NEW ARRIVALS

Previously released on Low Company in 2023, Purely Physical Teeny Tapes reissue the full album from Tarquin Manek, one of the most prolific, distinct and perhaps under-recognised producers in our orbit. If bezonked, subaquatic dub-pop zoners are your thing, anything from The Skaters to Swell Maps, YL Hooi to Carla dal Forno, CS + Kreme to Jac Berrocal, this one’s for you. The 16th and final number from short-lived yet beloved London shop-turned-label Low Company renders a raft of works made by Tarquin Manek (F Ingers, Kallista Kult, Tarcar) 2013-2020, and shafted in the release schedule until now. Nine songs depict Tarquin in his soggiest songwriting mode, floating over rugged, groggy loops in a rare, non-collaborative form. It’s a captivating self-portrait of an artist who is perhaps best known for his collaborations and work behind the scenes, variously fostering talents from the Naarm (Melbourne) undergrowth such as YL Hooi and Carla dal Forno, the latter of whom was his bandmate in F Ingers alongside Sam Karmel of CS + Kreme, and many of whom would grace Low Company and its cult predecessor Blackest Ever Black. A sense of desiccated bliss riddles the bittersweet fantasy tang of ‘Breathing Under Honey’, where Manek sets a course from the bleached coral underfoot on ‘Stones on the Beach’, to a lizard-hipped bossa shuffle on ‘Mirage Game’, via superb bouts of Count Ossie-meets-Spencer Clark whims on ’Submerging Emergency’, thru Hassellian trumpet gargling in the sink on ‘Sea Slug Bender’, to instrumental cyberpunk sea shanty, ‘Age Old Squall’, or coming across Lewis on a jolly with drunken sailors at a late night Berlin bar on ‘Basic Trouble’. Of course it all hits that crinkled sweetspot for levels of eyes-half-shut perpendicular pop that we’ve come to expect from Low Company and their constellation of affiliates, joining dots between the ahead-of-their-time ‘80s post punk tape oddities that surface on Efficient Space, A Colourful Storm’s febrile dream sequences, to rickety DIY bops from the London mulch. Laters, Low Company - a proper bunch of sound cnuts.

Klara Lewis' Opening is a deceptive recording with veiled melodies and clandestine bangers. "Klara Lewis’ distinctive talent for disfiguring sound into forms that remain recognisably song-like reaches a new peak here. Lewis, creator of worlds, treats music as a mirror that reflects a perspective misaligned with the real image. Her music moves in unusual and often startling ways. Acoustic instruments such as ukulele and piano are subjected to processes of deconstruction and reconstruction, their original forms continually reshaped. The tracks within Opening offer an array of disorientating tactics; damaged field recordings are suddenly sliced into ominous rhythmical patterns whilst deceptively simple tactics provide foreboding dread. Often alien on entry, the progression of a piece can land in a surprising tenderness, or the other way around. The momentum grows as a physical state but also one which is questioning, desiring, encapsulating a feeling, to explore a further way of expression and ultimately connecting: A new closeness, a new perspective. Opening is an album in which the protagonist’s manipulation of sonic matter seems to extend beyond the music itself, resulting in a corresponding manipulation of the active listener. Sounds shift, dissolve, and re-emerge in altered forms, creating an experience that feels both intimate and disorienting. Lewis maintains a delicate balance between abstraction and emotional immediacy, drawing the listener into a world where familiar musical gestures are constantly reconfigured in surprising ways. The works on Opening are refracted through an exploratory and transformative lens, suggesting an artist continuing to redefine the possibilities of musical language as a space where the instantaneous and the eternal come together."

Producer Joe Gibbs took the credit for the four discs released in the mid-'70s under the title African Dub All-Mighty, but the musicians were in reality a shifting aggregation of members of the Soul Syndicate, We the People, and Revolutionaries bands, and the man actually working the mixing board was famed sound engineer Errol Thompson. Chapter 1 is a fine listening experience -- note in particular "Campus Rock" (a dub version of Dennis Brown's "Let Me Live") and "Treasure Dub," which is a version of the Jamaicans' rocksteady classic "Ba Ba Boom." Recommended. - Rick Anderson

The third (and most impressive) of four volumes of dub mixes from the studio of producer Joe Gibbs, African Dub, Chapter 3 finds engineer Errol Thompson getting a bit more adventurous than he had on the earlier installments. More of these dub versions keep shreds and snatches of the original vocal tracks in the mix, which is almost always a plus in a dub context -- little snippets of disembodied vocals float through the otherworldly musical atmosphere, lending a sometimes spooky human element to the sound and often casting new and refracted light on the meaning of the original lyrics. And on this volume, Thompson seems to be taking a few cues from his competitor Lee "Scratch" Perry, throwing such extramusical elements as water sounds (on "Freedom Call") and ringing telephones (on "Jubilation Dub") into the mix along with the usual gossamer shreds of guitar, horn, and keyboard. Highly recommended. - Rick Anderson

