NEW ARRIVALS

In honour of fifty years in the performing arts—dating back to the founding of the legendary band The Pyramids in 1972—Idris Ackamoor proudly presents “Artistic Being” for Record Store Day 2025. This special recording features celebrated San Francisco actor, activist, and author Danny Glover, alongside renowned stage actress Rhodessa Jones.

In February 2024 Ackamoor’s performing arts company, Cultural Odyssey, partnered with The Lab, a prominent San Francisco venue, to co-present "Underground Jazz Cabaret" during Black History Month. Ackamoor expressed: “Collaborating with Danny Glover and Rhodessa Jones, two of the most revered Artistic Beings, was a profound honour. Their unwavering dedication to ‘art as social activism’ feels more urgent and necessary than ever.” The performance brought together new and classic works from Idris Ackamoor and his Ankhestra, including members of The Pyramids. The evening’s score served as a connective thread, weaving together a libretto that spans from the haunting legacy of the Middle Passage to contemporary meditations and dreams for the future.

Both Danny Glover and Rhodessa Jones lent their distinctive voices to a series of powerful spoken-word musical tone poems. Among these were "Grandma Cole Story," a poignant indictment of the slave trade told through the eyes of a ten-year-old African girl aboard a slave ship, and "China Lane Suite," which explores a forbidden romance between a Chinese laundry owner and a freed slave during Reconstruction. Glover also contributed his original work, "In God’s Country," a moving homage to his mother. The evening concluded with Ackamoor’s latest composition, "Now!," a striking reflection on the crises facing the Middle East today. All the narratives were underscored by an evocative score composed and arranged by Ackamoor himself, performed by his newly expanded 14-piece Ankhestra.

This performance not only celebrated a milestone in Ackamoor’s illustrious career but also exemplified the transformative power of art in addressing the pressing social issues of our time.

Strut introduces the highly anticipated third volume in the Disques Debs International series, diving deeper into the archives of one of the greatest French Caribbean labels, Disques Debs, based in Guadeloupe. Founded by the visionary Henri Debs in the late ‘50s, the label and studio operated for over 50 years, releasing more than 300 7” singles and 200 LPs, making it a cornerstone of Caribbean music history. By the dawn of the 1980s, Henri Debs had already established himself as a prolific producer, with a record of releases unmatched in Guadeloupe and Martinique. From its humble beginnings with a 2-track tape machine in the back of a clothes shop, Disques Debs evolved into a powerhouse, boasting a state- of-the-art studio in downtown Pointe-à-Pitre, retail shops for records and musical instruments in Guadeloupe, Martinique, and Paris, a nightclub in Gosier, and international distribution deals reaching Europe, the U.S., and South America. Disques Debs played a pivotal role in shaping modern Caribbean music. The label bridged traditional genres like biguine and gwoka with contemporary styles like cadence, compas, and zouk, the latter becoming a global phenomenon in the 1980s with contributions from iconic acts like Kassav’ and Zouk Machine. The period also saw Disques Debs champion a new generation of artists while maintaining ties with legendary figures from earlier decades. Volume 3 in this series spotlights one of the label’s most dynamic and influential periods as it expanded its global reach during the 1980s. Across 2 LPs, the release features a curated selection of tracks from the Disques Debs circle, highlighting both emerging talents and established artists who defined the era. This collection not only celebrates Henri Debs’ unmatched legacy but also offers a snapshot of Caribbean music’s golden age, cementing Disques Debs as a cultural institution.

Compiled by Hugo Mendez and Emile Omar 

Strut present the second volume in a series of compilations taken from the archives of Disques Debs International, the longest-running and most prolific label of the French Caribbean.

Set up by the late Henri Debs in the late ‘50s, the label has continued for over 50 years, releasing hundreds of records and playing a pivotal role in bringing the creole music of Guadeloupe and Martinique to a wider international audience.

Volume 2 of the series focuses on the label’s ‘70s output and the development of the unique Cadence sound, pulling disparate influences into a Pan-Caribbean blend of rhythms, styles and languages that dominated the dancehalls, clubs and concerts of the decade.
Based in a small but state-of-the-art studio on the first floor of Henri Debs’ Club 97-1, just outside Pointe-à-Pitre in the town of Gosier, the label hosted sessions from the cream of local and regional talent, hothousing ideas into over 100 LP and 45 releases over the decade that reflected an increasingly confident creole identity.

Groups like Les Vikings, Super Combo and Typical Combo along with a host of lesser-known bands were in fierce but friendly competition in the bals, dances and concerts in Guadeloupe, across the region and into Metropolitan France. Haitian Compas, Congolese influences from le Ry-Co Jazz, cadence-lypso and reggae from Dominica and a heavy dose of jazz and Puerto Rican salsa were thrown into the mix alongside local biguine, quadrille and gwo ka to power an unrivalled recorded output.

Compiled by Hugo Mendez (Sofrito) and Emile Omar (Roseaux), ‘Cadence Revolution’ is released in conjunction with Henri Debs et Fils and Air Caraibes. The package features previously unseen photos from the Debs archive  featuring extensive liner notes and an interview with singer and trombonist Christian Zora (Les Maxel’s, Energy). 

Long time friend of the label and Stones Throw alumni ‘Rejoicer’ joins forces with longtime collaborator, fellow Apifera band member and renowned pianist Nitai Hershkovits to present a new moniker and concept piece “Cinema Royal” - a delicate yet audacious album that quietly commands attention. Having previously collaborated on works for Raw Tapes and beyond, this body of work exists more on the modern classical plain with splices of ambient and jazz woven into the musical fabric of the compositions.

Led by piano, the album features a dizzying array of orchestral, percussive and traditional string instruments from around the world- flawlessly combined in a way that might sound contrived, but just fits effortlessly..

The fact that it’s such an easy listen distracts from its complexity. Synthesisers cozy up to Afro beat indebted drums , East Asian zithers swim amongst classical string arrangements whilst Ethio- jazz keys dance atop restrained but irresistibly funky drum machine patterns. Inspired to create a cinematic energy they saw the essence of Fellini in their album cover choice, striving to create an album that could exist as a film score.

The album exudes a sense of ease, a feeling of lightness that speaks to the virtuosic abilities of the players.The sense of fun is infectious and the playful improvisation is energising. Conceptually inspired by a simple drum loop and single take via the piano the two exist working in a deeply involved flow with collaborations from friends to enhance the initial piano melody.

Speaking on the process, Nitai remarks, “Cinema Royal emerges from years of collaborative writing and recording. Our initial experience with a complete one piano take on a drum loop was in Flying’ Bamboo, a collaboration with MNDSGN and animator Felix Colgrave that garnered millions of views on YouTube. Nearly a decade later, we revisited this unique method of improvising a single piano take throughout the album. We love Emahoy Tzegue, Ennio Morricone, Nino Rota, Lalo Schifrin and lots of music from the ECM catalog. There’s a lot of Africa, too - from Ebo Taylor, Pat Thomas, Felt Kuti, and Ghana high-life, to more niche stuff from the Awesome Tapes from Africa’s catalog “

Rejoicer and Nitai have a rare synergy and have channeled it to create something that speaks without words, or rather - whispers, and in this quiet exclamation we are drawn in to listen closer and closer. 

It was so hard to get our heads around the William Onyeabor story when we first started working with him.. No one knew anything about him and that’s the way he liked it.

Now it’s 10 years later after releasing his records and what would have been William’s 79th birthday so we are releasing two of his magical lps in COLOR. 

1978’s Atomic Bomb in Fission Red (here: williamonyeabor.bandcamp.com/album/atomic-bomb) and 1980’s Body and Soul in Magic Ministries Blue (here: .

You can pre-order them today on Bandcamp (it’s Bandcamp Friday), where were also throwing up some other paraphernalia, new and old. 

Though we grew to love and respect Mr. Onyeabor, as we called him, we still know so little about him.

