MUSIC
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Reissue of the third album from Brazilian combo. Creatively visionary and groundbreaking on numerous terms, 1975 'O Africanto dos Tincoãs' (as the previous Os Tincoas album) revolutionized Brazilian music by harmonizing Afro-religious singing, heavenly vocal harmonies, and Percussive rhythms derived from Candomblé traditions.
Even though it was recorded during a time of political repression, the album remains gentle, rhythmic, and eflecting Afro-Brazilian syncretism and resonating with themes of suffering, exile, and hope.
Bill Fay's 1970 debut album ‘Bill Fay’ exists within the folk-rock and baroque pop traditions, yet casts a distinctly different shadow. Backed by Mike Gibbs' arrangements featuring rich strings and brass, it occasionally evokes the opulent orchestral pop of The Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and beyond. Yet beneath that splendor lies a poetic sensibility that contemplates societal unease and the transience of human existence, creating a constant tension between light and shadow. Though it received little commercial attention at the time, revisiting it reveals a sound that resonates with Nick Drake and the Scudder Scene, yet possesses a darker, more solitary quality. This is an album woven in the sunless corners of its era, where Bill Fay's quiet prayers and shadows intertwine.
Illuminated with breathtaking vocals and uncanny poetics, ‘Goodness’ is an open, impressionistic assemblage of drone, ambient, experimental electronics, improvisational music and minimalist dance music.
Across protean forms and voices, feeo explores an ever-evolving counterpoint between connection and isolation, the city and the natural world, the external and the internal. Contrasting beauty with volatility, communion with disintegration, feeo creates an album of absorbing tension between distinct contrasts.
With eleven interconnected pieces of music, each engaged in symbiotic dialogue, ‘Goodness’ represents a sinuous yet uniform work. Each track is like a link in a chain, with each piece revealing its lustre when held up to the light.
feeo describes the album as “an exploration of simultaneous yet opposing states of being; darkness and lightness, obscurity and visibility and most fundamentally, solitude and togetherness. Each song is an adumbration; a partial sketch of one aspect of the LP - each finding its complete meaning when read in the context of the whole.”
Mirroring the push and pull of perception and contemporary experience, ‘Goodness’ oscillates between disparate moods and intensities, reflecting moments of interiority, intimacy, seclusion, collective experience and exterior turbulence.
‘Goodness’ marks an evolution in feeo’s artistic practice, both as her first full-length release, and as a product of wider collaboration after several years working independently. Welcoming close collaborators and select affiliates into the fold, the process of making ‘Goodness’ was very much like the record itself; a deeply personal, special convergence of expression and artistry.
Aloha Got Soul presents Mix Plate, a compilation of new music from emerging artists who call Hawai‘i home. This is the 2025 edition in the Mix Plate series.
Inspired by a 1970s compilation series that featured emerging talent from the Hawaiian Islands, Aloha Got Soul’s Mix Plate provides a snapshot of what Hawaii sounds like today. This is the second installment in the ongoing series.
Lucrecia Dalt’s A Danger to Ourselves is a fearless reflection on the unfiltered complexities of human connection. Following up her breakthrough 2022 album ¡Ay!, A Danger to Ourselves unravels like a deeply personal conversation; Dalt’s voice is foregrounded and formidable, supported by a lush array of acoustic orchestration and processing, collaged percussive patterns, and an esteemed cast of collaborators including David Sylvian, who co-produced the album with Dalt, Juana Molina, Alex Lazaro, and Camille Mandoki.
Bedroom pop duo Babeheaven return after a short hiatus with a vulnerable "post rave" sound that's like Air split with Frank Ocean.
'Slower Than Sound' is billed as music that you might listen to on the bus back home after a night out and we can see it. Nancy Andersen's voice is just as lulling as it was on Babeheaven's debut album 'Home For Now' and Jamie Travis's instrumentation is warmer and more restrained this time around, a throb of exotica-ish Mellotrons, fingerpicked arpeggios and clunky drum machine loops. It's a creative rebirth for the duo, who sound as if they've checked in again after a few years of heartbreak and burnout. And when they allow themselves to really strip things down, like on the introspective 'Loud Thoughts', a track that features a star turn from Samba Jean-Baptiste, things get really interesting.
