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In 2023, k.d.b lived in a crumbling farmhouse on the edge of the River Maas. Each morning, he’d wake at 6:00 and walk along the river’s bank with his dogfriend Miemel, pausing at sunrise for a cup of coffee.
It’s 6:34, and a thick rug of mist rolls out across the river. It’s so dense that k.d.b can’t see the water beneath it. Then comes the sun: a single ray cutting through the mist like a tube of light, landing on Miemel’s face. In her mouth is a CD she’s picked up, and on the CD is the title Instrumental Romance.
'What is Instrumental Romance?' thinks k.d.b. 'Romantic instrumentals? Or a romance used instrumentally? As in, a romance used to get something—like love?'
Miemel drops the CD and turns her attention to a stray purple grape on the path. Grapes are poisonous to dogs, and as she bends toward it, k.d.b. shouts, “NO!” At that precise moment, a large fish rises from the mist. It launches into the air, mouth wide open, and hangs there above the clouds. His shout, having traveled across the river, bounces back towards k.d.b with a “NO,” and in perfect synchrony, it appears the fish is also shouting at Miemel. The timing is so perfect, they can’t be sure it isn’t.
The fish falls back down, entering its watery world with an eerie, splashless silence, leaving k.d.b and Miemel standing open-mouthed on the bank. Before they can register the perfection of this duet, another fish (or maybe the same one again) rises from the mist in the exact same spot and launches into the air. Without thinking, k.d.b shouts again. The word “ROMANCE” comes out. This time, however, he is slightly too late, and the word is too long, so “ROMANCE” lingers on after the fish has already fallen back down.
'What even is romance?' thinks k.d.b. 'The construction of mystery or excitement with dead red flowers and timing?'
A foghorn sounds behind him, and k.d.b turns 180 degrees to see a boat moving freight, right to left, along the River Maas. 'That’s strange', he thinks. 'If the river is there, then what’s that behind me, below the mist?'
Staring at the boat and its shipping containers as they float out of sight, k.d.b imagines a man. The man is standing at the bottom of a small valley, holding a fish. 'Who is this man, and what does he want?'
- Jacob Dwyer
Land Back!
An unadulterated opening statement intoned by Saul Williams three times, as he joins Carlos Niño & Friends in sound ceremony underneath oak and black walnut trees in Coldwater Canyon Park, Los Angeles, on December 18, 2024.
The performance, which was organized by Noah Klein of Living Earth on the grounds of longstanding conservationist organization TreePeople, was the first of its kind for longtime friends and collaborators Williams and Niño. The two have been in contact since 1997 and have worked on a variety of projects together, but had never been moved to present in this way. For the occasion, Niño assembled and directed an ensemble of frequent collaborators including Nate Mercereau (Guitar Synthesizer, Live Sampling with Midi Guitar, Sample Sources), Aaron Shaw (Flute, Soprano Saxophone with Pedals, Tenor Saxophone), Andres Renteria (Bells, Congas, Egyptian Rattle Drum, Hand Drums, Percussion), Maia (Flute, Vibraphone, Voice), Francesca Heart (Computer, Conch Shell, Sound Design), and Kamasi Washington (Tenor Saxophone).
Williams’ inspired poetics both fit seamlessly and guide clairvoyantly the electro-acoustic ecosystem created by Niño & Friends – a constellation of deep connections and intersecting linkups from complementary sound makers. There’s the dialogue between not just Niño & Williams but Niño and Renteria’s reciprocal percussions; the intergenerational woodwind counterpoint between Washington and Shaw; the hovering harmonics of Maia’s vibraphone in aerial resonance with Heart’s digital designs. Heart’s sounds also make a beautiful analogue to synth-guitarist Nate Mercereau, whose live sampling and manipulation techniques turn fleeting moments of sonic presence into musical architecture in real time. Deepening the dimensionality of this constellation, Mercereau and Niño are several years into a shared musical simpatico that has yielded dozens of powerful collaborations, making their particular interaction on this recording as spiritual and transcendent as it is subtle and implicit. And there is yet another connection to be highlighted still.
Late in the set, Williams shares an extended reflection on the Dutch East India Trade Company, the indigenous Lenape people on the island of Manahatta, the origins of Wall Street, and a prayer for the end of empire as he incites an epic crescendo from the ensemble, swirling behind the twin winds of Shaw and Washington, spirited by his repeated call “I’ve seen enough.” The smoke has only begun to clear from this emotional apex as Williams passes the torch to poet Aja Monet, who arrests the atmosphere with a soft apocalyptic reading of a piece from her notebook, “The Water Is Rising.”