Love,

Luaka Bop

Rob Mazurek’s 'Alternate Moon Cycles' was International Anthem's first release. The incredibly spare single-note-centered cornet, bass and organ chant was recorded to tape at pint-sized Chicago bar Curio as part of a performance series that predates any notion of our label’s existence. Documenting this performance – highly unique even within the depths of Mazurek’s vast catalog – stirred those notions, and soon talks began of releasing the recording on a fresh imprint.

Performed by Mazurek with Matthew Lux and Mikel Patrick Avery, the music unfolds glacially amongst the gentle creaks, clinks, whispers, and scuffles of the active room. It’s difficult to imagine a more honest rendering of the two sidelong pieces of organic minimal music, and nearly impossible to separate the sounds from their performance context.

Now this long-gone gem of supernatural frequency excavation is back in print, wrapped in our IARC 2025 obi strip, with a new 4-page insert booklet featuring additional session photos and fresh liner notes by Mikel Patrick Avery.

For fans of: King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, Altin Gün, Derya Yıldırım & Grup Şimşek

Şatellites blast back into orbit on Aylar delivering a bold evolution on the psychedelic folk-meets-groove sound they established on their acclaimed debut album.

Heavily influenced by the wave of psychedelic rock fused with traditional folk music that swept across Turkey in the 60s and 70s, Şatellites’ self-titled debut album received international acclaim. The record earned support from outlets such BBC Radio 6 Music and FIP in France, and were invited to record live sets for both Gilles Peterson’s Worldwide FM, and KEXP in Seattle.

Since their debut, Şatellites have evolved from a studio project into a full-fledged touring band. Over time, the lineup has shifted, enabling the group to recreate their studio sound live. Their expanded lineup now includes Tsuf Mishali on keys and synths, known for his work in proggy psych bands, and the animated Tal Eyal on percussion. Rotem Bahar has also stepped up as the band’s full-time vocalist and frontwoman, adding a fuller, grittier edge to the group’s sound. Behind the drumkit, Lotan Yaish brings dynamic energy to the rhythm section.

After two years of touring, this cohesive and reinvigorated lineup entered the studio with renewed purpose and closer musical bonds. Aylar (Turkish for “moons” or “months”) showcases more ambitious arrangements, extended compositions, intricate harmonies, and unexpected twists, reflecting the band’s commitment to innovation and their passion for the original wave of Turkish psychedelic music.

The album opener, “Tisladi Mehmet Emmi” serves as a gateway to their expanded sound. This reimagining of a traditional Türküler—a Turkish folk song by the prolific saz-playing singer-poet Aşık Ali Doğan—transforms it into a modern psychedelic funk masterpiece. Kluger’s saz and Mishali’s synths intertwine seamlessly, underpinned by Ariel Harrosh’s infectious basslines and Yaish’s dramatic drumming, all culminating in Rotem’s husky, emotive vocals. Lyrically, the track narrates two elderly men lamenting the state of the world—a timeless theme.

One of the album’s standout surprises, “Midnight Sweat” reveals a darker, sultry side of the band. Rotem delivers a steamy late-night lullaby over a slinky disco-rock groove. Developed collaboratively, the track began as a sketch by bassist Ariel Harrosh, before Itamar added a melody and Rotem crafted lyrics in Turkish. The song tells a passionate love story, punctuated with sensual imagery.

“Hot Jazz” ventures into cinematic territory, as the band flexes their jazz and funk chops. The hard-hitting groove is destined to energise breakdancers. The bağlama and flute riffs, steeped in minor scales and modal nuances, infuse the track with a distinctive Middle Eastern character.

Elsewhere, Aylar delivers genre-bending highlights such as “Gizli Ajan”, which opens with a percussive intro reminiscent of the Incredible Bongo Band’s “Bongolia.” This instrumental jam has become a live favorite. “Yok Yok” reinterprets an Erkin Koray classic with a prog-tinged punk-rock flair, transitioning through four distinct sections before concluding with a rousing 9/8 Zeybek rhythm.

The album’s most ambitious cover is their cosmic folk-funk rendition of Hakki Bullut’s ballad “Ikmiz Bir Fideniz” is followed by the original instrumental “Beş Kardeş” (“Five Brothers”), a smoky, 5/4-time piece led by Itamar’s reverb-drenched bağlama.

The album closes with a dynamic duo: “Z​ü​l​ü​f D​ö​k​ü​lm​ü​s Y​ü​ze” a cosmodelic disco-fuzz take on a classic Türküler by Neşet Ertaş, and “Z​ü​l​ü​f B (Reprised)”, which deconstructs and reassembles the groove. Starting with a foreboding proto-metal pace, the track builds to a dramatic, high-tempo finale.

If Şatellites’ self-titled debut laid the blueprint for their sound , Aylar marks their transformation into a fully realised musical force.With this album, Şatellites step confidently out of the shadows of their Anatolian psych heroes to craft a modern yet timeless record, expanding their influences while deepening their connection to their roots. 

Led by Saxophonist Rob Mitchell, Abstract Orchestra have been a consistent presence on the u.k. music scene, touring constantly in promotion of their debut LP “Dilla” and follow up 45 “New Day feat. Illa J”, steadily building a loyal and supportive fanbase. Inspired by the legendary live performances of The Roots with Jay-Z and the 40 piece orchestral arrangements by Miguel-Atwood Ferguson of the work of J Dilla, classic arranging techniques underpin modern loop-based structures, breathing new life into familiar material.
The band itself is based on the classic jazz big band instrumentation of saxes, trumpets and trombones and features the cream of the north of England’s jazz scene who collectively have played with Jamiroquai, Corinne Bailey Rae, Mark Ronson, Martha Reeves, John Legend & the Roots, Roots Manuva and Amy Winehouse.

“Madvillain Vol. 1” takes the template of their debut LP “Dilla” and applies the same approach to the collaboration of MF Doom and Madlib, aka MADVILLAIN and their albums MADVILLAINY and MADVILLAIN 2. Sampling the likes of Sun Ra, Bill Evans, Freddie Hubbard, George Duke, Dr. Lonnie Smith, Quincy Jones and Stevie Wonder gave the albums a jazz oriented feel and ethos which in turn lend themselves perfectly to the deconstruction and re-imagining of Abstract Orchestra. As with their debut, all the tracks were recorded live in the studio with very few overdubs.

Abstract Orchestra’s MADVILLAIN Vol 1. explores the jazz, TV soundtrack and film score aspect of the original work, combining it with classic big band writing and a focus on improvisation. There is a strong influence of Quincy Jones, Lalo Schifrin and David Shire (Composer of the soundtrack to The Taking of Pelham 123) on the album, and the arranger Rob Mitchell crafts his own sound that inhabits the space between Madlib’s production and Quincy Jones’ writing. Bandleader and arranger Rob Mitchell says of the record: “‘MADVILLAINY’ is a jazz album as much as it is a hip-hop album and I wanted to explore this reciprocal territory there has always been between jazz and hip-hop. 70’s cop show soundtracks have always captured my interest and imagination, and I discovered so much amazing music through TV themes, Quincy Jones and Lalo Schifrin in particular. They explored sounds that were menacing, angular, dissonant, frantic and yet captivating. They were also able to write music that was the flip side of all that dark chaos, and write lush and beautiful music. Arranging and scoring up MADVILLAIN Vol 1. Has allowed me to explore these sounds that I’ve always loved, yet keeping a strong hip-hop identity as the core of its sound.” 

An imperial phase Actress commits a lushly amorphous installation piece made for the Berliner Festspiele to vinyl, rendering a post-industrial symphony full of iridescent shifts in gyring, OOBE-like spatial coordinates landing somewhere between nutopian ambient, kankyō ongaku and sawn-off bass science. 

‘Grey Interiors’ was made in collaboration with Actual Objects and is an absorbing animation and navigation of those post-human ideals that have prompted Darren J. Cunningham to his best work across the preceding two decades. In its hypnagogic symphony of the elements, he short-circuits distinctions of classical music’s metric freedoms and the hyperspatial sensuality of concrète/electro-acoustic and ambient musics with an artistic license that has come to distinguish his work in the contemporary field, and arguably identified him as this generation’s most vital electronic abstractionist. 

