MUSIC

The second part of Matador’s reissues of the essential early records by Texas’s Butthole Surfers continues with three of their most insane slabs -- 1985’s ‘Cream Corn from the Socket of Davis,’ 1987’s ‘Locust Abortion Technician’ and 1988’s ‘Hairway to Steven.’

The period during which these records were first issued parallels the Buttholes’ transition from being weirdo Texas outcasts to becoming internationally recognized smut-kings of the American underground. In 1985 they were still the sole province of hallucingen-soaked punk rock freaks. By 1988 they had toured Europe, had records licensed internationally, and bought a house in Driftwood Texas to serve as their home base. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

‘Hairway to Steven’ is a blast, ranging from the blood-smeared guitar-overload of “Jimi” to the acoustic guitar-based sing-along sweetness of “I Saw an X-Ray of a Girl Passing Gas” to the Fugs-like ranting of “John E. Smokes.” Yet somehow, the album managed to get the straight media to actually notice. For all its strangeness, ‘Hairway’ got rave notices in places that had never paid the band any attention previously. It was the Buttholes’ last album of the ‘80s and marks the beginning of their ascendance into something akin to commercial success. Not that the band actually imagined anything at all like that occurring.

“...as important to Korean rock in 1970-75 as Phil Spector had been to America's pop scene a decade earlier, and every bit as busy.” - MOJO Shin Joong Hyun’s tale is personal, spiritual, and deep, not only reflecting the full spectrum of human emotions but also reverberating with echoes of sound, some beautiful and life-giving, others restless and ungovernable. These career-spanning anthologies gather Shin’s work as a guitarist, songwriter, producer and arranger of mind-altering experimental pop, acid-folk, and extended psych-funk jams. A musical trip existing somewhere between Motown, Hendrix, and the Velvet Underground.

Federico Ughi Together with Leo Genovese and Brandon Lopez Explores the Spaceways in the New Multidimensional LP/CD ‘Infinite Cosmos Calling You You You, Vol. 1’ Federico Ughi, drum wizard and producer, is back with an album under his own name for the first time in five years. The project features outstanding musicians: Leo Genovese, originally from Argentina but now Brooklyn-based on keyboards and synths, and Brandon Lopez from NYC on upright bass. This album celebrates the advanced creative dialogue between these artists by fully immersing the listener in the world of sound conjured by the trio. The expansive scope of this experience suggests that Ughi's artistic enterprise extends beyond the music itself to the idea of connection between artists, music, and the audience. In this conception the musicians are conduits for the delivery of cosmic sound, the music world, the cosmic dimension of sound and light. The message is launched towards the audience and refracted back through them, aspiring to achieve a sort of universal consciousness through presence and participation. The trio moves away from a specific genre, opening up to limitless possibilities. Anything is possible when these improvisers listen to each other so closely. This music is dynamic and defies particular labels. It’s the universal language of sound, frequencies, beat and vibration. The project is strongly influenced by the music, philosophy, and persona of Sun Ra, to whom one of the tracks is dedicated. The album will be followed soon by Vol. 2, containing the other half of the material recorded on the day at Sear Sound, the oldest recording studio in NYC.

Horse Lords bring the fervor and fury of their live show to the confines and comfort of your trusted playback device with As It Happened: Horse Lords Live, a collection of recordings that capture the quartet’s galvanic energy as never before while toying with the trope of the live album. Captured at a series of concerts across Europe spanning Horse Lords’ multiple 2022 and 2023 tours, As It Happened is a mediated, sometimes obviously edited presentation of a live performance that strives for a certain level of idealization. With performance at the center of the band’s practice, and elements of chance colliding with Horse Lords’ tightly composed and complex music, As it Happened works as both provocation and total jam.