Selected and arranged by Jack Rollo and Elaine Tierney, Ballads’ is a waking-dream meander through beautiful, romantic, weird, exotic, intimate, un-categorisable music that shouldn't go together but yet somehow makes complete sense, offering a sort of spiritual life-enhancement in the process. A Colourful Storm’s Fleetway Tapes seems to has become the ideal place for skilled musical storytellers to flex their muscle, and on ‘Ballads’ the London-based duo turn their attention to the classic storytelling category of songcraft with the mix of forensic digging and poetic arrangement that has made their long-running NTS show a cult hit for many. Spanning a literate and cinematic world of sound with signature delicacy, they conjure a far flung and totally absorbing set whose track-listing remains impenetrable, and may well drive diggers to a tizzy. Suffice to say; numerous pearls lie within. Sung in myriad tongues, the ballads range from the romantic and sentimental to the abstract and instrumental, spieling yarns that may not be fully understood, but with an atmosphere, pacing, and seductive vibe that's unmistakable. For us, and so many, the mixtape of the decade.

Greek harpist and composer Sissi Rada interprets the music of Richard Wagner and Johannes Brahms with unfathomable levels of detail and charm, resulting in one of the most gorgeously executed records of the year. Trust - it’s fully essential listening FFO Joanna Newsom, Svitlana Nianio, Kate Bush, Delphine Dora, Nikos Mamangakis…​ Sissi Makropoulou has been pinging our radar for a while now, but especially hard since 2024's Stroom-released 'Aporia' and that dazzling ‘Demeter In Aexone’ album that properly locked us in to her brand of uncanny avant dream-folk, a highly distinctive signature sound she developed even further on the fantastic 'Nana Butu' earlier this year. She’s a serial collaborator - with Lena Platonos, Brian Eno, Christina Vantzou, Jay Glass Dubs - even Lee "Scratch" Perry - all the while composing chamber music on the side. And It's that latter practice that comes to the fore on ‘Serious Songs’ singing in German while attacking Wagner's chilly 'Fünf Gedichte für eine Frauenstimme' (Five Poems for a Female Voice) on the A side, and Brahms' pious 'Vier ernste Gesänge' (Four Serious Songs) on the flip. As you'd expect, it isn't just a simple recital; with harp and voice the focal points, packed out with winding, nebulous arrangements and perspicacious references to avant-garde musical history, integrating dissonant orchestral elements, prepared piano, opera, classical guitar, environmental sounds and foreboding oscillations - with an exquisite ear for detail. Oddly for music this tranquil, it benefits from increased volume - at least a level where you can marvel at the array of tiny, unusual production flourishes. And it's a suite that grows and grows. On 'Wesendonck 1’, she opens with voice and harp recalling Joanna Newsom's folk-inspired song cycle 'Ys'. But as the piece develops, she begins to slowly show her hand, introducing harmonic, hypnotic effects to blur the edges. The result is discombobulating in the best way, sounding as dreamy as Julee Cruise's 'Floating into the Night' while somehow still remaining true to the source material. The drama continues to build on 'Wesendonck 2', her delivery of the words - written by poet Mathilde Wesendonck who Wagner was famously besotted with - fittingly dramatic, assisted by brass and grinding drums broken occasionally by moments of ineffable beauty. On 'Wesendonck 4', Makropoulou augments the production with metallophone chimes, fixing sequences with growling synths and heavily processed cries. Sissi plays a remarkable sleight of hand on the flip. Beginning conservatively, she introduces Brahms' cycle of Lutheran biblical readings with a celestial harp and a gently experimental vocal, pitch shifted to a screwed conclusion. On 'Brahms 2', her performance is kinked by disorienting concrète-style operatic spools that pull us into another musical timeline entirely. She is so confident with her subject matter - whether it's the classical canon, folk, electronic or neue musik - that it all sounds like a natural extension of her practice, converging into something that fully defies categorisation. Anyway, words don’t really do it for this one. Just give it a spin and you’ll soon melt into it, one of the most quietly startling albums released this year.

Keith Freund’s music occupies a space where careful musicianship and homebrewed experimentation meet and shake hands. On “Window Left Open,” spacious melodies drift through dense fields of electronic activity: saxophone lines rise above buzzing circuitry, percussion flickers at the edges of the frame, and clustered glitch textures dart through the music like insects in tall summer grass. Every sound feels vividly animated, a charged part of the same mercurial ecosystem. Freund’s talent lies in balancing warmth and unpredictability with remarkable ease. Patient motifs recall the exploratory spirit of early folktronica, while bit-reduced textures, degraded loops, and idiosyncratic synthesis techniques continually reshape the terrain beneath them. Rather than treating acoustic and electronic elements as opposing forces, Freund allows them to intermingle until distinctions dissolve, creating compositions that reward close listening while retaining immediate warmth. This record finds Freund working with a fully formed vocabulary that is truly his own, transforming glitch, melody, improvisation, and atmosphere into songs that are both fundamentally curious and disarmingly engaging.

