NEW ARRIVALS

An inspired coming together of musical minds. To celebrate the 20th anniversary of In A Space Outta Sound, George Evelyn aka DJ E.A.S.E has handed over the tapes to dub maestro Adrian Sherwood to go on a heady version excursion with eight tracks from the original record, in the spirit of the reggae and sound system roots that informed the original album. The result is a fresh take on a much-loved classic, in the lineage of albums such as Massive Attack’s No Protection and Spoon’s Lucifer On The Moon. Features bold new re-works of iconic tracks such as “You Wish” (appearing here as “You Bliss”) and “Flip Ya Lid” (mutated into “Flippin Eck”). As well as his trademark mixing desk wizardry, Sherwood has also brought in some of the core On-U Sound players to add additional instrumentation and turn this collaboration into something which is much more than the sum of its parts.

On Beacon Hill: at twilight we find Anthony Moore, roots winding backwards to the halcyon days of Slapp Happy and the ‘70s progressive art rock scene, at guitar and piano. With the atmospheres and accompaniments of AKA & Friends, he breathes infernal new life into songs from his six decades of multivarious music making. This new delivery system is unto a séance, a communal incantation, twining Anthony’s avant and pop traditions together in a darkly radiant coil of folky chamber music; a rope to lower the listener through cobwebs and murk, unveiling new life beneath Anthony’s mad old lines.

It is new life that we will need if we hope to reoccupy this cursed earth.

AKA are Anthony Moore, Keith Rodway and Amanda Thompson. A pagan family of sound worshipers hailing from that unholiest of all places: Hastings UK, home of Crowley and Turing. Like their sinister forbears in that infamous tradition, this latest trinity shares a passion for subverting pattern and number, factoring unlikely permutations arising from sea and horizon, greensward, the southerly aspect, and the planisphere as half-world. Their equatorial shore speaks of a planet of water and earth, fire and air. AKA’s humble tools of choice for this endeavor are guitar, piano, organ, synthesizer and vocals.

The Friends of AKA are Tullis Rennie, trombone and electronics; Olie Brice, double bass; Richard Moore, violin; and Haydn Ackerley, guitar. They too navigate the shoreline of the south coast, haunt the same taverns and regularly play together in whatever combinations fit the bill.

Leaving the drums (and their drummer) at home to realize anew these dream-laden songs, AKA & Friends ensure that the notes fall around the beat and not on it, so as to define the pulse with absence. As such, time is liberated, prised free from the merciless clock; a rhythm of waves, passing through a steady-state universe of no beginnings and no endings. Discontinuities are dissolved, all is transition.

On Beacon Hill: Anthony Moore with AKA & Friends manifest a sensuous post-devastation lounge act, seeking to re-invoke natural orders by naming — rather than cursing — the darkness in its many guises. Like final-phase Johnny Cash on a lost episode of Twin Peaks, Anthony’s innate gravitas is a light through the surreal landscape, as the players combine themselves again and again, their efforts rising and falling in shared space. Their gothic jazz orchestra carves delicately through Anthony’s songs, releasing the melodies and the melancholy to drift upward, like smoke against a sooty and scorched backdrop.

On Beacon Hill: fantastic, prophetic journeys, dry eyed but deeply affected, through the shadow depths of Anthony Moore’s mirror. As we listen, we gravitate and journey alongside fellow refugees in solidarity and solitude alike.