In All This and So Much More Tasha is an artist flung open. For Tasha, the last few years have been propulsive, dynamic, bursting at the seams. They've included painful encounters with grief; a sudden break up; new flirtation; new hair; the glitter of world travel and not least, a role in Tony-nominated Broadway musical Illinoise which adapts Sufjan Steven’s Illinois for the stage. If Tell Me What You Miss The Most was an introspective meditation on love with a few moments of glancing toward what’s next, All this and So Much More is Tasha turned outward, flourishing, telling us what it’s like to take life by the chin and look it in the eye. Take, for example “Eric Song.” This was the first song to be written on the album, penned while Tasha grappled with the sudden, tragic death of Eric Littman, the co-producer of her last album. Though the instrumentation is a familiar 3/4 guitar strum, lulling us into a comforting waltz, Tasha’s voice is breathy with grief, adding depth and dimension to the hushed sound. “No, I’m not alone after all / You must be near / Facing this soaring sprawl,” she sings, transforming the experience of loss into a talisman of love and courage meant to help usher in a new self. Said a different way, All This and So Much More is a full-throated ode to all of the ups and downs of becoming. In the opening track, “Pretend,” when Tasha sings about “feelings outgrowing this little life,” we get the sense, both lyrically and sonically, of someone in the throes of growth. This is an album crafted with a big, ambitious sound (in part, thanks to the production of Gregory Uhlmann)—cinematic droning, orchestral woodwinds, dazzling arrays of jangling guitar, all lining up to capture a sweeping moment in Tasha’s life. Written over the course of 2022 and 2023, right on the cusp of Tasha being cast in Illinoise, the songs in this album invoke friendship, heart ache, flirtation, doubt. From the social anxiety of “Party” (“Do they think I’m funny? / Did they like my jokes last night?”) to the questing for meaning in “So Much More,” Tasha brings us along on a journey of finding out that the person you wanted to be was inside of yourself, just waiting to bloom all along. She sums it up neatly in her final track, “Love's Changing,” charging us with a brilliant, sweeping vision of the future, singing: “Suddenly the world is bigger than it ever felt before / Feel the weight of my future sinking in / See the joy I’m running toward." In All This and So Much More, Tasha asks us to consider abundance in its truest form. Our lives, a deluge of possible experience if only we will surrender to it, all the way from the citric ache of heartbreak to the chest bloom of new adventure.

A new series from Jazzman featuring selections from Greasy Mike, the notoriously shady Super Spiv from the dark underworld of super rare records! After many years in hiding, Greasy Mike has finally opened up his vinyl dungeon, and we were first to raid it! What did we find? Only the lowest of the lowball schlock n' roll 45s never known to exist! We have left no box untouched, no crate unrummaged, no pile unpilfered! Just the greasiest and grimiest, the most shocking and sordid 45s have made it onto our selections. Watch out for more!!! But first - and just in time for your Halloween Horror Shock Hop - Greasy Mike has unearthed his all-time all-hallowed Halloween Monsters: The Zombie Walk, Night Sweats, the Chiller, Prowler and Screaming Vampire! Putrid pieces of raucous rot n' roll records direct from Greasy Mike's manky mitts! Not to be missed! Oww-ooooh!!!

If there's one musician in the last decade that you may hear in wildly diverse musical contexts it is Belgian electric bassist and sound sculptor Farida Amadou. Not only can you enjoy the unerringly skillful command she has over her instrument but also the transformative power to reinterpret and expand her material in spontaneous and unconventional ways. Amadou is self-taught and radically aware of her idiosyncratic relationship with the bass guitar. She neither emulates the virtuosos of the electric bass, nor does she use the instrument as a pure sound generator that merely emits humming and feedback. She takes a completely independent and unique approach. This freedom enables her to create an overwhelming wall of sound, as well as simple, clear structures that are rhythmically concise yielding a wide associative space that lands somewhere between free jazz and noise. Her work is often concentrated and circular where motifs are established and developed outward. It is an organic sound in the literal sense of the word, constantly in motion, yet resting in itself. The three solo pieces she has recorded for Week-End Records emphasize her impressive ability to ignite ecstasy from tranquility, to fan out a whole range of moods from a few potent ideas. These attributes make her a musician who enriches every group she plays in, because she is present with her assured and crystallized sound but refrains from being domineering. However, her strengths are even more apparent when she plays solo: the contrasts between the dark, heavy clouds of sound and the rhythmic passages, and the transitions between movements which always sound "logical" yet surprising. Her new solo album, "When It Rains It Pours" presents Amadou as an inspired improviser who follows her musical intuition and acumen to create a truly unique soundworld. Rarely has improvised music sounded so succinct and compelling.

Following in the wake of baroque chart toppers by the Zombies, Beatles, and the Left Banke, a dandier approach to garage rock flowered in the back half of the '60s. Awash in majestic harpsichords, lilting guitars, melancholic organs, and middle school orchestras, Soft Summer Breezes captures the decade’s last gasps of optimism via 16 gentle moments of soft psychedelia.