First vinyl reissue of the 1979 holy grail private press debut by Californian vibes and marimba player Rickey Kelly, leading a classy ensemble from Latinate, subtropical jazz to Afro-rooted spiritual styles and blissed cool. ""Rickey, I know these are your friends, the guys you went to school with, but if you wanna record an album, you record with musicians who have been playing their whole life; whatever you write, they'll put their whole life into it. You play with your friends; they may not even play in tune." These are the words of Slave guitarist Kevin Johnson, and they were to change the course of young Rickey Kelly's life. It was 1978, and music student Kelly had approached Johnson with a tape of rough demos of some songs he'd written. A San Francisco native, Kelly had recently moved the short distance south to study music at LA City College in East Hollywood. He was a member of E.W. Wainwright Jr.'s African Roots of Jazz, and was spending up to 10 hours a day in practice on both vibes and marimba. He also played with Horace Tapscott, and had his own band made up of fellow students, but it was his ambition to make an album that led to the conversation with Johnson. It was a turning point in his education, and a decision was looming. The next thing Johnson said was "You call the best jazz musicians. How'd you like to play with Billy Higgins?", a line that would seal it for anyone; for a youngster like Rickey just starting out in the business, you just don't turn down the opportunity to play with the likes of highly accomplished musicians, especially those of the calibre of legendary jazz drummer Billy Higgins. Some calls were made and the date was set to record at Studio Masters on Beverly Blvd, a studio set up just a few years previous in 1973, owned and operated by Dot Records founder Randy Wood with his son John. Some of the other music professionals set to record with Kelley that day were flautist Adele Sebastian, bass player Tony Dumas, saxophonist Charles Owens and vocalist Diane Reeves, none of whom had previously played with Kelly before. Kelly was impressed with the studio, with the gold records displayed on the walls and the famous musicians hanging out. 'It took a lot of humility for me to record with them, I mean I was nobody, nothing, and for not a lot of money either' remembers Rickey in a later interview with Calvin Lincoln, 'It taught me a lot, to practice hard, and study for the rest of your life, to give your all, and there's a lot of all to give'. As the recording session took place, John Wood was listening in. He was impressed. Kelly didn't have the funds to manufacture and release the album himself, so Wood suggested it was pressed up on his in-house studio label, Los Angeles Phonograph Records, and thus the LP 'My Kind of Music' was released early in 1979. The album also saw a subsequent pressing soon afterwards on Dennis Sullivan's New Note label. Kelly remains humble and proud of his debut album to this day. 'I was still a beginner' he says, 'These masters walked in, smiling, and gave me something worth gold'."

First vinyl reissue of the 1979 holy grail private press debut by Californian vibes and marimba player Rickey Kelly, leading a classy ensemble from Latinate, subtropical jazz to Afro-rooted spiritual styles and blissed cool. ""Rickey, I know these are your friends, the guys you went to school with, but if you wanna record an album, you record with musicians who have been playing their whole life; whatever you write, they'll put their whole life into it. You play with your friends; they may not even play in tune." These are the words of Slave guitarist Kevin Johnson, and they were to change the course of young Rickey Kelly's life. It was 1978, and music student Kelly had approached Johnson with a tape of rough demos of some songs he'd written. A San Francisco native, Kelly had recently moved the short distance south to study music at LA City College in East Hollywood. He was a member of E.W. Wainwright Jr.'s African Roots of Jazz, and was spending up to 10 hours a day in practice on both vibes and marimba. He also played with Horace Tapscott, and had his own band made up of fellow students, but it was his ambition to make an album that led to the conversation with Johnson. It was a turning point in his education, and a decision was looming. The next thing Johnson said was "You call the best jazz musicians. How'd you like to play with Billy Higgins?", a line that would seal it for anyone; for a youngster like Rickey just starting out in the business, you just don't turn down the opportunity to play with the likes of highly accomplished musicians, especially those of the calibre of legendary jazz drummer Billy Higgins. Some calls were made and the date was set to record at Studio Masters on Beverly Blvd, a studio set up just a few years previous in 1973, owned and operated by Dot Records founder Randy Wood with his son John. Some of the other music professionals set to record with Kelley that day were flautist Adele Sebastian, bass player Tony Dumas, saxophonist Charles Owens and vocalist Diane Reeves, none of whom had previously played with Kelly before. Kelly was impressed with the studio, with the gold records displayed on the walls and the famous musicians hanging out. 'It took a lot of humility for me to record with them, I mean I was nobody, nothing, and for not a lot of money either' remembers Rickey in a later interview with Calvin Lincoln, 'It taught me a lot, to practice hard, and study for the rest of your life, to give your all, and there's a lot of all to give'. As the recording session took place, John Wood was listening in. He was impressed. Kelly didn't have the funds to manufacture and release the album himself, so Wood suggested it was pressed up on his in-house studio label, Los Angeles Phonograph Records, and thus the LP 'My Kind of Music' was released early in 1979. The album also saw a subsequent pressing soon afterwards on Dennis Sullivan's New Note label. Kelly remains humble and proud of his debut album to this day. 'I was still a beginner' he says, 'These masters walked in, smiling, and gave me something worth gold'."

