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Happy Today, the third album from guitarist/bandleader Jeff Parker’s long-running ETA IVtet, was recorded live at Lodge Room in Los Angeles on August 20, 2025. This fresh entry into the IVtet’s catalog captures Parker and the band – including drummer Jay Bellerose, bassist Anna Butterss, and saxophonist Josh Johnson – on record outside of the now-shuttered Highland Park micro-club ETA for the first time.
The performance also captures a distinctly joyful night of togetherness set against the backdrop of dark times. “2025 was a very difficult year for me and my family,” Parker says. “Dealing with being displaced from the Eaton fires for eight months, and the kind of toll that that instability took on my family’s mental health and general outlook, coupled with Donald Trump being back in office and basically making life miserable for everyone… There was a lot of sadness and despair. But feeling the sense of community that we created with our concert, and later hearing the recording, seeing the beautiful footage that had been shot and the photographs of such joy to be back in that space and to be making music again: It was a very happy moment. So I called the record Happy Today. It’s meant to be a statement of joy.”
That joy and camaraderie found in communal space seems to be a major catalyst for the ETA IVtet’s music. The band’s audience is, somehow, an essential part of the formula. Case in point: the show at Lodge Room was actually meant to be the cherry on top of a weekend of studio sessions by the band. Those sessions were intended to be the next album released by the group, its first ever studio record. Upon listening back, though, it was clear to Parker that the Lodge Room performance was the recording that shined brightest and felt most true to the band’s spirit, harkening back to the weekly session the four musicians held at ETA for so many years.
ETA was undoubtedly more than just the namesake of the band. Part laboratory, part low-stakes proving ground, it’s where the language of the IVtet’s sound percolated and coalesced over the course of an almost mythical seven-year-long Monday night residency that yielded two critically-acclaimed records—2022’s Mondays at The Enfield Tennis Academy and 2024’s The Way Out of Easy—and an instantly recognizable group sound.
Happy Today is that sound—the IVtet's signature syntax built around long-form, minimalist improvisation—expanding confidently into a larger space while creating the same hypnotizing, deeply-tuned listening effect on visibly enraptured audiences. The album contains two sidelong pieces recorded as the band performed in the round at Lodge Room, surrounded by an audience of 400 or so deep listeners. (The venue, appropriately enough, sits on the same street and just a few hundred feet away from the storefront that used to be ETA.)
The drastic change in venue size, and this document in general, is representative of an expanding demand to experience this band live that has been surging for years, starting with the release of their debut album Mondays. For the subsequent, final year that ETA was open, there would typically be a line down the block on Monday evenings, with far more people trying to catch the show than the club could hold. Even if you could get inside the building, given the limited capacity, the IVtet was a difficult band to actually see play. Couple that with the fact that before the closure of the club in December 2023, the IVtet had never played outside of Los Angeles. Access to the live experience had been extremely limited, and that has seemed to feed a sense of mystery and allure around the band’s music for the many fans of Mondays and The Way Out of Easy.
On paper, the IVtet’s growing audience is something of a conundrum. After all, minimal longform improvisation is likely the precise antithesis of streaming-centered content culture. Despite that, at the show that produced Happy Today, as with any IVtet show, the audience willingly settles into and accepts the band’s pace as they iron out a story which digs deeply into every facet of an idea before investigating a new one. Here the attention economy feels lightyears away, the crowd instead surrendering to that old and very human penchant for listening. With open ears, the crowd stands ready for a big yarn, a long tale, and from the jump there seems to be a trust between performer and audience that mimics the trust between the musicians as they move from detail to detail.
“The band isn't afraid to explore static spaces,” says Parker. “It seems like the thing is to stay on one idea for a while. Really, for a long time. To kind of exhaust it. And then one person shifts and then the thing moves together.”
“Everybody is constantly dropping crumbs and you can take them or you can leave them,” agrees Bellerose. “There are these little hints, these little moments, and everybody's aware of them.”
“When it is time to change, it can change very quickly,” says Butterss. “If someone suggests a new idea, it can flip in an instant. Everyone's constantly ready to go with it if the moment calls for it.”