Matador is pleased to announce the reissue of a collection of classic albums and EPs from the weird, grotesque, and unparalleled first decade of Butthole Surfers, a legendary band of weirdos who mix hardcore, metal, psych, funk, and even hip-hop to create their own unique sound! The three vinyl releases are the most junk-heavy and malevolent of the three, the first "Psychic... Powerless... Another Man's Sac", the first one is the most junky and malevolent, the second one is "Rembrandt Pussyhorse", a scum sound that goes back and forth between punk/garage/funk covered in psychedelic noise, and the third one is a live show featuring the band's twin drummer system for the first time. EP, PCPPEP, all of which were remastered under the band's supervision. Butthole Surfers, formed in 1981 by Gibby Hines and Paul Leahy, who met in Texas, was an avant-garde band that emerged from the American '80s underground and gained a cult following for their insane live performances, and their legend has Their legend has always shone brightly. Now their scum career is being reevaluated and rediscovered!

Jim O'Rourke's Burt Bacharach covers album "All Kinds of People ~love Burt Bacharach" (2010) Reissued in limited edition in double-jacket LP format. It features 11 vocalists including Haruomi Hosono, Tadashi Kosaka, Thurston Moore, Donna Taylor, Kahimikari, and Etsuko Yakushimaru, and is composed of unique Bacharach numbers. Together with "Eureka" and others, this is one of Jim O'Rourke's best-known works.

Insignificance consists of rock plus multiple musical allusions, layers of discreet noises, great playing from all the players and, to top it off, funny pop tunes laced with lyrical arsenic. As the moving finger of O'Rourke points (and clicks...just kidding! Insignificance is an all-analog affair), moments will come and go -- to remind you of other moments. Moments will arrive that have no precedent. And different, conflicting emotions will flash within you. He'll have total control of you, the helpless listener.

Dirty Three Ahoy! Appropriately disheveled, the Three emerge from the unending waves of time to pick up their guitar drum and viola/violin/piano/synthesizer/loops/percussion for their first album in a decade. Their playing encompasses ALL – from the original fury of their unlikely power trio to an impressionist cinema later on; mercurial, tumultuous to ambient to adagio, mood and emotion drawn up to dazzling heights from the humble human scale.

Bad vibes, habits, and breath collide on this ten-song pile up on the freeway to nowhere. Melting neo-grunge, swamprock, and noise punk in a cauldron of drug-addled psychosis, 1985's You Get What You Deserve continues Australia's prison-as-country tradition of unhinged lunacy in the face of cultural isolation. Nuke nostalgia, femme fatale sharpshooters, demolition derbies, and a vacation at Hell Beach await.

When Dinosaur Jr. reunited, more than 20 years after their formation and legendary dissolution, the worry was that these guys were just flogging the back catalog, taking the old show on the road as a marketing gimmick. But the 2007 release of Beyond gave a hearty Marshall-driven "F**K YOU!" answer to those inquiring ears. Restoring the sound established by the unassailable hat-trick gambit of their first three albums -- Dinosaur, You're Living All Over Me, and Bug -- Beyond continued the band's march into rock greatness by making old ears smile and new ears bleed afresh. And then came Farm, the 9th full length record by the original line-up: J Mascis, Lou Barlow, and Murph. If Beyond was Dinosaur Jr.'s return to form, Farm is proof that Dinosaur Jr. could (and still do, to this day!) deliver timeless, exhilarating rock music. Farm encompasses Dinosaur Jr.'s signature palette: soaring and distorted guitar, unshakable hooks, honey-rich melodies. At times wholly 70's guitar-epic, at times perfect for sitting by a babbling brook with Joni and Neil, these songs get into your head and stay there, bouncing happily around. The ear-catching "Plans" is nearly seven minutes of classic whipped-topping rock dessert, while "I Don't Wanna Go There" is a meat-and-potatoes main dish, mixing unapologetic lead guitar with straight-ahead delivery a la James Gang or Humble Pie. This expanded deluxe edition of Farm features four songs never pressed to vinyl and never given worldwide release: “Houses”, “Whenever You’re Ready” (The Zombies Cover), “Creepies” (Instrumental), and “Show”. “Whenever You’re Ready”, a cover of classic pop-rockers The Zombies, is impossibly good for a hidden gem; Murph stomps in with a sledgehammer to the kit, J and Lou layer low-end and fuzz like two halves of one brain, and right when things feel biggest, airy and colossal, there’s J with a lightning bolt of a guitar solo. Pure electricity and melody like only he can make. Recorded in J Mascis' Bisquiteen studio in Amherst, Massachusetts, Farm was produced by Mascis himself, and delivers the singular, unique energy of one of America's greatest living rock bands.