The first half of the album is bewitchingly airless, materialised in a twinkling vacuum. Naturalistic environmental recordings and a half-heard piano swirl around nauseous airlock whooshes and eerie bass drones. It's all pulverised to a powdery, shimmering residue; if Actress's music is defined by its character and texture - that sweet spot between the bedroom and the soundsystem - then this one advances the narrative without losing its backbone. And like a lot of his best work, it comes into its own on the back of zonked eyelids, conjuring a play of shifting geometric patterns within its imaginary physics and nuanced narration of ephemeral melodic phrasing and vaporous textures.

At about the halfway point, that dissociated piano finds its groove, coalescing into a jerky drum machine rhythm popping like bubbles in the stifling atmosphere. We can draw some intersecting lines here thru electronic music lore - traces of vintage AE, Push Button Objects, UR - but Actress always leaves an indelible fingerprint on anything he touches. Even when he's rubbing against the gallery-industrial complex, he manages to fill a stagnant space with electricity and wit; look at the title itself: is it a reference to the "landscape beyond man" as the installation's press release might have us believe, or the institutions themselves? 

Proper high grade brain food; if you peeped Deathprod's stunning 'Dark Transit', 'Grey Interiors' makes it an epic double-bill. 

'Faith In Strangers’ was recorded between January 2013 and June 2014, and was edited and sequenced in July 2014. Making use of on an array of instruments, field recordings, found sounds and vocal treatments, it’s a largely analogue variant of hi-tech production arcing from the dissonant to the sublime.

 

 

Opener ‘Time Away’ features Euphonium played by Kim Holly Thorpe and closing track ‘Missing’ features vocals from Stott’s vocal collaborator Alison Skidmore. Between these two points ‘Faith In Strangers’ heads off from the sparse and infected ‘Violence’ to the broken, downcast pop of ‘On Oath’ and the motorik, driving melancholy of ‘Science & Industry’ - three vocal tracks built around a destroyed production style that's pioneering in spirit, buried in sentiment. 

 

 

‘No Surrender’ is a primitive spell making way for pitch-screwed woodblock drums, while ‘How It Was’ refracts sweaty warehouse signatures and ‘Damage’ comes like RZA’s ‘Ghost Dog’ re-factored by Terror Danjah. The title track is the album's most beautiful, gliding on a chiming melody and the hum of Andy’s mixing desk. 

Stone cold.

Picking up where "Máquina de Vénus" (Blacksea Não Maya) left off, this is now near 100% DJ Kolt at the controls. Slow, grinding power tools working their way across the complex web of ideas the producer lays down. Truly a next level thing, taking elements from recognized styles such as tarraxo, EDM, even trap, bending their accepted signifiers to suit his own creative mind instead of the crowd pleasing monster that constantly haunts Dance Music. Here we find a wonderful, twisted approach to the dancefloor, one heavy on brain activity, fantastically moody, showcasing music that we long ago quit trying to define.

"Despertar" (again) changes the game, adding secret doors and pathways previously unheard and unthought of. This right here is the mark of a unique producer. You'll have a hard time trying to compare Kolt with any other artist on Príncipe, much less on the outside world. A keen sense of groove filters through all tracks, the dance is never forgotten but you know there are certain demands - you can't just expect a straight line to "a good night out", there's an effort required, you'll have to reach out as well so you can let loose and connect with the universal Master Plan.

The album is all made up of liquid transitions as much as rock-hard foundations, perfectly capable of being explicit when honouring the roots but so committed to a new stance that one may feel thrown off balance by the sheer genius of the compositions. High art with a deep low end. 

Kind Regards is the second duo release from guitarist Oren Ambarchi and drummer Eric Thielemans, out via AD 93 on the 21st February 2025.

The record captures an expansive performance in Poitiers, France in November 2023. First working together in an unpredictable trio with minimalist legend and eccentric extraordinaire Charlemagne Palestine, Ambarchi and Thielemans quickly established a remarkable musical chemistry that led to an ongoing series of duo concerts, including the performance documented on their LP Double Consciousness (Matière Mémorie, 2023).

Kind Regards finds the duo refining their shared language while continuing to take risks, allowing the music’s gravitational pull to lead them from meditative calm to unexpectedly expressive passages of melodic invention and rhythmic drive. Recorded in sparkling fidelity and carefully mixed by Ambarchi’s longtime collaborator Joe Talia, the LP contains a single unbroken performance, stretching out for over 45 minutes. Guitar and drums weave together into a symbiotic whole that nevertheless affords us ample opportunity to marvel at the highly personal approaches these two musicians have developed to their chosen instruments through decades of diverse collaboration and prolific performance.

The set begins with Thielemans’ hypnotic tom patterns, around which Ambarchi’s wavering, shimmering guitar tones—achieved with the help of the rotating speaker of a Leslie cabinet—flurry and swirl. Thielemans’ drums play subtle tricks with time and perception, adding and dropping beats within repeated patterns to create an effect at once rhythmically insistent and liquified. Growing at first into a rapidly pulsing texture of brushed drums and flickering harmonics, the music builds momentum into an irregular groove over which Ambarchi’s guitar is transformed into haunting, monumental electric organ chords, strikingly recalling the Wurlitzer work of Alice Coltrane, before settling into a section of gentle portamento melody embedded into the tactile clicks and clangs of Thielemans’ percussion.
When Thielemans adopts a more traditional jazz approach to the kit in some of the set’s second half, the results are stunning, demonstrating a feel for shifting accents and sensibility to the touch of the stick on the drum or cymbal that recalls greats like Jack De Johnette or Billy Hart (one of Thielemans’ mentors). And when Ambarchi turns up the heat, he does so in an unexpected and delightful way, letting loose a swarm of jittering delayed tones straight out of Henry Kaiser’s classic It’s a Wonderful Life, with a more active use of the guitar’s fretboard than his usual approach to the instrument allows. As the performance draws to a close after a climactic episode of distorted harmonic groans and crashing cymbals that manages to be at once thunderous and carefully attuned to detail, it is clearer than ever that, for these two serial collaborators, this is a very special pairing.

Kind Regards shows us the kind of magic that can happen when two masters who have dedicated decades to reimagining their instruments simply begin to play, following the music wherever it goes. 

Alabaster DePlume often asks a simple question: what do people need? In his work, at his shows, in his collaborations, the Mancunian singer-saxophonist and poet-philosopher poses this to the people around him. What are people looking for? In recent years, the same reply kept coming up: healing, healing, people need healing. But why, and what does it mean to heal, especially in a world where the very idea is often commodified and sold as a luxury? If people were coming to his music for something so mysterious, he ought to figure it out. Maybe he ought to try some healing himself.

“For a long time, I've always tried to give responsibility for my value to someone else,” DePlume told me on a recent phone call. It seemed he’d become so caught up in the work of forging connections, and thinking about the effects of his work on others, that he’d lost a sense of himself. “I was working on that,” he explained.

This experiment in healing included slowing down, reading, reflecting, and even taking up the practice of jiu-jitsu. DePlume wrote poetry, too, including the book 'Looking for my value: prologue to a blade', seventy pages of verse rooted in its title’s great search, in finding strength of self within a community, alongside meditations on the paradox of the blade. “The blade, that divides, is whole,” he writes in the introduction. “Healing is the forming of a whole, and a whole is singular, more itself, as in more one, as in more alone.” A blade could be used to attack, to shave, to sever, but it could also be used to cut oneself loose—in the process of getting free.

“What's the opposite of sleep? It’s trying to sleep,” he told me. “And so what's the opposite of looking for my value? It is knowing my value. It simply is there. My dignity is there. I don't need anyone else to know my dignity, or me, to know it. I know it first. I can't seek it from another. I stand for it.”