A shining star in Mika Vainio’s dense microcosm returns to vinyl - and for our money it’s the most transcendent record in his revered catalogue, unfurling through an hour of disarmingly melodic romance and astral projection that never fails to bring a tear to our eye. First presented on CD in 2005 under Vainio’s Ø alias, ‘Kantamoinen’ became something of a sleeper gem, cultishly adored for its concerted embrace of extended melody and narrative tone within an ambient context, which made it stand out from his preceding decade of ascetic noise brutalism and minimal techno. Our first encounter, back at our Pelicanneck shop, left us utterly smitten with its soundtrack-like qualities, eventually prompting us to issue it on vinyl for the first time via our Editions label in 2016. Sadly, Mika passed the following year, which only made the material more precious as a lone, curious artefact in his deeply influential body of work. It now returns in this new edition, ready to flip preconceptions with a new generation of listeners through its exquisite carousel of tear-jerking soundscpaes where the artist’s most intimate, distinctive spirits endure. Dedicated to Mika’s grandma, Laina Vainio (1913-1991), and adorned with a cover image of her garden in Artjärvi, Finland, the 16-part 2LP is the closest you’ll get to a type of nostalgia in Mika’s catalogue. Whilst recorded 1999-2004 at an early crest of his game-changing work with Pan Sonic, the album clearly manifests a quieter space for Mika to emote far more nuanced feels, from the wide-eyed vastness of ‘Galaxy’ to a breathtaking ‘Sound Picture’, transitioning from Hans-Ulrich Obrist’s snippet of Oskar Sala into icy bliss, and the rosy warmth of a ‘Summerland’ clearly dedicated to his nan’s garden. The rest is better defined as ephemeral snapshots adding up to a broader picture, like a mind’s eye filling gaps in the memory from illusive vapours and sensations, generating all-time gems in the steepled choral synth voice of ‘In Wind’, or a sense of magic realism in the swaying organ of ‘Antenna-ant’, with the blooz folk wheeze of closer ‘To Home’ that could feasibly score the most haunting moments of a Bela Tarr flick.

Space Afrika follow last year's heartbreaking x perception-bending mixtape "hybtwibt?" with an anxious patchwork of drill bass, reflective musique concrete and after-hours surrealism >> singular deep headspace exploration to file alongside Mark Leckey, Perila, Burial or Klein. Assembled to accompany a short film from Manchester-born visual artist, poet and filmmaker Tibyan Mahawah Sanoh, Joshua Inyang and Joshua Tarelle’s newest is a cinematic audit of identity and ancestry. In the film, Sanoh works hard to visually illustrate an honest and vulnerable picture of her soul. Inyang and Tarelle respond by doing the same with sound, collaging disparate elements together in a way that should be familiar to anyone who heard "hybtwibt?" or their jawdropping RA mix from earlier this year. Warped field recordings, overdriven rhythmic pressure, syrupy pads and disorienting vocals are cut and pasted over each other, generating a living, breathing study of the duo's Northern working class Black British reality. Unlike the duo's acclaimed "Somewhere Decent To Live" full-length, elements mutate and transform: mushy noise bends into street sounds, haunted vocals into echoing drill melancholia and muffled howls into shattered digital remnants. The main event is the full 10-minute soundtrack, that's layered with Sanoh's disorienting and deeply personal poetry and echoes Mark Leckey's recent "In This Lingering Twilight Sparkle". Then the EP is bumped up with three sketches from the same sessions, two of which never made it to the final mixdown. 'Version 3' is a particular highlight, pasting heartbreaking piano and blowtorched vocal loops over winding drill bass > sounds like Burial remixing Unknown T into pure syrup.

Noise titan Anthony Di Franco (Ramleh, JFK) returns to his perennially influential and long dormant AX project for the first time since 1997's 'Astronomy', pitching into pure, beat-less feedback/amp-worship on a crushing and expansive new album of manacled, atonal guitar + synth + FX slowly edged into oblivion. Big boned, highly recommended listening FFO Kevin Drumm, Stephen O’Malley, Kevin Richard Martin, Mika Vainio, E.A.R. Di Franco was just 21 when he started the AX project in 1993. He'd been a member of Matthew Bower's influential noise rock band Skullflower since he was 16 and was their full-time bassist by that point, playing on classic sides like 'IIIrd Gatekeeper' and 'Obsidian Shaking Codex' before being tapped by Gary Mundy to join Ramleh. The idea for AX was to create music without drums that was just as heavy as the extreme noise and sludgy rock that surrounded Di Franco at the time. And so, using a cheap 4-track, an arsenal of guitars and a few synths and effects to strip out the rhythm and focus solely on the weight of the sound, the project produced three albums - 'AX II', 'Nova Feedback' and 'Astronomy' - records that have remained cult touchstones for dedicated drone fanatics ever since. One year since the mighty, psyched-out return of Ramleh with ‘Hyper Vigilance’, Di Franco appears clearly gassed on a new energy in ‘Vulcanalia’, wherein he revives the alias with the benefit of lessons learned since that last album three decades ago. For the duration, he touches scorched grass in his most elemental guise, sustaining combustible harmonic overtones and biting-point distortion thickened with re-thought production techniques, from mic placements to amp sorcery and FX, factored by obsessive, extramusical cues from Roman mythology and religion. The results live up to his intention - to plunge users in the midst of the lushest tempest - in order to overwhelm himself and us. Nothing exceeds quite like excess, and this one delivers in glacial spades. Numbed drones grow in shivering intensity to a vision-blurring electromagnetic stormfield on ‘Elagebal’, culminating in a keeling, blackened wave that never breaks, whereas ‘Jupiter Best and Greatest’ allows for more harmonic colour in the sustained density of his synths and axe, rising and dashing souls on distant noumenal, isolationist shores. ‘Aedes Saturnus’ evokes a necessary lull in the storm, dialling everything down to a sort of still water depth and dread that builds from below, boiling waters that turn to caustic treacle one the 12 minute titular closing, set to immure the senses in a style of doom wrangling that hears the influence of his Ramleh and Skullflower works which also fed into E.A.R., SoMa, and Kevin Richard Martin, returning home to roost.

