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Paris, 1978. Don Cherry walks into a French studio with a suitcase full of instruments nobody expected and meets Ustad Ahmed Latif Khan for the first time. No rehearsal, no plan, just two musicians who recognize each other immediately as kindred spirits. What happens next is one of Cherry's best efforts - an album only hardcore fans know about, recorded in Paris, released only in France in 1981, disappeared, and now back again in a special edition that demands attention. This is what "world music" should have been before the term got watered down into airport lounge background noise.
Don Cherry - the man who stood next to Ornette Coleman in Los Angeles and New York, playing trumpet and cornet through the birth of Free Jazz, that final structural revolution of American improvisation based on melody rather than harmony. But Cherry never stopped there. He had a voracious musical appetite and boundless imagination that pulled him toward India, Brazil, Africa, Indonesia, China - not as a tourist collecting sounds, but with deep personal engagement. His commitment ran deeper than novelty. This wasn't about exotic decoration. This was about a global vision of art and the human condition.
Ustad Ahmed Latif Khan - Delhi gharana lineage, new generation tabla master who extended what his predecessors had built, gained recognition as a soloist, ventured onto the international scene. Irregular rhythmic patterns, highly syncopated, rich in variety and originality. The kind of percussionist who could grasp Cherry's intentions immediately, warm up his fingers at astonishing speed, tune Cherry's entire diverse instrument collection - concert piano, Hammond B3 organ, chromatic orchestral timpani - with perfect pitch and no hesitation.
They had never met before the recording session. But they recognized each other immediately. Calm, focused, full of laughter. Cherry knew what he wanted to create. Latif posed no challenge - he was the answer. The result is an incredible mixture of jazz and Indian music that doesn't feel like mixture at all - it feels like the music that was always supposed to exist when these two worlds met at the right moment with the right people. Not fusion for fusion's sake. Not "exotic instruments" as decoration. This is two masters speaking the same language for the first time and realizing they'd been having the same conversation in different rooms for years.
Recorded 1978 in Paris. Released only in France in 1981. Disappeared. Forgotten except by those who knew. First reissued by Honest Jon's years ago. Now back in special edition format because some records refuse to stay buried.
Essential for anyone who thinks Don Cherry's best work ended with Ornette, or that "world music" has to choose between authenticity and imagination. This is both. This is neither. This is what happens when boundaries dissolve because they were never really there.
Having sold his instruments to fund a nomadic 1970s lifestyle, eccentric Irish experimentalist Michael O’Shea was forced to create his own handmade answer to the sitars and zelochords he’d become accustomed to playing on his travels around the globe.
Using an old door, 17 strings, chopsticks and combining them with phasers, echo units and amplification, the new device was to become his signature sound, mixing Irish folk influences with Asian and North African sounds in a mesmerising and soulful new way that brought him to the attention of the leading improvisers of his day - Alice Coltrane, Ravi Shankar, Don Cherry and more.
A logical follow up to AllChival’s recent reissue of Stano's debut LP, Michael O’Shea’s self titled LP was originally released on Wire's Dome Imprint in 1982.
The background to the album is as interesting and inspiring as the artist who created it - born in Northern Ireland but raised in the Republic, O’Shea was keen to travel and escape the troubles of his home.
Wandering throughout Europe and the Middle East, O’Shea found himself living and working as a relief aid in Bangladesh in the mid Seventies where he learned to play sitar while recovering from a bout of hepatitis. A later period spent busking in France accompanied on zelochord by Algerian musician Kris Hosylan Harp led to O’Shea’s idea of combining both instruments as a homebuilt instrument - Mo Chara [Irish for "My Friend"].
He later described the process on the back of the LP himself saying: "Having sold my sitar in Germany and being desperate for money to travel to Turkey, I conceived of the idea of combining both sitar and zelochord. The first Mo Cara was born, taken from the middle of a door, which was rescued from a skip in Munchen"
A combination of dulcimer, zelochord and sitar, O Shea would play it with a pair of chopsticks, striking the strings softly using Irish folk rhythms mixed with the rich, nostalgic sounds of of the many Asian artists he’d encountered on his travels.
It was a pan cultural sound standing at an unusual crossroads of folk, traditional, rock, progressive, jazz, electronic and post-punk worlds without hesitation.
Perfecting the instrument on the streets, there were further spells spent busking in the underground stations and cafes of London's West End and Covent Garden during the heady days of the 1970s when they were full of eccentric street entertainers, jazz improvisers and musical pioneers.
His work with Rick Wakeman never saw the light of day but O’Shea’s contact with the world of post-punk London ensured his name would live on.
Introduced to Wire's Bruce Gilbert and Graham Lewis via cartoonist Tom Johnston, O’Shea eventually acquiesced to an open invite to record at their studio. Turning up unannounced in the first half of 1981 the LP was recorded in a day in the legendary Blackwing Studios and released on Dome the year after.
The first side features the fifteen minute masterpiece "No Journeys End" with the B side featuring more input from Wire in processing the Mo Chara sound.
Lewis himself said years later of the forgotten masterpiece: “I always said it was the best job we ever did.”
After an aborted LP with The The's Matt Johnson the following year, O’Shea quietly disappeared from the formal recording world . His brief but unique contribution to the music world came to a sad end in 1991 when O’Shea was struck by a post van and died a few days later in hospital in London.
This repress on All City’s AllChival imprint has been remastered and reissued with the approval of both Dome and his surviving siblings.
