NEW ARRIVALS

Spiritmuse Records and Kahil El’Zabar present Let The Spirit Out, Live at “mu” London, a unique concept of recording new material purposefully in a live audience environment, to capture the feeling of connectedness in the ancient ritual of communion through music. Spiritual jazz master Kahil El’Zabar created new material for this album, in a powerful message to the world today, speaking about release, freedom, revelation and empowerment to Let the Spirit Out. Inspired by the concept of free expression, Chicago legend El’Zabar began writing new material, alongside new arrangements for reimagined classics such as Caravan and Summertime, to be performed by the Ethnic Heritage Ensemble over two nights, in a carefully selected venue, “mu” London, an audiophile space for a healing, immersive experience. Leading the Ethnic Heritage Ensemble with Corey Wilkes (trumpet), Alex Harding (baritone sax) and Ishmael Ali (cello), the spiritual jazz shaman El’Zabar and his close collaborators delivered stunning performances over two unforgettable evenings that became a landmark experience—refined, healing, and transcendent—where improvisation and spirit merged, deepening the profound connection between artists and community. Let the Spirit Out is a journey into the uncontainable force of the human spirit expressed through sound. The title speaks to the flowing of spirit —the act of opening ourselves so that what is within can flow outward into the world. The album is a recorded ritual that sees the Ethnic Heritage Ensemble at their most powerful: raw, expansive, transcendent and deeply attuned to the healing energy of rhythm. For music lovers seeking the full immersion of Kahil El’Zabar and his legendary Ensemble in an intimate audiophile setting, Let the Spirit Out delivers the deep-listening experience of being present in the very moment of creation, bridging the gap between artist and audience. The Chicago master’s ritual is both uplifting and transformative, inspiring all who hear it to let the spirit out. The 2xLP and CD are produced to Spiritmuse Records’ high-quality and feature stunning artwork by extraordinary artist Nep Sidhu. The release is further enriched by a dedicated microsite, sharing reflections and testimonials from artists and writers who witnessed these two extraordinary nights. Spiritual jazz, with its improvisational roots, becomes the vessel for this album, where the spirit is not confined but constantly unfolding, transforming and communicating with the audience beyond words. Through Let The Spirit Out, the Chicago legend is asking us to strip away layers of restraint, inviting listeners to experience liberation and healing, and let truth, passion and light emerge without fear. In his own words: “We, the people of spirit, will rise to a higher consciousness beyond these darkest times, forging telepathic kinships of empowered Love. Jump and Shout, Let the Spirit Out!” Sir Kahil El’Zabar.

Spiritmuse Records is proud to present Journey To Nabta Playa, a new album from composer and multi-instrumentalist Angel Bat Dawid and multidisciplinary artist and musician Naima Nefertari (aka Karlsson), releasing May 2, 2025. A powerful meditation on memory, mythology, and ancestral science, the record draws deep inspiration from the ancient astrological stone circle of Nabta Playa, nestled in the remote deserts of Nubia. Journey To Nabta Playa is grounded in a shared inquiry between two artists connected by music, research, and sisterhood, and is a sonic journey through sacred time and space. Meeting through mutual spiritual and creative alignments, Dawid and Naima composed, performed and produced the album together—recorded between Dawid’s base in Chicago and Naima’s family home in Sweden (home of Don and Moki Cherry). Additional parts were captured at Elastic Arts (Chicago) and CoLabyrinth (home of Kahil El’Zabar), forging strong connections with community, lineage, and sound as ritual. Blending spiritual jazz, celestial electronics, ancestral instrumentation, and storytelling, the duo’s palette includes flute, clarinet, vibraphone, kalimba, clay pot, gong, mouth harp, piano and synths—layered with sounds like “Winds of Neptune” and “Rings of Saturn” to imagine futures grounded in ancient knowing. “This album is a story from beginning to end,” says Naima, “a mythology in music.” The tracklist acts as a cosmic narrative arc: from desert summoning and ritual procession, to astral ceremonies, burial, and liberation. Highlights include “Bishmillah”, a rare composition by Don Cherry and “Burial: String Quartet in E Minor”—a previously unreleased composition by Naima’s uncle, the late David Ornette Cherry. The piece was transcribed and arranged by the artists and recorded with four BIPOC string players, including a 14-year-old violinist in Chicago. The album’s first single, “Procession of the Equinox,” is released in alignment with the Spring Equinox on March 20th—a cosmic marker reflecting the album’s deep relationship with celestial cycles and sacred time. A portal for remembrance, Journey To Nabta Playa connects past and future, the earth and sky, the seen and the unseen. Inspired in part by Virginia Hamilton’s The People Could Fly: “They say the people could fly. Say that long ago in Africa, some of the people knew magic. And they would walk up on the air like climbin’ up on a gate. And they flew like blackbirds over the fields. Black, shiny wings flappin’ against the blue up there.” — Virginia Hamilton, The People Could Fly Presented as a deluxe 2xLP, the album arrives on 180g black vinyl in a gatefold sleeve with original artwork by Nep Sidhu and inner gatefold painting by Kahil El’Zabar. A 12-page booklet deepens the project’s archival and spiritual layers, featuring essays and reflections from Neneh Cherry, Tej Adeleye, Dr. Adam Zanolini, Imani Mason Jordan, and more. This is not just an album—it’s a constellation. A sacred sound offering from two artists listening deeply to the past, dreaming toward liberation. “Let the journey begin...” – Angel Bat Dawid