"Kurayami" the newest single from Mei Semones features some of the mathiest riffs and one of the most bombastic musical climaxes of her career thus far. An exhilarating track to cap off a star-making year for Mei. Mei on the new songs: "Kurayami" means "darkness" in Japanese, and this song is about growing up in Michigan and reminiscing on what it was like hanging out with my friends. Being a kid was really fun and I was happy, but I remember there was a point where we started to lose our innocence and I think this song is about that feeling. It's one of the more technically difficult songs I've written, and it took some practice to get to the point where I could sing and play it at the same time. There's lots of fun tempo changes, odd meters, wide interval arpeggios, and fast licks, and I think the band arrangement is really creative too. Get used to it: "Get used to it" is about the beauty in solitude and being alone, how to move on from something that was important in your life but still leave space for it, and my love for the guitar and music. It's the second song I wrote on my nylon string, and the changes and melody are somewhat inspired by Thelonious Monk. The instrumentation is more minimal than our other songs -- just me (guitar & vox), upright bass, and drums. We were going for a live jazz trio sound, so there's not really any layers or anything. It's just a straightforward recording of the 3 of us playing the tune, and I think that was the best way to capture the feeling behind the song.
Rian Treanor presents 10 x 10 = Great Hits, a collaborative album born from his Electronic Music Club — a free after-school project in Rotherham where young people learn to make music alongside leading experimental artists.
Over two years, guests including RP Boo, YPY, Beatrice Dillon, Elvin Brandhi, Bianca Scout, Will Guthrie, Cara Tolmie, Modern Institute, DJ Sprinkles, Gavsborg and Lord Spike Heart joined sessions that encouraged play, invention and curiosity. The resulting album was co-produced by Treanor with Brandhi, Modern Institute, Bianca Scout and RP Boo, with workshops coordinated by Isabella Carreras and artwork by NaOH.
Operated as a non-profit, all proceeds from the project fund trips and activities for the participants.
Tokyo’s Studio Mule reissue a pair of city pop fancies sought-after since their original 1989 release, evoking to our ears Tomo Akikawabaya via Lewis.
“A long-awaited reissue of an ultra-rare 7-inch single, originally released as a promo-only item from handsome boy, the 1990 masterpiece by Inoue Yosui—widely regarded as one of the greatest singer-songwriters in Japanese music history.
“Pi Po Pa,” arranged by Haruomi Hosono and used in a tv commercial at the time, was featured on Heisei No Oto, a compilation released by Music From Memory. The album’s standout track, “Shonen Jidai,” remains one of Japan’s most iconic and beloved songs.
Also included on this 7-inch is “Yume Migokochi,” a pinnacle of Japanese balearic sound, arranged by Yuji Kawashima—keyboardist of EP-4, a Kyoto-based band essential to the history of Japanese new wave.
Exclusive to this release is “Kurenai Suberi,” an overlooked gem that might best be described as Inoue’s take on cold-funk.”
Today, Big Dada welcomes beloved producer and singer-songwriter Helado Negro (Roberto Carlos Lange) to the pioneering label’s storied roster. Known for crafting compassionate, atmospheric and experimental pop music, Lange ushers in a new chapter with the announcement of his new EP ‘The Last Sound On Earth’, set for release on November 7th.
Initially inspired by the question – what will the last sound I hear before I die will be? – the EP unfolds as a collection of songs embedded with ominous, often frenetic energy. This unease is amplified by Lange’s heavy use of electronics, echo and distortion, which lend a dazed, shell-shocked quality to his words – emphasising the intense feelings of dread and uncertainty that underscore his deep contemplation of a planet in crisis.