Federico Ughi Together with Leo Genovese and Brandon Lopez Explores the Spaceways in the New Multidimensional LP/CD ‘Infinite Cosmos Calling You You You, Vol. 1’ Federico Ughi, drum wizard and producer, is back with an album under his own name for the first time in five years. The project features outstanding musicians: Leo Genovese, originally from Argentina but now Brooklyn-based on keyboards and synths, and Brandon Lopez from NYC on upright bass. This album celebrates the advanced creative dialogue between these artists by fully immersing the listener in the world of sound conjured by the trio. The expansive scope of this experience suggests that Ughi's artistic enterprise extends beyond the music itself to the idea of connection between artists, music, and the audience. In this conception the musicians are conduits for the delivery of cosmic sound, the music world, the cosmic dimension of sound and light. The message is launched towards the audience and refracted back through them, aspiring to achieve a sort of universal consciousness through presence and participation. The trio moves away from a specific genre, opening up to limitless possibilities. Anything is possible when these improvisers listen to each other so closely. This music is dynamic and defies particular labels. It’s the universal language of sound, frequencies, beat and vibration. The project is strongly influenced by the music, philosophy, and persona of Sun Ra, to whom one of the tracks is dedicated. The album will be followed soon by Vol. 2, containing the other half of the material recorded on the day at Sear Sound, the oldest recording studio in NYC.

For more than two decades, Dr. Dog have maintained a shared devotion to the unruly alchemy of making music. When it came time to create their eleventh studio album, the Philadelphia-bred band adopted an entirely new way of working together, embracing a multilayered process designed to foster a deeper synergy among its five members (bassist Toby Leaman, lead guitarist Scott McMicken, rhythm guitarist Frank McElroy, keyboardist Zach Miller, and drummer Eric Slick). After beginning that journey with a close-knit session at Leaman's uncle's cabin in the Pennsylvania woods, Dr. Dog steadily made their way toward the joyfully unfettered psych-rock of their new self-titled LP.Mixed by multi-Grammy-winner Matt Ross-Spang (Jason Isbell, Drive-By Truckers), Dr. Dog finds McMicken taking the helm as producer for the first time in the history of the decidedly egalitarian band. True to the eclectic spirit that's always animated the band, Dr. Dog's 11 tracks shift from soul to surf-rock to symphonic pop with an exuberance made all the more powerful by their revitalized creative energy. "There isn't really a concept or cohesive idea that unifies this collection of tunes," says McMicken. "In the end it's about us being together, doing the work, and showing up as our truest selves." Their first full-length since 2018's Critical Equation, Dr. Dog reveals a band – over twenty years into their storied career – growing together and evolving, fully committed to the singular work of dreaming up songs that brighten the mind and expand the soul.