“Like Swimwear,” the side-length opener of Happy Today, contains a quintessential example of this distinct IVtet move. The track gets off the ground slowly but deliberately, ramping up tension over the course of its first ten minutes without a moment of harmonic dissonance. The band, rather, steadily pulls at the corners of the rhythm. Here each member steps forward and backward in the sonic space to build a gleefully disorienting group cadence, where the repetitions of the individual overlap in such a trancelike way that even soloistic breaks from Parker’s electric guitar or Johnson’s effected alto sax never manage to snap the tension wire. Bellerose works deep into the rhythmic fascia, employing all manner of auxiliary percussion—strewn across his kit, tucked into his shoe, or wrapped around his legs—all without a hint of novelty. Every micro-choice comes from a place of both curiosity and confidence.
And then the shift: just as the thing is about to come unglued Bellerose opts into a smooth, low-register downbeat groove that Butterss has been auditioning for the previous minute or so. Parker swiftly kicks into an organ-like drone while Johnson and Butterss stay the course. It’s a series of decisions that could go any number of ways depending on the night, like running water pushing into fresh geography, moving from tributary to mainstream, past the levee and into the floodplain. There is no set path; if it went a different direction it would still be the cumulative result of the same water flowing.
That is to say that there are no hard and fast rules to what the IVtet does. Defining the music, in fact, is something that the band takes special care not to do. Living in that mystery, it seems, helps to keep the path open, cleared to push into new and satisfying territory.
“For me, the thing to protect is just where it started from, which was freedom and openness,” says Bellerose. “In the early days of the band Jeff was recognizing how we were all communicating within the structure of playing standards. He's one of the greatest producers I've ever worked with because he has this vision. And a big part of producing is casting—putting the right people in the room. So these shifts, they're completely natural within these improvised pieces that we do because the foundation was there and Jeff knew it. He had already noticed the communication within the band, but wanted to really push it further.”
The key to Parker’s push lies in the generosity to step back, to allow each member an equal voice, and to de-center himself. What we hear on Happy Today is an egalitarian group sound by design, curious and intuitive.
“Everybody's listening in a way where it's not always like ‘I'm going to go with you’,” says Johnson. “But it's always ‘I hear you’. And sometimes it's ‘I hear you and I'm going to stay here and allow the tension of these two things to exist for a while before maybe joining you.’ But the thing that's cool is that everybody’s hearing it. Because of the time that we've spent together there’s a maturity to the listening—a very special version of deep listening.”
“The number of times that we've talked about the music is so few compared to the years and years of playing,” Johnson continues. “I think that's one of the really beautiful things about the band—how organically the way that we play together has come about and evolved over time. Definitely on brand for the music that the band makes too. Slowly evolving, long form development.”
“I learned how to improvise in this band,” reveals Butterss, astonishingly. “I didn't really play improvised music before. So my whole approach to improvisation has been shaped by playing with Jeff, Jay, and Josh. It is a band and it has its own language. I think you could drop the needle on any of the recordings and people would be able to say ‘that's the quartet.’ It's very distinctive and it's developed very organically. We have never talked about it, I don't think.”
“That's our band,” says Parker of “Like Swimwear,” almost with an outsider’s sense of fascination at the recording. He seems to feel the same enchantment and surprise that the audience does while listening, despite being a primary part of the process. “That's it. I mean, that's what the ETA Quartet does.”
It’s a blessing for this band to be so expertly documented in its naturally public, live context. The two sidelong improvisations from Lodge Room that make up Happy Today, as with the recordings that made up the IVtet’s first two albums, are beautifully rendered by engineer Bryce Gonzales—recorded and mixed live, direct to a Nagra tape machine utilizing a compact outboard rig that he built himself, specifically to record this band. Much like the thumbprint originality coming from the players themselves, Gonzales’ capture of the music is its own signature, his mixes a form of sound improvisation themselves.
A major addition to this particular presentation is the full album length film by Charlie Weinmann, documenting the band's performance of Happy Today at Lodge Room, which will be released in tandem with the album. A shadow-laden, almost noirlike capture of the band in its full sprawling glory, Weinmann’s camera makes the joyful reality of seeing the IVtet at work widely accessible for the first time.