Skyjack — the borderless five piece band spread across South Africa and Switzerland — announce their fourth studio album, Let The Sky Open Under Your Feet, out 3rd July. Recorded in December 2025 at a secluded studio outside Stellenbosch, South Africa, the album captures the vibrant live energy of the band at its most expansive — drawing together free improvisation, South African jazz traditions, chamber music, kinetic groove, and ecstatic collective interplay into a singular body of work. “This record is a very articulate representation of our sound, having grown deep roots into the earth with high branches reaching upward and outward”, says bassist Shane Cooper. “My desire is always to create sonic universes that can envelope the listener.” The album’s title comes from a line in a poem by the 13th-century Persian poet Rumi, reflecting the music’s balance between groundedness and transcendence. Here, Skyjack move fluidly between meditative improvisation and lush orchestration across twelve tracks of free-spirited, cosmic journeying. Inspired both by the cultural traditions and natural environments of South Africa, Let The Sky Open Under Your Feet is a testament to the band’s intuitive connection and innate musical curiosity. It arrives just over a year after Light Cycle (2024), a short gap that reflects the momentum built on tour. After exchanging sketches remotely across two continents, the band reunited in Johannesburg in late 2025, workshopped the new material onstage across South Africa, and then headed directly into the studio, where much of the album was recorded live in first takes — preserving the looseness and unpredictability central to Skyjack’s sound. Comprised of Kyle Shepherd (piano), Shane Cooper (bass), Jonno Sweetman (drums), Andreas Tschopp (trombone), and Marc Stucki (saxophones), Skyjack first formed in Cape Town in 2013 during a fertile moment in South African jazz, as a new generation of musicians pushed against rigid genre definitions and opened the music outward toward broader sonic possibilities. Over the past decade, the band has built a singular sound drawing equally on South African groove traditions and European improvisation. Individually, the members move between jazz, electronic music, film scoring, rock, hip-hop and experimental composition, with collaborations spanning artists including William Parker, Lionel Loueke, Zim Ngqawana, Ben LaMar Gay, Jorge Rossy, Shabaka Hutchings, William Kentridge, Makaya McCraven and Sylvie Courvoisier. Since their self-titled debut in 2015, followed by The Hunter (2019) and Light Cycle (2024), the group has developed a reputation for immersive live performances and music that continuously reshapes itself in motion — rooted in what they describe as “warm menacing African grooves,” while refusing fixed stylistic borders.
The fourth and final volume in the African Dub All-Mighty series was originally released in 1979, and like the previous three discs it features rhythm tracks laid down by such famous session men as Sly Dunbar, Robbie Shakespeare, Lloyd Parks, and Franklin "Bubblers" Waul, most of whom were already known as members of the Revolutionaries and the We the People band, but who recorded at Joe Gibbs' studio as the Professionals. Errol Thompson ran the board for all four collections of dub mixes, and offers an interesting and adventurous approach. Some of these mixes are two or three times removed from the vocal tracks that were originally released -- "Iron Gate," for example, is a dub mix of a recut (by Althea & Donna) of the Heptones' proto-slack rocksteady classic "Fattie Fattie"; "Fashion One" is a remix of Dennis Brown's remake of Alton Ellis' 1960s classic "Girl I've Got a Date." Everything here is worth a listen, recommended overall. - Rick Anderson
Jazz-fusion, disco-funk, Latin jazz and batucada rhythms get the Filipino treatment onAfter Midnight, the sublime second album from keyboardist Boy Katindig. Originally released in 1980, After Midnight draws heavy influence from soul and funk contemporaries in the US as well as Latin America, in particular the famed Brazilian percussionist Paulinho da Costa. It’s a testament to his musical prowess that Katindig weaves effortlessly between styles and tempos. His reverence for Paulinho da Costa extends far, with covers of several songs from the latter’s 1979 Happy People album. This includes slow-burner ‘Déjà Vu’ written by Isaac Hayes originally for Dionne Warwick; on the Filipino instrumental version, local legends Jun Regalado and Roger Herrera (from Regalado’s ‘Pinoy Funk’ single) are reunited on drums and bass respectively. But Katindig’s original compositions hold just as much weight and unique personality: title track ‘After Midnight’ opens with a sultry funk serenade reminiscent of The Isley Brothers, and quickly transforms into a catchy, blistering, saxophone chorus that brims with swagger. Hidden B-side gem ‘Got The Need’ is an uptempo tribute to batucada that would not be out of place in a jazzy house set, and boasts increasingly elaborate and psychedelic solos from Katindig on keys and Ben Concepcion on soprano sax. Meanwhile, ‘Love Till the End of Time’ is a masterclass in instrumental disco funk, penned by the prolific Greg Phillanganes who at that same time was writing for many of the greats including Chaka Khan, George Benson, Stevie Wonder, The Jacksons and Cheryl Lynn. This album is lovingly reissued by Sama Sama Records, a boutique label from DJ and collector Norsicaa, who ran the esteemed Soundway Records for 8 years and released the compilation Ayo Ke Disco in late 2024.
Éthiopiques is back! Armenian-born composer, arranger and instructor Nerses Nalbandian was the key pioneer of modern Ethiopian music. He laid the foundations for « Swinging Addis » and for ethio-jazz. This volume revives Nalbandian’s forgotten legacy, recorded live by the Either/Orchestra & Ethiopian Guests. “Ethiopian jazzmen are the best musicians that we have seen so far in Africa. They really are promising handlers of jazz instruments.” Wilbur De Paris (1959, after a concert in Addis Ababa) አዲስ፡ዘመን። Addis zèmèn A new era. The time is the mid-1950s and early 1960s, just before "Swinging Addis" bloomed – or rather boomed – onto the scene. Brass instruments are still dominant, but the advent of the electric guitar, and the very first electronic organs, are just around the corner. Rock’n'Roll, R’n’B, Soul and the Twist have not yet barged their way in. Addis Ababa is steeped in the big band atmosphere of the post-war era, with Glenn Miller's In the Mood as its world-wide theme song, neck and neck with the Latin craze that was in vogue at the same period. Life has become enjoyable once again, with the return of peace after the terrible Italian Fascist invasion of Ethiopia (1935-1941). The redeployment of modern music is part and parcel of the postwar reconstruction. Addis zèmèn – a new era – is the watchword of the postwar period, just as it was all across war-torn Europe. The generation who were the young parents of baby boomers were the first to enjoy this musical renaissance, before the baby boomers themselves took over and forever super-charged the soundtrack of the final days of imperial reign. Music is Ethiopia's most popular art form, and very often serves as the best barometer for the upsurge of energy that is critical for reconstruction. Whether it be jazz in Saint-Germain-des-Prés or the zazous who