending highly unusual ambient pulses with autotuned, low-lit vocals, recorded on the fly using a keyboard, mixer, microphone and effects. It runs like some lost 1980’s private press, tipped FFO early Yves Tumor, Yungwebster, Space Afrika, AYYA, Future, Kareem Lotfy. Bourouissa’s first solo album finds the 48 year old artist capturing the permeable membrane between Paris' various communities through a dream diary of hazed ambient reflections, cloud rap inversions and bass-heavy club malfunctions. It follows his work over decades incorporating music as a phantom thread of his practice in photography, sculpture, and video, and perfectly conveys a sense of longing and melancholy central to Arabic classical and pop songs mediated via an electronic hypermodernism . The album is an intimate, sometimes unsettling experience, aptly described as “hypnagogic” by PAN, as heard in its tendency to dreamlike slowness and the layered haze of FX and xenharmonic chords that shroud and wreath his melismatic woes. The dozen tracks play out through autotuned vocal plumes familiar from work by Ayshay, Rainy Miller or Future, crossed with the type of deep blooz oozing from that superb Taymour x Bareetlblad turn on the diy label earlier this year. Each track taps a different pole into the album's landscape, one beatless, and one filled with machinegun toms and explosive snares. The beatless tracks are peculiarly stirring and the heavier, noisier moments somehow vanish into the same aether. Bourouissa peppers the album with wild twists and turns, hitting a dark alley on the anxiety-inducing 'NMB' and descending corrugated steps to a members-only basement on 'MN'. The relief comes with the title track, a collaboration with Fanigliulo (aka Mushy) that's a tender, hopeful moment - a clouded love song that injects some hope into the darkness.
Tirez Tirez’s Story of the Year documents a key transitional period as bandleader Mikel Rouse moved from Kansas City’s underground scene to downtown New York. Formed in the mid-1970s, Tirez Tirez blended new wave, minimalism and experimental pop, earning early attention while opening for Talking Heads and gaining support from figures including David Byrne.Originally released on Les Disques du Crépuscule, Story of the Year combines earlier Tirez Tirez material with later sessions recorded in New York and Brussels. The album captures Rouse’s early system-based approach, using layered rhythms and phased repetition that would later inform his development of totalism. Positioned between post-punk and contemporary composition, it catches a band in transition and an artist on the verge of a new direction.
細野晴臣率いるティン・パン・アレーが、1976年5月8日、横浜・中華街の老舗中華菜館「同發新館」で行った伝説的なライブ。その夜の空気を克明に記録した音源が、半世紀の時を経て“ステレオ・ミックス”として蘇る。
今回のリリースでは、新たに発見されたステレオマスターをもとに、エンジニアの保土田剛による新たなミックス／マスタリングを実施。当時の会場の空気感、臨場感を感じる素晴らしいMIXを是非アナログでお楽しみください。50年という時間を超えてなお輝き続ける一夜のライブ音源が遂にLP化！
[Credits]
細野晴臣 Vocal, Marimba, Hand Clap
鈴木茂 E.Guitar, Banjo
林立夫 Drums
浜口茂外也 Percussions, Flute, Hand Clap
矢野顕子 Piano, Chorus
坂本龍一 E.Piano, Synthesizer
田中章弘 E.Bass, Hand Clap
羽鳥幸次 Trumpet, Hand Clap
新井英治 Trombone, Hand Clap
村岡健 Sax, Hand Clap
Mix, Mastering : Goh Hotoda
Cutting Engineer : Shinya Matsushita (PICCOLO AUDIO WORKS)
Art Direction & Design : Takashi Okada
Illustration : Takashi Okada, Yasuo Yagi
Photographs : Masashi Kuwamoto
Liner Notes : Yoshiro Nagato
【収録内容】
SIDE-A
1. つめたく冷して
(Words & Music : Otis Blackwell, Elvis Presley Japanese Words : Morio Agata)
2. 香港Blues
(Words & Music : Hoagy Carmichael)
3. 絹街道
(Words & Music : Haruomi Hosono)
4. チャタヌガ・チュー・チュー
(Words : Mack Gordon Music : Harry Warren Japanese Words : Haruomi Hosono)
5. ボレロ（メンバー紹介）
(Music : Maurice Ravel)
6. ハリケーン・ドロシー
(Words & Music : Haruomi Hosono)
7. ブラック・ピーナッツ
(Words & Music : Haruomi Hosono)
8. トーク・トゥ・ミー
(Words & Music : Irving Fields, Sunny Skylar)
SIDE-B
1. 北京Duck
(Words & Music : Haruomi Hosono)
2. 蝶々-San
(Words & Music : Haruomi Hosono)
3. アヤのバラード
(Music : Haruomi Hosono)
4. 熱帯夜
(Words & Music : Haruomi Hosono)
5. ファイアークラッカー
(Music : Martin Denny)
6. “サヨナラ” ザ・ジャパニーズ・フェアウェル・ソング
(Words : Freddy Morgan Music : Hasegawa Yoshida)