With Happy Today the reach of Parker’s IVtet extends further than ever before, but the essential formula, if there is one, remains the same. The anchor seems to be in variations on an almost alchemical communication—a feeling of connection between band members, sure, but also between the band and the audience. It’s an ongoing trust exercise, born organically in the corner of a small room in Los Angeles and flowing outward at exactly its own natural pace. It’s social music with a clear ability to move those willing to listen. Happy Today is an invitation to become part of the exchange and experience the joy of deep listening.
2025 repress; clear vinyl with white Hi-melt. "1998: Tortoise's third studio album TNT is released. In and out of print over the past decade we are happy to finally give everyone what they have been asking for - TNT on vinyl again! Pressed on high quality virgin vinyl, the two LPs are packaged in a deluxe old-style tip-on gatefold jacket fully replicating the original artwork and includes a download coupon for the first time!"
Gilles Peterson presents International Anthem is a Deluxe Double LP compilation chronicling the infamous London-based radio host, DJ, label head, curator and cultural impresario's long-standing affinity for and interaction with artists and music from the Chicago-born record label International Anthem. The tracks on this compilation were chosen by Peterson via an extensive review of track lists from his broadcasts on BBC 6 Music, Worldwide FM, and various syndicated radio programs. The compilation also includes a previously unreleased track recorded live on the Peterson-founded online radio station Worldwide FM. The RSD exclusive 2LP is on "Frozen Lake Michigan" colored vinyl. This album is released via International Anthem as part of their "IA11" series of releases and events – where the label celebrates their eleventh year of existence by looking back on their first ten years while establishing new standards for the next ten years.
Pressed for Record Store Day 2025 for "Frozen Lake Michigan" Color 140g 2 x LP, in a heavyweight UV-Gloss jacket, with 12"x12" insert booklet, with IA OBI Strip & printed poly-lined inner sleeves.
Capturing the raw, melodic sounds of 90’s second wave emo - Jejune’s 1997 album Junk is anything but. Blending dual vocals, massive drums, and riffs stacked on riffs, this is the blueprint for indie bands to follow.
言わずと知れたスロウコアの大名盤！これは是非聞いておくがいい。自国のソウル、ゴスペル、ファンクにとどまらず、ニューエイジ・ミュージック始祖ヤソスや日本からは原マスミまで、世界各地のオブスキュアなサウンドを掘り起こしてきた米国の大名門〈Numero〉からは、1998年に〈Up Records〉からリリースされたDusterのデビュー・スタジオ・アルバム『Stratosphere』が25周年を記念してアニヴァーサリー・リイシュー。スロウコアの第一波の頂点にたつ一枚であり、子宮の中で聞くべき！暗い空間と閉じた瞼のための音楽にして、パンクの鋸歯状のエッジを持つアンビエント・ミュージック。
Geoff Farina’s Southern Records tenure was not just about Karate. His late-90s guitar-and-vocal solo output included the bedroom-recorded Usonian Dream Sequence that echoed The Secret Stars’ intimate lo-fi sentiments, Reverse Eclipse that rode the more delicate fringes of Unsolved-era Karate, and the single Steely Dan, a paean to a contemporaneous guilty pleasure. FFF collects all three long-out-of-print releases here on vinyl for the first time, fastidiously packaged and punctuated with Farina’s written reflections on their making.
Slow Riot for New Zerø Kanada E.P. is the only EP and second release by Godspeed You! Black Emperor. It was released in Canada on the Montreal-based label Constellation Records in 1999, and concurrently in the US by Kranky.