Shangaan electro, amapiano & gqom fiends take note: Limpopo’s Serokolo 7 breaks thru with a thrilling introduction to Mapanta; a local, traditional sound he’s revived and modernised, somehow resembling amapiano’s taut log drum rhythms and tense atmospheres, but sped to 180BPM, spliced with toasters and FX bombast glittering with modernist melodic sheen. In other words: 100% zingers! Repped by Björk during her DJ set at this year's Venice Biennale, Serokolo 7's debut is an idiosyncratic, adrenaline-filled reboot of South Africa's lesser-known mapanta sound, stirring its 180BPM rhythms with traces of footwork, gqom and hard techno. South Africa’s scene has perfused every nook of the global club movement for years at this point; whether it's the low 'n slow sound of Durban's gqom, Pretoria's kwaito-rooted Bacardi house or world-dominating log drum-laced amapiano, but head north to the country's border with Botswana, Zimbabwe and Mozambique, and you'll hear something completely different. In Ga Sekhukhune, a village in the Limpopo province, the Bapedi ethnic group have retained their own unique cultural form, mapanta, a "living communal practice" that has been maintained through weddings and youth gatherings over decades. Although its popularity waned after its peak in the 1980s, producer, DJ and sound-system operator Serokolo 7 has been instrumental in modernising the formula, sharing FL Studio tips and tricks and sound packs in the village to keep the music alive. 'Maramfa Musik Pro' is Serokolo 7's first widely-available set and is a great primer to his contemporary strain of mapanta, and although he augments the traditional rhythms with ideas he's skimmed from other interrelated rhythmic forms, the core elements still remain intact. The unique vocals, for example, are considered invocations, delivered in Sepedi, one of South Africa's 12 official languages. And they can't be cleaved from their ceremonial function, speaking directly to mapanta's importance as a community celebration, calling out to family lines and totems. The rhythms themselves, while similar in some ways to the brittle, high-speed work of Nozinja (who hailed from nearby Giyani), sound as if they've been marinated in their own juices, trance-inducing but simultaneously disrupted by Serokolo's unforgettable oddball production choices, whether it's field recordings, screwed voices or delirious sub-heavy basslines. The album opens with 'Naba Ba Papedi', a bleak uptempo ritual that plays like an unwieldy fusion of gqom (that omnipresent synth drone), footwork (those unmissable rushing snares) and Shangaan Electro, with layered vocal chants and callouts filling in the gaps. Serokolo is a restless producer who's out on his own, something that only becomes fully evident as the set develops with the pneumatic 'Roskae', a fusion of vocal micro-edits and pressurised subs, or the electrifying 'Chunku Manabeng', that excites the core pulse with brain twisting polyrhythms and the occasional log drum smack for good measure. On ’Bonkoko Bagana' Serokolo lightens things up with chiming melodic hooks and a feathery manyalo-style beat. Unsurprisingly, it's this track that Björk made the focal point of her recent Venice appearance - a key cut from yet another truly eye-opening treasure from Nyege.