revolutionised both jazz and French chanson after the Libération, be it Madrid's post-Franco Movida, or Dada, the Surrealists and les années folles that followed World War I, the periods just after mourning and hardship always give rise to brighter and more tuneful tomorrows. Addis Ababa, as the country's capital, and the epicentre of change, was no exception to this vital rule. Two generations of Nalbandian musicians Nersès Nalbandian belonged to a family of Armenian exiles, who had moved to Ethiopia in the mid-1920s. The uncle Kevork arrived along with the fabled "Arba Lidjotch", the "40 Kids", young Armenian orphans and musicians that the Ras Tafari had recruited when he visited Jerusalem in 1924, intending to turn their brass band into the official imperial band. If Kevork Nalbandian was the one who first opened the way of modernism, pushing innovation so far as to invent musical theatre, it was his nephew Nersès who would go on to become, from the 1940s and until his death in 1977, a pivotal figure of modern Ethiopian music and of the heights it. Going all the way back to the 1950s. Nothing less. And it is Nersès who is largely to thank for the brassy colours that so greatly contributed to the international renown of Ethiopian groove. While the younger generations today venture timidly into the genealogy of their country's modern music, often losing their way amidst a distinctly xenophobic historiographical complacency, many survivors of the imperial period are still around to bear witness and pay tribute to the essential role that "Moussié Nersès" played in the rise of Abyssinia's musical modernity. Given the year of his birth (15 March 1915), no one knows for sure if Nersès Nalbandian was born in Aintab, today Gaziantep (Turkiye/former Ottoman Empire) or on the other side of the border in Alep, Syria... What is certain is that his family, like the entire Armenian community, was amongst the victims of the genocide perpetrated by the Turks. Alep, the place of safety – today in ruins. Before Nersès then, there was uncle Kevork (1887-1963). For a quarter of a century, he was a whirlwind of activity in music teaching and theatrical innovation. Guèbrè Mariam le Gondaré (የጎንደሬ ገብረ ማርያም አጥቶ ማግኘት, 1926 EC=1934) is his most famous creation. This play included "ten Ethiopian songs" — a totally innovative approach. According to his autobiographical notes, preserved by the Nalbandian family, Kevork indicates that he composed some 50 such pieces over the course of his career. This shows just how much he understood, very early on, the critical importance of song as Ethiopia's crowning artistic form. Indeed, for Ethiopian listeners, the most important thing is the lyrics, with all their multifarious mischief, far more than a strong melody, sophisticated arrangements or even an exceptional voice. (This is also why Ethiopians by and large, and beginning with the artists and producers themselves, believed for a long time — and wrongly — that their music could not possibly be exported, and could never win over audiences abroad, who did not speak the country's languages). Last but not least, one of Kevork's major contributions remains composing Ethiopia's first national anthem – with lyrics by Yoftahé Negussié. Nersès Nalbandian moved to Ethiopia at the end of the 1930s, at the behest of his ground-breaking uncle. Proficient in many instruments (pretty much everything but the drums), conductor, choir director, composer, arranger, adapter, creator, piano tuner, purveyor of rented pianos,... he was above all an energetic and influential teacher. From 1946 onwards, thanks to Kevork's connexion, Nersès was appointed musical director of the Addis Ababa Municipality Band. In just a few years, Nersès transformed it into the first truly modern ensemble, thanks to the quality of his teaching, his choice of repertoire, and the sophistication of his arrangements. It was this group that would go on to become the orchestra of the Haile Selassie Theatre shortly after its inauguration in 1955, which was a major celebration of the Emperor's jubilee, marking the 25th anniversary of his on-again-off-again reign. At some point or other in his long career, Nersès Nalbandian had a hand in the creation of just about every institutional band (Municipality Band, Police Orchestra, Imperial Bodyguard Band, Army Band, Yared Music School…), but it was with the Haile Selassie Theatre – today the National Theatre – that his abilities were most on display, up until his death in 1977. To this must be added the development of choral singing in Ethiopia, hitherto unknown, and a sort of secret garden dedicated to the memory of Armenian sacred music, and brought together in two thick, unpublished volumes. Shortly before his death (November 13, 1977), he was appointed to lead the impressive Ethiopian delegation at Festac in Lagos, Nigeria (January-February 1977). His status as a stateless foreigner regularly excluded him from the most senior positions, in spite of the respect he commanded (and commands to this day) from the musicians of his era. Naturally gifted and largely self-taught, Nerses was tirelessly curious about new musical developments, drawing inspiration from the very first imported records, and especially from listening intensely to the musical programmes broadcast over short-wave radio – BBC First. A prolific composer and arranger, he was constantly mindful of formalising and integrating Ethiopian parameters (specific “musical modes”, pentatonic scale, and the dominance of ternary rhythms) into his “modernisation” of the musical culture, rather than trying to over-westernise it. It even seems very probable that Moussié Nerses made a decisive contribution to the development of tighter music-teaching methods, in order to revitalise musical education during this period of prodigious cultural ferment. Flying in the face of all the historiographical and musicological evidence, it is taken as sacrosanct dogma that the four musical modes or chords officially recognised today, the qǝñǝt or qiñit (ቅኝት), are every bit as millennial as Ethiopia itself. It would appear however that some streamlining of these chords actually took place in around 1960. It was only from this time onward that music teaching was structured around these four fundamental musical modes and chords: Ambassel, Bati, Tezeta and Antchi Hoyé. A historical and musical “details” that is, apparently, difficult to swallow, especially if that should honour a foreigner. Modern Ethiopian music has Nersès to thank for many of its standards and, to this day, it is not unusual for the National Radio to broadcast thunderous oldies that bear unmistakable traces of his outrageously groovy touch. Honor and disgrace (A tale of three anthems) The life of an immigrant, not to mention a stateless person, in Ethiopia, is anything but a bed of roses. Beyond the remarkable successes, the immigrant – the fèrendj — has to contend with many humiliations, given how insular, and even passionately xenophobic, Ethiopia's national mindset is. Two-faced finesse, complication elevated to a fine art, the ambiguity of double-entendres, all sorts of petty compromises, bank-shots worthy of karambola billiards, the tyranny of appearances, elegant evasiveness, jovial jesuitry, forced modesty..., Ethiopian Byzantinism can certainly give rise to some strange tragicomedies. The Nalbandians, the uncle and the nephew, are associated with three