Buenos Aires composer Ignacio Sandoval, aka YOTO, returns to London's Kit Records with a new album of dismantled Argentinian folk music. Taking root at the border between Latin American folk tradition and the kiln of Buenos Aires' distinctly bustling experimental arts scene, Ciprés is a loose-limbed collection of elegiac storytelling. Guitar remains at the heart of YOTO's practice; each piece on Ciprés began life as a miniature improvisation, recorded in real time then gently adorned with splintering melodies of marimba and xylophone, and funereal marching percussion. The results form a series of private moments; internal sculptures and scenes that speak to the intimacy and solitude of domestic life. Like fellow Argentinian boundary-pushers Aylu and Vic Bang, YOTO's previous work bubbled with a fermented maximalism (see "Levure"). In contrast, Ciprés alludes to weathered forms - dialogues that fork, disintegrate and improbably rekindle, like aerial roots feeling their way through an ancient city wall. When Sandoval's voice does appear - on "Viento De Otoño" - it casts a dappled, swaying shadow..

Brighton artist and producer Stephen Maskell - moonlighting as Violet Cowboy - returns with an epic sixth release on Kit Records. 𝑹𝒂𝒎𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒈𝒈𝒍𝒚 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒎 finds the sonic sculptor in playful mood, thumbing the flipbook through mulchy blues guitar, gothic storytelling, elasticated dub and gossamerlike classical minimalism. Maskell's flow state seems to exist in the pocket where genres meld, and no sound is safe or sacred. His archive slops like a bargain bin of British culture, topped up on gleeful trawls through the map's ripest folds and furrows. This new collection is part glitched spaghetti western, part macabre travelogue, and - true to form - wholly too slippery to define. Violet Cowboy is a techno flâneur: an unmoored observer and connoisseur of urban mythology, roving like a cyber dandy between the frames of a reekingly complex cityscape. "Tonight I'm in a window watching everyone watching being watched, and the faces that pass and the stories I make up for them." In 𝑾𝒊𝒈𝒈𝒍𝒚 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒎's frightening closing scenes, Maskell yanks Edgar Allan Poe's 'The Man of the Crowd' across pungent cobbles and through a tangle of glassy computer processes. For all its interludes, tangents and jump scares, 𝑹𝒂𝒎𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 is the sound of an artist losing himself in the art of making - and somehow helping us make sense of the world we find ourselves in as he does it. Recommended if you like Moondog, Ry Cooder, Autechre, Arvo Pärt.

Carrier winds the rhythmic tension to breaking point on his 4th self-released 12”, flexing fine-tuned muscle memory and inch-tight production in acres of negative space across a trio of soundsystem phantoms that dance in the long shadow of D&B and broken beat science. Huge tip FFO Autechre, Burial, Photek, T++. Now three years into a generational run of inspirational plates - including an AOTY ’25 with ‘Rhythm Immortal’ for Modern Love - Carrier’s core sense of discipline and restraint continues to yield peerless reward on ‘Thresholds’. A lifetime’s love of, and immersion in, fwd UK dance musics has prompted him to chase a particular dragon of syncopated swerve and cavernous psychoacoustics to logical, next-level depths diffusing that dread pressure with an adroit, tendon-twitching precision and tactility. Carrier has been instrumental in reminding ravers what was lost when D&B went stadium and pop-chart scale over the past decades, daring to run against the grain, trust his instincts, to return a sense of mystery and bold experimentalism to what was once a thrilling paradigm. This new trio of cuts eke exquisite nuance from tweaked fundamentals, swivelling 2-step off the bone into smoky hall-of-mirrors reflections of ‘Cure’, and specialising in a razor’s edge, toes-off-the-ground sorcery in a recursive, wraithlike zinger, ‘Scout’ that dips to the sexiest, tongue-tip breakdown, beside the tantric, anticipatory chicanery of ‘Black Channels’ which finishes us off with an all-tension-no-release weapon for the ages.