Two rare recordings from the archives of legendary producer Richard Hewson. Rising Star (Cosmix) began life in 1984 as a vocal single performed by Debbie Sharp. Hewson reworked the original track into a percussive cosmic disco interpretation, aptly titled the “Cosmix”, experimenting with his newly acquired Bel Delay effects unit, which became central to his studio explorations at the time. Deep Song dates back even further, to the late-70s Richard Hewson Orchestra period - the creative blueprint that would later evolve into Hewson’s cult studio project, The RAH Band. Written, produced and assembled by Hewson in his home studio before additional strings and vocals were layered in, the track was inspired by his deep admiration for Miles Davis, particularly the landmark album Kind of Blue. Deep Song was originally released as a B-side under a mysterious alias in 1979.
As Brian Eno told us last week, “Leenalchi has changed the way I think about music, dancing and Korea. I have never heard anything quite like this.” There’s so much to say to you about this amazing band—but what will get you to listen? Is it that they play addictive psych pop? Or that they sound like animals talking to each other over tripped out bass lines? They have a new single out today called HERE COMES THAT CROW, which, like all of Leenalchi’s songs, is a chopped and screwed version of a pansori tale (a traditional form of storytelling from the 17th century). Based on a story about the warlord Cao Cao, the song is an allegory about life’s precariousness. The band wrote a poem to explain: Doyung doyung goes the small boat floating down the river. Whether the chased or the chaser, no one can stop—just beneath the boards lies the underworld!
A two‑disc compilation bringing together Afro‑Latin music that developed in Conakry, the capital of the Republic of Guinea, during the 1960s and 1970s.
Julia Holter always knew there were multiple forms her song “Materia” could take. The tune’s dynamic, Hildegard von Bingen-inspired melody and dense modal chords stood on their own without a complex arrangement on her wondrous 2024 album Something in the Room She Moves, but she felt a lingering desire to expand the texture and stretch out the harmony. Though she could hear the potential orchestration in her head, Something was already abundant with layers of sound by the time she finished it. She stuck with the original form of “Materia,” then, her cresting voice and blue Wurlitzer hosting games of harmonic hide-and-seek above subtle electronics. But on the new Materia, a kind of companion LP or sequel to Something, Holter has realized not one but two distinct versions of the song. “Materia 2” is a hallucinatory dream of drum machine, fretless bass, and clarinet, Holter’s voice spiraling through the ether alongside that of Jessika Kenney. She reconsiders the lyrics, too, novel fragments of surrealistic images reinforcing the original’s link between spirit and body, between love and blood. And on “Materia 3,” Holter literally slows down the take from Something. (It’s intended to be experienced as a “bonus track” in an homage to the CD era of her youth.) The change not only emphasizes the unpredictable glory of the harmonies within but also reiterates the song’s emotional sophistication, the sense that it’s about learning how to live. Materia is only seven tracks long, but Holter works in nearly that many modes here. There is the slowed “Materia” and the version reimagined for two voices, of course, but there are also two tracks that spooled out of the DAW project files and full band she built for Something. There are two astounding improvisations: one where she manipulates her voice so that each word seems to contain a symphony and another that is one of Materia’s most spellbinding and emotional pieces, “My Twin,” from which Holter lifted a riff to build the song “Fantasy.” These seven songs show that Holter is among her generation’s most open writers of art-pop, moving among ideas and idioms with exploratory aplomb. Materia is a kind of playground for Holter, where each distinct scene steadily coheres into a moving whole.
Japanese Edition with Obi. The album is one of the most influential albums of the post-rock, electronica, and “acoustic school” that followed.