NOTE: Celestial Love, first issued digitally by us in 2015, was licensed to the Modern Harmonic label and remastered in 2020. Both versions contain identical titles. The remastered version is available on CD and LP (and digitally) from MH. Our Bandcamp release has been updated with the remastered audio. ======== Celestial Love contains recordings made in September 1982 at New York's Variety Studios, which had hosted countless Sun Ra sessions since the late 1960s. This was one of the last extended sessions at Variety, and these recordings were the last studio works released on Sun Ra's own Saturn label (though the label did continue to press concert recordings, and new studio recordings did appear on other labels). Aside from their inclusion on Celestial Love, tracks from these sessions landed on the albums A Fireside Chat With Lucifer and Nuclear War. Since Nuclear War's contents overlapped with both Fireside Chat and Celestial Love, we have reconstituted the latter two as complete albums, thus covering all titles from these Variety dates. The music on Celestial Love is mostly "inside" Ra, veering towards mainstream jazz (the lengthy and adventurous "Fireside Chat," not on this album, being an exception). Ra's early hero, Duke Ellington, is represented twice with "Sophisticated Lady" and "Drop Me Off in Harlem," and two other standards ("Smile" and "Sometimes I'm Happy," both sung by June Tyson) are given snappy Ra arrangements. The album contains the only known recordings of "Celestial Love" and "Blue Intensity." "Interstellarism" is a reinvention of "Interstellar Low Ways," a composition Ra first recorded in 1959 (with reed stalwarts John Gilmore and Marshall Allen, who are on this version 23 years later). "Nameless One #2," a blues workout, is reprised on "Nameless One #3." ("Nameless One #1" has apparently not been written, but could yet arrive from a distant galaxy.) Though Sun Ra was renowned for outrageous music and performances, Celestial Love is a reminder that he was a man of many moods, with a deep respect for jazz history. His embrace of Futurism never implied a rejection of the past. Even rocket ships were constructed with raw materials discovered eons ago. – I.C.

Anything can happen and often does. This is John Cage. A seminal example of indeterminate music from an icon on experimental sounds. This work was originally used as music for the choreographed piece by Merce Cunningham, "Field Dances," with stage and costume design in the original version by Robert Rauschenberg (from 1967 the designer was Remy Charlip). Variations IV is the second work in a group of three of which Atlas Eclipticalis is the first (representing 'nirvana', according to Hidekazu Yoshida's interpretations of Japanese Haiku poetry) and 0"00 is the third (representing 'individual action'). It represents 'samsara', the turmoil of everyday life. Cage indicates that sounds may be produced inside and outside the performance space. There are no indications of durations, dynamics, etc.. It could be argued that there is no more controversial figure in music history as avant-garde electronic composer John Cage. Perhaps best known for his composition "4'33,"" which consisted of Cage sitting at a piano for four-plus minutes of total silence, Cage was both loved and loathed in the 60s and 70s as a leading light in avant-garde music and as an entertainingly weird guy who used radios, televisions, live dancers and his own Adam's apple as instruments in his live performances. Cage's music blurred the line between music, performance art and visual art in a way that no other composer has before or since. Cage's performances were often wild one-of-a-kind happenings, and the shows that make up the recording of Variations IV are no different. The fourth in a series of concerts that stretched the boundaries of what music was, IV was designed for a group of performers playing literally anything they could get their hands on. They were also encouraged, if they got bored playing, to do "other activities" in addition to the music. The score consisted of two circles and seven points on a transparent sheet, to be interpreted however the performers saw fit. The end result: a wild album of music-concrete that should sound familiar to fans of the Beatles' "Revolution 9" -- no question Cage's composition influenced Lennon and Ono's experiments. detail Modern Harmonic brings you this gorgeous reissue of Cage's masterpiece, pressed on clear vinyl and wrapped in restored artwork that captures the unique and strange beauty of this headphone classic. Join the avant-garde!