As Monet finishes her poem and steps aside, Williams follows her foreboding words with a solemnly hopeful return – closing the ceremony with a parable about a firing squad, where one member's dilemma is a "system of belief" allowing for humanity in the heart of an oppressor.
Recorded in a single day at Element Studio, Gothenburg, A Guidance unites Joachim Nordwall’s processed grand piano with Leif Elggren’s prepared texts, guided by producer Linus Andersson. The trio—two citizens of the Kingdoms of Elgaland-Vargaland—followed instinct rather than plan, channelling a volatile energy that sits somewhere between John Duncan, late Scott Walker, and Ghédalia Tazartès.
Across four pieces, Nordwall’s resonant, decaying piano tones and Elggren’s cracked, ritualistic voice conjure an atmosphere of creeping tension and psychic exposure. ‘Evil Moisture’ sets the scene with funereal space and operatic dread; ‘Opening of the Grave’ pushes intensity to breaking point; ‘To Return’ festers into uneasy stillness before collapsing in the closing ‘Forever in the Ever and Never’.
As Nordwall recalls, “Sometimes the music is just there, and you only have to let it flow.” A Guidance documents that rare moment of total surrender—where sound, text, and impulse converge into something raw, strange, and utterly possessed.
Land Back!
An unadulterated opening statement intoned by Saul Williams three times, as he joins Carlos Niño & Friends in sound ceremony underneath oak and black walnut trees in Coldwater Canyon Park, Los Angeles, on December 18, 2024.
The performance, which was organized by Noah Klein of Living Earth on the grounds of longstanding conservationist organization TreePeople, was the first of its kind for longtime friends and collaborators Williams and Niño. The two have been in contact since 1997 and have worked on a variety of projects together, but had never been moved to present in this way. For the occasion, Niño assembled and directed an ensemble of frequent collaborators including Nate Mercereau (Guitar Synthesizer, Live Sampling with Midi Guitar, Sample Sources), Aaron Shaw (Flute, Soprano Saxophone with Pedals, Tenor Saxophone), Andres Renteria (Bells, Congas, Egyptian Rattle Drum, Hand Drums, Percussion), Maia (Flute, Vibraphone, Voice), Francesca Heart (Computer, Conch Shell, Sound Design), and Kamasi Washington (Tenor Saxophone).
Williams’ inspired poetics both fit seamlessly and guide clairvoyantly the electro-acoustic ecosystem created by Niño & Friends – a constellation of deep connections and intersecting linkups from complementary sound makers. There’s the dialogue between not just Niño & Williams but Niño and Renteria’s reciprocal percussions; the intergenerational woodwind counterpoint between Washington and Shaw; the hovering harmonics of Maia’s vibraphone in aerial resonance with Heart’s digital designs. Heart’s sounds also make a beautiful analogue to synth-guitarist Nate Mercereau, whose live sampling and manipulation techniques turn fleeting moments of sonic presence into musical architecture in real time. Deepening the dimensionality of this constellation, Mercereau and Niño are several years into a shared musical simpatico that has yielded dozens of powerful collaborations, making their particular interaction on this recording as spiritual and transcendent as it is subtle and implicit. And there is yet another connection to be highlighted still.
Late in the set, Williams shares an extended reflection on the Dutch East India Trade Company, the indigenous Lenape people on the island of Manahatta, the origins of Wall Street, and a prayer for the end of empire as he incites an epic crescendo from the ensemble, swirling behind the twin winds of Shaw and Washington, spirited by his repeated call “I’ve seen enough.” The smoke has only begun to clear from this emotional apex as Williams passes the torch to poet Aja Monet, who arrests the atmosphere with a soft apocalyptic reading of a piece from her notebook, “The Water Is Rising.”
As Monet finishes her poem and steps aside, Williams follows her foreboding words with a solemnly hopeful return – closing the ceremony with a parable about a firing squad, where one member's dilemma is a "system of belief" allowing for humanity in the heart of an oppressor.
Louise Landes Levi - reissue of her Jack Kerouac Centennial reading that was part of her long out of print CCC boxset. The originally one-sided tape has new artwork and on the B side new material by LLL and Bombay Lunatic Asylum.