Selections from the poetry book ultimately became the lyrics across half of the tracks on 'A Blade Because A Blade Is Whole', DePlume’s latest full-length work for the reliably great International Anthem label: eleven songs of agency and survival and presence; of confronting life’s pains rather than trying to avoid them; of banishing escapism. In sum, it documents his learning of the fact that dignity and self-determination are prerequisites for becoming whole, which is to say, for healing. If a blade were broken it would not serve its purpose; it must be unbroken, it must be whole, to be of use.

In the Alabaster DePlume songbook, the celestial ease of his instrumental tracks can sometimes feel like a trojan horse for a voice that is disarmingly honest about the heaviness of existence. Opener “Oh My Actual Days” is true to form in that sense, with DePlume’s tenor sax and Macie Stewart’s ghostly strings playing together like a slow march towards an inner reckoning, one that’s beautiful because it is true. The punchy and contemplative “Thank You My Pain” makes a rhythmic refrain from his titular lyric, inspired by the Vietnamese monk and peace activist Thích Nhất Hạnh, who urged the importance of listening to one’s own pain. “Hello my little pain, I know you are here,” Nhất Hạnh would say. “I am home to take care of you. I do not want to cover you up with consumption anymore.” While writing A Blade, DePlume “watched loads of him on YouTube.”

Then there’s the gorgeous swell of “Invincibility,” an ode to self-respect that feels a bit like a choir of angels led by a trickster, a group contemplating: how do we live with the forces that seek to destroy us? The whole song feels like a heavy exhale, or like the feeling of reaching the surface after a long while underwater. “If I meet with my feelings, they cannot destroy me,” he told me. “When I allow myself to embody them, physically, then I live through that feeling and I meet with it and I make peace with it and I find that my feeling is me, and I welcome it. It is a sense that I cannot be destroyed by my feeling. I am invincible.”

“Form a V” is the closest DePlume comes to a monologue, and also his song most indebted to his jiu-jitsu practice. “I’ve only been doing it for the past two or three years,” he told me. “But now I don’t know how you get by without it.” The song takes inspiration from a tradition where a whole dojo will stand in the shape of a V, facing just one lone individual, who is then attacked quickly and repeatedly by each of the others. “The title is a challenge to the world,” DePlume explained. “Go on, form a v—I am ready.”

Across the first half of the record, when the sax comes in short phrases, it feels like a highlighter over lines in DePlume’s poetry book. Other times, it plays out like an extension of his voice. “Playing the saxophone feels like singing,” he said. A transfixing run of instrumentals on the second half of the record includes “Prayer for My Sovereign Dignity,” an anthem for self-possession. “Believing in yourself feels ridiculous,” he says. “It's ridiculous, but that's what it takes. That's what's required. To stand for yourself is absurd. Let us do the absurd that is standing for ourselves. There is this prayer going on in the background—you can't quite tell what the words are, but it's basically, I'm praying for my sovereign dignity but I don't need to pray for it. It's not going to be given to me. I already have it.”

Where DePlume’s previous material was drawn from collective sessions, improvisation, and editing, A Blade was tightly composed, arranged and produced by DePlume himself. From there, he brought his compositions to a cast of players and co-arrangers, including Macie Stewart (strings), Donna Thompson (backing vocals), and Momoko Gill (strings and backing vocals), for sessions at the collective arts space Total Refreshment Centre, where he has long been involved.

Born Gus Fairbairn, DePlume is a man of many past lives. He played “rock band type music” as a teenager, and started playing improvised music around 2008. He is compelled by how improvising allows him to “put faith in others.” He taught himself the saxophone around the time that he became employed as a support worker assisting men with mental disabilities; he once called playing music with them “one of the best breakthroughs for me as an artist.” His debut as Alabaster DePlume came in May 2012, while he was still living in Manchester. He moved to London in 2015 and took up residency at Total Refreshment Centre, where he was encouraged to put on a monthly concert, leading to the series Peach, releasing a namesake album that year, too. His music, from the start, has been imbued with his politics and values; he was maybe arrested once during a protest with the environmental group Extinction Rebellion. His proper international breakthrough came in 2020 with 'To Cy & Lee: Instrumentals Vol. 1', after nearly a decade of steadily releasing records.

On a phone call in the fall of 2024, we barely speak about any of this though. For at least an hour, we mostly just speak about his recent trip to Palestine, and how could we not? DePlume had traveled to Bethlehem in the spring for a conference hosted by a local Lutheran pastor, before meeting up with musicians from a community arts space, the Wonder Cabinet, and the independent radio station, Radio Alhara. “Palestine is a place where people make records,” he says. “I want to normalize the dignity of that. It's not like, oh, I'm going to make a thing about Palestine. I am just there, and I'm making a thing.”

At the end of 2024, DePlume prefaced A Blade with a collection of recent works: the poetry book and a three-track EP partially recorded in Bethlehem, and in collaboration with Palestinian musicians. There’s “Honeycomb” and “Cremisan,” both recorded during his “Sounds of Places” residency at Wonder Cabinet; “Cremisan” documents the conclusion of a daylong performance presented by Wonder Cabinet and Radio alHara, June 1, 2024, described as “a cry from the Cremisan Valley (Bethlehem, Palestine) to Rafah (Gaza).” The EP’s final recording, “Gifts of Olive,” references the soul-wrenching poem “If I Must Die” by Refaat Alareer, professor of English literature at the Islamic University in Gaza, who was killed by an Israeli airstrike in 2023.

To suggest that dignity is a human right we are all entitled to is to say: by nature of being alive, every human life has worth. Contemplating the very concept of human dignity also raises the daily indignities that are so normalized in a world of suffering. The lack of access to clean water, air, housing, healthcare. Without the basic necessities of life, we cannot know dignity. And how can people know dignity if they are living under a constant state of military attack, if they are living as the target of a genocide?

“The album was written before the genocide started, but I had Palestine on my mind all the time,” DePlume explains. “This question of dignity, sovereignty, and the work of healing. It has a relevance in what's being perpetrated there by the Israeli state, and taking responsibility for my place in that. I pay my taxes here in the United Kingdom—I am contributing to, as a white Englishman, the country that brought the Balfour Declaration, that brought the Sykes-Picot Agreement, that supports and enables the colonization and the settler-colonial project in Palestine. It is my issue, and I have a position where I can speak about it.”

“Dignity” has roots in the Latin dignitatem: worthiness. And instilling the plain truth of every human life’s worth has been a recurring commitment in DePlume’s work. “They can’t use us on one another if we don’t forget we’re precious,” he sang in 2022, summing the emotional core of his 2022 album 'GOLD', concerns of shared humanity that play out into the new works as well.

“We make stories in our lives,” DePlume says. “Oh, I need my story. Oh, something bad happened, and I need to heal upon that. Then I will be healed and all will be good, happily ever after. But no, it is work that needs doing all the time. We all are wounded in our many different ways. And there are degrees of healed, or wounded. Basically, we are either doing one thing or we're doing the other. How do I know I am not destroying myself? I only know that when I am working on healing.” 

Alabaster DePlume often asks a simple question: what do people need? In his work, at his shows, in his collaborations, the Mancunian singer-saxophonist and poet-philosopher poses this to the people around him. What are people looking for? In recent years, the same reply kept coming up: healing, healing, people need healing. But why, and what does it mean to heal, especially in a world where the very idea is often commodified and sold as a luxury? If people were coming to his music for something so mysterious, he ought to figure it out. Maybe he ought to try some healing himself.

“For a long time, I've always tried to give responsibility for my value to someone else,” DePlume told me on a recent phone call. It seemed he’d become so caught up in the work of forging connections, and thinking about the effects of his work on others, that he’d lost a sense of himself. “I was working on that,” he explained.

This experiment in healing included slowing down, reading, reflecting, and even taking up the practice of jiu-jitsu. DePlume wrote poetry, too, including the book 'Looking for my value: prologue to a blade', seventy pages of verse rooted in its title’s great search, in finding strength of self within a community, alongside meditations on the paradox of the blade. “The blade, that divides, is whole,” he writes in the introduction. “Healing is the forming of a whole, and a whole is singular, more itself, as in more one, as in more alone.” A blade could be used to attack, to shave, to sever, but it could also be used to cut oneself loose—in the process of getting free.

