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It is a human and artistic adventure made up of craftsmanship, passion, and continuous exchanges between high culture and pop tensions, that of Italo-House. A story of laboratories, sound workshops where the fascination for new technologies and the infinite possibilities they offered, is often mixed with the rigour for classical scores, the result of academic studies at the Conservatory. A story that is then intertwined with that of the balere, the places for dancing and socialising, where dance was not only an opportunity to stage a whirlwind pursuit of hedonism, but was born out of the desire to make a community, to meet, to discover a new family, that of the night, often more welcoming than the original one. It is also the concretisation of a dream, that of being able to ‘reconstruct’ an identity that did not taste of belonging, but of exoticism, of gazes turned towards the Afro-American culture, the one that derived from funk, soul, r'n'b, lived at times with the Salgarian spirit of ‘travelling without moving’.
Italian house was the first, anticipating the irruption of the digital scenarios that have forever changed ‘making art’, to redefine, to redraw a map that did not exist, that of the ‘young’ sound that shifted its creative trajectories from the megalopolises overseas (with all their urban poetics) to the Italian province, inside recording studios where a group of young maniacs of machines, mixers, synths, appropriated a language that was not their own and declined it by opening their minds, demonstrating, that indeed, anything is possible. They studied patterns that came from afar, they applied to those patterns the natural force of moving with sensuality, they showed that they knew perfectly how to build what rappers, a few years later, would call ‘The Perfect Rhythm’. They sought it out in the endless nights of discotheques, of dance halls, from the glitziest ones that would set the standard for Ibizan nightlife to the after-hours clubs on the outskirts of small towns. They succeeded in defining a syntax that, shortly afterwards, would mark, with its influence, the advent of what would become ‘club culture’. So many theme songs, often created for the occasion, rhythmic and melodic sequences packaged with the awareness that there are codified rules that can enhance ‘body language’. Sequences that, often, with their authors, would then fly to New York in search of the splendid voice to hire for a turn in the recording studio, to give the song that definitive and planetary dimension that has, with great ease, spanned the decades.
Authentic musicians, for the most part, those of the Italian house wave, often masters of the orchestra, other times electronic experimenters who were more familiar with the obscure and very, very underground rock clubs of new wave, with the distortions of post-punk, which had opened the ‘doors of perception’ in sound, rather than with the glittering clubs of the ‘original’ disco.
Music of mixture, in short, the representation of an aspiration, as one would say a few decades later, ‘glocal’, the maximum of localisation meets the maximum of globalisation. The airy crystalline openings, the national romanticism, the song that is tinged with black atmospheres, that wanders through the unfrequented streets of the ghetto and comes out with the strength of sentimentality that, in its best expressions, succeeds in making the liberating joy of dance a tactile experience.
Julien Dechery, expert digger behind the sublime ‘Sky Girl’ comp and survey of Ilaiyaraaja’s ‘80s Tamil film music, supplies a second mixtape for Good Morning Tapes, this time shifting focus toward North India and covering songs and scores drawn from films rooted in Hindustani classical, Devotional, and folk traditions, reframed through a downtempo, trip-hop and ambient perspectives during the the mid-1990s to 2000s.
‘Warmth in Cool’ revisits the parallel paradigm of downtempo film music for a beautifully transportive raft of melismatic vox, FM synths, sitars and balmy downbeats calling to mind everything from a North Indian answer to Kate Bush and Peter Gabriel to Ganavya’s new age spiritual jazz-fusion channellings of Alice Coltrane.
The vibe palpably seduces to the horizontal with a flawless tapestry of romantic film cues and new age synth diversions, immaculately arranged for psychic immersion and spiritual alignment. Definitely one for the lovers, and fans of Time Is Away or DJ Sundae’s finest, storytelling mixtapes.