“When I wake up in the morning, I can listen to my ears tuning-in to the world around me. It feels like a blanket being pulled off my eardrums,” explains Lange. “I was watching Michael Snow’s - Wavelength (in increments 😅) while working on these songs and the room for interpretation of what I saw and heard felt large. Every time I watched it carved a new emotion out of me. Despair, hope and inspiration. I wanted to ask more of listeners, to want to take time — not just pause, but ask yourself can you untangle all of the mess and try again”
The EP’s lead-single and opening track “More” captures the soul-crushing pressure and isolation we can feel in a hyperconnected world, where despite being so well connected, we can all feel more alone than ever. “It’s about the day-to-day push and pull that can lead to being overwhelmed with more of everything,” says Lange.
The single is accompanied by a lyric video from renowned animator and filmmaker Annapurna Kumar, who is known for her blending of hand-drawn animation, stop-motion, CGI and 16mm filmmaking techniques, and has previously worked with the likes of Bon Iver and Beach House. She explains that: “The central metaphor of this video, the origami heart, represents a person processing their emotions. By focusing on a simple physical task like folding, the inner mind is freed to meditate subconsciously. I wanted to depict the mindset of someone who is a little bit overwhelmed by fleeting thoughts, but working to channel them into something positive.”
Elsewhere on ‘The Last Sound On Earth’, Lange examines systemic power structures, as on “Sender Receiver”, which contemplates the inherent violence and imbalance built into our technical terminology. or “Protector” – built around a classic jungle break – where he offers a cynical reflection on the broken notion that those in power are truly acting in our best interests and protection.
Despite the often heavy themes, the music itself finds Lange in uptempo territory, and closing tracks “Zenith” (the other side of nadir, the balance of the something and nothing) and "Don't Give It Up Now" (a song about holding on and fighting for change) attempt to transform Lange’s feelings into something positive and forward-looking. Though, as Lange puts it: “The doom is real, and the gloom is unfortunate; I'm not sure how to make this any lighter,” he has found relief through music and movement. “How can I dance to this grief?” he wonders. “It almost seems counterintuitive… but when I perform, I dance. I've found a way of moving my body on stage that gives me a direct, freeing feeling with the music.”
Never less than brimming with complex layers of emotion, ‘The Last Sound On Earth’ is the sound of an artist reckoning with the changing world around them and tentatively searching for a path forward. In doing so, he ultimately finds an answer to his own question:
“What is the last sound on earth? The last sound is love…That’s the sound I hope to hear.”
Psychic 9-5 Club marks the beginning of a new chapter for HTRK. It's an album that looks back on a time of sadness and struggle, and within that struggle they find hope and humour and love. It's Jonnine Standish and Nigel Yang's first album recorded entirely as a duo—former band member Sean Stewart died halfway through the recording of their last LP, 2011's Work (Work, work).
Though the record is instantly recognisable as HTRK—Standish's vocal delivery remains central to the band's sound, while the productions are typically lean and dubby—they've found ample room for exploration within this framework. Gone are the reverb-soaked guitar explorations of 2009's Marry Me Tonight and the fuzzy growls that ran through Work (Work Work). They've been replaced with something tender, velvety and polished. This is HTRK, but the flesh has been stripped from their sound, throwing the focus on naked arrangements and minimalist sound design.
The album was recorded at Blazer Sound Studios in New Mexico with Excepter's Nathan Corbin, who had previously directed the video clip for Work (Work Work) cut "Bendin." Inviting a third party into their world was no easy decision, but in Corbin they found a kindred spirit. The LP was then refined and reworked in Australia at the turn of 2013, before the finishing touches were applied in New York during the summer. Psychic 9-5 Club was then mastered by Rashad Becker at Dubplates and Mastering in Berlin.
Of all the themes that run through Psychic 9-5 Club, love is the most central. The word is laced throughout the album in lyrics and titles—love as a distraction, loving yourself, loving others. Standish's lyrics explore the complexities of sexuality and the body's reaction to personal loss, though there's room for wry humour—a constant through much of the best experimental Australian music of the past few decades.