DJ Plead’s genre-defining album of slow and humid dance music, recorded almost entirely on a Yamaha ‘Oriental’ keyboard in the spring of 2020, finally lands back in print on this new vinyl edition made for anyone who missed it first time round, remastered by Rashad Becker. Giving us full classic/futureshock from the moment we first heard it, it’s one of those albums that’s stitched itself to the very fabric of our being over the last couple of years, becoming a sort of reference against which we’ve measured all weapons made for the sweatiest end of the night. If you’ve ever heard it out, you’ll know what we’re saying - it’s just supremely provocative, unhurried body music. Recorded at his home in Sydney during the height of that first lockdown with a wild creative energy only amplified by strict aesthetic control - almost all of the album was recorded on the one keyboard featured on the cover artwork - it’s ironic that at a time when we basically got several years worth of reflective home listening albums recorded in isolation, Plead made one of the definitive club albums of the 2020’s, even if it’s for the kinda club that keeps it on full slink. Equally influenced by vintage dancehall riddims and the inspirational glow of CS + Kreme's psycho-ambient heartmelters, Plead here dissolves his much-loved hard drum style, dropping the tempo and conserving energy levels across a suite of smutty, tense works, matching his waviest microtonal vamps with the signature, rhythmelodic lilt of his drums in a properly hypnotic style. A hazy introductory piece of autotuned vocals and subs seduces from the front, with feelings spilling out into delirious dancehall pressure with drums on some mad Mahraganat x Timbaland tip, closing on a mesmerising beatless highlight. Perfect music, made for slow dancing.

"Consumação" marks a major change in Domingos' life, a break with his old self. A new found spiritual awareness is channeled into music as often as he is able. Broken and missing relationships, broken PC, but the music still flows in his mind and with the tools at hand: tablet and cellphone. The EP is therefore a transitional document, beginning to show that "my current thoughts are not the same as before". The traditional ID punctuating the music now often proclaims "Solta!". Let go. The music, though, stays consistent with a left-field vibe, even while the appeal is pretty much universal. "Não Acredito" and especially our longtime favourite "Hot Girl" come out as monuments to loneliness and disillusionment but still with enough room to feel good about oneself. To receive all that as part of the natural course of life. None of these considerations break new ground. "Não Acredito" is simply the very human exclamation of disbelief in face of a ton of bad things happening cumulatively. "Coração de Pedra" is about a common sentimental feature in contemporary love life: hearts of stone. Face them or develop one. "Leave Me Alone" is simply that: get lost, give me space. But one listens to the song and there's hope in there. Not even buried deep. All these contradictory feelings are played out throughout the EP and become a compositional tool, a signature, although the producer confides he's not too bothered with making the titles correspond to the mood. It just happens. The music is its (and his) own self.

'Persistent Repetition Of Phrases' success comes from the attention it pays to the function of 'the loop', not only as a narrative ordering system in modern music, but as a means by which the brain itself recalls and interprets information; it's as old as recorded sound itself, but in this context the repetition of small shards of auditory information becomes an elegy to fading memory and the worn-out synapses of old age. The track titles offer signposts through Kirby's labyrinth of faulty remembrances, pointing their way towards the peculiarities dictating the manner by which the mind stores and attempts to recover information.

Every artist has to discover their voice. Gia Margaret didn’t find herself until she lost hers. With a vocal injury that kept her from singing for years, she developed other musical languages, mastering the grammar of an intricate, homey form of ambient music pioneered by Ernest Hood and perfected by The Books. Now, her physical voice healed and her artistic voice honed, she comes full circle with Singing, her first vocal album since 2018’s There’s Always Glimmer. Led by soft piano lines that fall like breath on glass, the music on Singing evidences the same jeweler’s sensitivity to detail that she developed in her silence.