Long-awaited reissue of this rare Jamaican compilation, originally licensed in 1964 on local imprint Soulsville Center. Prince Buster is the obvious matador here with five exclusive tracks. Also featuring ska stalwarts The Maytals, Don Drummond, Roland Alphonso, The Skatalites, Gaynor & Errol, Millie Small & Roy Panton, and Owen Gray.
When Nkrumah Jah Thomas’ hit #1 on the Jamaican charts in 1976 with his debut single ‘Midnight Rock’ on Alvin Ranglin’s GG label it gave the new DJ a theme song and an entry into the world of music. Within 3 years he had launched his own label Midnight Rock and alongside more music under his own name he produced a series of classics by the likes of Tristan Palmer, Anthony Johnson, Early B and many more.
In 1997 he signed a deal with Acid Jazz’s Roots label and since then through our on-going collaborations his career as a producer has been anthologised and developed, including the release of a series of archive King Tubby and Scientist mixes, the use of his masters to be sampled by Nas (on The Don), Protoje and others, and re-issues of his classic albums. To celebrate 40 year of Midnight Rock, last year Thomas went back into his tape archive to unearth another 10 tracks, either with original vocals or guest names brought in.
Behind original rhythms recorded at Channel 1, Tuff Gong and others, featuring the Roots Radics and The Midnight Rock Band and mixed in places like King Jammy’s and Tubby’s we are given a line-up of stellar talent. We have Lynval Thomson with the plaintive ‘I Can Be Your Man’, and forthright Super Cat on ‘Me Glad She Gone’ and first rare Luciano on ‘Good Thing Goin’ On. They are joined by Courtney Melody, Pinchers and Joesy Wales, Daville and more. Keeping the circle whole Thomas appears on two tracks including the future classic ‘Sounds A Go Dead Tonight’ with Junior Vibes.
Gathered together on record this will be released by The Roots label on the 19th of April 2021.
Zulu Guitar's Pioneering Tricksters
But for this compilation of rescued songs masterfully restored from rare 78 rpm shellacs, few could imagine the diversely beautiful roots of Zulu Guitar Music emerging during the period 1950 – 1965. Story-tellers and master musicians appropriate outlaw personae, re-purpose country and western, Hawaiian and other styles, to stretch and challenge our notion of “the Zulu guitar”.
Twenty-five songs (18 on vinyl) plunge us into the depths of the migrant experience. Translations in the liner notes offer us glimpses of pugnacity, melancholy and heartache, all coloured by the paternalism that circumscribed the singers’ apartheid-dominated lives.
The early mbaqanga undertow in many of the songs subverts the wanderlust of Country and Western music into a fugitivity burdened by nostalgia. Something irretrievable has been lost, prompting a blending of ideas and cultures to make sense through thankless acts of musical divination. Inadvertently they have been thrust into the role of the antihero, where outwitting competition for lovers is as important as evading the Black Jacks (apartheid’s municipal cops) and their informants.
Considering the politically repressive period that this music emerges from, we can surmise that the specificity in the storytelling went a long way towards evading censure. But even when words are absent, there is a narrative arc suggested by the musical expression.
With most of the master tapes wilfully destroyed or lost, modern transcription and restoration techniques from the original shellac discs present the original sound most likely more clearly than ever heard before.
Thirty-two artists honor the extraordinary legacy of Suzanne Langille through interpretations of her vast songbook. Langille is best known as an acclaimed avant garde singer-songwriter and collaborator of guitarist Loren Connors. They ventured into electrified blues and abstracted artsongs across more than a dozen albums since the mid-1980s.
Langille’s songs, with Connors, solo, or other collaborators, are marked by distinct and captivating depth. Her evocative lyrics, layered with themes of loss, longing, and the natural world, defy conventional boundaries, blending poetry with potent melodies. Her work embraces the uncertainty of life and the delicate spaces between joy and sorrow.
Langille’s first published composition — “Grip My Hand” — kicked off Connors’ 1990 album Rooms. As her songs began to dot more of Connors’ albums, she led the spontaneous blown-out rock band Haunted House and collaborated with the trio San Agustin. Later, she released two albums with daf-player Neel Murgai.