“What's the opposite of sleep? It’s trying to sleep,” he told me. “And so what's the opposite of looking for my value? It is knowing my value. It simply is there. My dignity is there. I don't need anyone else to know my dignity, or me, to know it. I know it first. I can't seek it from another. I stand for it.”

Selections from the poetry book ultimately became the lyrics across half of the tracks on 'A Blade Because A Blade Is Whole', DePlume’s latest full-length work for the reliably great International Anthem label: eleven songs of agency and survival and presence; of confronting life’s pains rather than trying to avoid them; of banishing escapism. In sum, it documents his learning of the fact that dignity and self-determination are prerequisites for becoming whole, which is to say, for healing. If a blade were broken it would not serve its purpose; it must be unbroken, it must be whole, to be of use.

In the Alabaster DePlume songbook, the celestial ease of his instrumental tracks can sometimes feel like a trojan horse for a voice that is disarmingly honest about the heaviness of existence. Opener “Oh My Actual Days” is true to form in that sense, with DePlume’s tenor sax and Macie Stewart’s ghostly strings playing together like a slow march towards an inner reckoning, one that’s beautiful because it is true. The punchy and contemplative “Thank You My Pain” makes a rhythmic refrain from his titular lyric, inspired by the Vietnamese monk and peace activist Thích Nhất Hạnh, who urged the importance of listening to one’s own pain. “Hello my little pain, I know you are here,” Nhất Hạnh would say. “I am home to take care of you. I do not want to cover you up with consumption anymore.” While writing A Blade, DePlume “watched loads of him on YouTube.”

Then there’s the gorgeous swell of “Invincibility,” an ode to self-respect that feels a bit like a choir of angels led by a trickster, a group contemplating: how do we live with the forces that seek to destroy us? The whole song feels like a heavy exhale, or like the feeling of reaching the surface after a long while underwater. “If I meet with my feelings, they cannot destroy me,” he told me. “When I allow myself to embody them, physically, then I live through that feeling and I meet with it and I make peace with it and I find that my feeling is me, and I welcome it. It is a sense that I cannot be destroyed by my feeling. I am invincible.”

“Form a V” is the closest DePlume comes to a monologue, and also his song most indebted to his jiu-jitsu practice. “I’ve only been doing it for the past two or three years,” he told me. “But now I don’t know how you get by without it.” The song takes inspiration from a tradition where a whole dojo will stand in the shape of a V, facing just one lone individual, who is then attacked quickly and repeatedly by each of the others. “The title is a challenge to the world,” DePlume explained. “Go on, form a v—I am ready.”

Across the first half of the record, when the sax comes in short phrases, it feels like a highlighter over lines in DePlume’s poetry book. Other times, it plays out like an extension of his voice. “Playing the saxophone feels like singing,” he said. A transfixing run of instrumentals on the second half of the record includes “Prayer for My Sovereign Dignity,” an anthem for self-possession. “Believing in yourself feels ridiculous,” he says. “It's ridiculous, but that's what it takes. That's what's required. To stand for yourself is absurd. Let us do the absurd that is standing for ourselves. There is this prayer going on in the background—you can't quite tell what the words are, but it's basically, I'm praying for my sovereign dignity but I don't need to pray for it. It's not going to be given to me. I already have it.”

Where DePlume’s previous material was drawn from collective sessions, improvisation, and editing, A Blade was tightly composed, arranged and produced by DePlume himself. From there, he brought his compositions to a cast of players and co-arrangers, including Macie Stewart (strings), Donna Thompson (backing vocals), and Momoko Gill (strings and backing vocals), for sessions at the collective arts space Total Refreshment Centre, where he has long been involved.

Born Gus Fairbairn, DePlume is a man of many past lives. He played “rock band type music” as a teenager, and started playing improvised music around 2008. He is compelled by how improvising allows him to “put faith in others.” He taught himself the saxophone around the time that he became employed as a support worker assisting men with mental disabilities; he once called playing music with them “one of the best breakthroughs for me as an artist.” His debut as Alabaster DePlume came in May 2012, while he was still living in Manchester. He moved to London in 2015 and took up residency at Total Refreshment Centre, where he was encouraged to put on a monthly concert, leading to the series Peach, releasing a namesake album that year, too. His music, from the start, has been imbued with his politics and values; he was maybe arrested once during a protest with the environmental group Extinction Rebellion. His proper international breakthrough came in 2020 with 'To Cy & Lee: Instrumentals Vol. 1', after nearly a decade of steadily releasing records.

On a phone call in the fall of 2024, we barely speak about any of this though. For at least an hour, we mostly just speak about his recent trip to Palestine, and how could we not? DePlume had traveled to Bethlehem in the spring for a conference hosted by a local Lutheran pastor, before meeting up with musicians from a community arts space, the Wonder Cabinet, and the independent radio station, Radio Alhara. “Palestine is a place where people make records,” he says. “I want to normalize the dignity of that. It's not like, oh, I'm going to make a thing about Palestine. I am just there, and I'm making a thing.”

At the end of 2024, DePlume prefaced A Blade with a collection of recent works: the poetry book and a three-track EP partially recorded in Bethlehem, and in collaboration with Palestinian musicians. There’s “Honeycomb” and “Cremisan,” both recorded during his “Sounds of Places” residency at Wonder Cabinet; “Cremisan” documents the conclusion of a daylong performance presented by Wonder Cabinet and Radio alHara, June 1, 2024, described as “a cry from the Cremisan Valley (Bethlehem, Palestine) to Rafah (Gaza).” The EP’s final recording, “Gifts of Olive,” references the soul-wrenching poem “If I Must Die” by Refaat Alareer, professor of English literature at the Islamic University in Gaza, who was killed by an Israeli airstrike in 2023.

To suggest that dignity is a human right we are all entitled to is to say: by nature of being alive, every human life has worth. Contemplating the very concept of human dignity also raises the daily indignities that are so normalized in a world of suffering. The lack of access to clean water, air, housing, healthcare. Without the basic necessities of life, we cannot know dignity. And how can people know dignity if they are living under a constant state of military attack, if they are living as the target of a genocide?

“The album was written before the genocide started, but I had Palestine on my mind all the time,” DePlume explains. “This question of dignity, sovereignty, and the work of healing. It has a relevance in what's being perpetrated there by the Israeli state, and taking responsibility for my place in that. I pay my taxes here in the United Kingdom—I am contributing to, as a white Englishman, the country that brought the Balfour Declaration, that brought the Sykes-Picot Agreement, that supports and enables the colonization and the settler-colonial project in Palestine. It is my issue, and I have a position where I can speak about it.”

“Dignity” has roots in the Latin dignitatem: worthiness. And instilling the plain truth of every human life’s worth has been a recurring commitment in DePlume’s work. “They can’t use us on one another if we don’t forget we’re precious,” he sang in 2022, summing the emotional core of his 2022 album 'GOLD', concerns of shared humanity that play out into the new works as well.

“We make stories in our lives,” DePlume says. “Oh, I need my story. Oh, something bad happened, and I need to heal upon that. Then I will be healed and all will be good, happily ever after. But no, it is work that needs doing all the time. We all are wounded in our many different ways. And there are degrees of healed, or wounded. Basically, we are either doing one thing or we're doing the other. How do I know I am not destroying myself? I only know that when I am working on healing.” 

After crafting an all-timer with 2008's 'Hazyville', Actress set his sights on the unknown with a futureshock debut for Honest Jon's.

Wheras it's predecessor was composed over a staggered period of many years, Splazsh was fashioned in a fraction of that time, lending a tangible symmetry between shapeshifting tracks that defined and propelled the era. Of the 14 tracks, we'd previously encountered the first two, with the unstable space float of 'Hubble' appearing on a shady Thriller 12" and his remix of Various Production's 'Lost' reminding us that there are some deep cuts in the Cunningham discography.