anthems: two national and one continental – Africa Africa, the official anthem of the Organisation of African Unity. The first Ethiopian national anthem was composed by Kevork Nalbandian, at the request of the Ras Tafari as early as 1925. After the young regent had had the quality of the composition affirmed by the Royal College of Music in London, this anthem “was played for the first time at the coronation of H.M. the King Taffari, at the Sellassié Church (Church of the Trinity), on October 7, 1928”. From then on it accompanied the country's official ceremonies for half a century, until the revolution that overthrew Haile Selassie in 1974. When the revolution came, the new "Red Negus" soon ordered up a new anthem, to mark the change of era and of regime. According to the historic saxophonist and clarinettist Mèrawi Setot, sixty-some proposals were submitted as sealed bids. Fatalitas fatalitatis! It was Nersès Nalbandian, in partnership with Tsegaye Guèbrè-Medhen for the lyrics, who was selected by the jury. This met a flat refusal by the dictator Menguistu Haylè-Maryam, who was resolutely hostile to the idea of patriotic lyricism depending once again upon a foreigner and who, to make matters worse, was yet another Nalbandian… The runner-up that was finally selected proved to be literally unplayable, and its composer, who was also the director of the national school of music (the Yaréd School), had the cheek to ask Nerses Nalbandian to kindly straighten out his utterly unplayable score. Although generally not a stickler about being credited, Nerses required that this request be put in writing before he carried it out. Still more shameful, if possible, was the tragicomedy that was played out in the wings during the opening ceremony of the OAU, the Organisation of African Unity. A continental anthem had been commissioned from Nerses Nalbandian. Africa Africa. Lyrics by Ayaléw Desta. For the inaugural ceremony (May 25, 1963), the Ethiopian authorities did not feel that they could decently put a white conductor up on stage, displaying him in front of an audience of newly decolonised African dignitaries. Nerses was relegated to the wings, conducting the orchestra in profile within sight only of the visible conductor, who was surely hard put to reflect the charisma of the rightful conductor. A missed opportunity for the new Africa. How many other humiliations?... The account of Nerses's son Vartkes Nalbandian is required reading to fully measure the pain of exile in a beloved and lovingly adopted country. Highway robbery The hyperactive Nerses Nalbandian only recorded three songs on vinyl: Tebèb nèw tèqami, Adèrètch Arada and Qèlèméwa (Philips Ethiopia PH 088181 [1967] and PH 108 [1971]). This is surely a question of generation — and of temperament. The musician was already well into his fifties when the brief heyday of Ethiopian vinyl (1969-1977) got underway, entirely managed by a cohort of upstart 25-year-old boomers. The only way to listen to Nalbandian today is to rely on a few nostalgic radio programmes, or to get hold of forgotten reel-to-reel tapes and to patiently restore them. There is not even a trade in bootleg cassettes amongst Ethiopian musical history fanatics, nor are there any sound archives at the National Theatre. Unlike all the other great Ethiopian artists (who kept no documentary records of their careers), Nerses Nalbandian did leave behind extraordinary family archives, which allow us to decipher not only the whole of his personal journey, but also the triumphant march of Swinging Addis towards its peak, as immortalized in the definitive vinyls. A gold mine of first-hand information on the history of Ethiopian music. Scores, concert programmes, official and private correspondence, detailed proposals, plans and budgets, etc., along with reasoned objections, or even firm refusals... An entire book should be devoted to the life's work of this veritable founding father who championed the causes of music in Ethiopia. It must be underscored that, from 1955 until his death, Nerses Nalbandian was truly the key figure of modern Ethiopian music. Nothing less. We must see beyond the shortcuts and the glossing-over borne of a lazy journalism that insists on seeing in the Ethio-Jazz of Mulatu Astatke [Astatqé] the alpha and the omega of “Swinging Addis”. With the willing assent of its creator, this fine innovation has been turned into a hagiographic and hegemonic category intended to gather under its wing not only the disputed masterpieces of its self-proclaimed godfather, but all manner of Ethiopian pop music, from Tlahoun Gèssèssè to Mahmoud Ahmed by way of Alèmayèhu Eshèté or Gétatchèw Mèkurya... Let us remember that Mulatu only returned to Ethiopia at the very end of the 1960s, after more than ten years of studious exile, whereas the so-called "Swinging Addis" had actually begun in around 1960 – or even in 1955. Mulatu was 17 years old in 1960! – a student in the United Kingdom and then in the USA between 1958 and 1969… This is not to deny his role, but simply to assign him a place that is more consistent with historical reality, amidst of genuine innovation, alleged plagiarism, and oversized influence, which still casts a long shadow today. The media's appetite for forgotten old talents, saved by the bell, tends too often to discount the most stubborn of facts. Dear music lovers, let's make one last try to take a fair view of the history of modern Ethiopian music, and of the ways it has been unfairly mislabelled! Even today, it still seems just as unthinkable, in this extravagantly chauvinistic country, to simply recognise in Nerses Nalbandian the essential father figure of modern Ethiopian music. Of course there was no shortage of illustrious arrangers for the institutional bands of the 1960s (such as Haylou Wolde-Mariam, Girma Hadgu, Sahle Degago or Lemma Demissew…). But none of them, much youngers, possessed Nerses's velvet-gloved charisma, his demanding and impeccable standards, his integrity as an Ethiopianised fèrendj, his ferocious appetite for hard work, or his strictly musical authority, free from the treacherous hierarchies of the institutional bands (Imperial Bodyguard, Police, Army). For this chronic workaholic, music teaching, content programming, rigorous studies, and the creation of a modern Conservatory, were all links in the same chain of duties that were essential to the development of music in Ethiopia. It must be strongly underscored that the great historical pioneer of this music is an Armenien emigrant, deeply Ethiopianised, Nerses Nalbandian, Nalbandian the Ethiopian. Russ Gershon and Either/Orchestra And then came Russ Gershon. With his Either/Orchestra. A musician like Russ Gershon (born in 1959), saxophonist, composer, arranger, band leader, producer in charge of the Accurate Records label, who has played with Cab Calloway, the Four Tops, Morphine, John Medeski, Matt Wilson, Josh Roseman, Miguel Zenon, Bobby Ward and Willie “Loco” Alexander (to name only a few) can't help but make a strong impression. Especially when one learns that he wrote a Harvard University thesis on Manet's Le déjeuner sur l’herbe, produced free-flowing radiophonic orgies (52 hours of Ornette Coleman, Charlie Mingus, etc.), and counts Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Sun Ra and Gil Evans among his favorite musicians. The first fèrendj maestro (after Charles Sutton of Orchestra Ethiopia) to fall