“Suzanne’s songwriting defies easy classification. She bypasses essay-style lyrics and unsubtle emotion. Instead, she dives into the tenuous spaces between life, the unknown, and the shades of uncertainty lingering in between,” Family Vineyard's Eric Weddle writes in the album liner notes. “That’s the magic of Suzanne’s songs. A melody rises and pulls you in, like the relentless undertow of the Long Island Sound.”
The Suzanne Langille Songbook features a diverse array of artists who reinterpret her music, showcasing its timeless and transformative power.
As the 1940s began, South Asian cinema entered a transformative phase. Playback singing, still a new idea in the previous decade, quickly became standard practice. Actors no longer had to sing, and singers no longer had to act, opening the door to a wave of dedicated vocal talent that redefined the sound of the industry.
Voices like Noor Jehan, Shamshad Begum, and Suraiya rose to prominence, becoming household names across the subcontinent. Behind them, composers like Naushad, Anil Biswas, and Ghulam Haider were expanding the sonic palette of film music, blending ragas with Western orchestration, folk tunes with jazz-era instrumentation. Harmoniums, sarangis, violins, accordions, and clarinets filled out increasingly complex arrangements, while ghazals and qawwalis continued to influence mood and structure.
Although the post-Partition years are often considered to be Bollywood’s “Golden Age,” thanks to filmmakers like Raj Kapoor, Bimal Roy, and Guru Dutt, the music started its peak just before the divide. By 1947, Naushad and others were producing some of the most emotionally rich and musically intricate work in the industry’s history, compositions that would prove challenging to surpass in the decades that followed.
Yet this high point came during a time of immense upheaval. The Second World War, the Bengal famine, and the crumbling of colonial rule all loomed large. Film songs often reflected the uncertainty, sometimes mournful, sometimes romantic, sometimes defiant. And when the Partition finally came, it fractured the world that had created this music. Artists became refugees, studios were split, and careers were thrown into flux. Noor Jehan, who would go on to become Pakistan’s most iconic singer, recorded many of her most beloved songs in Bombay. Khursheed, another major star, faded from public life after migrating. K.L. Saigal, a towering figure of the 1930s and '40s, died in Lahore just months before the split.
This collection spans those final years before Partition, a time of creative flowering and looming catastrophe. Like Part 1, these songs were sourced from immigrant-run music shops in New York and New Jersey. They are fragments of a vanishing world, each one a snapshot of the art, longing, and resilience that defined this extraordinary era.
— Gary Sullivan (Bodega Pop)
"It may surprise some that, after two decades of silent films, when Alam Ara broke the silence in 1931, it and every South Asian talkie that followed was what we in the West think of as a “musical.” Music had been integral to the culture’s staged drama going back to the Gupta Dynasty — sometime between the 4 th and 6 th Century CE. Since its inception, South Asian cinema drew heavily from Marathi, Parsi, and Bengali musical theatre and silent film screenings were often accompanied by live music to mimic a live staged experience.
When sound films arrived, actors with serious singing skills became the next wave of stars. Songs were performed live while shooting, with musicians hidden off-camera, to the side or sometimes even in trees. Playback singing — the practice of dubbing a real singer’s voice over a lip-syncing actor — didn’t become standard until the 1940s.
Thus, the biggest stars of the 1930s were also the greatest singers, with some, like Govindrao Tembe and Pankaj Mullick, excelling as both composers and vocalists. None, however, were more beloved than K.L. Saigal, whose emotional, untrained crooning captivated audiences across the subcontinent. Saigal’s voice inspired a young Lata Mangeshkar, who vowed to become India’s greatest filmi singer to win his heart. Sadly, Saigal grew increasingly addicted to alcohol, unable to perform without it, and passed away at age 42, seven months before the Partition. Lata never married.