From here in it's all about that longing, sealing the airlock and initiating pressure sequence with 'Futureproofing', before laying down 'Always Human' - can u even remember a time you didnt know this one? Showing resistance towards any categorisation, 'Get Ohn (Fairlight Mix)' swerves down a side street into a footwurkin' face-off by sliding to a mutilated mix of Jon E Cash and Chez Damier played underwater. Next we hit the erogenous interzone of 'Maze' and that incapacitatingly lush bassline designed to lock into your central nervous system and send shockwaves of piloerection to every fucking corner of your soul.

After that, we're cynically dumped into the Ferraro-esque Prince tribute 'Purple Splazsh', and on into the Detroit ghetto stalk of 'Let's Fly'. The dissonant robo-crunk of 'The Kettle Men' and closing entry 'Casanova' confirm that if anything, Actress only suffers from a surfeit of ideas. Proof, if it were needed, that there is a sprawling future beyond the stasis of so much contemporary electronic music.

Spangled 2-step swivel, hyperkinetic techno and restless ambient by Doc Sleep & Delta Rain Dance’s Beats Unlimited duo out of Berlin

Beats Unlimited put forth their 2nd effort on Hypno Discs, run by Glenn Astro aka Delta Rain Dance, urging bodies in motion from the air-filleting swing and parry of ‘Virta Chords’ with its butterfly-winged 2-step and fluttering jazz notes, to the fast-FWD hyper footwork rush of a ’Speed Dub’ recalling Sasu Ripatti’s Dance Classics experiments, and finally easing off into the the sound bathing, eye-fluttering ambient of ‘Transition Env’.

‘The surrealist, psychedelic brain-burps of notorious all-caps-tweeting wind-up-merchant Louis Johnstone aka Wanda Group. Twenty-six congealed morsels of spur-of-the-moment sound-art executed with genuine economy of means, namely… a phone. An impulsive, scatter-brained trip into the inner circles of regional weirdness, secreting a creeping unease which really gets under your skin. Fragments of aural rubble haphazardly cohere into galvanising spacial tones and textures, punctured by Johnstone’s garbled Essex rantings. The long-distance stare of warbled tape loops is abruptly fractured by a drunken sing-along in a care home for the elderly. As hallucinogenic takes on the utterly mundane, there’s an obvious kinship with Lambkin’s nocturnal, straight-to-dictaphone sound-pieces. Dan Johannsen’s splintered classical collages on that PIG tape and the suburban soliloquies of Regional Bears alumnus Russell Walker also feel closely aligned.’ (All Night Flight) With an A4 riso insert.

Driving is Sam Wilkes’ Indie Rock record. Out October 6th, 2023, it is the first release on Wilkes Records, an imprint borne of the artist’s emergent need to self-release. The songs presented here exist comfortably within the ever-expanding Wilkesian cosmos, characterized as they are by virtuosity, torqued experimentalism, and collaboration with a range of talented musicians. But Driving’s influences, its sincerity, and its allegiance to a certain pop sensibility reflects a departure for an artist who has primarily staked his claim within the experimental jazz idiom. Take the first track, “Folk Home,” which inaugurates the album’s fecundity—a bright, green, humid, summer feel. A swirling, freakout coda of reversed vocals gives way, in no short order, to a caterwaul of flute work that conjures Van Morrison’s (in)famous Astral Weeks sessions. Standing beside Morrison, the usual suspects are all present, if somewhat abstractedly. Dylan, The Dead, Joni, the Fab Four. Wilkes has developed a reputation as an experimental jazz luminary, but his deep affinity for the pop/rock/folk idiom of the latter twentieth century rings clear throughout Driving. More so than any Wilkes release to date, Driving is a collection guided by and dedicated to the man’s attention to songcraft. Written and recorded during a period of rain-damage induced renter’s itinerance (and the attendant desire to produce a kind of therapeutic, self-soothing, home-feeling music), Driving loosely charts the trajectory/experience of “a protagonist,” both Wilkes and not, “who has figured out how to live an enlightened and fulfilled life, but is unable to do so because he thinks about it too much.” This friction is surely relatable — a symptom of our compulsively self-aware present. But Wilkes avoids the obvious pitfalls of public hand-wringing. Rather, Driving’s nine tracks evince a genuine, and mature searching-ness, both sonically and lyrically. The ending refrain of “Own” serves like something close to a thesis— “Letting go // isn’t a concept // it’s an action.” In an attempt to beat back ego, hyper-cogitation, language itself, Wilkes arrives at an axiom that feels so true and familiar, you’d swear you’d heard it one hundred times before. Driving’s final third is, fittingly, its most emotive and cathartic. Tracks seven and eight, “Again, Again” and “And Again,” form a diptych, joined most obviously by the jangling, recursive grooves of guitarist Daryl Johns. Wilkes is said to have encouraged Johns to go “full Lindsey [Buckingham]” (clearly a welcome and resonant prompt), but one also catches stray Knopfler vibes, some intermittent Fripp, and (perhaps more-so in tone than technique) the spirit of DIY prophet and jangling man himself, Martin Newell (the Cleaners from Venus). Wilkes has stated that he finds joy in creating musical environments suitable to the contribution and flourishing of his favorite musicians. Throughout Driving, and in these two tracks especially, he has more than succeeded. The record closes with the titular track: a story-song that, according to Wilkes, poured out of him (melody, composition, and lyrics) in a single sitting. The tale is told plainly, bravely, starkly; a mistake was made, regrets have been had, and all is wrapped up in the recollection of a deeply felt adolescent heartsickness—a time when the narrator was first afire with music and automotive freedom. The song captures the moment when meaning inexplicably falls into place, when a long-nagging memory suddenly assumes narrative form, and the subsequent sense of lightness and unburdening. It is fitting that Driving, a record conceived as a form of self-therapy, should culminate with a sense of humble revelation. That Wilkes is plainly eager to share the vulnerable fruits of this labor constitutes Driving’s joyful offering.

When Festival de Frue’s organizers asked Sam Wilkes to put together an ensemble for their 2022 festival, they initially asked for the band he created for his 2021 album “One Theme & Subsequent Improvisation.” With keyboardist Chris Fishman (Pat Metheny, Louis Cole) the only member of that group who was available, Wilkes asked that the organizers select one of two groups as an alternative: a Trio featuring drummer Craig Weinrib (Henry Threadgill, Amen Dunes) and guitarist Dylan Day (Jenny Lewis, Jackson Browne)—with whom Wilkes recently released a trio album—or a Quartet featuring Weinrib, Fishman, and keyboardist and guitarist Thom Gill (KNOWER, Joseph Shabason). “I couldn’t make the decision on which band I should bring, I felt very confused about it,” he says. Through a strange series of miscommunications—or simply a bit of serendipity—both Wilkes and the Frue organizers thought the other had suggested combining the ensembles into a Quintet including members of both groups. An idea that neither side voiced somehow became the obvious choice. The combined Quintet represents what Wilkes calls “two disparate worlds in my community,” that of the “virtuosic, fast-paced grid” of music played with Fishman and Gill, “and this other thing with Dylan that’s coming from different elements of traditional American music.” Luckily, Weinrib fits seamlessly into both worlds. While all members of the group played on Wilkes’ 2023 album Driving, they’d never all played together. They had one five-hour rehearsal in Tokyo, but, Wilkes says, “It was impossible for me to predict how this music was going to sound.” His strategy, after showing them the arrangements of several of his own compositions and a few covers, was to “allow everyone to blossom fully” with the hope that “what I’ll get is everyone’s personality being expressed unfettered.” iiyo iiyo iiyo is Sam Wilkes’ fifth album as bandleader and arranger, and the atmosphere is so rich it spills out of the speakers. The album, a document of the Quintet’s meeting, was recorded live at Festival de Frue in Kakegawa and at WWWX in Tokyo, where they played headlining sets for hundreds of people. Not that you’d know it from the intimate interplay between the players or the small-room feel of the recording. In opener “Descending,” which made its debut on Wilkes’ 2018 self-titled album, the mood is so cozy you’d swear the sound of kids at play in the back of the hall had been sampled in—another perfect bit of serendipity. For Wilkes, setting the right tone for a performance or a recording is paramount, and it’s inseparable from how he understands his role as a bassist. “My entryway into understanding my thing, what I care about the most in music, was through accompaniment; focusing on time, feel, tone, form, and most importantly, listening.” he says. “There are things that are ineffable about that, which is the energy. But there are also conscious and subconscious decisions, where I’m arranging and orchestrating to create the ultimate environment for, say, Dylan to play his melody over, or Thom to play his. Those are choices as much as reactions, combining in equal parts in-depth preparation and total improvisation” The title iiyo iiyo iiyo is a Japanese expression used in response to an outpouring of gratitude, a cheeky way of brushing the accolades off of oneself. Accordingly, the record is full of charming, homespun personality. In a gorgeous version of the standard “I Wanna Be Loved,” Day plays the melody in a way that moves between washed-out ambient gauze and a traditionally beautiful run of lines that echoes the Dinah Washington original. While the band circulates the mantric melody in “Descending,” Fishman dots around it on his Moog One, opening a new seam in a song that’s quickly become a Wilkes standard. Weinrib’s patient, impressionistic brush strokes seem to swirl beneath the melody, while Gill fogs the room with thick, reverb-heavy accompaniment from his keys. And where is Wilkes in all this? He’s guiding his friends, helping them decorate a room that he himself built, drawing them deeper into the song’s wistful, hopeful, grounded atmosphere. His polyphonic voicings—a signature of his playing—sets out the song’s boundaries and acts as both its musical and emotional anchor. It’s the approach Wilkes takes across the album, using his phrasing as both the music’s gravitational center and its heart, and he does it to perfection in the opening minute or so of “Girl.” The song originally appeared on Sam Wilkes “Sings” (2014–2016)” in what he calls a “psychotically different arrangement.” On stage in Kakegawa, he slows the song to a crawl and isolates its central chords. He plays them gently, patiently; he voices the chords with the clarity of a person who’s just cried out all of their confusion. As Wilkes says, his role as a bassist means that he’s the foundation of these songs, and foundations by their very nature tend to be obscured. Here, for one lovely moment, he strips everything back to the studs, revealing the lush architecture that holds this miraculous music together.