Tirez Tirez’s Story of the Year documents a key transitional period as bandleader Mikel Rouse moved from Kansas City’s underground scene to downtown New York. Formed in the mid-1970s, Tirez Tirez blended new wave, minimalism and experimental pop, earning early attention while opening for Talking Heads and gaining support from figures including David Byrne.Originally released on Les Disques du Crépuscule, Story of the Year combines earlier Tirez Tirez material with later sessions recorded in New York and Brussels. The album captures Rouse’s early system-based approach, using layered rhythms and phased repetition that would later inform his development of totalism. Positioned between post-punk and contemporary composition, it catches a band in transition and an artist on the verge of a new direction.
From his early releases as Lusine onward, Jeff McIlwain’s electronic explorations make up one of the more diverse discographies of the past decade and a half. Effortlessly blurring the lines between techno, electro-pop and experimental composition, the Texas-raised/Seattle-based producer’s arrangements are meticulously constructed, but also filled with emotion and soul. With an introspective turn that’s hinted at in the record title, Lusine’s fourth album for Ghostly sees McIlwain diffusing the pop-leanings of 2013’s The Waiting Room with opaque, brush-stroked melodies washing over these new buoyant productions. “I suppose the concept behind Sensorimotor pulls from a special kind of double meaning of the word,” McIlwain reveals. “The literal, to me, is the integration of your senses with actions, like with birds and how they move so fluidly in flocks. It’s just fascinating how their brains are able to comprehend such quick actions collectively at once.” “The symbolic is a bit harder to put into words,” he adds. “I guess it’s just the concept of figuring out how much control you have over your artistic output—what types of restrictions you should place on it versus how much of it just involves instinct and intuitiveness.” Indeed, Sensorimotor is a visceral album, with gorgeous opener “Canopy” slowly building into an empyrean cloud of music box chimes and an amorphous thrum. The following “Ticking Hands” is just as beguiling yet also more formed, with the processed melancholy vocals of McIlwain and his wife Sarah filtered into a chilling lament that unfolds over the song’s light skitters and Kraftwerkian pulse. “Sarah and I wrote this song (“Ticking Hands”) as a kind of catharsis for the time we spend apart when I’m touring,” McIlwain explains. “It’s about the idea of being somewhere and wishing your other half was there to experience those moments.” Sensorimotor finds other past Lusine collaborators returning as well, with longtime friend Benoît Pioulard’s narcotic croon looped into a swirling arpeggio during “Witness.” Vilja Larjosto also makes two appearances, with her sun-kissed vocal melodies spliced and splayed across the steady pulsing bass and fluorescent synth pads of “Just a Cloud,” and later on “Won’t Forget,” delivering a breathy processed melody atop a jaunty shuffle of cut-up woodwind instruments and keys. Working with an arsenal that includes an MPC1000, a borrowed Prophet 5, hand percussion, glockenspiel, as well as field recordings and samples of live instruments, McIlwain’s productions often merge the digital world with the real world. Yet from the fluttering Terry Riley-esque samples of woodwinds in “Chatter” to the epic, widescreen synths of “The Lift,” Sensorimotor is surprisingly cohesive throughout. Its ebb and flow forms a musical narrative that’s as much a Lusine album as it is a soundtrack for the listener’s own imagination.
If – in some parallel universe (or perhaps a not-so-distant-future version of the one we’re already sentenced to living in) – the evil overloads of artificial intelligence were actually successful in their attempts to create convincingly enjoyable “original music,” more specifically tasked with wholly encapsulating my own personal tastes by data-chugging some cocktail of – oh, I don’t know – the posters on my wall, the records in my “most listened to” pile, the mixtapes I made for others, intensive physical scans of my auditory cortex, amygdala, hippocampus, heart strings, whatever else they have splayed out on their autopsy table with the intention of generating one all-encompassing “perfect band” based on the fruitful sum of their findings – that band, for me, would be (or would at least sound exactly like) the Tara Clerkin Trio. It is, quite simply, without exception, the music I wish to hear. Formed in Bristol UK (where none of them are from yet all of whom are deeply engrained) in 2020, the Tara Clerkin Trio – as it somewhat democratically exists today, despite the singular authority implied by its name – consists of the titular Tara Clerkin, her partner Sunny Joe Paradisos, and Sunny’s brother, Patrick Benjamin. I’ll confess, I don’t know what their respective roles are within the operation and there’s only a very small part of me that cares to learn, as one of my favorite qualities in an