Still somehow operating in the shadows despite a pair of exceptional albums under his belt, plus a standout appearance on Space Afrika’s acclaimed ‘Honest Labour’ album, Nigerian born Londoner LA Timpa returns with this super deep, confounding third album featuring screwed, unfathomable dreampop variants that worm from layered flutes to oddly tuned trip hop, referencing everything from Mica Levi to Klein to early Yves Tumor and, most obviously, A.R Kane - ultimately sounding like nothing else. LA Timpa snagged our attention with his exceptional debut ‘Equal Amounts Afraid’ for O___o?, and an acclaimed follow-up for Rabit’s Halcyon Veil, which eventually led to a guest spot on Space Afrika’s cult lightning rod ‘Honest Labour’ and a remix for Tricky. After letting the dust settle, he returns with a new collection of songs mired in rawly sublime melancholy, turning existential reflections into a richly evocative sort of chamber pop akin to Arthur Russell jamming with A.R. Kane. It drifts heavy-lidded between fully formed songs obfuscated by a dense fug to properly bezzonked lo-fi improv that follows his nose for detuned strings smudged and activated with field recordings. It’s all done in the loosest, most hypnagogic style, characterising how the spirits of ‘80s no wave NYC and even ‘90s Kiwi indie rock have sluiced into the truly singular milieu of South London in the 2020s. Sung in a fragile yet shatterproof falsetto to backdrops of smeared loops and lines of coruscating guitar and keys, ‘Pity By One All Good Treasure’ conveys itself by seduction and suggestion rather than any heavy handed or literal techniques. Whether by design or implication, its rhythmelodic make-up recalls how West African music surfaces in the lilt of Lifetones, or even how Jim Reeves’ country music unexpectedly percolates thru Nigerian styles, all obviously at a remove of decades, but nonetheless short-circuiting expectations and putative timelines in the process. The record wails into view with 'Wide', a properly bewildering opening of tangled flutes that sounds like Debit’s pre-historic wind instrument investigations as if treated by Alvin Lucier, before taking flight on a screwy trajectory that seems to reference a great deal of music we love; from labelmate Dawuna to Coby Sey’s pop inversions to Dean Blunt’s enigmatic world-building, from Tricky’s low-lit pre-millennial tension to Mica Levi’s unsteady phased strings - it all sounds immaculately produced and entirely unresolved. In fact, the glossolalic unintelligibility of the songs becomes a virtue it its own right, initially limning and drawing us into psychoacoustic parameters and occupying an elusive mid-distance throughout the album, form the slippery lilt of ‘It Smiles Without my Lie’ to the Blood Orange-esque nod of ‘City Hell Cast In Fire’, the haunted blooziness of ‘Treatment’ and eyes-in-backa-head grog to ‘Brave (forsake)’, and a properly wooze-inducing enigma on the nine minute denouement ‘Ruthless’ - a crumbling epic that centres negative space, splicing field recordings with instrumental strums. When a song does eventually appear from those embers, it's like a queered response to Grouper's enduring 'Heavy Water’ as though perceived through layer upon layer of gauzy saturation. It all makes for a supremely unusual and engrossing listen, and provides further proof, if needed, that LA Timpa is an elemental force all of their own, a vital part of South London’s eminently watchable new musical ecology.

Fresh from an appearance on Space Afrika’s 'Honest Labour’ album, collaborations with Klein and Lol K and a placement in the Dazed 100 list, LA Timpa finally offers his head-turning 'Equal Amounts Afraid' album on vinyl following a short CD run just before the pandemic hit in early 2020. Served up on promising yung London label O___o, and made with additional mixing from Solange collaborator Kwes and mastering from sometime Dean Blunt engineer Amir Shoat, ‘Equal Amounts Afraid’ is a beautiful smudge of pop experimentation riddled with timeless musical soul. Following from his 2016 debut ‘Animal’, and guest production for Cold Specks’ trip hop sound, LA Timpa’s gently reserved and melancholic productions push an intimate pop vocabulary into spectral, dreamlike dimensions. Introspective and avant like Klein’s psyched chop-ups, as sensuous as Blood Orange, but with a taste for expressively harmonised pop refrains that clearly recall Yves Tumor via Richard Youngs, the album unfolds with its own logic, deploying eyelid-tugging levels of hypnagogic charm that practically demand to be heard in sequestered, lowlit situations. Seducing us to his singular temporality and hazy atmosphere with the vaporous falsetto and ambient soundfield of sirens and groggy bass in ‘Around’, a cut-up interlude leads into fragmented music box melody and intimate plainsong on ‘Fertile’, while ‘Core’ almost echoes the 4AD dream-pop of A.R. Kane, and ‘Give’ beautifully dematerialises indie-pop into ambient gauze. ‘Backyard Exotic’ surfaces his strangest side in a maze of mushied songcraft, ushering a trippier 2nd half where the songs really start to fray between ‘Caretaker’, the smokers’ hymnal vignette ‘Towel Under The Door’, before channelling Thom Yorke in the melting Mbira melody of ‘Rattle Snake’, and spooling out into proper ambient soul with the spine-tracing lines of ‘Tried Ice’ and the smudged magic of ‘Memory Phone’ where he truly divines a strength in his vulnerability in a way that should resonate with the most sensitive souls.