under the spell of Abyssinian chords, Russ Gershon has been conducting his own big band since 1985. Captivated in 1994 by the nascent Ethiopian groove that was emerging in the West, he has been engaged ever since in exploring and deepening this discovery, which paired so naturally with his encyclopedic jazzicism, thus opening the way for a surprising number of groups with undeniably Ethio-friendly inclinations, on every continent. Two concert tours in Ethiopia (2004 and 2011) and a few albums later, these Nalbandian recordings are at long last being released. éthiopiques 20 (Either/Orchestra & Guests - Live in Addis, 2005) already spoke volumes about E/O. What better now than to turn straight to Russ Gershon's own impressions and analysis (p. xx + pdf complet sur le CD). No one has acquired a deeper musical and historical grasp of Nerses Nalbandian's innumerable musical scores, nor developed an ongoing relationship with the Nalbandian family, which possesses a veritable treasure of information. The Bostonian's curiosity, precision and scrupulous commentary constitute an indispensable exploration of the musical genesis of "Swinging Addis". This recording represents the vital modernist link that was heretofore missing in these éthiopiques. Francis Falceto English translation by Karen Lou Albrecht
Originally released in June 2009, The Ecstatic stands as a defining artistic statement from Mos Def (now known as yasiin bey) — a richly textured return to form that reaffirmed his status as one of hip-hop’s most adventurous and intellectually engaged voices. Arriving a decade after his celebrated debut Black on Both Sides, the album was widely regarded as his strongest work in years, earning near-universal praise for its lyrical breadth, eclectic production, and thematic ambition. Musically, The Ecstatic weaves a global sonic tapestry shaped by an array of forward-thinking producers including Madlib, J Dilla, Oh No, Preservation, Mr. Flash, Chad Hugo (of The Neptunes), and Georgia Anne Muldrow. The resulting soundscape is both rooted in hip-hop tradition and unbound by genre, integrating elements of jazz, soul, Middle-Eastern inflection, and experimental sample work. Tracks like “Supermagic” and “Twilite Speedball” establish a vibrant, restless energy that mirrors the album’s expansive creative scope. Lyrically, yasiin bey traverses personal, political, and philosophical terrain with characteristic incisiveness, confronting social inequality, Western imperialism, and questions of cultural identity with poetic urgency. Embracing risk and complexity rather than nostalgia, The Ecstatic remains a mature, deeply felt body of work whose ambition, depth, and enduring resonance have solidified its place as a standout entry in Mos Def’s catalog and in modern hip-hop history.
Released in 1971, Maggot Brain stands as the towering masterpiece in Funkadelic’s groundbreaking catalog. Initially misunderstood upon release, the album is now widely regarded as one of the most influential records of all time. Anchored by Eddie Hazel’s otherworldly guitar performance on the legendary title track and featuring enduring favorites like “Can You Get To That,” Maggot Brain redefined the possibilities of funk, rock, and psychedelic music. For this definitive 2026 reissue, the album was mastered directly from analog tape, preserving the raw power, depth, and atmosphere of the original recordings with extraordinary detail. A longtime holy grail for collectors, Maggot Brain receives the fully analog treatment it has long deserved.
Released in 1971, Maggot Brain stands as the towering masterpiece in Funkadelic’s groundbreaking catalog. Initially misunderstood upon release, the album is now widely regarded as one of the most influential records of all time. Anchored by Eddie Hazel’s otherworldly guitar performance on the legendary title track and featuring enduring favorites like “Can You Get To That,” Maggot Brain redefined the possibilities of funk, rock, and psychedelic music. For this definitive 2026 reissue, the album was mastered directly from analog tape, preserving the raw power, depth, and atmosphere of the original recordings with extraordinary detail. A longtime holy grail for collectors, Maggot Brain receives the fully analog treatment it has long deserved.
Geoff Farina’s Southern Records tenure was not just about Karate. His late-90s guitar-and-vocal solo output included the bedroom-recorded Usonian Dream Sequence that echoed The Secret Stars’ intimate lo-fi sentiments, Reverse Eclipse that rode the more delicate fringes of Unsolved-era Karate, and the single Steely Dan, a paean to a contemporaneous guilty pleasure. FFF collects all three long-out-of-print releases here on vinyl for the first time, fastidiously packaged and punctuated with Farina’s written reflections on their making.
There is a certain solace to be found in minimal music—a contemplative joy that emerges through sustained repetition and subtle variation. Solo Three, the slyly absorbing new album from Michigan-based composer and multi-instrumentalist Erik Hall, embodies that hypnotic charge while boldly reimagining a distinct selection of contemporary classical works.
Hall’s affinity for minimalism began decades ago, when as a jazz-studies drummer at the University of Michigan he first encountered Steve Reich’s Music for 18 Musicians. The piece altered his trajectory completely. Years later, amid a creative lull, he revisited that formative work by attempting a solo reconstruction. Working alone in his home studio, Hall painstakingly recreated Reich’s intricate, interlocking architecture—supplanting the piece’s orchestral palette with his own keyboards, guitars, and synths—and performing every part himself without loops, programming, or sequencers.
That recording, released on Western Vinyl in 2020, arrived during the fraught early months of lockdown and resonated deeply with listeners. Pitchfork praised it for making “a minimalist standard freshly thrilling to revisit,” and it won the 2021 Libera Award for Best Classical Record. Even Reich himself wrote to congratulate Hall, saying he had “reinvented the piece.”
Heartened, Hall next turned to Simeon ten Holt’s Canto Ostinato, a sprawling work of Dutch minimalism built on repetition and euphoric harmony. His 2023 interpretation was hailed by Bandcamp Daily as “mesmerizing as patterns emerge, coalesce, and retreat,” and the New York Times highlighted Hall in a feature on ten Holt’s growing influence. The project led to a years-long collaboration with New York’s Metropolis Ensemble and Sandbox Percussion, confirming Hall’s place as an inventive new voice bridging classical and contemporary practice.
With Solo Three, Hall brings this trilogy to a sweeping close. Instead of focusing on a single composition, he weaves together multiple works by several visionary composers: Glenn Branca, Charlemagne Palestine, Laurie Spiegel, and a return to Steve Reich. The result is a rich, varied homage to American minimalism—at once reverent and exploratory. Branca’s “The Temple of Venus Pt. 1” unfolds in oscillating organ and prepared piano; Palestine’s “Strumming Music” becomes a meditative blur of felted piano and guitar; Spiegel’s “A Folk Study” is recast with acoustic warmth in lieu of electronics; and Reich’s “Music for a Large Ensemble” closes the album with a 16-minute, kaleidoscopic rush of overlapping melodies and jubilant rhythmic patterns.