“There was a time when I really didn’t know if I would sing again. So once I healed, there was a lot of internal pressure to come back strong,” Margaret says. “I didn’t know who I was anymore. So it felt like beginning again, and reconnecting with these very old, old parts of myself.” This feeling of intermixed alienation and rediscovery is palpable across the album. In opener “Everyone Around Me Dancing,” she watches a party from the wings, aware of how her body keeps her from communal joy while also providing new modes of self-knowledge. Shut out from the scene, she is “closer to the ground, the planet.” In “Alive Inside,” she’s so far away from the source that she’s praying to whoever might hear (“a god, a friend that’s gone, a spirit”). As her voice rises, it seems to be trapped in a web of distortion; it’s as if in her pursuit, she’s pushing at the very boundaries of what can be said.

The process of making Singing was one of learning how to trust each of those feelings. The album was partially recorded in London with Frou Frou’s Guy Sigsworth, who helped Margaret unify the spree of ideas she had for “Good Friend,” an album highlight that includes Gregorian chant by ILĀ and turntable scratches, among many other things. David Bazan and Amy Millan also make appearances, as do Kurt Vile and Sean Carey, while Margaret’s longtime collaborator Doug Saltzman plays on and co-produces much of the record. Deb Talan, previously of The Weepies, lends her voice, piano, and guitar to the album's closing—and definitive—statement, "E-Motion."

Gia Margaret is always singing. Every note of this album sings a warm requiem to her past selves; every layer sings her future self into being. Across the album, she applies the lessons of speechlessness—the quasirational ways we communicate without communicating, the way formless sound can cut to the heart of things like a scalpel—to her own artistic voice.

Estonia’s reliable club freqs at Porridge Bullet bypass expectations with two cuts of raw black metal heck by a pair of artists moonlighting from usual styles As black metal is practically pop in the Baltic and Scandi regions (well, kinda), Tapetud Rott’s furnace blasts of detuned guitars, gloom-ridden vibes and scorched vox aren’t totally out of place, yet still make a strong sore thumb on a label best known for its odd funk and dub. Perhaps closest to the likes of Ratkiller on the label (Tapetud Rott translates to killed rat), the duo of Mikk Madisson & Robert Nikolajev fully commit to the BM sound on both counts, going sludgy, slow and bloodthirsty on ‘See mees’, and full bore with the blast beats and throttled axes of ‘Lähme õue’, sealed with helldog vox.

A double-LP vinyl edition of *Adan no Kaze*—Ichiko Aoba’s seventh original album, originally released in December 2020—has been confirmed for release. Conceived as a "soundtrack for a fictional film," this album has been highly anticipated on vinyl by fans both in Japan and abroad. Collaborating with musician Taro Umebayashi on composition and arrangement, Aoba moves beyond her signature classical guitar-and-voice style; the album features rich, intricate soundscapes—incorporating chamber music ensembles and classical influences—that transport the listener into the world of a make-believe movie. By blending Umebayashi’s profound interpretation with Aoba’s storytelling, the work achieves a new level of artistic expression and deep musical resonance. It is a vibrant, colorful soundtrack comprising 14 tracks.

Yuri Suzuki, the sound artist and designer known for creating works that explore the realms of sound through exquisitely designed pieces, has become completely captivated by that silver box. Toting that infamous box and relentlessly diving deep into the swamp of Acid House, he drops a new album after nearly six years in LP format. On this record, Suzuki's finely honed squelchy old-school 303 sound, tightly mastered by the sound alchemist Rashad Becker, unfolds with precision and points toward another possible tomorrow. Each track is a sketch, carrying you through a timeless landscape of rhythm and texture and reaffirming Suzuki's unique command over sound and space.

Emerging from Boston’s fertile 1970s underground, La Peste were the city’s first true punk band — bridging the gap between its proto-punk roots and the hardcore and college rock scenes that followed. I Don’t Know Right From Wrong finally tells their story in full, gathering long-lost recordings alongside the group’s only official release, the Better Off Dead 7”. This set includes material from multiple sessions: their 1978 recordings produced by The Cars’ Ric Ocasek, an additional 1978 session at Electro Acoustic Studios, and rough-edged 4-track loft tapes captured by fellow Boston punks Billy Daffodil and Dave Cola in 1977. Every track bursts with the intensity that once electrified New England clubs — huge riffs, driving rhythms, and Peter Dayton’s howling vocals at the front of the storm. As writer Marc Masters notes, these songs “come flying out of the speakers, fun and intense and so full of barely-contained energy that you’ll feel like you just injected caffeine.” More than four decades on, I Don’t Know Right From Wrong stands as a thrilling testament to La Peste’s place at the dawn of American punk.