Limited to 60 copies only and released by Counter Culture Chronicle, the “Behind the Buddha's Mask” cassette is a stunning effort, largely built around the unique recordings made by Christophe Albertijn at the Middelheim Museum in May 2021. While the pandemic forced poet, writer, sarangi player and global wanderer Louise Landes Levi to reside in Japan, her voice – reciting poems from the “Behind the Buddha’s Mask” poem – was transported to the confines of Bruce Nauman’s site-specific installation named Diamond Shaped Room with Yellow Light, hosting the hypnotic, ritualistic playing of Bart De Paepe (Harmonium, Shruti box) and Koen Vandenhoudt (Sarangi, bells), under their Bombay Lunatic Asylum guise. Flirting with the outer-reaches charted by Buddhist music, “Behind the Buddha's Mask” is a trance-inducing, meditative, cosmic world of sonic interplay. On Side B we find Louise Landes Levi recorded live at Restaurant Tangine, NYC on November 20, 2002 with Ira Cohen, Kelvin Daly, J.D. Parran and assorted mysterious guests. Louise Landes Levi is a poet, translator, musician, and performer whose travels have charted an elaborate constellation of mystic and cosmic pathways. A founding member of Daniel Moore’s Floating Lotus Magic Opera Company, she participated - from 1967 to 1969, alongside Terry Riley and Angus MacLise - in multidisciplinary drama inspired by Artaud’s research with the Tarahumara, the Balinese Gamelan, Tibetan monastic ritual, and Indian dance. Following studies at Mills College with sarangi master Pandit Ram Narayan, Levi traveled alone from Paris through Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, on her way to India to study the country’s traditions of Classical music and poetry, becoming the student of Ustad Abdul Majid Khan, and later of Ali Akbar Khan, Annapurna Devi, and La Monte Young.
Counter Culture Chronicles is proud to announce the release of a remarkable archival discovery: Allen Ginsberg – En Route To Gent, a previously unreleased recording capturing the legendary Beat poet Allen Ginsberg in an extraordinarily candid and intimate setting. This unique audio document presents Ginsberg interviewed in Amsterdam, traveling en route to Gent, and finally performing at the concert hall, offering an unprecedented glimpse into the mind and artistry of one of America's most influential poets. This extraordinary tape features Ginsberg with his lifelong partner Peter Orlovsky, alongside prominent figures from the European literary scene: Dutch poet Simon Vinkenoog, who served as Ginsberg's translator and was a key figure in the Dutch "Fifties Movement", and Dutch Beat poet and artist Harry Hoogstraten, known for his collaborations with international literary figures. Throughout the recording, Ginsberg displays the remarkable candor and spontaneity that made him a defining voice of his generation. Far from a formal interview, this is an intimate portrait of the poet in conversation, revealing his thoughts on poetry, politics, and the human condition with characteristic honesty and insight. The tape captures Ginsberg not only speaking but also singing and playing, demonstrating the performative dimension of his work that made him such a compelling live presence. Vinkenoog was European Beat personified, serving as Ginsberg's translator and publishing the first substantial Dutch translation of Ginsberg's poems. Orlovsky, Ginsberg's lifelong companion and fellow poet, was a central figure in the Beat Generation, portrayed by Jack Kerouac as the saintly Simon Darlovsky in Desolation Angels. Hoogstraten was a veteran Dutch poet and artist whose work appeared in publications from Rolling Stone to The East Village Other. This recording represents a convergence of American and European counterculture movements, capturing a moment when Beat poetry was finding new audiences and interpretations across the Atlantic. What makes this recording particularly special is its unguarded nature. Ginsberg speaks with the same directness and vulnerability that characterized his greatest poems, including Howl and Kaddish. The presence of Orlovsky adds an intimate dimension, while Vinkenoog and Hoogstraten provide the European perspective that enriches the conversation. For scholars of Beat literature, this tape offers invaluable insight into Ginsberg's working methods and philosophical outlook. For general listeners, it provides an accessible entry point into the world of one of America's most important poets, presented in his own voice and words. This is essential listening for anyone interested in Beat literature, 20th-century poetry, or the international counterculture movements that shaped modern literary expression.
Jad Fair of cult lo-fi pioneers Half Japanese has a discography that stretches across decades and countless collaborations. In the 1990s, he worked with his favourite bands—Daniel Johnston, The Pastels, Sonic Youth, Teenage Fanclub, and Yo La Tengo—cementing his reputation as one of underground rock’s most prolific and unpredictable figures.