Nueen follows production for Iceboy Violet and a string of releases for Quiet Time Tapes, Good Morning Tapes and Balmat, with a sprawling new album for 3XL, an ambient drill epic featuring guest spots from Dawuna, Space Afrika, Loraine James, Xzavier Stone and RenzNiro. Everything clicked into place for Nacho Pezzati when he turned the humid soundscapes of his early releases into distorted beds for Iceboy Violet's casual free associations on the Hyperdub-released ‘You Said You'd Hold My Hand Through the Fire' back in 2024. He retains the same energy on 'Swerved', working alongside a team of vocalists and collaborators to locate a sweetspot between rap, dub and ambient vistas. His methodology is laid bare on 'Searchtiers', obscuring its UK drill-style sliding bass with weightless synths and gaseous FX, upping the ante when vocalist and producer Xzavier Stone jumps on the mic on 'Nowhere Near A Section'. The addition of proper hooks, adlibs and rhymes - "let it burn like Usher Raymond" - makes the production hit that much harder, not just referencing radio rap and R&B but challenging the paradigm. Fittingly, Loraine James, who early on inhabited similar zones, lends her voice to the grimy 'Atmosphere is my Style', whispering over Pezzati's hair metal samples and booming 808 Mafia-style basses. Manny's own RenzNiro checks in on 'Impls', rhyming over one of Nueen's most decisive beats, all clipped snares, gong samples and tweaked bass. And Space Afrika turn up with an assist on the low-slung highlight 'Shm', a smoove and sensual D'Angelo-style soul banger with none other than Dawuna on the mic. Dawuna returns on 'Matrix', splitting duties with Xzavier Stone who provides an impressive '00s post-jiggy hook and Pezzati's vision materialises. The haze of half-remembered bites of cloud rap, pop and club rap represents a post-P2P hauntology that's global, not really localised. And connecting with Space Africa again on the closing track 'I Guess', he travels beyond the boundaries of the album itself, lavishing SA's orchestral cries with fuzzy synths and swirling vocals.

Smouldering and aching in all the right places, Dawuna's latest mixtape is a muted hypnagogic R&B tour de force, pieced together while recovering from a traumatic head injury and conveying all the fragile, dizzy and ineffable beauty imaginable. Trust, it’s next-level gear tipped FFO D’Angelo, Prince, Niecy Blues, Soulquarians, Rodney Jerkins. ‘African Family Laptop Musick’ is Ian Mugerwa’s 4th dispatch as Dawuna since 2020’s still unfathomable ‘Glass Lit Dream’, an album that we called "the debut of the century thus far" and which has still, somehow, evaded any kind of meaningful crossover despite triggering total joy and bewilderment every single time we play it to the uninitiated. Since that album, and shortly after a relocation to Baltimore, Mugerwa was involved in a car accident that triggered a period of hospitalisation and amnesia. 'African Family Laptop Music' emerges from that difficult period; recorded and pieced together while still in recovery. He doesn't remember much about the project at this point, just small flashes, but it's easily the most personal, touching material he's shared to date. Mugerwa calls the compositions simple, but it’s the kind of simple many have spent a lifetime trying to engineer. On opener 'I am a woman too', daring lo-fi sound design lends texture to multi-tracked vocal harmonies and a beat rapped on a table with knuckles and finger clicks, before tuning in to a chat between elders on ‘Obulesi’, that he laments in the bloozy ache of the incredible ‘Family Trauma Drama’. Lashed to a celestial vocal performance, he fleshes out the arrangement with downsampled waltzing hats and a single snare hit with synths that sound like they've been lifted from a mid-'80s Sierra adventure game, before being filtered out to a low hum. There's a quiet virtuosity on show; it's lo-fi, with all the aesthetic hallmarks of some of the very best outsider gear, but Mugerwa builds on the foundations of 'Glass Lit Dream' and 'Naya' to provide an unmistakably Black ideation of hauntology. Approaching the very concept of memory from a unique vantage point, he muddles dreams and impressions, sorting through the canon (think 'Songs in the Key of Life', 'Sign O' the Times', 'Baduizm', 'Brown Sugar' and 'Full Moon' just for starters) as it vanishes from view. What makes the record hit even harder is that Mugerwa collages the more “proper” songs with skits and interludes that help map the narrative, taping conversations with his family and abstracting them with disorientating glitches, synths and FX. ‘Pressure’ pushes deep on a bittersweet bruise with lyrics about “the pain on your brain making fun of you”, set to the heaviest smudge of bass and organ recalling Angel Bat Dawid’s ‘The Oracle’, whilst the latter stages reveal precious gems in the harpsichord sway of ‘Bipolar Memory’,thru the lip-biting downswang and helium-voiced Camille vibes of ‘Grabba Boy Problem’ and a poignant sign-off addressed to his father - not sure if that’s his dad or him upstairs - in a delicate prayer ‘Undo This Damage,’ which once over, is bound to make you rake back over all Dawuna’s gear to date. "This is the last lil offering from a personal side of myself before I give y'all something big," he assures cryptically. "Enjoy." Incredible, really.