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.

The music on Horse Lords’ Demand to Be Taken to Heaven Alive! feels both impossibly detailed and eminently human. The album’s twelve pieces are layered and interwoven, tonally and rhythmically complex––moiré-like patterns of interaction and tessellation that play out for both mind and body, full of sonic warrens with an inescapable groove. An electrifying leap forward for the band’s shared language, Demand to Be Taken to Heaven Alive! aims to liberate the listener into a spiritual, ecstatic, and utopic dimension of sound.

Discovery Zone’s Library Copy Do Not Remove is a sonic document of an immersive multimedia program originally written for and performed inside of the historic Zeiss-Groß Planetarium dome in Berlin, Germany. The album invites listeners into an eternally expanding “circular library,” an information network containing everything that ever was or will be. Passing through holographic chambers of memory, replication, and recognition, Library Copy Do Not Remove offers a reflection from the infinite mirror that lies at the boundary of the known universe.

Future Development is Del the Funky Homosapien’s third album and, following his departure from major label Elektra, it was his first album on his independent label, Hieroglyphics Imperium Recordings. Originally released on cassette in 1997, and later reissued on CD and vinyl in 2002, the album largely relied on in-house production from Del along with contributions from Hiero crew members A-Plus, Opio, and Toure. The only guest feature on the album is from crew member Casual, who joins Del on the energetic “Checking Out The Rivalry.”Sonically, Future Development bridges the funk-heavy stylings of Del’s debut with the darker, more futuristic textures he explored on No Need for Alarm. Lyrically, Del refines his rapid-fire wordplay with sharper thematic focus, tackling life in Oakland, societal observations and hip-hop culture, all with a blend of humor, streetwise insight, and multi-syllabic dexterity. Ultimately, the album captures a snapshot of his progression from raw talent to a more conceptually matured songwriter. It remains a significant and under-appreciated chapter in Del’s evolution, showcasing early seeds of the creativity and independence that would come to define much of his career thereafter.

The latest mixtape LP, “Even The Devil Smiles,” comes from rapper and producer IDK (Jason Mills).

Critical Thot is the bold new collaborative album from Bay Area-based rapper/producer Sha Ray, and producer/electronic musician DJ Haram—two uncompromising artists reshaping rap and experimental sound. It is an intriguing pairing; Haram is one-half of the duo 700 Bliss with rapper and poet Moor Mother and has several solo records under her belt—including 2025’s critically acclaimed Beside Myself (Hyperdub)—and high profile collaborations with BbyMutha, Fever Ray, Ghais Guevara, and Armand Hammer. Meanwhile, although Critical Thot is Sha Ray’s official debut album, her reputation as a next-wave talent precedes her. Haram got wise in 2022 when she saw Sha Ray perform at a show in Brooklyn. “We spoke at the venue and after that I followed her on social media. She gave an incredible performance, so later on when she slid in my DMs asking for beats, I was already on board,” Haram explains.An Armand Hammer/DJ Haram show in LA was the nexus for these connections to yield fruit. Sha Ray flew down from the Bay to link with Haram, and although the two didn’t end up recording anything that day, it was the springboard for the cross-country collaboration that culminated in Critical Thot. The whole album was made remotely: Haram cooking up beats in Brooklyn and sending them to Sha Ray, who would send back demos and notes. They got to know each other as artists, and as people, while they worked on this project.“Haram and I have had so many overlapping experiences working as women in the music industry, which really enriched our bond. That, and her very striking approach to production, really inspired a lot of the writing on this record,” Sha Ray says.That writing is razor sharp and refreshingly direct. Sha Ray quickly proves herself to be in a class of her own, navigating even the knottiest of DJ Haram productions without taking her foot off the gas. Haram digs deep into her bag with beats that run the gamut from experimental and abrasive to slinky fun to darkly foreboding. Percussive thuds and shots are layered with intricate details and soft linings. A trappy banger dissolves into a flood of strings. A sparse industrial soundscape slowly coheres into a cacophonous uppercut of a rap record. Sha Ray bobs and weaves her way through every drum break and synth with a defiant ease. “As a rapper I’m pretty exclusively interested in interrogating misogyny and sexuality in my work. Critical Thot is a deliberation on unapologetic feminine authority, while being very honest about the complicated truth of being a participant in self-objectification, and sexuality as a social currency,” Sha Ray elaborates. “This record focuses a lot on defining power in feminine sexuality as relational and ever-shifting, and thus inherently imperfect. However, it is a power that I have and I am going to use it.”Critical Thot features contributions from Nappy Nina, JWords, and Archangel.