True to his method, Hall performs and records every part himself, layering instruments one by one like sonic bricks. The approach is deeply human and quietly defiant in an age of faceless automation. “It’s just so much more compelling to actually play every note,” Hall says. “Those micro-differences between takes create a sort of living, breathing magic.”
That living, breathing magic fills every corner of Solo Three. It’s both a reverent ode to the composers who shaped Hall’s musical identity and a vivid reminder that minimalism’s hypnotic beauty—its patience, precision, and quiet emotional power—still speaks urgently to the present moment.
- Zach Schonfeld
Even after years of living in the same area, there can be mind-bending moments of revelation about its layout. An attempt to avoid traffic, or a time-killing meander on a weekend morning gives way to a mix of novelty and confusion as a new pocket of the district materializes like a dream about hidden rooms in a childhood home. Suddenly a recognizable cross street appears, and for a few seconds it’s hard to reconcile with all the new ground that was just covered. Just around the corner the old landmarks take shape, and logic returns. Despite spending the last several minutes in a seemingly unfamiliar place, perhaps you barely left your own neighborhood, if at all.
This kind of pathfinding lies behind the name Way Through, a collaborative album between Toronto musicians Chris Cummings, Joseph Shabason, and Thom Gill under the moniker Cici Arthur. Seeking to create large-scale setpieces to showcase Cummings’ vocals and writing, producer-instrumentalists Shabason and Gill have parked their brand of smartly subverted adult contemporary aesthetics near the mid-century slink of Antonio Carlos Jobim, or the romantic opulence of Frank Sinatra. Way Through takes the communal spirit of Shabason’s previous ventures to panoramic heights, featuring everyone from drummer Phil Melanson (Sam Gendel, Sam Amidon, Andy Shauff) and frequent collaborator Nicholas Krgovich, to famed arranger and violinist Owen Pallet who helms an honest-to-God thirty-piece orchestra for the affair. Perhaps most importantly, vocalist Dorothea Pass winds glassy harmonies through all the moving parts, emulsifying the core trio’s take on a heyday Capitol Records session. The result is akin to so much music in Joseph Shabason’s orbit in that it spins around a centerpoint of humanness and vulnerability, placing even its most colossal elements comfortingly within arm’s reach.
The seeds of the album were sowed in 2020 when Chris Cummings lost his job of twenty years amid the COVID shockwaves. In his early fifties with his Plan A having lapsed, Chris found himself diving into full-time music creation for the first time in his life. The leap of faith inspired his collaborators, galvanizing them to thoughtfully tailor arrangements just for him. “I wanted to make a really big sounding record for Chris, to really figure out a way to call in favors and make this album as grand as I possibly could,” Shabason recalls of Way Through’s Creed Taylor ethos. “I really wanted Chris to sing to fully mixed songs so that it was in the spirit of playing with a full band with all the energy of hearing an orchestra swell behind him with horns blaring,” he continues, “and I think this is the grandest approach to making a record that I have ever embarked on.”
The resulting outsize backdrop sits in poetic contrast to Cummings’ comparatively discreet delivery and intimate lyricism. Steering the Shabason-Gill cruise liner with delicate intonation and quiet introspection, Cummings paints a picture of city lights gleaming in rain puddles, mapping subtle emotional territories within the urban gloom while resigning in a kind of joyous ennui. “If I could be all that once looked so great and grand, I would have died for an occasion to rise to,” he sings through the horn section of ‘Cartwheels for Coins’, “but it’s a gray sky, nothing to say, mixed emotions always get in the way”. Lines like these epitomize Way Through; when the bandstand empties out and the singer finds himself alone on a darkened soundstage, the emotional complexities of life still lie waiting to be confronted. Cummings lends a literary counterweight to Shabason and Gill’s sonic splendor, and in doing so spotlights the inherent tension between pragmatism and ambition. As a film major who was raised by community theater actors before taking up music as his main creative outlet, it’s evident that Cummings has grappled with this polarity in his own life (not to mention the perfect sense this makes out of Way Through’s filmic overtones).
Punctuating the cinematic heft, the decidedly uptempo midpoint ‘Damaged Goods’ bounces and strolls around Dorothea Pass’s doo-wop harmonies giving affirmation to anyone coming out of a troubled relationship, while the successive piece ‘Prior Times’ addresses those very relationships head-on. “Honestly, I was-- and am still-- very affected by romantic relationships I had before I met my wife,” Chris admits, explaining that the track “tells about a time when I was caught in an unhappy situation, looking back on happier times, and being hit with the painful realization that time doesn't go backwards.” With its understated Samba lilt, the song lands Cici Arthur closest to their aforementioned Jobim/Gilberto target and serves as the stylistic centerpiece. The pensive and movielike ‘No Fight Or Flight (So Much Tenderness)’ brings the album to its finale over one of Owen Pallet’s verdant string arrangements, marking one of the fullest realizations of Joseph Shabason and Thom Gill’s production aspirations-- and likely reaching far beyond what Cummings ever imagined when his life completely changed a few long years ago.
Back in 2020, newly careerless and grasping at an uncertain future in a world of uncertain futures, Chris found himself taking exploratory bike trips through nearby suburban areas he’d never been to before. His attempts to avoid the bustle of major roads would lead either to dead ends or completely new ways of seeing the geography of a city he’d lived in for decades, mirroring the joy and heartbreak of life’s circuitous path. “What good are dead ends when I’m looking through a way through,” he repeats on the album’s title track over the crest of a weary and sweet brass section. “When the miracle you’d hoped for never comes it’s hard to take, but it’s your fault for hoping.” For all of Way Through’s orchestral technicolor wonder, Cummings delivers refreshingly honest doses of realism about how dreams unfold across a lifetime.<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/86pMq1IpjAc?si=4ewpJcmKv3MgzHNL" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" referrerpolicy="strict-origin-when-cross-origin" allowfullscreen></iframe>
Following his critically acclaimed collections Electronic Music from the Seventies and Eighties and Electronic Music from the Eighties and Nineties, Carl Stone pairs Baroo (March 2019) with a double-LP album of recent works, including the final section of "Fujiken", his epic journey through southeast Asian field recordings and street cassette culture. On all six tracks, composed between 2013 and 2019, Stone’s pan-global playground of looping synths and Asian pop culture remains as fertile as ever, digitally shattered into unimagined patterns and gestures, either through the MAX programming language or (in the case of "Kikanbou") by generating live loops within an Elektron Octatrack sampler. The title track is the first recorded release from Stone’s ongoing collaboration with the Japanese vocalist Akaihirume. Elsewhere new influences come from rock (the slow drum break of "Bia Bia"), disco (the Nile Rodgers-esque guitar riff "Kikanbou") and hip hop (the frenetic percussion loop of "Han Yan"). Their diversity only adds to Stone’s borderless musical vision, a world where rhythm becomes atmosphere, song becomes beat, and pop becomes art.