This collection features some of the earliest songs from South Asian cinema, sourced from CDs and LPs found in Jackson Heights, Queens, Coney Island Avenue in Brooklyn, Lexington Avenue in Manhattan, and Oak Tree Road in Iselin, New Jersey — areas home to vibrant immigrant communities. South Asian immigration to New York and New Jersey surged after the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act, which lifted non-European quotas. By the 1990s and 2000s, the region’s Indian, Pakistani, and Bangladeshi media outlets flourished, especially in Jackson Heights, where such stores outnumbered the total number of regular record shops throughout the five boroughs.
The nascent period of sound film featured a limited palette of musical styles, predominantly Marathi Bhagveet, like the Ghazal, but with greater flexibility of subject matter and rhythm, and Rabindra Sangeet, the approximately 2,000 songs and poems composed by Bengali Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore. But there was some evolution as well, with the success of South Asian cinema’s first woman composer, the classically trained Saraswati Devi, and the introduction of Western instruments including the piano and Hawaiian guitar.
While much of the music was dark and brooding, perhaps exemplified best by Devika Rani’s interpretation of Saraswati Devi’s “Udi Hawa Mein” from 1936’s Achhut Kannya (Untouchable Maiden), there were moments of brightness, such as R.C. Boral’s “Lachhmi Murat Daras Dikhaye” sung by Kanan Devi in Street Singer, an otherwise thoroughly depressing film from 1938 that cemented Devi’s and co-star K.L. Saigal’s superstardom.
This selection was chosen to emphasise a range of expressivity, instrumentation and style achieved even within the decade’s relatively limited scope, setting the listener up for the relative explosion of possibility in the 1940s, to be covered in the next installment of this series."
— Gary Sullivan (Bodega Pop)
Originally released in 2018 via Philadelphia-based punk archive label World Gone Mad and now reissued by Death Is Not The End, Dark Wave From Poland 1982-1989 takes a glance behind the Iron Curtain to look at the Polish underground and its fertility when it came to generating minor key, doom-laden post-punk and new wave, giving us twenty rare tracks.
Our next release with Gary Sullivan's Bodega Pop project - rooted in a passion for digging for music in bodegas and cell-phone stores across NYC's boroughs. This edition focuses in on early recordings found in Russian neighborhoods in Brooklyn & Queens.
"At the turn of the last century, the Russian Empire stood at a crossroads, caught between the weight of its imperial past and the promise of a radically altered future. Recorded during a period of profound cultural transformation and unrest, the music collected here offers a haunting glimpse into that fragile moment in history. From playful and satirical melodies that were musichall staples to heartbreaking ballads reflecting the despair of those exiled to Siberian penal colonies, these songs provided both refuge and a reflection of the deep suffering experienced by many living under the regime. More than entertainment, they formed essential strands in the Russian cultural fabric of the time—songs sung in drawing rooms and taverns and on street corners and prison grounds.
I found this music in several gift and media stores in Forest Hills, Queens, and the Brighton Beach and Gravesend neighborhoods of Brooklyn. These and a few other communities are home to more than half a million people of Russian background currently living in New York City, many of them refugees. Back in the aughts and teens, when I was collecting music from New York’s innumerable immigrant-run stores, I would always wonder why this music, why here, and why now.
The CDs immigrants stocked on their New York shelves in the 2000s and 2010s was a tiny fraction of what was available in their home countries. The Russians were in the minority of those who consistently carried compilations of early 20th century recordings—the Chinese, Egyptian, Greek, and Turkish shopkeepers were the only others I remember off the top of my head as being particularly dedicated to this period of their musical history.
What was the appeal of such old music? First-generation Russian New Yorkers might have experienced in it a reflection of their own feelings of displacement and uncertainty. The deep sorrow and yearning expressed in these songs may have resonated with their own senses of loss while offering comfort in the form of shared emotional experience. Perhaps it was a way to keep some cultural memory alive in something they knew had once accompanied their elders and ancestors through times of hardship and change.
What is the appeal of such old music for us, today?"