While we await their sophomore full-length, Di Hotel Malibu, Thee Marloes treat us to a show-stopping two-sider. The A-side, “Under the Silver Moon,” is a stone-cold two-stepper that captures both the bitter and the sweet of long-distance love, set against a breezy musical backdrop. The musicianship and production pull you in from the first snare hit, while frontwoman Natassya Sianturi’s honeyed vocals conjure vivid imagery through metaphor and prose. On the B-side, “Through the Changes” reveals the most tender side of the band’s sound. Both powerful and delicate, the song reflects on how we imagine - and grapple with - what comes after death. Natassya yearns for company and conversation with a love who has passed, at times recalling shared memories, at others questioning the act of continuing to speak to and think about them. Her delivery is so intimate it’s impossible not to feel every word, as the band provides the perfect, understated backing.

“Warm Waves” took shape from a series of recordings of spontaneous improvisations by a core group of Turn On The Suniight regulars, with additions by Laraaji, Sam Gendel & Luis Pérez Ixoneztli. Carlos Niño then contributed two remixes, both in collaboration with Jamael Dean. The album features Mia Doi Todd's ethereal vocals and the voice-like sounds of Sam Gendel’s electronically-processed saxophone, but is intentionally devoid of words, save for a single phrase spoken by Laraaji in one of Carlos’ remixes - "Peace All Over" - a message of hope for the future and expression of faith in the timeless, omnipresent, eternal now.

Gorgeous DIY, private press, lounge jazz and Latin boogie stardust from 1984, framing keyboard maestro Ronald Langestraat in his living room, laying down pure vibes to 4-track - huge tip FFO Lewis, Gil Scott Heron, James Mason, Starship Commander Woooo Wooooo. "Searching was self-recorded in Ronald’s living room on a 4-Track Tape Recorder in 1984. The recordings symbolise his engagement to cross-over everything that was known to him musically at that time. Most importantly, all recordings reflect his personal way of searching; searching for his own characteristic sound. Rhythmical patterns meet well balanced distortion, shaping the music into a mirror of his character. He was part of several Dutch Latin and Jazz bands, including Cascada and Ritmo Natural. With the latter he performed at Holland’s North Sea Jazz Festival. At this point Ronald is 78 years old, playing music every day. Instruments: Acoustic Piano, Fender Rhodes Piano, Farfisa Organ, String Ensemble, Tenor Sax, Alt Sax, Soprano Sax, Clarinet, Alt Clarinet, Organ Bass, Micro Moog, Drums, Longa & Voices.”

New from Escho - 'Pusher' OST composer Peter Schneidermann (aka Peter Peter) taps his mates Majke Voss and Ice Age's Elias Rønnenfelt for his proper Bleeder debut, covering Lydia Lunch's 'Boy/Girl' and Fifty Foot Hose's 'If Not This Time' in the process. Schneidermann is a familiar face on the Copenhagen scene, working closely with Nicolas Winding Refn on the 'Valhalla Rising' score as well as the scores for each of the 'Pusher' films. And he's been a member of the Escho family for years, so it was surely only a matter of time until he collaborated with Rønnenfelt. The band rush for the '90s on 'Marble Station', layering wall-of-sound guitars with deadpan vocals, while on 'Here Comes the Dead', they sound more like Black Country heroes Slade. The band's version of 'Boy/Girl' is stronger, led by rattling hi-hats and sleazy, Suicide-style guitars and they show off their range with their surprisingly tender version of 'If Not This Time'. It's all a bit knowing, sure, but it's Copenhagen, innit.