objective listening experience is the mystery of who is playing what, which sounds are “authentic” versus synthesized, which chunks are performed “live” in a room together versus meticulously Frankenstein’ed from measure to measure, or how exactly the overall sound is so (seemingly) effortlessly achieved. Though, I suspect, if and when I do witness a live performance by this band at any point, my enjoyment of the music will not be lost in my better understanding of it. With two extraordinary mini-albums – In Spring (2021) and On The Turning Ground (2023) – making a splash on London’s formidable World of Echo label in wake of their self-titled 2020 debut on Laura Lies In, this upcoming Somewhere Good LP is, in many ways, the band’s most realised work. In running their usual gauntlet of idiosyncratic (*an overused adjective for which here there is regrettably no sufficient alternative) approaches, Clerkin & co. color in and outside of compositional lines over the course of 40+ celebratory minutes - never wallowing, despite inherently somber subject matters of self-defeat, disease, displacement, restlessness, gentrification - allowing their arrangements and improvisations ample space and time to situate, stretch out, breathe, cross-pollinate, and ultimately take deeper hold on the listener’s imagination – all while somehow sounding more like themselves than ever before. Of course, there are traceable influences herein, if one felt that such comparisons were necessary to properly examine and enjoy this music (they aren’t)… Being the big dumb American from the small boring town that I am, cornfed on ‘90s alternative radio with the enchantingly exotic sounds of Maxinquaye and Mezzanine emanating from my chunky tube television, I can’t help but to make a blatantly obvious reference to a “Bristol sound”, ie the whole trip-hop trip, the pastoral crooning over the suggestive urban grime of cracked electro/piano treatments, the digitally-yet-primitively reconstructed James Bond soundtrack string-beats, etc.. But the Tara Clerkin Trio is so infinitely much more than that. There are elements of avant-pop, modern classical, kraut-folk, audio verité, dare I say indie rock (and not of the beer guzzling, masturbatory fuzz-flex variety but perhaps more like a Trish Keenan-fronted Faust, Adrian Sherwood at the mixing desk of If You’re Feeling Sinister, or – in expanding on our alternate reality – a world in which High Llamas cut a full-length for Warp Records with Andrew Weatherall on coffee duty). The hazy, unmappable skyline-mirage of droning harmonium, upright bass, peculiarly accentuated wind instruments, acoustic guitar, hushed yet literally mighty keys combine to hypnotizing effect. The band may make underlying nods to jazz, sure, but it’s not appropriation, it’s that they have the actual chops to build it out. Beneath the janky samples and oddball percussive embellishment lies actually great drumming. Beyond the manipulated vocal witchery and woefully reflective plain-spoke moments are Tara’s subtly inspired melodies, sung with what might honestly be the glue to the whole crazy equation. A calming consistency throughout the otherwise unpredictably dynamic, boldly intuitive, uniquely British exploration of this (their own) universe in song. – Ryan Davis (Chicago, February 2026)
Hazy Eyes Maybe is the debut album by Grimm Grimm, the musical project of singer‑songwriter and composer Koichi Yamanoha, who works between Tokyo and London and has been active since around 2014. He has performed at alternative music festivals around the world, including Le Guess Who? and All Tomorrow’s Parties, and has also expanded his activities into film and video‑game fields through collaborations with game creator Hideo Kojima, contributing music and making a cameo appearance in Death Stranding 2.
Regarded as one of the finest releases to emerge from Chicago’s legendary Cadet label, Marlena Shaw’s The Spice of Life stands as her definitive masterpiece. Released in 1969, the album showcases Shaw’s remarkable expressive range, elevated by the meticulous arrangements of Richard Evans and Charles Stepney. Together, they crafted a soul‑jazz landmark where lush orchestration, sharp rhythmic sensibility, and Shaw’s commanding vocal presence come together with striking clarity.
Martin Rev’s fifth solo album – Strangeworld – was released on the cusp of the new millennium. The label responsible was Puu, a Finnish imprint belonging to Tommi Grönlund and Mika Vainio’s Sähkö Recordings which came to fame in the 1990s on the strength of its uncompromising minimalist sound.
Four years earlier, in 1996, Rev had unleashed See Me Ridin, an album which surprised its listeners with keyboard melody sketches and distilled doo-wop compositions. It was also the first solo album to feature Martin Rev on vocals.
Strangeworld started where its predecessor left off. Melodic passages dissolved into a thicket of fragments and set pieces, coalescing in a celestial shimmer between rhythm loops and Rev’s voice, which assumed the role of an additional instrument rather than a standard singing part.