Anything can happen and often does. This is John Cage. A seminal example of indeterminate music from an icon on experimental sounds. This work was originally used as music for the choreographed piece by Merce Cunningham, "Field Dances," with stage and costume design in the original version by Robert Rauschenberg (from 1967 the designer was Remy Charlip). Variations IV is the second work in a group of three of which Atlas Eclipticalis is the first (representing 'nirvana', according to Hidekazu Yoshida's interpretations of Japanese Haiku poetry) and 0"00 is the third (representing 'individual action'). It represents 'samsara', the turmoil of everyday life. Cage indicates that sounds may be produced inside and outside the performance space. There are no indications of durations, dynamics, etc.. It could be argued that there is no more controversial figure in music history as avant-garde electronic composer John Cage. Perhaps best known for his composition "4'33,"" which consisted of Cage sitting at a piano for four-plus minutes of total silence, Cage was both loved and loathed in the 60s and 70s as a leading light in avant-garde music and as an entertainingly weird guy who used radios, televisions, live dancers and his own Adam's apple as instruments in his live performances. Cage's music blurred the line between music, performance art and visual art in a way that no other composer has before or since. Cage's performances were often wild one-of-a-kind happenings, and the shows that make up the recording of Variations IV are no different. The fourth in a series of concerts that stretched the boundaries of what music was, IV was designed for a group of performers playing literally anything they could get their hands on. They were also encouraged, if they got bored playing, to do "other activities" in addition to the music. The score consisted of two circles and seven points on a transparent sheet, to be interpreted however the performers saw fit. The end result: a wild album of music-concrete that should sound familiar to fans of the Beatles' "Revolution 9" -- no question Cage's composition influenced Lennon and Ono's experiments. detail Modern Harmonic brings you this gorgeous reissue of Cage's masterpiece, pressed on clear vinyl and wrapped in restored artwork that captures the unique and strange beauty of this headphone classic. Join the avant-garde!

Lena Willikens X Elena Colombi live at Lux Fragil, Lisbon 2026 Cover art + design by Alicia Carrera Mastered by Lottie Lou Poulet at Wysyng Arts Centre Manufactured at Tapeline, UK Limited edition cassette tape NO repress 💚 Once they're gone they're gone...

Universal Dub brings together four pillars of dub’s golden era—King Tubby, Scientist, Bunny Tom Tom and Barnabas—in a definitive collection that celebrates the raw innovation and deep rhythmic spirituality of Jamaican studio culture. Remastered and curated for both longtime devotees and newcomers, Universal Dub showcases the producers’ inventive studio techniques, subterranean basslines and immersive echo-laden soundscapes that helped shape modern music. King Tubby’s pioneering studio architecture, Scientist’s fearless sonic experimentation, Bunny Tom Tom’s organicmusicality and Barnabas’s vocal gravitas create a complementary dialogue across this album. Each track is astudy in space and texture: stripped-down mixes reveal the heartbeat of the rhythm section while delays, reverband fader gymnastics transform simple elements into vast, hypnotic worlds.

"Another mind-blasting slab from the band that emerged from the exquisitely raw chaos of Up-Tight. Guitarist Aoki Tomoyuki, who founded and led Up-Tight from 1992 to 2024, is one of the prime exponents of Japanese string-based underground insanity. His approach combines the psychedelic flow of White Heaven's You Ishihara with the scuzz-dynamism of High Rise's Munehiro Narita and the experimental distentions of Fushisusha-era Keiji Haino. Up-Tight's records were all sold blurts of N Generation Japanese freak logic, and that tradition has been continued by the Tomuki Trio. Their first two albums, Mars (on Riot Season) and its follow-up Shitsuren, were both boiling cauldrons of axe-smoke, with tunes that wandered through dizzying array of styles and moods, all of them underlaid with a splendid sense of utter disorientation. And that continues on album title. Even when the trio slows down into riffs that 'plod' in the tradition of the Stooges' 'We Will Fall,' they manage to infuse the air with shreds of sonic karma that refuse easy categorization. The way they balance the overload of their sound is definitely in the tradition of Japanese underground guitar noise of the past 35 years, but the Tomoyuki Trio seems bent on destroying the boundaries that have usually separated their precursors into distinct categories. They demand all access to all styles at all times. And the success of their attack on extant generic norms is abundantly clear throughout this album. It's an insane spin, and one I've been playing more or less non-stop for the past week without tiring of its inventions or becoming inured to the complexities of its sonic architecture. Album title is jam-packed with beautiful surprises for anyone who has the ears to hear it. Let us hope that cohort includes yourself." --Byron Coley, 2026