Crack Cloud has always been something beyond a rock band: both profound and grand, vaporous and elusive.The first iteration of Crack Cloud was formed nearly a decade ago as a proxy-rehab outlet on the fringes of Calgary. Over time, two EPs and accompanying visual pieces were produced out of the residence known as Red Mile. By 2017, several members had relocated to Vancouver, working out of harm reduction centers and low-barrier shelters. Sobriety, self-reformation and the idealism of their work further formed an ethos for Crack Cloud. It was during these years that the band produced their astounding 2020 album Pain Olympics. At once, their vision became expansive, cinematic.Now, Red Mile is a bit of a homecoming. Members have returned to Calgary. But Calgary/home has become a liminal space, a place of flux. After a decade of personal and collective growth, what does home even mean? Red Mile is, for them, something like samsara: a return and a rebirth.Red Mile's sound breathes expansive energy into the circuitous, street bound sonics of Crack Cloud's prior material. Fizzling synths intertwine with chiming pianos. Songs layer like Russian nesting dolls; one may find a Ramones chorus set within a desolate Western prog soundtrack only to watch it erupt into a joyous anthem. Real-ass guitars — alternately lilting, scuzzy and soaring — ring out across wide sun-bleached spaces. In 2024, the cumulative effect is (in rock instrumentation terms) naturalistic. Any whiff of embalmed nostalgia is absent. Even the close of the album – a winding, alllllmost Jerry Garcia guitar noodle that leads us out of Red Mile – is delivered without sentimentality. Principal songwriter Zach Choy's lyrics are cutting but merciful, with a sharp self awareness that never slides into self-satisfaction. Crack Cloud as artists are critical — and ultimately as forgiving — of themselves as they are the melting world around them. The songs balance an easy charm and cathartic power: affirming life without denying death.Recorded predominantly between the outskirts of Joshua Tree, California, and Calgary, Alberta, this record is informed by a bittersweet mélange of old and new. The sprawling, novelistic structures of their previous albums are condensed and sharpened, while maintaining their refusal to delve into superficiality. Through playful melodies and elliptical guitar soliloquy, they deliver a final product of exceptional depth and distinctly unprecious warmth. Crack Cloud have produced a mature, vital work that interrogates the platitudes of the rock-n-roll lifestyle, but ultimately exalts its sacredness.Red Mile's de facto thesis statement "The Medium" is itself a rock song meditation: an ode to the form and its practitioners. This genre that — typical, repeatable, corporatized as it can be — somehow still has the power to help us live through life. We see the dusty sentiment of "I love rock and roll" exhumed, taken apart, and stitched back together. It's a song guided by faith — if the medium helps us proclaim our love today, it’s worth protecting from derision tomorrow. We live in an era where music seems to love hitting its head against the wall. Crack Cloud's Red Mile is the sound — the feeling! — of the bricks giving way.

A feverish essay of transcendent drumming: Chris’ solo approach, rooted in the exploration of elements of extended technique, sought another level, via possibilities facilitated by a self-made string drum! The Key (Became The Important Thing [& Then Just Faded Away]) brings his encompassing focus on free improvisation and noise into a granular fusion with acoustic experiments and hot-wired ideations of hard rock riffing and the post-punk sound.