"I have always been searching for a way to articulate the intangible area between the recognizable and the unfathomable, a feeling perhaps informed by some long-abandoned experiments with psychedelics. This has been a continued pursuit starting with my tape experiments in the 1970’s until the present, with technological evolution driving new ways of expression. With the exception of Xé May, which is performed on an Elektron Octatrack, these pieces were constructed for live performance using a laptop computer running programs I have built in the MAX programming language. Okajouki and Xé May were composed in 2011, all the rest are from 2018. The pieces use a technique of time slicing that I first started doing back in the 90's, notably with my piece Mom’s, wherein sound files are metaphorically shattered in time like glass and then reorganized into mosaic patterns. The technique used to require laborious preparation outside of real-time before the files could be brought onstage. Now not only can it be done spontaneously while performing, but also with a degree of flexibility that I find quite liberating. They are a lot of fun to play and hopefully to listen." - Carl Stone
Virga III is the third installment in Eluvium’s inspired experimental series – and the first in nearly five years. In unmistakable contrast to the dense, ominous sprawl of Virga II, the works that make up Virga III offer an almost divine reprieve. The nervous tension, loss of control, and patient recontextualization that inspires each volume of the Virga series manifests in unique ways. As composer and Eluvium architect, Matthew Robert Cooper describes, “While Virga I was brought to me by a temporarily evacuation from my house to my garage during a winter snowstorm – and Virga II by a phantasmal dream sequence during the height of a global pandemic – Virga III takes its inspiration from the worlds found in minor green spaces, culverts, and other miniature biological ecosystems operating within our daily deluge of cruel rhetoric, unspeakable violence, unending disruption and devastating disparity. A reflection on the micro and macro universes that surround us.” The songs on Virga III are composed and performed by Cooper, as always, but in the Virga universe, he essentially feels a unique collaboration within himself. As Cooper explains, “The Virga series affords me an opportunity to return to an older version of myself, but with a new level of understanding. Practicing more patience interacting with these built musical systems and recordings, I hesitantly duet with my past self in a new performance or manipulative layer, only after digesting the first for as long as possible, to a point of it conjuring new and uncharted feelings, in hopes of curating a sense of therapeutic self-awareness and discovery. A mixture of the exploratory mindset against a painterly emotional resonance, gradually unfurling itself unto itself.” The Virga III vinyl format is pressed onto crystal clear colored vinyl and housed in a full-color heavyweight old-style tip-on jacket. It is limited to a one-time pressing of 1,000 copies worldwide.
14 short melancholy tape-loops from the early eighties. Remastered and now available on conventional pressed CD in Trim-Pak (previously available as a very limited CDR. "Melancholia is probably the best Basinski's record until now, even if this is hard for me to say given my love for each one of his releases. Contrarily to his 'continuing' projects such as Disintegration Loops and Water Music, this is a sort of a sketch album, made of short pieces all created with tape loops and some synthetic wave here and there. This music is so beautifully delicate and sad in its auto-reflective moods, it stands right there with everything ranging from the usual suspects in the 'ambient' field, to a distorted damp ghost of Claude Debussy or Maurice Ravel put into a time machine. Just ravishing as you can imagine, William's almost suffocated loops celebrate the burial of any enthusiastic thought, to make room to the most difficult introspection -- the one growing you in a hurry and leaving you alone, observing from a safe distance. This beauty is for any human being who's not afraid to understand life's happenings -- maybe the hard way, but who cares?" --Massimo Ricci, touchingextremes.org.
To be an attentive listener to the world as it stands is to be saturated with language. Speech resounds through nearly every space that features human beings, whether unwanted or desired, mundane or profound. Words sit on the page and in the ear, proliferating endlessly. This superabundance has long been a point of fascination for composer and musician Ben Vida, but over the past several years it has led to a new method of music making that simultaneously exalts and interrogates the primacy of language in our sonic and cultural environments. Gently, playfully, Vida breaks down language’s hierarchy of meaning and sound until they exist in egalitarian harmony. Oblivion Seekers is Vida’s newest album in this mode of composition, following 2023’s collaboration with new music ensemble Yarn/Wire The Beat My Head Hit. Like its predecessor, the music’s focus is on coordinated duets of spoken word in a neutral tone, the variable cadences of the words in motion creating complex internal rhythmic structures. He is joined by the voices of Nina Dante, Christina Vantzou, John Also Bennett, and Félicia Atkinson, creating a singular tone that is neither theirs nor his, fluid in its gender presentation, accent, and diction. The instrumental compositions that form the album’s understory have the casual flow of dialogue, conversational but subdued, rarely the agent of change. Here, Vida likewise called upon an accomplished community of players to accompany him: Dante on harp, Bennett on bass flute, Matt Bauder and Will Epstein on saxophones, Henry Fraser on bass, Cleek Schrey on violin, and Booker Stardrum on percussion. These elements form lattice-like structures that the text darts in and around, often adhering to downbeats but otherwise moving freely within each lilting phrase. A tranquil, focused temperament persists, enhanced by the reserved cadence of the voices that makes it feel as if the music is one long mantra that never quite reaches back to its genesis point. The effect is entrancing, equally soporific and gripping, implying repetition without ever moving exactly the same way twice. The instrumentation on each of the album’s four pieces varies; “Be Yr Own Abyss” is defined by the wave-like counterpoint of saxophones, while the ambiguous chime of vibraphone floats over “Oblivion Seekers” and Fraser’s swelling bass provides the album’s sole dramatic entrance. The music shifts in the ear as the text constantly redefines and recontextualizes the composition’s form and movement, even as it remains consistent in its otherworldly glow. The text is often drawn from snippets of language that Vida encountered throughout his life as he was composing: overheard mumblings from the supermarket line, impactful phrases from a novel he was reading, impressions of the music that wouldn’t leave his turntable. Small details, otherwise insignificant, accumulate not to form a narrative, but an impression of the complex meaning-making process that happens as one lives day to day. Characters and scenes flicker in and out of the frame, and phrases that beg to be unpacked are allowed to glide by. In “Be Yr Own Abyss” something like a thesis appears without fanfare: “Her tongue was out to kill her / all hail this mental space / constructing ambiguity / and the endless stream.” On two separate occasions the listener is told that waves are heading our way. There are many predecessors to these types of novel confluences of music and speech. Vida’s love of Robert Ashley is well documented, but perhaps even more significant are Mark E. Smith and The Fall, Neil Tennant and the Pet Shop Boys’ spoken verses, the entire history of hip hop, Meredith Monk. The way the words are delivered matters just as much as the words themselves, revealing an intentionality and directness that Vida highlights and subverts with the text’s abstract construction patterns. On Oblivion Seekers, the omnidirectional din is the marble Vida chips away at to illuminate the way we process the vast strangeness of the world. Its triumph is that we lose none of the beautiful mystery of how these signs bridge our external and internal worlds.