Standish explores her vocal range fully—her husky spoken-word drawl remains, but we also hear her laugh and sing. Equally, Yang's exploratory production techniques—particularly his well-documented love of dub—are given room to shine. They dip headlong into some of the things that make humans tick—love, loss and desire—with the kind of integrity that has marked the band out from day one. Psychic 9-5 Club is truly an album for the body and for the soul.
Vanligt Folk unleashes their most daring work yet with Dischorealism, a wild mix of crabby 2-step rhythms, echoing yowls, and noisy club shapes. Following their 2017 release Palle Bondo, the Swedish trio continue to blur the lines between noise, club, and outsider pop, crafting a sound unlike any other.
This time, they focus on tight, groove-driven beats, while maintaining their signature weirdness with gravelly dub-noise textures, twisted hooks, and unsettling, possessed vocals. Exploring themes of friendship, sex, violence, and drug abuse, Dischorealism takes an impressionistic approach, leaving ideas open to interpretation and creating an eerie atmosphere that works on both the dancefloor and in more intimate settings.
With over a dozen tracks in 42 minutes, the album pulls from a range of influences—from fellow Scandinavians SHXCXCHCXSH to the dissonant, lo-fi worlds of V/Vm and Börft—but remains unmistakably Vanligt Folk. Highlights include the blunted 2-step of ‘DISKDASKO’, the acid-tinged ‘ÜNG GÜD’, and the peculiar odd-pop textures of ‘TJUF’. It’s an album that keeps you guessing, always on the edge of something strange.
An outstanding treasure trove - some 20 years in-the-works - of vintage pop and chaabi bangers from Egypt and Lebanon via NYC cornershops and offies - aka Bodegas - and mobile phone shops, culled from tape and collated by Gary Sullivan ov WMFU and the blog Arabic Singles Going Steady, for DINTE Gary Sullivan gives the lowdown: “A series of random discoveries in the mid-1990s led me to abandon American and British pop and focus on non-English-language music, predominantly Arabic, for the next two decades. Feeding my ears required biking down to Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, or hopping on the subway to Steinway Street in Queens, where I would pop into a handful of the local bodegas and immigrant-run cell-phone stores, some of which offered music from North Africa and the Middle East on cassettes and compact discs. When CDs spiralled into obsolescence in the mid-2010s, I reluctantly made the switch to vinyl, concentrating on 45s and intentionally filling holes not well represented in the digital era – more artists than not hadn’t made the transition from analog in the 1980s. This meant focusing on singles by a lot of artists I’d not heard of, and it quickly became evident just how much of the era – from approximately 1960 to 1974, when 7″ records were all but abandoned in Egypt and Lebanon – had been forgotten. What also became evident was the breadth of popular music issued by even hegemonic titan Sono Cairo. The consensus is that state radio and music publishing ignored traditional folk, shaabi, and other lowbrow pop in favor of the exalted art song we associate with Oum Kalthoum, Abdel Halim Hafez, and Farid al-Atrash. While this active neglect of the broadest Arabic pop spectrum is mostly true, I accumulated a not inconsequential number of what I can only describe as “novelty” records by mostly one- and two-hit wonders. From catchy gimmicks like the “doktor, ya habibi” of Maha’s “Doktor” and the “boom boom boom” of twins Thunai Badr’s “Love Raid,” to the Monty Python-level silliness of Sayed Mandoline’s fake Italian crooning and maniacal laughter in “I Present to You the Mandolin,” these were sounds I was genuinely surprised to hear.= Even more remarkable were the songs recorded in English: Karim Shukry’s celebratory “Ramadan” and Motyaba & Nada’s civil-rights plea “No Black No White” are two of my favorites, and thus included in the present collection. The tracks compiled here are often as beautiful as they are beguiling, but while the intention was to absolutely put together a solid listen, it was also my hope to slightly expand our understanding of Arabic music of this period beyond not just the usual suspects, but also subjects – and treatment of same.”