Across the last 15 years, Ryan Gustafson of The Dead Tongues has emerged as one of modern folk’s most distinct voices. As idiosyncratic and spectral as the songs have sometimes been, Gustafson has always tied his visions and verses to the kinds of hooks you tuck away like talismans, pulled out in case of emergency. Dust, Unsung Passage, Desert: The Dead Tongues’ albums remain some of the more compelling and curious works in their field on this side of a century. The latest edition to The Dead Tongues’ catalog, the song-centric and magnetic Body of Light and the discursive and wonderfully elliptical I Am a Cloud, is 16 complete tunes split across interweaving and disparate albums. Before heading to Betty’s, Gustafson spent a month at “the Shack,” a primitive and private structure in rural western North Carolina, working on new material and sorting through piles of poems, sticky notes scattered across the windows, and stacks of free writing streams of thought. Most of the songs were written during this time – the exquisite “Daylily,” a warm little gift for his partner, or “I’m a Cloud Now,” a fever dream of song and spoken-word about the toggle between identity and ephemerality. The creative energy was free flowing, deep and explorative, songs somehow coming together in a manner both freakishly fast and patient. In this energy and specific space the groundwork for the album was rooted, springing forth from the thick of the elemental and natural beauty these songs reference. The daylily on the cover of the album was picked from the land the shack is built upon - there’s a connection between the physical natural setting and the creative work itself, intertwined and natural bloom. Gustafson wanted to continue with that explorative energy once he got into the formal studio, allowing it to lead the group of players assembled – the albums feature performances by Jenn Wasner (Wye Oak, Bon Iver), Mat Davidson (Twain), Matt Douglas (The Mountain Goats), Joe Westerlund (Califone, Megafaun), Jeff Ratner (Bing and Ruth), and more. Gustafson wanted to dedicate the studio time to not just recording songs but also making something new, with new improvisations. The results feel at once casual and tremendous, the camaraderie and conversation between the players resulting in pieces that are lived-in but new. “Baby there ain’t no rules here/We can just slide,” Gustafson sings at the start of Body of Light’s opening title track, establishing a collective credo inside this gorgeous anthem about finding sanctuary with someone else. Notice how it seems to nod to flamenco before lifting into electronic abstraction, or how Wasner’s harmonies summon the deepest Southern soul over electric phosphorescence. And then there’s “Dirt for a Dying Sun,” where freight-train harmonica and spectral guitar frame a romantic dust-to-dust realism, where the best we can do is live wildly before we die. The characters on Body of Light are restless, damaged, and beautiful, whether clinging to an underground amid gentrification’s high rises during “Wolves” or holding on to the most intoxicating wisps of love during “Moon Shadow.” The band plays as if they’re just meeting these people for the first time, responding with an admixture of recognition and astonishment. The collected crew takes that approach to the next plane on I Am a Cloud, an intersection of Gustafson’s tone poems and top-tier improvisation. “Formations” is an exquisite instrumental, a soul-jazz dream of horns and bells, bejeweled drones and broken rhythms. Remembering the birthday night he spent alone on an Irish cliff as the Summer solstice neared several years ago, Gustafson narrates “A Bridge” as if he’s peering into his own mind with wonder and surprise. The finale, “Even Here, Even Now,” is a spiral galaxy, with the songs of crickets, the hums of a Shruti box, and the touch of percussion lifting Gustafson’s mantric statement of purpose—to keep moving, to keep singing, no matter what may come. It is a wondrous piece of devotional music that seems to praise sound itself—the gift that can open us up, when we’re no longer sure that can even happen anymore. “Sometimes it’s hard to be anyone anywhere it seems,” Gustafson, his voice as understanding as empathy, sings to start the second verse of “Hard Times, Sore Eyes,” the farewell for Body of Light. That may read like a bummer, a concise and crippling encapsulation of our struggles to make meaning that’s as right as rain. But, really, it’s a permission slip to elide expectation, to try something different. Maybe in the past, Gustafson was seen as the singer-songwriter in a folk-rock band called The Dead Tongues. But when he started to let that go, he found something fascinating, new, and absorbing. Body of Light and I Am A Cloud are brilliant chapters written after Gustafson wondered if he’d closed the book, and they are, in turn, hard to put down.