Originally released in 1998 on Matador, Strange But True pairs Fair with Yo La Tengo for a set of wildly inventive songs whose lyrics were drawn from outrageous tabloid headlines. The result is a playful, off-kilter, and genre-hopping record that captures both Fair’s irreverent imagination and Yo La Tengo’s restless versatility.
Unavailable for years, this cult favourite now returns thanks to Joyful Noise and Bar/None, bringing back a lost gem of the ’90s indie underground. Equal parts oddball and inspired, Strange But True is a reminder of a time when indie rock thrived on eccentricity and freedom.
Long Gone Are The Old Traditions delivers another sonic message from West-London based producer, singer and songwriter Tutu Ta.
Following on from 2024's "The Shrine" and "Clay Birds Are Grey" from earlier this year - the artist continues to blur the lines between dub, spoken word, beats and post-punk using this to further collect a sound that is unique and powerful. "Violence Or Violets" leans into more personal and haunted sounds with the EP bringing ethereal vocals to the forefront while still maintaining a punchy nod to the soundsystems well recognised in the artist home-town. A driven heart provoking siren that is pushing the artist into new lengths and heart-aching sonics.
Out of press in its original form for years, controversial beat poet Allen Ginsberg's East Village love-in 'First Blues' - a vast double-album of collaborations with everyone from Arthur Russell to Bob Dylan and Don Cherry - is newly reissued via Death Is Not The End. It's hard to deny Ginsberg's impact; his poetry alone was enough to shift the course of US counter culture, and you can visualise his contributions to downtown punk and folk. But his music career isn't quite as intimately understood, which makes 'First Blues' a pretty vital artefact for anyone looking to investigate further. Ginsberg wrote and recorded the material between 1971 and 1983, taking the opportunity to leaf through his lengthy phonebook and call up anyone he admired or had collaborated with in the past. So Dylan - who Ginsberg had collaborated with before - shows up on the first few tracks, helping to balance out his friend's wobbly-voiced, country-fried recitations with tangled acoustic twangs. The money shots comes with the majority of the remaining tracks, produced and featuring cello by Arthur Russell, given free rein to rumble through folk, blues, jazz and gospel over Ginsberg’s sexcapades, Buddhist revelations and conspiracy theories with bare-faced joy. 'CIA Dope Calypso' is a bonkers highlight, a chirpy Harry Belafonte reinterpretation that lambasts the Central Intelligence Agency for its under-the-radar drug peddling, while 'Sickness Blues' uses Russell's bendy cello tones as a crash mat for Ginsberg's pained lamentations.
Out of press in its original form for years, controversial beat poet Allen Ginsberg's East Village love-in 'First Blues' - a vast double-album of collaborations with everyone from Arthur Russell to Bob Dylan and Don Cherry - is newly reissued via Death Is Not The End. It's hard to deny Ginsberg's impact; his poetry alone was enough to shift the course of US counter culture, and you can visualise his contributions to downtown punk and folk. But his music career isn't quite as intimately understood, which makes 'First Blues' a pretty vital artefact for anyone looking to investigate further. Ginsberg wrote and recorded the material between 1971 and 1983, taking the opportunity to leaf through his lengthy phonebook and call up anyone he admired or had collaborated with in the past. So Dylan - who Ginsberg had collaborated with before - shows up on the first few tracks, helping to balance out his friend's wobbly-voiced, country-fried recitations with tangled acoustic twangs. The money shots comes with the majority of the remaining tracks, produced and featuring cello by Arthur Russell, given free rein to rumble through folk, blues, jazz and gospel over Ginsberg’s sexcapades, Buddhist revelations and conspiracy theories with bare-faced joy. 'CIA Dope Calypso' is a bonkers highlight, a chirpy Harry Belafonte reinterpretation that lambasts the Central Intelligence Agency for its under-the-radar drug peddling, while 'Sickness Blues' uses Russell's bendy cello tones as a crash mat for Ginsberg's pained lamentations.