The title “Mijin” comes from a Japanese word meaning very fine particles. The album gathers particle-like sounds and lets them resonate in space. As I watch the movements that arise between them a balance gradually takes shape. Within those relationships and the quiet tension between them I explored how silence can resonate with sound. The album begins with the most minimal piano chords then develops by reconstructing fragments of voice and percussion, Rhodes and synths along with traces of jazz and soul. Each sound exists like a particle drifting in air gently resonating with the others to form the structure. I hope that the spaces and silences created by this placement will appear with a presence equal to the sounds themselves. -Fumitake Tamura

Rio de Janeiro guitarist and composer Fabiano do Nascimento returns with new album Cavejaz. Cavejaz is a project that stemmed from a hang with renowned Minas Gerais singer/songwriter Jennifer Souza, who suggested that do Nascimento record music with a new connection: the musician Paulo Santos, best known as a member of landmark Brazilian group UAKTI. Collaborators of Paul Simon, Philip Glass, Milton Nascimento, Stewart Copeland, among others, UAKTI became known for crafting their instruments by hand, using all kinds of recycled materials such as pvc pipes, glass, water, sponges, and more. Their artistic manifesto centres around creating minimal music, even as an ensemble. In August 2024, do Nascimento and Paulo Santos began recording at Studio Ilha do Corvo in Belo Horizonte with producer Leo Marques. At the time, Brazil was suffering one of the biggest and widest spread wildfires the country had ever seen, smoke spreading all across South America and causing devastating effects especially in Belo Horizonte. It represented an uncomfortable time for Brazil, provoking widespread discomfort and anxiety, as well as forcing do Nascimento and Santos indoors at the studio and cutting their recording period down to a spare few sessions. "But", writes do Nascimento, "we managed to have a good time still, and to enjoy recording the open and free ideas that would come up. Leo would just hit record, and we would just play." The second part of Cavejaz was recorded in Japan with veteran Japanese musician U-zhaan. The pair performed in concert in a beautiful noh-gaku-doh theater in Tokyo, which was recorded live, with Fabiano ultimately completing the Japan sessions solo at the SALO studio in Oiso. "So the project became a selection of what I recorded in Minas Gerais in studio with Paulo and Jennifer in August 2024, and the rest live in Japan, with one exception being live recording from a concert I performed in Los Angeles with my longtime bandmate, the percussionist Ricardo "Tiki" Pasillas (Salvador). The material made sense together." Despite these disparate backgrounds, Cavejaz is made cohesive by its organic performance and minimalist instrumentation. It is crafted from guitar and handmade percussion, elevated further still by U-zhaan's intuitive additions for the tabla and Tiki's handmade, hybrid percussion set. "The title came from the overall feel of the music and was recommended by my friend Sam Gendel," says do Nascimento. "Kind of sounds like music coming from a cave with water and organic elements." Fabiano do Nascimento is a Brazilian-American guitarist, composer, producer and arranger, currently based in Los Angeles and Tokyo. He performs on various multi-string and multi-tuning (nylon string) guitars. A contemporary artist who is deeply rooted in Brazilian heritage and is known for his unique sound and ever-expansive compositions, borrowing from the traditions of Afro-Samba, Folkloric and Choro while blending elements of jazz, experimental music, and electronica.

Acclaimed Californian harpist Nailah Hunter unites with debuting theremin player Alia Mohamed for a hauntingly minimalist performance of Harold Budd's "The Pavilion of Dreams". The rendition concept was initially conceived and performed by the two musicians for the Nov 3rd 2024 edition of Leaving Records' seminal outdoor community concert series Listen to Music Outside in the Daylight Under a Tree in Los Angeles California. Nailah Hunter writes: "It was such a blissful experience getting to play in the golden light of the park that afternoon with Alia. We’d been exploring this piece together for a few years prior to the performance. The uniquely curious and misty quality of the piece is what initially drew me in and the bold and imaginative changes voiced in the harp part are what kept me coming back for more. It felt euphoric to finally get to share our sonic vision with folks we knew already appreciated the original work."

"Every Nigger is a Star" the legendary soundtrack to the cult 1973 Jamaican film! Composed and arranged by popular Jamaican singer and bassist Boris Gardiner, this music still sounds as the perfect blend between reggae and Blaxploitation oriented Soul-Funk groove. Needless to remember that in 2015 the title track was sampled for the opening track of Kendrik Lamar's iconic album "To pimp for a Butterfly" in other words an essential release for all the ghetto-sounds freaks out there!