When Festival de Frue’s organizers asked Sam Wilkes to put together an ensemble for their 2022 festival, they initially asked for the band he created for his 2021 album “One Theme & Subsequent Improvisation.” With keyboardist Chris Fishman (Pat Metheny, Louis Cole) the only member of that group who was available, Wilkes asked that the organizers select one of two groups as an alternative: a Trio featuring drummer Craig Weinrib (Henry Threadgill, Amen Dunes) and guitarist Dylan Day (Jenny Lewis, Jackson Browne)—with whom Wilkes recently released a trio album—or a Quartet featuring Weinrib, Fishman, and keyboardist and guitarist Thom Gill (KNOWER, Joseph Shabason). “I couldn’t make the decision on which band I should bring, I felt very confused about it,” he says. Through a strange series of miscommunications—or simply a bit of serendipity—both Wilkes and the Frue organizers thought the other had suggested combining the ensembles into a Quintet including members of both groups. An idea that neither side voiced somehow became the obvious choice. The combined Quintet represents what Wilkes calls “two disparate worlds in my community,” that of the “virtuosic, fast-paced grid” of music played with Fishman and Gill, “and this other thing with Dylan that’s coming from different elements of traditional American music.” Luckily, Weinrib fits seamlessly into both worlds. While all members of the group played on Wilkes’ 2023 album Driving, they’d never all played together. They had one five-hour rehearsal in Tokyo, but, Wilkes says, “It was impossible for me to predict how this music was going to sound.” His strategy, after showing them the arrangements of several of his own compositions and a few covers, was to “allow everyone to blossom fully” with the hope that “what I’ll get is everyone’s personality being expressed unfettered.” iiyo iiyo iiyo is Sam Wilkes’ fifth album as bandleader and arranger, and the atmosphere is so rich it spills out of the speakers. The album, a document of the Quintet’s meeting, was recorded live at Festival de Frue in Kakegawa and at WWWX in Tokyo, where they played headlining sets for hundreds of people. Not that you’d know it from the intimate interplay between the players or the small-room feel of the recording. In opener “Descending,” which made its debut on Wilkes’ 2018 self-titled album, the mood is so cozy you’d swear the sound of kids at play in the back of the hall had been sampled in—another perfect bit of serendipity. For Wilkes, setting the right tone for a performance or a recording is paramount, and it’s inseparable from how he understands his role as a bassist. “My entryway into understanding my thing, what I care about the most in music, was through accompaniment; focusing on time, feel, tone, form, and most importantly, listening.” he says. “There are things that are ineffable about that, which is the energy. But there are also conscious and subconscious decisions, where I’m arranging and orchestrating to create the ultimate environment for, say, Dylan to play his melody over, or Thom to play his. Those are choices as much as reactions, combining in equal parts in-depth preparation and total improvisation” The title iiyo iiyo iiyo is a Japanese expression used in response to an outpouring of gratitude, a cheeky way of brushing the accolades off of oneself. Accordingly, the record is full of charming, homespun personality. In a gorgeous version of the standard “I Wanna Be Loved,” Day plays the melody in a way that moves between washed-out ambient gauze and a traditionally beautiful run of lines that echoes the Dinah Washington original. While the band circulates the mantric melody in “Descending,” Fishman dots around it on his Moog One, opening a new seam in a song that’s quickly become a Wilkes standard. Weinrib’s patient, impressionistic brush strokes seem to swirl beneath the melody, while Gill fogs the room with thick, reverb-heavy accompaniment from his keys. And where is Wilkes in all this? He’s guiding his friends, helping them decorate a room that he himself built, drawing them deeper into the song’s wistful, hopeful, grounded atmosphere. His polyphonic voicings—a signature of his playing—sets out the song’s boundaries and acts as both its musical and emotional anchor. It’s the approach Wilkes takes across the album, using his phrasing as both the music’s gravitational center and its heart, and he does it to perfection in the opening minute or so of “Girl.” The song originally appeared on Sam Wilkes “Sings” (2014–2016)” in what he calls a “psychotically different arrangement.” On stage in Kakegawa, he slows the song to a crawl and isolates its central chords. He plays them gently, patiently; he voices the chords with the clarity of a person who’s just cried out all of their confusion. As Wilkes says, his role as a bassist means that he’s the foundation of these songs, and foundations by their very nature tend to be obscured. Here, for one lovely moment, he strips everything back to the studs, revealing the lush architecture that holds this miraculous music together.

“Okie Dokie It´s The Orb On Kompakt“ is already the 13th album of one of Britian's most prized cult bands. We feel it's better that way, because the music of The Orb only has an intensive effect when taken in as a long playing full length. And it proves with this lovingly conjured collection of songs brought together like a collage. The first half of Okie Dokie showcase The Orb´s love for minimal Techno and Schaffel/Shuffle as it is so obviously present in the foreground, while the second half is only reserved to the classic Orb-ish ancestral domain. There are wonderful guest appearances by Schneider TM and Kompakt´s ambient-guru Ulf Lohmann. As many of you know, there is so much history about The Orb you could write a book. Since Jimmy Cauty and Alex Paterson, in the flush of euphoria invented Chill Out and Ambient House in the first summer of love 1988, an incredible amount of things have occurred. The following timeline should give you a rough idea. - Alex Paterson gives up his job as roadie for Killing Joke. - “A Huge Ever Growing Pulsating Brain That Rules From The Centre Of The Ultraworld” is not only the record with the longest title of the world, but it also marks the departure into the new sonic worlds of post-Rave Ambient. - While Cauty goes different ways with The KLF, The Orb re-form themselves and have a big hit with Little Fluffy Clouds in 1990. - The debut album “The Orb´s Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld“ hits the Top 30 in England. - The Orb produce “Higher Than the Sun“ for Primal Scream. - The Orb perform “Blue Room“ as chess-playing aliens at Top Of The Pops. Everything goes. - “Blue Room“ clocking in at 39:58 minutes goes into music-history as the longest time for a chart single ever. - The Orb achieve great success in Glastonbury '92 + '93. - The Copenhagen double concert “to the sunrise and sunset” is eternalized on record: “Live 93“ - Previously a floating member of The Orb, Thomas Felmann becomes a fix member in 1997 - No joke: Robbie Williams takes part of The Orb for a short time. The collaboration “I started A Joke“ is released on a benefit compilation - After 2002 The Orb found with Kompakt a new ambient-loving partner and release a row of singles and play live, as the trimmed-down version as Le Petit Orb. And one more for the extra hush-hush: The Orbs first album “A Huge Ever Growing Pulsating Brain...” was actually a Kompakt release. You can check it out. Besides the actual label Wau! Mr. Modo you can read... Kompakt Discos. Ha!!