Counter Culture Chronicles proudly announces the reissue of Dr. Timothy Leary – The Radicalization Of Timothy Leary, a remarkable archival collection from the early days of Counter Culture Chronicles. This powerful audio document captures one of the most dramatic and controversial periods in American counterculture history, focusing on the period following Dr. Timothy Leary's spectacular Weather Underground-assisted prison escape and flight to Algeria in 1970. In September 1970, Leary escaped from California's minimum-security prison by climbing along a telephone wire over a 12-foot chain-link fence, aided by the Weather Underground in a daring operation that cost $25,000. This escape led him first to Algeria, where he sought refuge with Black Panther leader Eldridge Cleaver, before eventually being captured and returned to the United States. This cassette contains a fascinating 1966 interview of Leary at the Millbrook estate, where he and Ram Dass (then Richard Alpert) continued their psychedelic research after being dismissed from Harvard. Both men were formally dismissed from Harvard in 1963 - Leary for leaving Cambridge without permission and Alpert for allegedly giving psilocybin to an undergraduate. The recording captures Leary during his transition from academic researcher to counterculture icon, offering insights into his evolving philosophy and growing radicalization. The collection includes a reaction to Leary's escape and Algerian exile by Ram Dass, his former Harvard colleague and lifelong friend. The two had launched the Harvard Psilocybin Project in 1960, conducting clinical studies that dramatically reduced prisoner recidivism rates through guided psychedelic therapy. Their friendship endured despite taking dramatically different paths after Harvard, with Alpert becoming the spiritual teacher Ram Dass while Leary evolved into the counterculture's most famous advocate for consciousness expansion. Most dramatically, the tape features a 1971 communique by Eldridge Cleaver, the Black Panther Party's Minister of Information, in which he distances himself from fellow-exile Leary. Cleaver had placed Leary under "revolutionary arrest" as a counter-revolutionary for promoting drug use, reflecting the tension between the Panthers' political militancy and Leary's psychedelic evangelism. In this statement, Cleaver renounced any alliance between the Black Panthers and Leary, and also renounced involvement with psychedelic drug culture as a whole. The recording concludes with a 1983 interview of Leary following the publication of his autobiography Flashbacks, offering retrospective insights into this turbulent period. President Richard Nixon had called Leary "the most dangerous man in America," and during the 1960s and 1970s, he was arrested 36 times. This collection captures the complexity of a figure who went from respected Harvard psychologist to fugitive revolutionary to eventual government informant. Reissued as Counter Culture Chronicles 4 with new artwork and including two inserts with militant quotes from both Leary and Cleaver from the Algeria period, this release documents a pivotal moment when psychedelic consciousness met revolutionary politics in the cauldron of 1970s radicalism. The tensions and contradictions captured in these recordings illuminate the broader conflicts within the American counterculture movement itself. This is essential listening for anyone seeking to understand the intersection of consciousness research, political radicalism, and the underground movements that defined an era. As the insert notes: "Brains on fire and souls on ice."
Cleaning Out The Empty Administration Building is Ross Farrar's latest offering of raw, spoken word abstraction and experimental sound design, presented here as R.J.F. The front man for American bands Ceremony and SPICE realized his solo recording project initially as a challenge, to write songs from the ground up, learning the instrumentation and excavating his subconscious in the process. The point was not fluency in musicianship as much as vulnerability; to pull something honest from a moment, unguarded, unpolished, unapologetically amateur and pure. The collection finds Farrar engaged in open-ended poetic dialogue, crossing drum patterns and found sounds with stabs of guitar, bass, and keys. After over twenty years in the comfort and chaos of collaboration, Farrar sheds it all as a test. The results are distinctive and stirring.
Farrar’s punk pathos is present in traces of 'Cleaning', while his clearest cues come from music built more through repetition: drone, no-wave, Avant-jazz, and beyond. His plainspoken prose nods to Lou Reed, Rowland S. Howard and other weirdo greats. His lyrics riff on love, addiction, fatherhood, and life in the modern world. "I wanted to make images that people can see clearly,"
he says. Farrar used to teach writing and literature, and here he applies the simple principle he encouraged his students to follow: don’t overthink it. "I was just saying to myself, these songs should be fun. They shouldn't be stressful. Do a couple of different takes and call it, you know, don't obsess over the sounds of everything. Do whatever comes out naturally, and if you feel it, then print it." Selected from hundreds of freeform songs he’s recorded on borrowed gear in recent years, the album presented itself over time. "It just kept coming."
'Cleaning''s tone has a way of bending time, displacing the listener through a hall of songs, each opening a different door into rooms that often feel eerily familiar. The gurgling bass of opener "Advance" returns elsewhere, haunting tracks like "Ovidian," a reference to Metamorphōsēs by the Roman poet Ovid, where Farrar waxes on the wonder of change over distant chimes.
Instrumentals "Gravity Hill," a flutter of buzzing synth and static, and "Frogs," all strums and pots n’ pans percussion, serve as trance-inducing interstitials, adding to the power of the prose that surrounds. "Exile" looks back on fallouts he can no longer repair; “So much of your heart caught in my exile,” he sings with tender resignation, looping a lone piano refrain with ambling guitar chords for the collection’s most structured arrangement, a reminder of Farrar’s knack for melodic phrasings.