Writing a consideration of any portion of Pajo's voluminous catalog is quite the challenge. With the glaring exception of one rainbow colored cutout circa '03, it's been one love affair after the next for me and just about every record he's graced. Yet I find myself returning to make late night headphone excursions into the depths of Live From A Shark Cage on a regular basis, reliving my favorite moments like a ripe, juicy eructation of chili cheese fries in the middle of the night, or reveling as I have in the deja vu-like discovery of some clever plot twist unearthed for the Criterion edition of Brazil. The temptation is here to call it his Zoso, or even Who's Next, but that's unfair to all parties involved, and I'll leave such profane comparisons to the recently graduated music directors of college radio stations polluting the various interweb channels that pass for music journalism in this digital age we inhabit. Rather, Shark Cage deserves to be exalted in the same breath as Maggot Brain, The Payback, Stormcock or Miles' Pangea: modern masterpieces of minima built on subliminally insinuating rondos and vamps that echo not just Dave's own biorhythms, but a microcosmic take on the ur-pulse of the universe. In an era where the referential Lexicon shifts so rapidly that notions of classics and beau ideals scarcely linger as long as the sulfurous flatulence of your cubicle-mate, Shark Cage resounds as the beacon of fortitude in a sea of aural effluvia. If you are uninitiated, avail yourself. If you've been to the fountain, quench yourself again. - Bundy K. Brown
Writing a consideration of any portion of Pajo's voluminous catalog is quite the challenge. With the glaring exception of one rainbow colored cutout circa '03, it's been one love affair after the next for me and just about every record he's graced. Yet I find myself returning to make late night headphone excursions into the depths of Live From A Shark Cage on a regular basis, reliving my favorite moments like a ripe, juicy eructation of chili cheese fries in the middle of the night, or reveling as I have in the deja vu-like discovery of some clever plot twist unearthed for the Criterion edition of Brazil. The temptation is here to call it his Zoso, or even Who's Next, but that's unfair to all parties involved, and I'll leave such profane comparisons to the recently graduated music directors of college radio stations polluting the various interweb channels that pass for music journalism in this digital age we inhabit. Rather, Shark Cage deserves to be exalted in the same breath as Maggot Brain, The Payback, Stormcock or Miles' Pangea: modern masterpieces of minima built on subliminally insinuating rondos and vamps that echo not just Dave's own biorhythms, but a microcosmic take on the ur-pulse of the universe. In an era where the referential Lexicon shifts so rapidly that notions of classics and beau ideals scarcely linger as long as the sulfurous flatulence of your cubicle-mate, Shark Cage resounds as the beacon of fortitude in a sea of aural effluvia. If you are uninitiated, avail yourself. If you've been to the fountain, quench yourself again. - Bundy K. Brown
Upgrade & Afterlife stands as a pivotal and singular recording in the catalog of Gastr del Sol, the duo of David Grubbs and Jim O’Rourke. Originally released in 1996, this album is frequently cited as a landmark of post-rock and experimental music, praised for its blend of avant-garde abstraction, folk minimalism, and a restless, exploratory spirit. The album opens with “Our Exquisite Replica of ‘Eternity’,” a piece that has become emblematic for many listeners: a slow-building, cinematic soundscape that combines mangled drones, brassy orchestral samples (from Hans J. Salter’s The Incredible Shrinking Man soundtrack), and electronic textures to create a sense of alien strangeness and emotional depth. The track’s title, inspired by a sign on a Japanese perfume vending machine, hints at the band’s playful conceptual approach.
Throughout Upgrade & Afterlife, Gastr del Sol continually subverts expectations: “Rebecca Sylvester” begins as a sparse guitar ballad before dissolving into ambient abstraction, while “Hello Spiral” and “The Relay” explore fractured electronics, shifting grooves, and prismatic vocal layers. The closing track, a cover of John Fahey’s “Dry Bones in the Valley (I Saw the Light Come Shining ‘Round and ‘Round),” features a guest appearance by Tony Conrad on violin, bridging American folk traditions with the avant-garde and providing a fittingly monumental conclusion.
Critics have described the album as “stark and minimalist at times, jazzy and far-ranging at others,” with a unique ability to make “background music that quietly asserts itself into the foreground”. Pitchfork noted its way of letting “folk and avant-garde abstract each other into something warm, minimal, and slanted”. The album’s cover, Wasserstiefel (Water Boots) by Roman Signer, further underscores its enigmatic and conceptual nature.