For their second album 'The Foel Tower', Quade holed up in an old stone barn in the cradle of a Welsh mountain valley.

The valley was a stark and windswept backdrop with little daylight, as the band would huddle around crackling fires each evening. “There was very much a feeling of being on the complete fringes of society,” the band says. “The last vestiges of settlement before the unrelenting barren moors that loomed over us.”

It was an environment that would shape the band – a Bristol four piece made up of Barney Matthews, Leo Fini, Matt Griffiths and Tom Connolly – and the record they have made. It’s an album that is as dreamy as it is melancholic, and as quiet and tender as it is forceful and potent – gliding across genres like winds blowing over those wide-spanning Welsh hills – to arrive at something the band half-jokingly, yet somewhat accurately, describe as “doomer sad boy, ambient-dub, folk, experimental post-rock.”

Quade is a band but it’s also a very close-knit group that have been friends since childhood who use this musical vehicle for interpersonal explorations and connections. “We’ve individually experienced a lot of difficulty over the last several years and Quade has represented a space to shelter from these,” the band says. “This means we often communicate extensively with each other about the issues affecting us individually and collectively. These conversations and concerns are central to The Foel Tower.”

In many ways, the making of this record – or any Quade record – goes way deeper than the simple writing, construction and recording of music. It is a profoundly deep and meaningful experience. “A key theme of the album relates to why we connect with specific places in the way that we do,” the group says. “We often remove ourselves to isolated valleys, sheltered from some of the painful personal struggles that we have experienced as a band. These become spaces in which we collectively purge ourselves of some of these difficulties hoping to make Quade a physical and emotional place of solace. This album celebrates these places that we’ve been able to retreat to and recuperate.”

It is a deep, dense record that is stuffed with musical, cinematic and literary influences – from Ursula La Guin and Cormac MacCarthy through to RS Thomas and Yeats – but despite the heavy, introspective and anxious nature of some of the material, it is also a record that is remarkably deft, agile and considered.

Made with producer Jack Ogborne and mixer Larry ‘Bruce’ McCarthy, there is a pleasing duality to the final sound of the record. One that feels fragile and intimate but also powerful and forceful, as introspective as it is expansive, and a record that is as detailed and textured as it is wide open and spacious.

The album title also pays homage to the place that shaped it so greatly. Within this remote Welsh valley stands the Foel Tower, a stone structure filled with valves and cylinders that can raise and lower the level of the reservoir to draw off water. Which it can then send as far as 70 miles to Birmingham. However, in the late 1800s this land was occupied by local farmers and families in the hundreds until the British Government acquired the land, cleared the valleys, and promptly displaced them in order to begin serving the vastly expanding industrial English city. The band dug into the history and politics of this and wove it into the themes they were already thinking about, using what the Foel Tower stands for as something of a contemporary metaphor. “This tension was something that we wanted to explore without the haughty judgement of our more metropolitan lifestyles,” they say. “And to explore how this specifically relates to ourselves: how can we envisage a genuinely ecological future for ourselves – one that is accessible, affordable and in harmony with endangered rural practices.”

What makes The Foel Tower such an incredible record is that it feels born of a time, place and situation that only existed in that very moment. It’s a snapshot of those 10 days spent in rural Wales and all the feelings and anxieties the band were experiencing at that specific time, magically caught on tape. “The album very much feels tied to this valley for us and the conversations and experiences we shared there,” they say. “It brings up a great deal of poignancy for us, an emblem of some fleeting respite from the strains we all have to experience. But there’s also deep sadness knowing how transient these moments are – in fact, there’s just a great deal of sadness in this album. But it’s also a record that while personal, resigned, and emotionally burdened, is ultimately hopeful.” 

What an amazing pair of compositions, beautifully balanced music that transports me to a deep zone where time stands still.

— Jonny Nash (Musician / The founder for Melody As Truth)

"KANNON" achieves a profound listening experience by deliberately avoiding the diverse techniques of the shakuhachi and instead focusing on simple, sustained tones. This approach allows one to concentrate on the inner richness of a single note’s resonance and its delicate nuances, creating a sense of release into the infinite expanses within its deep layers. The moment a sound emerges, passes through, and fades away is truly beautiful.
"RAVEN" showcases the shakuhachi’s expansive yet delicate tonal expressions with remarkable beauty. I was astonished by its level of perfection, making it hard to believe it was recorded live. The piece harmonizes with the steady pulse of the mukkuri, evoking a sense of music that connects to a spectral dimension. I particularly love the latter half, where the high-register tones of the shakuhachi intertwine with the breath-infused mukkuri, resonating with deep overtones. I was utterly captivated by the gentle unfolding of this piece.

— Ko Ishikawa (Shō player / Ancient Kayō performer)

This is captivated by an auditory landscape of deep listening—an immersive soundscape of the mind. Could this not be one of the most uniquely innovative expressions in the current realm of traditional Japanese instruments?

— Kaoru Inoue (DJ / Musician)

Although I often say, "Genres of music don’t really matter," I was truly surprised when I listened to it and thought, "Is this really a shakuhachi?" It made me realize how trapped I had been by my existing preconceived notions. It's like a "eureka moment" for my ears! The deep resonance that is incredibly pleasing to the ear, along with the sonic development that feels like it’s breathing in unison with the natural environment, gradually led me to feel as if I had wandered into a bamboo forest, losing track of where I was—a meditative labyrinth-like experience. It reaffirmed for me the truth that sound tells the whole story. The balance of the sound is also exquisite and remarkable. Such improvisational performance reminds us of the forgotten awe that in the natural world, nothing is ever the same—while each individual expresses their uniqueness, they also form part of the overall harmony.

— Nami Hōtatsu (Vocalist / Synthesizer player / Composer)

I'll be terribly honest: those two tracks are the deepest and most intense I've heard from a long time, a vibrant sound that takes hold of your attention and takes you far, but without moving a step, as if it sounded inside, touching hidden and alive chords. Beauty, like a long breath, a story that the sea gives us, fast clouds that announce spring, wind that smells of flowers and meadows and a thousand leaves of dancing trees.... Gorgeous music that speaks to the heart.

— Gigi Masin (Musician)

I was surprised by the abstract tone, which is not unlike that of old instruments. The dense soundscape shows a love of musical culture.

— Jun Morita (Electronic instrumentalist / DJ)

Yes, your eyes tell you the truth – this is the first new record by Zero Kama released since 2008 live vinyl! During these 16 years Zoe Dewitt was active with book publishing, Zero Kama and Korpses Katatonic reissues, lectures, scientific research, exhibitions, and rare but bright live shows. However, most of us have forgotten our dreams of seeing new releases of Zero Kama.

Originally, "What is a Body" is the 50-minute background soundtrack for Zoe Dewitt's lecture performance in the anatomical theatre of the Academy of Fine Arts Vienna in 2015. Exclusively based on samples from "The Secret Eye of LAYLAH" it takes you to the same Zero Kama you always known - dark ritual music with transcendent drones and tribal parts. The music is not to talk about but to listen and disappear in.

Black vinyl, colored vinyl, and the DigiCD. The vinyl comes with a big booklet about the record conception and the lecture by Zoe Dewitt.