The album ends on "Traveling Light From Afar," a full step faster than anything that precedes it. Here, over a backbone of motorik pulses, Farrar addresses the crux of the project head-on. “I’ve been so young in my old age / Selfish & self-pitying / But that’s just narcissism–man.” It is this balance, between gritty self-interrogation and the clarity of self-awareness that comes with getting older, that the artist can make space for progress, emptying out the building, one line at a time.
Noisy, surreal and uncompromisingly idiosyncratic, The Shadow Ring's 1997-released 'Hold Onto I.D.' is a perennially misunderstood rust spot in their discography, marked by Graham Lambkin's choked free-form poetry and Tim Goss's eerie Radiophonic oscillations.
Squeezed between '96's 'Wax-Work Echoes', founder members Lambkin and Darren Harris's first album with keyboard player Goss, and '99's dark, concept-driven double album 'Lighthouse', it's easy to understand why 'Hold Onto I.D.' is one of The Shadow Ring's most overlooked full-lengths. Listening now, it falls perfectly into place; if they were playing fast and loose with the possibilities on 'Wax-Work...' and exploring new territory with 'Lighthouse', this is the point where Lambkin, Harris and Goss were able to take stock, augmenting the Bolan-goes-Jandek crankiness of 'City Lights' and its snotty follow-up 'Put the Music in its Coffin' with frazzled, hot-wired electronics and isolationist, paranoiac reflections. "You've got to learn the difference between sweat and dew," Harris deadpans on opener 'Watch the Water'. "You've got black lakes forming on your floor, and the dusty brown rug from decades or so ago becomes hot spot for shrimp and nautical foe."
Lambkin's muculent tales of small-town boredom ink a rough outline of Folkestone, the somnolent coastal town where the band lived, contrasting literal decay with asphyxiating cultural emptiness. On previous records, The Shadow Ring had sounded as if they were delivering their own discrete reading of British rock, but the music falls away from the figurative even further here. The gunky, detuned riffs are there just to prop up the stern, psycho-satirical lyrics (guitars would disappear completely by 'Lighthouse'), and any rhythms have become little more than side-room ambient clatter. It's Goss's piercing, terror-stricken monosynth keens that take pride of place, forming an uncomfortable bed of anxious electronics that buzzes beneath the entire record. Lambkin and Harris break and bend their acoustic instruments as if they're speaking to the synth sounds from a similar vantage points, like forgotten remnants of British folk history.
A disheveled piano is tapped at furtively on 'Wash What You Eat', and dissonant chords crack awkwardly from a cheap acoustic guitar; Goss's swirling, pitchy warbles sound as if they've been pulled from a Quatermass re-run and copy-pasted with cheap cassette. And it's the fact that we're served this inner vision of humdrum British surrealism - a no-hope fantasized hi-culture/lo-culture melt fueled by tapes, fanzines and overdue library books - that makes it so enduringly good. Lambkin, Harris and Goss weren't pretentiously trying to affix their images onto concepts earmarked for the elite, they were working in their own damp, festering cinematic universe and presenting it warts 'n all. It's fucking timeless.
Irreversible Entanglements’s self-titled debut album was originally released in September 2017, and features the first music ever played together by the freshly assembled Philly/NY/DC-based quintet of poet Camae Ayewa (aka Moor Mother), bassist Luke Stewart, saxophonist Keir Neuringer, trumpeter Aquiles Navarro, and drummer Tcheser Holmes. The explosive collection of improvised free-jazz with spoken word accompaniment was born after the group's initial meeting at a Musicians Against Police Brutality event (organized by musicians/comrades Amirtha Kidambi and Peter Evans following the state-sponsored killing of Akai Gurley).
As the original press release puts it: “the spirit and subject the band channels and explores represent a return to a central tenet of the free jazz sound as it was founded—to be a vehicle for Black liberation. As creative and adventurous as any recording of contemporary avant-garde jazz but offering listeners no abstractions to hide behind, this is music that both honors and defies tradition, speaking to the present while insisting on the future.”