On Revolutionary Pekinese Opera, Ground Zero - under the ferociously precise direction of Otomo Yoshihide - detonates a cut‑and‑splice orchestra where free improv, noise, opera and plunderphonics collide with undimmed urgency. With the blessing of Otomo Yoshihide himself, Revolutionary Pekinese Opera returns to vinyl as one of the defining artefacts of 1990s avant‑garde music, sounding less like a period piece than a live explosive smuggled into the present. Originally conceived as a hypercharged reimagining of revolutionary opera through the cracked lens of sampling culture, the album captures Ground Zero at the height of its powers: a band that refused to respect borders between genres, media or histories, instead treating them all as combustible material. Three decades on, these compositions still feel like they might slip the stylus off the groove through sheer centrifugal force. At the core of the record is Otomo’s role as a kind of Deus ex machina from Fukushima, orchestrating a dense, unruly melting pot of musicians, sounds and strategies. Turntables, guitars, horns, rhythm section and electronics are marshalled into a constantly shifting field where nothing is allowed to remain stable for long. Fragments of Peking opera collide with free jazz eruptions; abrupt cuts splice militant fanfares into stretches of near‑silence or sandblasted noise; cartoonish samples and solemn themes rub shoulders, unsettling each other. What could have been a mere collage becomes, in Otomo’s hands, a tightly argued montage, where each juxtaposition pushes the music into a new, volatile state. The album’s power lies in how it weaponises experimentation without losing a sense of structure. Ground Zero operate like a rogue theatre troupe and a demolition crew at once, pulling recognizable motifs out of the wreckage only to shred them again seconds later. Passages of almost symphonic weight flare up out of scratchy loops and feedback, while sudden drop‑outs expose tiny, nervous details - a stray cymbal brush, a voice buried in the mix, a tape wobble - before the full ensemble slams back in. The result is a music of permanent revolution in miniature, forever overthrowing its own premises, yet somehow coherent in its manic logic. What is striking today is how little of Revolutionary Pekinese Opera’s allure has faded. In an era when sampling, hybridity and “experimental” tags have been thoroughly domesticated, this record still feels genuinely disruptive, its raw drive undiluted by time. The vinyl reissue not only restores one of Ground Zero’s keystone statements to its proper physical scale - with all the crackle, impact and dynamic extremes that implies - it also reasserts the album’s place as a key node in the global avant‑garde of the 1990s. Heard now, these pieces continue to strike with the same force they had on first release: unruly, subversive, and rigorously constructed, a reminder of how dangerous a band can sound when the studio, the archive and the stage are treated as one continuous battlefield.

Taco weaponise the very idea of “tako” - octopus, kite, bunion, drunk, bald head - into a mutating post‑punk organism, a rotating guerrilla cell whose songs behave like incidents rather than compositions. “Tako” is one of those Japanese words that refuses to sit still. It can mean octopus, kite, bunion; it’s also slang for bald men, shaved heads, red‑faced drunks staggering home. The term slips between bodies, objects and insults, picking up grime and humour as it goes. In the early 1980s it became something else again: the name of a loose music and performance collective whose shows felt less like concerts than controlled disturbances. Taco emerged at the start of the decade as part of Japan’s post‑punk alternative wave, a shifting network of players orbiting Harumi Yamazaki, ex‑member of Gaseneta and the group’s volatile core. Around her gathered friends, acquaintances and fellow travellers from the Tokyo underground, forming a band that refused fixed membership, fixed genre, fixed anything. From the outset, Taco behaved more like a guerrilla unit than a conventional group. Personnel connected, collected, interrupted, scattered; line‑ups changed from gig to gig, and sometimes from piece to piece. Sound and image were treated as transient weapons to be deployed and discarded. Performances could happen with or without Harumi - reinforcing the sense that Taco was as much an anonymous mercenary outfit as it was a band, a name that could mask any number of combinations and intentions. What remained constant was the drive to send out music and noise that felt like it existed only for that night, that room, that confrontation, and then evaporated. In 1983 Taco released its first album, an anomalous, collaborative document that detonated across Japan’s underground as something both of and against its moment. The record functioned as a kind of local all‑stars compilation: key figures from the scene dropping in to contribute, while Harumi supplied the lyrics that stitched the whole together. Each track sounded like the reverberation of a particular cluster of people and circumstances - a conglomeration of voices, instruments, mistakes and impulses. Yet running through all of them were Harumi’s words, delivered with a force that turned scattered pieces into a single, bristling wave. The album didn’t simply collect songs; it spawned an “incident,” a disturbance that spread by word of mouth, tape dub and rumour. Then, as suddenly, it was pulled back: a separate scandal over some of the lyrics led to the records being recalled, ensuring that only a small number of copies ever made it into private hands. A second release followed in 1984: a 12" EP built around a live recording from the end of 1982. If the debut was a collage of sessions and personalities, this document caught Taco as a unit on stage, and what it revealed was an unexpectedly coherent musical engine beneath the chaos. For a band of indeterminate membership that specialised in one‑off performances, the playing here feels locked in without being smoothed out - grooves, fractures and eruptions held in tense balance. The record captures the power of Taco’s legendary live shows, but it’s Harumi Yamazaki’s presence that sears itself into memory: inflammatory, sensational, masochistic. Her muttered phrases and sudden screams ride over, and often wilfully against, the beat, treating rhythm as something to be taunted rather than obeyed. The effect is of a voice confronting the audience like a groundswell, an undertow that doesn’t care whether or not you keep your footing. One of Taco’s members once described the project as “an alternative counter organization”: a setup in which indeterminate participants fan each other’s heightened desires for personal revenge and retribution. In their words, Taco is “an ecosystem of tangible and intangible mouldy slime which accumulates in order for emotions to be acted out, both indoors in the studio, or outdoors on stage. That’s why the avenger can often end up being the victim.” It’s a metaphor that fits the music: thick, unstable, mutating, made from residues and leftovers as much as from polished ideas. Emotions congeal, are performed, and then rebound on those who unleashed them. The “alternative counter organization” is not a party or a platform; it’s a fragile, dangerous zone where sound becomes a way to test how far you can go before your own force turns back on you. The Alternative Counter Organization brings this history into focus not by tidying it up, but by acknowledging Taco’s refusal to be pinned down. It honours a group whose performances really were “like nothing before or since,” born from a word that already meant too many things and happy to add a few more.