Upgrade & Afterlife remains a touchstone for listeners seeking music that is as immediate as it is strange, as spiky as it is immersive-a record that continues to reveal new layers with every listen, and a high point in the collaboration between Grubbs and O’Rourke
Crucial listening if you're into Still House Plants, caroline, Tara Clerkin Trio, Moonshake or even This Heat, London-based duo Curbside Lambsear's debut upsets the foundations of post-rock, slowcore, noise and folky prog by adroitly integrating electronics and studio techniques; there's songs in there, but there's far more going on than that. Made up of caroline violinist Magdalena McLean and The Umlauts' Annabelle Mödlinger, both Austrians who found themselves in London, Curbside Lambsear arrive fully formed. Best friends, they met while studying in Vienna before properly connecting years later when they were moving in the same musical circles. They were both motivated by London's unstuffy experimental pop scene, particularly Mica Levi and their acolytes, but also obsessed with fringe post-rock like Tarwater and Duster, so they decided to develop something far enough away from their regular ensembles that they could work on a signature sound. Indeed, the EP emerges from a course of experimentation when McLean and Mödlinger decided to adapt on the go, fixing a sound while they learned new instruments, shared poems and voice notes and getting themselves comfortable with the process of working in a DAW. Where this might have lead to a sequence of demos, McLean and Mödlinger were confident enough and skilled enough to rustle up one of the best post-rock EPs we've heard in a while. The chugging, processed guitars and loping drums of opener 'No Ordinary Word' might lock into the capital's underground family tree at first, down the line that gave us Dome, Disco Inferno and Bark Psychosis, but McClean's effortlessly cool, insouciant vocal delivery puts it alongside gear from Tirzah or Raisa K. And on the keyboard mashed 'Jjochstubn', the duo spend a good four minutes pulling apart the traces of a song; "the winter takes it all," McClean hums, the voice timestretched across crooked, slowed-down drums and buzzing A/C on-the-fritz soundscapes. Even when the tempo picks up, the smoke doesn't fully clear - Curbside Lambsear thankfully don't seem particularly interested in clean sounds. Best of all is 'Avril', where McClean's casual words are dropped over euphoric noise, hyper-compressed drums and feedback forming what might as well be a pop song. Brilliant stuff, beginning to end.
Originally released in 1998, Boston emo outfit Jejune's shoegaze-inspired second album has been given the Numero treatment with a long overdue remaster. RIUYL Rainer Maria, Superchunk or Karate.
Jejune were only around for four years, but they left behind them a subtle trail of influence that's exemplified on their milestone sophomore album. Unlike their debut 'Junk' (that Numero remastered and reissued earlier this year), 'This Afternoon's Malady' began to subvert the emo template, shoring up Arabella Harrison and Joe Guevara's fragile, cracking vocals with thick, wall-of-sound production that betrayed the influence of MBV's 'Loveless' and Catherine Wheel's 'Ferment'. The band were saddled with accusations of being "emo" when the album originally emerged in the late '90s and the term had become a slur, and now we can visualize their influence a little more clearly. They were emblematic of the genre's refined, ultra-melodic second wave, and since they splintered in 2000 they've been referenced constantly online. Dashboard Confessional's Chris Carrabba called them one of his favorite bands, and Jejune neatly bridge the gap between hardcore punk and indie rock, foreshadowing the '00s boom.
Originally released in 1998, Boston emo outfit Jejune's shoegaze-inspired second album has been given the Numero treatment with a long overdue remaster. RIUYL Rainer Maria, Superchunk or Karate.
Jejune were only around for four years, but they left behind them a subtle trail of influence that's exemplified on their milestone sophomore album. Unlike their debut 'Junk' (that Numero remastered and reissued earlier this year), 'This Afternoon's Malady' began to subvert the emo template, shoring up Arabella Harrison and Joe Guevara's fragile, cracking vocals with thick, wall-of-sound production that betrayed the influence of MBV's 'Loveless' and Catherine Wheel's 'Ferment'. The band were saddled with accusations of being "emo" when the album originally emerged in the late '90s and the term had become a slur, and now we can visualize their influence a little more clearly. They were emblematic of the genre's refined, ultra-melodic second wave, and since they splintered in 2000 they've been referenced constantly online. Dashboard Confessional's Chris Carrabba called them one of his favorite bands, and Jejune neatly bridge the gap between hardcore punk and indie rock, foreshadowing the '00s boom.