Where Ben Vida’s music has previously explored the sound of text at the outer register of electronic composition, here, in collaboration with the Yarn/Wire quartet and the vocalist Nina Dante, the voice and the words it works to inhabit are placed back at the time-scale of a song. There is a familiarity to this music’s combination of restrained melody and heightened atmosphere. It feels, softly, like it’s made by a band: piano, percussion, voice. A composition kept aloft and even by its four stewards through a simultaneity of effort. The pace, across five pieces, hurries and relaxes but never outruns or distends language. You could find a story in the words being sung, if that’s what you need. But there are unfamiliar dimensions too. So many threads, so many timelines. A story or a thousand, or a litany of scraps: language complete but raw, language that can or cannot be translated. Singers fused at the breath. Oppositions or dualities—a question and an answer, two sides of a conflict, the sense of being here or over there—are drawn together into a single sentiment, plural with feeling. Voices negotiating in unison how to articulate a stance. Musical cues doling out tension as needed. The five pieces that make up The beat my head hit were developed with Yarn/Wire over the last four years, with roots in Vida’s 2018 performance for four voices and electronics “And So Now” at BAM in Brooklyn. The Yarn/Wire ensemble, founded in 2005, has been collaborating with a broad range of experimental composers and sound artists since its inception: most recently, they have performed work by the likes of Sarah Hennies, Annea Lockwood, Catherine Lamb, and Alvin Lucier. Vida, meanwhile, has maintained a practice as both a musician and a visual artist, which has included drone-leaning solo work for electronics as well as improvisatory collaborations with musicians including Martina Rosenfeld and Lea Bertucci. Working with Yarn/Wire, for Vida, was something like joining a band. Following a few early live performances, the material was worked through in the studio across many permutations, a process during which Vida, Dante, Russell Greenberg, Laura Barger created what Vida calls “a meta-voice out of the blending of our four voices.” Sustained presence—language bringing a group to the place of breathing in unison—becomes the backbone of the piece. That presence is an engine, but it's still full of negative spaces and exhales. It's thrilling, for example, to find oneself disarmed by the subtle harmonies introduced by the inevitable but infinitesimal distance between Vida and Dante’s voices. Or the introduction of subterranean bass on “Drawn Evening”: breath trapped? When ambient stillness steps in out of nowhere to replace fast talk on the title track, the evacuation of language is some other form of breath, too. The beat my head hit finds not just truth or reality in what happens at the periphery, but a kind of peace.
アルバムについて Following the jazzy library vibes of 2023’s collaborative Dolphin LP with Greg Foat and Moses Boyd, the venetian maestro Gigi Masin returns to the ambience for which he is renowned, with Movement - his first solo full-length since 2020’s Calypso, and his Sacred Bones Records debut. Fuelled by creative reinvention and rhythmic motion, he moves seamlessly between melancholy electronic notes, technoid robotics, groovy liminal cloudscapes, and fathoms-deep ambient aquatics. Since early beginnings in obscurity, his 1986 debut album Wind slowly built an organic following on late night radio, later bolstered when “Clouds” was sampled by artists like Björk, Post Malone, and more. He now counts Oneohtrix Point Never, Devendra Banhart, Caroline Polachek, and the late Kenny Wheeler as fans. The new album Movement reflects on Masin’s place within the pantheon of ambient masters, his ongoing artistic ambitions, and his aspirations for a scene which he’s seen grow exponentially from humble beginnings. The LP is also an ode to literal movement, both in nature, and in human physical expressions to sound. Masin strived to make ambient music for movement, not in the standard dance music sense, but “dynamic music, with a beating heart full of love.” Reconfiguring ambient’s association with solitary listening and cold academia, Gigi went outwards, channeling something somatic that connects with the body, not just the mind. “Bed on Mars” sets the titular tone for Masin’s renewed curiosity, with cosmic atmospherics evoking the sensation of waking up on a new planet unafraid, whilst the poignant synthesized trumpet and suspended liminal limbo of “Lost” feels like floating adrift in an unknown sea. Delving further into off-centre beats is the celestial techno funk of “Deception Dance,” which sounds like Sun Electric jamming with Carl Craig and Kraftwerk. The bright beaming light of “Golden” radiates warmth, sounding like the bossa nova brother of Göttsching’s Balearic classic E2 E4. Despite the passing of his wife after a long illness, and losing his musical archive in a flood, Gigi remains pure-at-heart and positive, pouring his soul into the pursuit of beauty. The latest in a slow starting but steadily building career, Movement sees Masin continue to secure his seat at the table of true ambient greats.
A full instrumental version of ‘Garbology’, the 2021 collaboration between American rapper Aesop Rock and hip-hop producer Blockhead. On-and-off creative foils for each other’s work going back years, the pair complemented each other perfectly on the original album, but this slate fully exposes Blockhead’s sparse and often desolate production work.