Kendra Morris returns with Next, her fourth full-length of original material and a vibrant departure into rawer, more immediate territory. Co-produced with Leroi Conroy of Colemine Records, the album was recorded using vintage gear in Loveland, Ohio, tracked through a Tascam 388 for a warm, tactile sound that favours grit over gloss. Featuring contributions from Jimmy James (Parlor Greens, Delvon Lamarr Organ Trio) and Ray Jacildo (The Black Keys, Jr. Thomas & The Volcanos), Next unfolds like a lo-fi concept album in reverse, drawing inspiration from old board games and the DIY spirit of retro television. Across ten tracks, Morris blends doo-wop, boom-bap, and rocksteady into a pastiche of New York nostalgia, where Brill Building songcraft and Warholian aesthetics share the same sonic real estate. It's a cut-and-paste world soundtracked by an artist equally at home behind the lens as she is behind the mic—imperfect, imaginative, and full of heart.
The band Unknown Mortal Orchestra sometimes enjoys making purely instrumental music. In addition to the vocal-based records they’re more well-known for, they’ve also begun to make an instrumental series called the IC where they spend time in a chosen city and improvise and collaborate on non-vocal music. Recently the band spent time in Colombia to make music and initiate their new keyboard player Christian Li. The resulting sessions have become IC-02 Bogota, a musical document of the time they spent in that exciting city and the possible background music for some strange parties and night drives in your future.
Graham Jonson is drawn to the comforts of melody and noise. How the two conspire in tension, tonally and atonally, stirring up memory and mood. This quality animates the technicolor world of quickly, quickly, the psych-pop project that emanates from Kenton Sound, his basement studio in Portland, Oregon. “Everywhere your eye lands, there’s another curio to marvel over,” noted Pitchfork’s Philip Sherburne when he visited Jonson’s recording space for a Rising feature just after the release of his “strikingly original” 2021 debut LP, The Long and Short of It. Since then, Jonson formed a live band, released his Easy Listening EP in 2023, got into production projects (for Moses Sumney, Kid LAROI, and SahBabii), and navigated the up-and-downs of a young musician, the sustainability of tours and relationships. While shaped by personal bouts and fallouts, his highly-anticipated full-length follow-up finds Jonson making music that’s universal, open-ended, and rewarding, like great songwriters can do. He set out to make a folk album but couldn’t help coloring it in with noise; a confluence of lush instrumentation and unexpected sounds. Ambitious yet intimate, hi-fi yet homespun, the idiosyncratic songs on I Heard That Noise curve around the contours of everyday life with warmth, wit, and dissonance.
When asked to unpack the inputs of I Heard That Noise, Jonson cites the unpredictable vocal melodies and sound design of Phil Elverum (The Microphones, Mount Eerie), the raw emotion of Dijon, and the timeless cadence of Nick Drake. While drums were the focus of Easy Listening, he challenged himself to think outside of the beat with new material: “to see how much I could do with a song, specifically with production, without having a beat to it… there are moments with drums but it was more about the space in between.” Songs utilize visceral delay and distortion; sometimes, they melt out of frame before the peak or take sharp turns with sudden chord changes or sweeping jolts he likens to “jump scares” in film. “Experimenting with the idea of being comfortable, and then some crazy shit flies at you, takes you out of it for a second, and then maybe brings you back in.” What makes these non-linear choices effective is that Jonson remains a natural pop architect, knowing where to push and pull, add and subtract; and essentially, how to draw in and hold one’s attention.
Themes reach from recent experiences — a breakup followed by “periods of either being miserable or, like, living…trying to better myself” — to childhood memories. There’s a recurring low-frequency hum in his neighborhood; he and his friends have come to know it as the “Kenton Sound” (which gives his studio its name), and they’ve narrowed it down to some industrial testing site nearby. Every time it vibrates, he thinks of that time he heard “that noise” while skateboarding outside his mom’s house. Similar, but louder, scarier, a sky siren of sorts. “I remember all the dogs started barking in the neighborhood at the same time...a really weird, bizarre phenomenon.” The thought pattern, scattered with a cathartic headspace, led him to record the title track, where an abrasive intro dissipates into a sweet piano ballad about remembering and surrendering.