Michael J. Blood executes a stunning volte-face from rugged house and soul to more intuitive, introspective, world-building ambient jazz and electroacoustic dub realms under a new moniker SEES, signifying a newfound psychoactive frisson to his work that lands him somewhere in the spiritual vicinity of Vangelis, Moodymann, Ron Trent, Pendant, Terre Thaemlitz. ‘Ampersand Curve’ initiates a brilliant new phase of work by North Manchester’s most elusive artist, best known as Michael J. Blood. His string of ruffkut club bangers as well as jams with Rat Heart & Samizdat over the past seven years, have made his records a true cult property, and now find him signed to one of the UK’s most foundational techno imprints - more of which later this year. But under the SEES aegis, he swims in very different waters, following his instincts to use the studio-as-instrument to produce his most impressive, deep-minded work, made from - and for - the heart. Where MJB was all about off-the-cuff club jams cooked for immediacy, his new stylistic switch reveals myriad worlds of influence swirling under the hood, where interrelated spheres of spiritual jazz, dub, ambient and concrète more clearly light up his rich inner world. As the story goes, MJB was burgled a few years back, and lost most of his studio just as the project was hitting its stride. It prompted a personal review of his practice, re-learning new kit, allowing him to bend the rules. Adopting a sort of first thought, best thought approach to composition, the new methodology fuelled a renewed imagination in flux, or what he identifies as SEES: a personalised way of conveying complex emotions. That un-doing of musical and mental conditioning opens the walls of his music to vast new horizons. Opener ‘Ithaca’ fathoms sonorous midnight jazz with 10 mins of a plangent, searching sax solo in HD widescreen, like some alternate version to the Blade Runner Love Theme, while a resonant vocoder soliloquy ‘Unseem’ reaches into space harmonised between Alvin Lucier and Ron Trent, and ‘Sheer’ chases the devil out of labyrinthine dub dimensions. The floating dream architecture of ‘Caprices’ caps the LP’s underlying narrative and painterly qualities with a romantic conclusion of blushing pads and shivered, metallic echoes of the subtropical that suggest a coming-to-terms with worries, refreshed and good to go again. A huge, heartfelt tip for a 2026 stunner.

A wealth of DIY dubplates and 45s from Jah Massagan’s East London sound crop up for first time on tape with cherry-picking label Death Is Not The End - heavy roots dub troubles cut at the studios of King Tubby, Lee Perry, Channel One, and Joe Gibbs… Eljay Mass, son of Jah Massagan’s owner-operator, Lloyd Mass, dips into his dad’s enviable archive for an hour of rare, one-away platters that hail a self-organising rhizome of sound systems which sprang up in the UK with arrival of the Windrush generation, and brilliantly altered the course of music on this strange island in the process. The cassette-only session speaks to prevailing links between Caribbean culture and UK inner cities which reverberated from the ‘70s into the ‘80s, and has endured as a touchstone for some of our isles’ most vital music, setting templates for independent distribution networks and producing waves of innovative hybridisation. Owner-operator Lloyd Mass and his childhood pal and amp builder Tony Mass were a small but steadfast part of preserving these sounds, holding down their Leyton corner of London, where they would pass the torch to Eljay Mass and an extant network of rigs, engineers, Deejays and ravers who really do it for the culture.

Death Is Not The End unearth Ercilia Costa’s haunting 1920’s and 1930’s Portuguese Fado recordings made in Madrid As played in the label’s 20’s & 30’s Fado Special for NTS, Ercilia’s songs epitomise the melancholy elegance of Fado, a style of Portuguese folk music with roots in Moorish guitar music, and connections to old Portuguese trading routes and colonies.

Often credited as the father of multi-media theatre, Alwin Nikolais (1910-1993) took complete creative control over his productions - including cutting-edge approaches to lighting and costume that transformed human bodies into shifting sculptural shapes, while also composing wildly innovative electronic music as accompaniment. After initially experimenting with musique concrète and tape manipulation (as demonstrated on the 1959 LP Choreosonic Music of the New Dance Theatre of Alwin Nikolais) Nikolais became the first owner of Robert Moog's synthesizer at the Audio Engineering Society convention in New York in late 1964. Relying heavily on the Moog and later the Synclavier synth/sampler, these 21 tracks document Nikolais' highly-prescient compositions across the mid 1960s through to the late 1980s - existing not only as extensions of his other-worldly choreographic pieces, but standalone pieces of foundational mid-century American electronic and experimental music.