Arriving as the hippy movement was discovering its peaceful easy '70s feelings, Sandy Harless' Songs LP is Chillicothe, Ohio's lone contribution to the Cosmic American Music movement. Financed from a 27-aquarium fish breeding business, the album shows its Appalachian roots with a tight weave of mountain folk, rural rock, and pastoral country. Real people music.

Queer country rock from south of the Mason-Dixon line. High school folkie Charles Brown teamed up with regional rural rock rascals Sleepy Creek, triggering an unrequited inter-band love story and this album's melancholy title track. This 15-song LP gathers Brown's solo and band work from 1976-'82, and Jon Freeman's accompanying essay dissects the origin story of this private press pioneer.

Culled from half a decade of home four-tracking, Remote Echoes is a hissy, crumbly, and ungrounded expression of Clay Parton and Canaan Amber's ongoing Duster project. A mix of cassette only demos released under the banners Christmas Dust and On The Dodge, this 14 track album also includes a bevy of previously unissued stragglers. Duster's unique blend of fuzzy guitars, bargain synths, muffled percussion, and hushed vocals anticipated chillwave, mumblecore, and corecore, elegantly illustrating the holy trinity of slacker vices: cigarettes, coffee, and the weed supreme.。

With pop music’s volume knob adjusted for deflation in the early '70s, softness begat smoothness. Crewmen arrived from the worlds of jazz, folk, rock, and soul, all peddling a product that was sincere, leisurely, and lofty. A sound that was buoyant, crisp, defined. Sometimes classified as West Coast—and, later, Yacht Rock—the compass points of our Private Yacht expedition are the blue-eyed harmonies of Hall and Oates, the cocaine-dusted Fender Rhodes of Michael McDonald, and the combover strums of James Taylor. Here, at the glassy apex of rock’s softer side, 20 strong swimmers are gathered together. An album for both relaxation and reflection, where listeners can enjoy the present, a cool breeze, and a taste of the good life. As if fired from a cannon, the cacophony of ’60s rock left a ringing in some ears. Burned out or bummed out, fatigue had set in. Free Love had come at a price. Many young couples had become young families, with their bandleaders-turned-breadwinners gracious they’d purchased a station wagon rather than the customary van. As rock began to mellow and folk began to solidify, “Our House” became a work of nonfiction—with a mortgage. Some escaped the vortex of the collective cul-de-sac and lived to headbang another day, while others followed their collective hairlines, receding into the margins of the counterculture. Stretching an extension chord to the bonfire had always posed an obstacle for lackadaisical strummers. Likewise, plugging in poolside proved a new hazard. Others found it less of a bother to get an acoustic guitar in and out of rehab than an amplifier. Everywhere the wind blew, James Taylor and Carly Simon were soft rock’s power couple, with a combined catalog mellow enough to enjoy after the kids had been put to bed. This is not to say soft rock was a sacrifice. Rather, it reflected the refined tastes of the boomers: better wages, better dwellings, better drugs. Greater musicianship led to improved songwriting, chord voicing, and a deeper respect for harmony. Sometimes classified as West Coast—and, later, Yacht Rock—the architects of this sound were not exclusively Californians or mariners. These were stylistic tides felt in North Dakota and Colorado, along the Outer Banks and the Land of 10,000 Lakes. Softer fare could occasionally serve as a salve for city life, a coping mechanism for strong swimmers still treading the nations’ metropolises. With pop music’s volume knob adjusted for deflation, softness begat smoothness. Songs conceived on the Gibson Dreadnought were embellished with Fender Rhodes, hand percussion, and chimes. Crewmen arrived from the worlds of jazz, folk, rock, and soul, all peddling a product that was sincere, leisurely, and lofty. A sound that was buoyant, crisp, defined. Numerous artists were able to coexist along this narrow stylistic isthmus. There was Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young—and, eventually, Scaggs, Rundgren, Hall & Oates. All the while, James Taylor was still plucking away with a beautiful head of hair, no end in sight to where a capo could take him. The hands that hoisted the sail over the ’70s went down with the ship in the early ’80s. Feeding tributaries of Caucasian reggae, Salsalito, and Marina Rock, some ponds were drained while others stagnated, and others still overflowed. With the pop charts littered with shiny keyboards, sherbet guitars, and gated reverb, our celebrated strain of rock became a casualty of the gluttonous hair decade. Marriages capsized. Staring out from either coast, a thin membrane is almost visible, one that separates the calmness of the sky from the stillness of the sea. Likewise, it’s hard to distinguish the event horizon where acoustic forces swirled around thoughtful rock, creating the estuary subgenre to which this compilation is devoted. There, at the glassy apex of rock’s softer side, away from all of the commotion, exists a place for both relaxation and reflection, where listeners can enjoy the present, a cool breeze—a taste of the good life.

Descending out of the southern night sky through a turbulent cloud of dreams, memory, longing and psychedelia, Saigon Soul Revival’s second full length album — Mối Lương Duyên — represents the latest act in the group’s resuscitation of the raw, heavy and subversive sounds of 1960s and 70s Saigon. Roughly translated to “destiny”, Mối Lương Duyên is a journey through eight original compositions and three soul-stirring reinterpretations of Saigonese nhạc vàng or golden music: the soundtrack to a Saigon once thought lost to history and amnesia. Driven by Western influences rock, bolero, soul, jazz and the rich heritage of Vietnamese ballads, Mối Lương Duyên delivers a seamless blend of genres and traditional instrumentation (Đàn Tranh, Đàn Bầu & Đàn Nguyệt) with themes from across time and space. Nguyễn Anh Minh's seductive vocals glide through this multi-stylistic tapestry of sound, going beyond the universal concepts of love and heartbreak to explore how destiny can be forged through individual experiences... or as she puts it in her own words: "Anything and anyone that comes into your life, every occurrence, whatever comes and whatever goes. It all happens as it is meant to. Whatever you have to face, whoever you love or lose - we must accept it. We can’t choose our physical body, family, happiness or misery, our place in the world, in the universe...but we have the power to embrace and welcome our destiny. In Vietnamese "Mối Lương Duyên" means destiny but it doesn't only refer to love. It can mean many things, for example: How we all came together to form this band." In this way - by being part of the unfolding story - the album also attempts to musically connect the past with Vietnam's evolving future. And the fact that Saigon Soul Revival seems to succeed in this is perhaps also the reason why the song ĐÁM CƯỚI NHÀ EM will be featured in the upcoming HBO Mini-Serie „The Symphatizer“ (directed by Par Chan-Wook (Oldboy) / Robert Downey Junior producer and actor), which is based on the novel of the same name (Pulitzer Prize 2016) by Viet Thanh Nguyen.