Jonson has a knack for interludes and outros, and he’s in full stride here; the opener’s ambient wobbles snap into the stomp of “Enything,” which at one point swelled with so much information he needed to get a new computer. Above bright and jagged guitar lines, harmonized with backing vocals from friend and past tourmate Julia Logue, Jonson playfully rattles through everything he’d do (“for you”). He’s quick to admit he often dreads the process of writing lyrics, yet the loose wordplay of “Enything” is proof his subconscious runs clever.
On “Take It From Me,” subtle sonic flourishes surround acoustic strums and tender keys as Jonson recalls the resignation of a night when a relationship’s end was imminent (“a great storm is coming over the hill.”). He explains, “I've always found peace in knowing that other people, even if I don't know their exact experience, may have the same feeling that I do.” The mantra-like reprise of “Take It from Me” carries that notion, a soft reassurance before the song washes away.
Kenton Sound’s ceiling can attest to the truth of “I Punched Through A Wall.” Jonson says in reality, the act emerged from a silly intrusive thought. The image (“The silhouette of myself”) lent a figurative scene to wrap real angst around. “I feel love like a cannon ball / I like being ripped apart,” he sings over one of the record’s sweetest, most pop-forward arrangements. As the chorus takes its final pass, a gentle piano phrase gets clipped by an outburst of power chords and feedback, repeating the lines twice as loud.
“Raven” crosses fable-like fiction with the sad story of a friend who lost his way; and just when the track’s innocent country twang settles in, he pulls the rug out with near-metal levels of heavy. The juxtaposition gets to the heart of I Heard That Noise. By excavating the extremes of his sound, Jonson not only brings the best out of himself but introduces myriad ways to engage with his music, which grows ever more inviting and boundless.
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A new age lightness of being guides NNF alum Baptiste Martin to gently optimistic ambient, H-pop and glitching electronica styled results on a debut for Stroom, inseparable from its back story, regaled by the label below:
""I was admitted to Son Llàtzer Hospital in Mallorca on October 1, 2024, following a psychotic shock”.
This could well have been the opening sentence of a confessional novel but it’s not. It’s the first line of an email, which landed in my mailbox seemingly out of nowhere. The words were written by Baptiste Martin, the composer behind Les Halles.
In his letter, sent as a pdf document, Baptiste offered his friends a concise but striking report on his whereabouts from the past months. In brief, Baptiste was lost, found, lost and found again, yet seemingly forever confined to the walls of his cerebral interior. The letter describes a loss of grip and self-control, like a baby water turtle trying to hoist his way out of the fish tank by scratching the glass walls, without any result.
Baptiste is a musician and not a writer. His opening line is thus followed by an album, not a novel. This is the album. Yet, ‘Original Spirit’ doesn’t tell the story of his psychotic shock as a linear nonfiction, it offers a vague resolution to all the mischief in life: the hope for the existence of an original spirit, untainted despite all that might happen during the course of a life.
The album provokes images of what I would perceive as indeed an original spirit of oneself: an abstract nothingness breezing through landscapes of colours, searching for places beyond the boundaries of what we call freedom in the material world. A stream of sound, nostalgic to a time that never existed, a mystical loophole that we know isn’t there yet still crave for. In short: the sound of an uncannily serene feeling beyond hope."
When not gazing out windows into the stormy Manhattan skyline, Margo Guryan spent her thirties banging out earworms for the likes of Bobbie Gentry, Jackie DeShannon, Claudine Longet, Carmen McCrae, and Julie London at CBS’s April Blackwood Music. Guryan’s timeless musings on love, Sundays, earthquakes, crying, and boys named Timothy have soundtracked countless films and viral videos—enduring masterpieces from the before times. 28 of her ’60s and ’70s songwriting demos are collected on this 25th anniversary double album edition. Get under Margo’s umbrella.