Following his 1971 conviction for the murder of seven people, including the actress and model Sharon Tate, the notorious cult leader, Beach Boys associate and failed singer-songwriter Charles Manson was sentenced to death, later commuted to life imprisonment. Recorded with just an acoustic guitar in his jail cell, Live At San Quentin dates from 1983 and is probably the most poppy of Manson’s improvised far-out folk songs ever committed to tape, with flushing toilets and background conversations adding to the gritty low-fi realism. If you like the Lie album, you need this one too – Manson fans will not be disappointed!

Released in 1972 and long out of reach, Belle Gonzalez’s only album is one of those rare records that feels like a secret passed from hand to hand. Her voice is gentle yet full of presence, carrying songs that drift between British folk and the soft sway of Brazilian rhythms. It’s music that feels both of its time and strangely timeless, the kind of record you play once and then can’t forget. After decades in obscurity, Belle finally returns, restored with care and ready to be heard the way it always should have been.

lovesliescrushing's Bloweyelashwish is an ambient masterpiece, originally recorded in 1992 with a 12-string guitar, 4-track recorder, looping pedal, and boundless reverb. Scott Cortez’s project, alongside the haunting vocals of Melissa Arpin Duimstra, transformed bedroom daydreams into a serene, moonlit journey on a timeless sea. This expanded and remastered double album features five additional tracks, each distortion-laden and hypnotic, alongside lyrics and a replica postcard to guide listeners deeper into its world. Blindness, not eyewash, is the intended experience.