Often credited as the father of multi-media theatre, Alwin Nikolais (1910-1993) took complete creative control over his productions - including cutting-edge approaches to lighting and costume that transformed human bodies into shifting sculptural shapes, while also composing wildly innovative electronic music as accompaniment. After initially experimenting with musique concrète and tape manipulation (as demonstrated on the 1959 LP Choreosonic Music of the New Dance Theatre of Alwin Nikolais) Nikolais became the first owner of Robert Moog's synthesizer at the Audio Engineering Society convention in New York in late 1964. Relying heavily on the Moog and later the Synclavier synth/sampler, these 21 tracks document Nikolais' highly-prescient compositions across the mid 1960s through to the late 1980s - existing not only as extensions of his other-worldly choreographic pieces, but standalone pieces of foundational mid-century American electronic and experimental music.

qorakitobchi aka Anvar Kalandarov is a music archaeologist, musician and producer from Tashkent, Uzbekistan whose work is dedicated to uncovering forgotten sounds from across Central Asia. In recent years he has emerged as a singular voice documenting the region’s musical heritage, co-compiling Synthesizing the Silk Roads: Uzbek Disco, Tajik Folktronica, Uyghur Rock & Tatar Jazz for Ostinato Records and curating Digging Central Asia: Musical Archaeology Along the Silk Road split release for Death Is Not The End, alongside presenting his own Maqom Soul imprint. For this mixtape, Kalandarov turns his attention to the synth-pop, disco and electronic music that flourished across Central Asia during the 1980s and 1990s. Drawn from rare vinyl records, private archives and forgotten recordings, this selection explores a period when Soviet modernity, regional traditions and emerging synthesiser sounds merged to create a uniquely Central Asian vision of the future. From Uzbek disco and Tajik synth-pop to lesser-known oddities, the mix offers a glimpse into a musical world that remains largely unexplored outside the region.

Death Is Not The End return to the soul-stir sound of deep south Sacred Harp Singers in 1993 - although it could feasibly be any time since the advent of portable tape recording - in the blessed company of the Union Grove Baptist Church, Ozark, Alabama. Feels just right in this humidity… The Wiregrass Singers' Dewey Williams began learning the shape-note tradition in his childhood. He studied under Judge Jackson, who authored the landmark 1934 hymnbook The Colored Sacred Harp. In 1971, Williams formally organized The Wiregrass Sacred Harp Singers to preserve the music full-time. This unified troupe began touring nationally and leading workshops, which ultimately launched them onto stages at the Smithsonian and Newport folk festivals up until Williams' passing in 1995 when the group disbanded. The African-American Sacred Harp tradition in the Wiregrass region has steeply declined since the start of the 21st century, due to an aging generation of singers, and today it is largely sustained through archival preservation and occasional multi-book singing meetups. This raw recording, made at the Union Grove Baptist Church, Ozark in mid-April 1993 finds the group singing from B. F. White’s The Sacred Harp (1844), which together with his brother-in-law William Walker’s Southern Harmony (1835) formed the musical backbone of generations of Southern music and Southern musical styles.

Gary Sullivan's Bodega Pop project returns to Dinte with a cassette-only collection of traditional sounds plucked from CDRs found in the night-markets of Savannakhet, Vientiane, and Luang Prabang. "In Lao PDR, music was seemingly everywhere. Walking through an open field outside Savannakhet to the sound of someone playing a khaen on a distant porch, the bracing rush of electronic molam from of one of Vientiane’s many aging malls, the awkward blending of the blind so u player’s voice with the bustling sounds of Luang Prabang’s night market. It was in that UNESCO World Heritage Site that I found most of the CDs and CD-Rs from which I’ve ripped the tracks for this compilation. I’m almost certain I picked up a thumb drive at the night market that held many hours of additional music that could have been included, but if so, I’ve misplaced it, lost it for good, or simply misremember purchasing it in the first place. What I do remember is that these discs were literally the last copies in the cafe, museum, bookstore, and night market where I bought them, and not all of them played all the way through without sonic deterioration. The sounds compiled here play in stark contrast to the more contemporary recordings I found in Laos, most of which featured some form of upbeat digital workstation molam or children’s songs. In addition to the ever-present khaen, this collection includes recordings of the sanai, a single-reed instrument fashioned from a water buffalo horn, the ceremonial khong nyai gong, the pi and similar free-reeds, and at least a dozen more traditional instruments played by Lao and ethnic minority artists. While some of these tracks were laid down in Vientiane or Luang Prabang, most were recorded near where the artists lived, from the legendary Vat Phou in the far south to the former Pathet Lao capital Xam Neua in the northeast. Unlike Laurent Jeanneau’s more focused Lao collections for Akuphone and Sublime Frequencies, which remain among my favorite albums of all time, the present cassette-only selection is literally all over the PDR map. The sequencing is entirely in response to rhythm and texture and includes recordings from the 1970s, 80s, 90s, and early aughts. This may frustrate those with more of an ethnomusicology bent, but my hope is that the listener experiences something akin to wandering for the first time through this majestic country, encountering the last copies of forgotten recordings one after another, and hearing in these remains fragments of the past and a living musical landscape." – Gary Sullivan