It’s that balance of honor and defiance that is so palpable in this early music of Irreversible Entanglements which, despite its system-shocking effect, sits squarely in the lineage of East Coast free jazz (often echoing the mid-1960s work of The New York Art Quartet and Amiri Baraka, among others). That line can be traced through all of the band’s recordings, including two other albums released by International Anthem (2020's Who Sent You? and 2021's Open The Gates), and their 2023 album Protect Your Light (released by Impulse! Records). Now ten years on from their first collective sound captured in the recording session for this self-titled debut, it’s clear that Irreversible Entanglements's intensity of spirit and purity of purpose influenced our label as much as it did its own community.
The IA11 Edition LP features our IARC 2025 obi strip, plus a new 8-page 11x11" insert booklet with unpublished session photos and new liner notes by Irreversible Entanglements bassist Luke Stewart.
“This is the time that we, who have benefited from the Last Poets should be able to say, ‘it’s the Last Poets. It’s them we should be honouring, because we did not honour them for so many years…”
KRS One wasn’t just addressing the hip hop fraternity when he uttered those words by way of introducing the video for Invocation – a poem written thirty years ago, around the time of the Last Poets’ last significant comeback. He was speaking to everyone who’s been affected by the word, sound and power issuing from the most revolutionary poetry ever witnessed, and that the Last Poets had introduced to the world outside of Harlem at the dawn of the seventies.
In 2018 the two remaining Last Poets, Abiodun Oyewole and Umar Bin Hassan, embarked on another memorable return with an album – Understand What Black Is – that earned favourable comparison with their seminal works of the past, whilst showcasing their undimmed passion and lyrical brilliance in an entirely new setting – that of reggae music. Tracks like Rain Of Terror (“America is a terrorist”) and How Many Bullets demonstrated that they’d lost none of their fire or anger, and their essential raison d’etre remained the same.
“The Last Poets’ mission was to pull the people out of the rubble o f their lives,” wrote their biographer Kim Green. “They knew, deep down that poetry could save the people – that if black people could see and hear themselves and their struggles through the spoken word, they would be moved to change.”
Several years later and the follow-up is now with us. The project started when Tony Allen, the Nigerian master drummer whose unique polyrhythms had driven much of Fela Kuti’s best work, dropped by Prince Fatty’s Brighton studio and laid down a selection of drum patterns to die for. That was back in 2019, but then the pandemic struck. Once it had passed, the label booked a studio in Brooklyn, where the two Poets voiced four tracks apiece and breathed fresh energy, fire and outrage into some of the most enduring landmarks of their career. Abiodun, who was one of the original Last Poets who’d gathered in East Harlem’s Mount Morris Park to celebrate Malcolm X’s birthday in May 1968, chose four poems that first appeared on the group’s 1970 debut album, called simply The Last Poets. He’d written When The Revolution Comes aged twenty, whilst living in Jamaica, Queens. “We were getting ready for a revolution,” he told Green. “There wasn’t any question about whether there was going to be one or not. The truth was many of us still saw ourselves as “niggers” and slaves. This was a mindset that had to change if there was ever to be Black Power.”
He and writer Amiri Baraka were deep in conversation one day when Baraka became distracted by a pretty girl walking by. “You’re a gash man,” Abiodun told him. The poem inspired by that incident, Gash Man, is revisited on the new album, and exposes the heartless nature of sexual acts shorn of intimacy or affection. “Instead of the vagina being the entrance to heaven,” he says, “it too often becomes a gash, an injury, a wound…”
Two Little Boys meanwhile, was inspired after seeing two young boys aged around 11 or 12 “stuffing chicken and cornbread down their tasteless mouths, trying to revive shrinking lungs and a wasted mind.” They’d walked into Sylvia’s soul food restaurant in Harlem, ordered big meals, then bolted them down and run out the door. No one chased after them, knowing that they probably hadn’t eaten in days. Fifty years later and children are still going hungry in major cities across America and elsewhere. Abiodun’s poem hasn’t lost any relevance at all, and neither has New York, New York, The Big Apple. “Although this was written in 1968, New York hasn’t changed a bit,” he admits, except “today, people just mistake her sickness for fashion.”
Umar is originally from Akron, Ohio, but had arrived in Harlem in early 1969 after seeing Abiodun and the other Last Poets at a Black Arts Festival in Cleveland. That’s where he first witnessed what Amiri Baraka once called “the rhythmic animation of word, poem, image as word-music” – a creative force that redefined the concept of performance poetry and stripped it bare until it became a howl of rage, hurt and anger, saved from destruction by mockery and love for humanity. When Umar’s father, who was a musician, was jailed for armed robbery he took to the streets from an early age where he shined shoes and raised whatever money he could to help feed his eight brothers and sisters. By the time he saw the Last Poets he’d joined the Black United Front and was ready to join the struggle.