If you were to ask Joey Quiñones where he found inspiration for his music, you wouldn't have to look far from where the East LA son grew up. Listen to his work, and you're transported to a two-block radius of his neighborhood—from the liquor store to Sign of Music record store on Whittier Boulevard and back to a homie's house. In those two blocks, you hear cumbia blaring from the stores, punk rehearsals from a garage, oldies drifting from a neighbor's yard—a sensory overload that follows you home, all those genres singing in your head at once. This isn't a revelation to longtime fans of Quiñones' music. He has established himself as a premier interpreter of his generation, dedicating his career to offering his unique perspective on the Chicano soul songbook. But before Thee Sinseers, before the lush orchestrations and pitch-perfect harmonies that became his signature, Quiñones cut his teeth leading various backing bands for visiting Jamaican ska and dancehall acts touring Southern California. He describes those years as reggae college, getting yelled at by every Jamaican artist who had a record out. Those years of apprenticeship in rock steady and roots reggae would inform everything that followed—and on his new solo record Inna Soul Steady Situation, Quiñones finally showcases those influences front and center. That quintessential blending of styles rings out immediately on the opening track "Soul Steady Situation"—Quiñones's vocals enter like a selector toasting over the riddim, an alarm call announcing his intentions with an urgency that feels club-ready and immediate. Then comes the classic drum fill, dropping into a rock steady groove that establishes the vibe: this is dancehall-infused soul meant for movement, not just contemplation. It's a deliberate departure from Thee Sinseers' lush orchestrations, stripped down to showcase the Jamaican foundations that have always lived beneath Quiñones's work. Before you know it, you've taken off on a sonic soul spaceship with Quiñones at the helm, supported by his two-person crew: Eric Johnson from Thee Sinseers on saxophone and Eleazar from the Brown Boyz on piano, as you cruise across silver-lined clouds and dip your toes into dreamy moonlit grooves found on "Don't Let Go," "Driftin'" and "One More Night." What Quiñones manages to do on this record—with the full support of Colemine Records, the defining label for contemporary soul music happening right now—is prove time and time again that he is an artist willing to take risks and continue to show his prowess when it comes to experimenting with different styles, while still being able to authentically express himself. It's a partnership built on trust: Colemine has established itself as the premier destination for modern soul artists pushing the genre forward, recognizing that genre-blurring isn't a gimmick but the natural evolution of soul music itself. With that authentic self-expression, Quiñones and his crew manage to squeeze in some lighthearted fun as well, establishing a sense of equilibrium to counteract the heavier emotional overtones found on previous Sinseers efforts. A perfect example is "Bolsita," a tongue-in-cheek party song paying homage to iconic anthems like "Tequila" by The Champs and "Tighten Up" by Archie Bell & the Drells. But Quiñones doesn't stop there—he folds in electric boogaloo, early Ray Charles big band energy, and the Latin soul flourishes of Joe Cuba and Willie Colón, creating something that feels both nostalgic and fresh. Eric Johnson's saxophone takes center stage, adding playful solos that widen the sonic spectrum. The term "bolsita," which translates to "little bag," serves as the lingua franca for "let's get the party started"—it's admittedly corny, Quiñones will tell you, but it's the kind of song where everybody's going to shout along whether they like it or not. And that's precisely the point. By the time you reach the end of the record, having followed Quiñones across various genres and eras, you realize you've witnessed an artist in his prime doing what the best always do: capturing something deeply specific—Chicano identity, East LA's sonic DNA—and in that specificity, revealing something universal. It's music that transcends age, race, geography, and class precisely because it refuses to sand down its edges. Cross-generational talent building timeless appeal, one genre-blurring groove at a time.

William Basinski's epochal four-album box of slowly decomposing memories gets its long-overdue deluxe reissue, with liner notes from Laurie Anderson and a fresh mastering job from Josh Bonati.

Undoubtedly one of the greatest "ambient" albums of our era, 'The Disintegration Loops' is an enduring aesthetic touchstone. It didn't exist in a vacuum when it appeared in the early '00s, as the dust settled after 9/11, but Basinski's prescient meditation on decay in the wake of tragedy felt like a musical mark in the sand - a body of work that changed the way we think about repetition and tape saturation. The story goes that the composer, who'd been recording loop-based, minimalist experiments since the '70s, inspired by Brian Eno's 'Discreet Music' and Steve Reich's 'It's Gonna Rain', was going through his archive of reel-to-reel tapes when he realized the ferrite was flaking away from the plastic. Not willing to give up on the material, he recorded the output, letting the tape head destroy his pieces irreparably and adding reverb to the output.

Now, this would have been good enough without the additional context, but Basinski finished 'Disintegration Loops' on the morning of September 11, 2001, and played the first piece to his friends as they sat on the roof of his apartment block, watching agape as events unfolded. He used the footage he shot at the time for the covers of each disc, and the suite's solemn, thoughtful decline served as the unofficial soundtrack of our collective grief, an unfussy reminder of tragedy that plays out its haunted remnants of the past until they die, quite literally. There's been plenty of music that's aped Basinski's method since, and we don't doubt there'll be plenty more, but there's nothing quite like the original, and this latest remaster is the definitive version.

Alex Zhang Hungtai stands in stillness on 'Dras', but it's the kind of stillness that contains entire ranges of possibility. Recorded in 2019 inside Montreal's Saint Joseph Oratory (right before a piano demolition, no less), these nine pieces sat dormant on his hard drive through pandemic years until something finally clicked. What emerges now feels like watching someone trace the contours of their own interior landscape, each melodic line a careful negotiation with the unconscious. This is only a saxophone record in the barest sense.

The terrain here is tactile and unforgiving. On the title track, difficult melodies get torn apart and molded into emotive drones, dissonance interlocking where tones cut paths through the senses with metallic sheen. "El Khela" refracts into spectral layers that pull with eternal gravity, while "Estado" finds solace inside its own haze, rhythms barely audible but guiding forward with their cadence smeared against grey walls. These are small moments that become cathartic sonic breaths, each one revealing new passages through psychic geography.

There's beauty encased in the subtle repetitions of opener "Erg,” and in the glowing progressions of "White Dwarf." Zhang's saxophone becomes a dowsing rod for the uncharted, with electricity running through the album's veins while his breath anchors everything to something wordlessly human. The digital manipulation applied to those church recordings doesn't obscure that human element of 'Dras'. It transforms the raw material into something that navigates between external space and internal landscape.

By the time closer "Mazil" arrives, Alex Zhang Hungtai lets his saxophone speak its full resonance. Low, guttural expressions open up like chasms beneath melodic constellations floating in thick gravity. There’s a finality here even though something in these passages feels weightless. This is music permeated with inner dialogue, a wordless spell dancing above the psychic abyss. Tonal sequences disintegrate into narcotized sonics, a sharp elegant edge that cuts without drawing blood. This lonely work of exploration becomes something communal. 'Dras' is a map for traversing the space between where we are and where we might go.

Over the decades, Numero has excavated a metric ton of recordings from the depths of Detroit. From all manner of mini Motowns we've uncovered soul, R&B, funk, disco, boogie, and by nature of proximity—gospel. Previous examinations of the Revival and Big Mack labels turned up more than a few new apocryphal hymns, and Great Lakes Gospel Vol. 2 compiles a dozen curious church groups devotionally reaching towards the genre's frayed edge. Get lost in ecstatic choir funk, pulpit rappin', direct-injection guitar solos, and the holy spirit, should it move you. Look around the room. You could start a church with this thing.

The San Diego via Boston alt trio's complete original studio recordings, remastered, restored, and compiled into one lavish box set. Wait A Lifetime gathers the band's peerless albums Junk and This Afternoons Malady, plus a first time vinyl pressing of R.I.P., expanded to include their unfinished 3rd album, singles, splits, and comp tracks. The 28-page accompanying booklet details the entire saga via Nina Corcoran's essay and dozens of period photos, all housed in a stunning case-wrapped and varnished box. Sink into the ground and fly.

A band that played so loud their entire fan base went deaf and never spoke of them again. Formed in 1993 in the go-nowhere exurb of San Jose, California, Super Static Fever played only a handful of gigs in their brief two year existence, punishing spectators with a tinnitus-inducing wah-wah wall of Marshall-stacked distortion. Their sound was a mix of Melvins-esque sludge, Swervedriver’s melodic crunch, and latter-day Black Flag’s penchant for volume, as heard from the stock stereo of a hot-boxed 1985 Ford Econoline. Unfinished tapes from two ear-bleeding sessions are all that survived the ensuing 25 years since their indifferent break-up, mixed by the exacting Steve Albini as the band’s one condition for reissue. The package reeks of the ’90s computer-crippled D.I.Y. aesthetic, with VHS blur and opaque white screened on chipboard. A record that just barely does, and probably should not, exist.

Greg Mendez has always been an economical songwriter – he wields restraint and simplicity as tools, the core of his songs sharpened into simple, cutting truths. On Beauty Land, his new album and debut LP for Dead Oceans, we’re guided by a wry but forgiving narrator, an underdog who has learned to balance cynicism and faith. These songs are self-effacing without self-pity, carefully constructed altars of imperfection channeled through pop melodies, shimmering but urgent guitars, and a voice that reaches for choir boy innocence. The bulk of Beauty Land was recorded directly to tape, almost entirely alone in Mendez’s makeshift home studio in Philadelphia – a small room with no natural light. It’s his first full length since his unexpected self-titled breakthrough in 2023, which was a slow burn success following 15 years of writing and recording music in relative obscurity between Philly and New York. Beauty Land picks up where we left off three years ago – plumbing the depths of grief, love, and addiction – but its intense, quiet clarity shows Mendez at his songwriting best. Parts of Beauty Land feel like a lucid dream, dented characters carve their way through a world that’s cartoonish and warped – the broken-clock march of “I Wanna Feel Pretty,” the chiming toy piano on “Gentle Love.” “Mary / Dreaming” begins as a sparse, finger-picked lament before cutting abruptly to a deflated, Beach-Boys-but-make-it-fucked-up resolution that brings both melancholy and joy; a sense that all things can be true at once. None of the 14 tracks here break three minutes, but they tell stories that span lifetimes. Death floats through the record, whether it appears as a memory or a threat. Everything feels precarious. There’s a fragility to how these songs are built: the way the funeral organ hits alongside the morphine on “Looking Out Your Window,” the devastating simplicity of “Frog,” with its slowed-down keyboard and bare refrain: “Please forgive me for my faults.” Beauty Land feels, at times, impossibly lonely. Which makes it really count when it doesn’t – like when Mendez sings in harmony with his wife and bandmate, Veronica near the end of “So Mean” and it feels like a cherished reunion, a fleeting moment of redemption, a temporary parting of the seas.