Once in Harlem, Abiodun asked him what he’d learnt in the few weeks since he’d got there. “Niggers are scared of revolution,” Umar replied. “Write it down” urged Abiodun. That poem still gives off searing heat more than fifty years later. In Umar’s own words, “it became a prayer, a call to arms, a spiritual pond to bathe and cleanse in because niggers are not just vile and disgusting and shiftless. Niggers are human beings lost in someone else’s system of values and morals.”
And there you have it. It's not just race or religion that hold us back, but an economic system that keeps millions in poverty and living in fear – a system born from political choice and that’s now become so entrenched, so bloated on its own success that it’s put mankind in mortal danger. It was many black people’s acceptance of the status quo that inspired Just Because, which like Niggers Are Scared Of Revolution, was included on that seminal first album. Along with their revolutionary rhetoric, it was the Last Poets’ use of the “n word” that proved so shocking, but it would be wrong to suggest that they reclaimed it, since it never belonged to black people in the first place. There’s never any hiding place when it comes to the Last Poets. They use words like weapons, and that force all who listen to decide who they are and where they stand.
Umar’s two remaining tracks find him revisiting poems first unleashed on the Poets’ second album This Is Madness! Abiodun had left for North Carolina by then where he became more deeply enmeshed in revolutionary activities and spent almost four years in jail for armed robbery after attempting to seize funds related to the Klu Klux Klan. Meanwhile, the 21 year old Umar was squatting in Brooklyn and had developed close ties with the Dar-ul Islam Movement. A longing for purity and time-honoured spiritual values underpins Related to What, whilst This Is Madness is a call for freedom “by any means necessary,” and that paints a feverish landscape peopled by prominent black leaders but that quickly descends into chaos. “All my dreams have been turned into psychedelic nightmares,” he wails, over a groove now powered by Tony Allen’s ferocious drumming.
Those sessions lasted just two days, and we can only imagine the atmosphere in that room as the hip hop godfathers exchanged the conga drums of Harlem for the explosive sounds of authentic Afrobeat. Once they’d finished, the recordings and momentum returned to Prince Fatty’s studio, since relocated from Brighton to SE London. This was stage three of the project, and who better to fill out the rhythm tracks than two key musicians from Seun Anikulapo Kuti’s band Egypt 80? Enter guitarist Akinola Adio Oyebola and bassist Kunle Justice, who upon hearing Allen’s trademark grooves exclaimed, “oh, the Father… we are home!”
Such joy and enthusiasm resulted in the perfect fusion of Nigerian Afrobeat and revolutionary poetry, but the vision for the album wasn’t yet complete. He wanted to create a new kind of soundscape – one that reunited the Poets with the progressive jazz movement they’d once shared with musicians like Sun Ra and Pharoah Sanders. It was at that point they recruited exciting jazz talents based in the UK like Joe Armon Jones from Mercury Prize winners Ezra Collective, also widely acclaimed producer/remixer and keyboard player Kaidi Tatham, who’s been likened to Herbie Hancock, and British jazz legend Courtney Pine, whose genius on the saxophone and influence on the UK’s now vibrant jazz scene is beyond question.
The instrumental tracks on Africanism are in many ways as revelatory and exciting as the Last Poets’ own. It’s important to remember that the kaleidoscope of styles and influences we’re presented with here aren’t the result of sampling but were played “live” by musicians responding to sounds made by other musicians. That’s where the magic comes from, aided by Prince Fatty’s peerless mixing which allows us to hear everything with such clarity. Music fans today have grown accustomed to listening to all kinds of different genres. Their tastes have never been so broad or all-encompassing, and so the music on this new Last Poets’ album is as groundbreaking as their lyrics, and perfectly suited to the era that we’re now living in.
Junko Tange's second and final album is a minimalistic, phantasmagoric masterpiece of distant, dreamlike voices woven through pulsating, dubbed-out drum machines, synths and static, originally issued by Osaka's Vanity Records in 1981. Did this unassuming dental student (who vanished from the music world following this release) inadvertently invent dub techno? You be the judge. Label head Yuzuru Agi said this was his favorite Vanity release, and it's not hard to see why. Remastered by Stephan Mathieu from brand new transfers of the miraculously well preserved original analog tapes, this fully authorized 2LP (@45rpm) is the definitive edition of this landmark electronic work. Packaged in a deluxe, gatefold Stoughton tip-on jacket.
