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Strut proudly presents the first-ever reissue of a landmark 1974 Ghanaian highlife classic Sikyi Highlife by Dr K. Gyasi & His Noble Kings, originally released on Essiebons. A defining recording of the era, Sikyi Highlife bridges tradition and innovation at a pivotal moment in Ghanaian music. Deeply rooted in the classic 1950s–’60s highlife sound, K. Gyasi drew inspiration from the ancient sikyi drum-dance of the Akan people of southern Ghana, shaping the album’s rhythms around its distinctive pulse. The vocal arrangements echo the traditional Akan modal style, grounding the music firmly in Ghana’s cultural heritage. Yet Sikyi Highlife is equally forward-thinking. As electric guitars became standard in highlife during the 1960s, the 1970s ushered in further experimentation. The Noble Kings broke new ground as the first highlife guitar band to incorporate keyboards and a full horn section into their sound, expanding the genre’s sonic possibilities while retaining its rootsy spirit. Gyasi’s approach was part of a broader indigenisation movement among Ghana’s electric highlife bands in the post-independence era. Inspired by the nation’s ‘African Personality’ ethos and reinforced by Afrocentric messages arriving from American soul and funk, artists began reclaiming traditional forms within modern arrangements. Contemporaries included Koo Nimo, who revived the older palmwine style, and drummer Nii Ashitey, whose Wulomei band pioneered a folklorised Ga highlife sound from 1973. Like many musicians of his generation, Gyasi was a passionate supporter of Ghana’s independence movement. In 1963, he travelled as a musical ambassador alongside Ghana’s first president, Kwame Nkrumah, performing across North Africa and the USSR and carrying Ghanaian culture onto the world stage. The Noble Kings’ mid-’70s line-up featured some of the country’s finest musicians, including guitarist Eric Agyeman (who led the band at the time), Thomas Frimpong on drums and vocals, Ernest Honny on organ, and bassist Ralph Karikari - who was renowned for his innovative technique of translating the rhythms and tonal language of the traditional talking drum onto electric bass. Upon its original release, Sikyi Highlife became one of the biggest-selling albums of the 1970s for Essiebons, earning Gyasi the affectionate honorary title of “Dr” from his devoted fans. Today, the album remains an evergreen classic, still cherished across Ghana and beyond.
The first album ever to release on Jahtari vinyl, back in circulation for the first time since it’s original release in 2009! Twelve meticulously crafted lofi Dub oddities by disrupt, off-the-grid hiphop riddims with lots of SciFi samples, cheap synths and effects from another world, all soaked in gnarly but deeply cosmic textures and with expert low end mastering by peak time CGB1 at D&M in Berlin. This new vinyl LP version includes all-time classics like “SEGA Beats”, a killer chiphop dub cut of Misora Hibari’s “Ringo Oiwake”, as well as “Berzerk Dub” and “Echobombing” (the instrumental to Kiki Hitomi‘s “Nighwalkers“), which only have been released on CD or limited 7″ before. “The Bass Has Left The Building” comes with iconic cover art by Jimmy Cauty (KLF) – and an inlay poster with an exploding sound system…
Rarest Afro-Latinate funk fire from ’70s / ‘80s Benin, by a Vodún initiate known as “The Devil’s Prime Minister”, and recalled with admiration and fear by those he played with. A dozen cuts, 73 minutes of inimitable West African potency, performed by the crackshot L’Orchestre Poly-Rythmo de Cotonou - check for ‘Ye Ko Gni Me Towe Dea’ and you’ll know what to do next. "Even the most dedicated crate-digger might go their whole life without stumbling across any of the three LPs Antoine Dougbe released in the late 1970s and early '80s. Yet he is remembered with a mixture of admiration and fear; for Antoine Dougbe was not merely one of the most inventive songwriters to emerge from the fertile music scene of Cotonou, but also a powerful Vodun initiate whose close connection to the spirit world allowed him to refer to himself as "the Devil's prime minister." Whether driven by the thrill of the music or by fear of crossing the Devil's prime minister, Dougbe's records all feature Orchestre Poly-Rythmo playing at the absolute height of their considerable powers. But Dougbe was unique in the sense he neither sang nor performed any of the main instrumental parts. It has been suggested that his involvement with Vodun prohibited him from using his voice for anything as frivolous as a popular song. Instead he provided his songs to Melome Clement, who arranged them for the band; most of the vocals were handled by Lohento Eskill and Amoussou William."
Several years after the release of ‘Metamorphosis’ (with Sid Hille), Multicast Dynamics (Samuel van Dijk) reemerges on Astral Industries with ‘Circles’ - an enchanting two-part work venturing into deep unconscious realms. Sonic landscapes unfold in a sequence of hidden spaces and intimate revelations, featuring detailed sound design and rich thematic content. Circle One initiates the process, opening gently with glassy drones and the patter of distant voices. A faint light shimmers through swirling pools of liquid memories and melting forms. The atmosphere builds, and everything is engulfed in the act of transfiguration. Passing through the threshold, Circle Two traverses further into cavernous territories. Boundless drifting soon becomes a gravitational pull toward something deeper. Submitted to the powerful undercurrent, incoming primordial pulsations signal a quest that reaches its fated culmination. Perhaps the revelation of something long-lost, entering the Circle eludes to that which on the surface remains hidden, yet its rediscovery inevitable.
On Interview with a Cat, Marcel Broodthaers turns a deadpan Q&A with a meowing interlocutor into a razor‑sharp miniature of conceptual art: a five‑minute 1970 audio piece where questions about painting, markets and museums collapse into one insistent “miaow.” ** Edition of 150 ** This limited 12" vinyl edition of Interview with a Cat restores one of the most mischievous and incisive works in Marcel Broodthaers’ oeuvre to its properly tactile form: a short audio recording cut into a disc, complete with a fold‑out insert carrying the English translation and transcript. Originally recorded in 1970 at his self‑invented Musée d’Art Moderne, Département des Aigles in Düsseldorf, the piece stages a seemingly absurd scenario. Broodthaers, in the role of earnest interviewer, poses serious questions about “new tendencies and trends in contemporary art” to a cat. The cat responds only with meows. What sounds, at first, merely hilarious quickly reveals itself as conceptually to the point: as the artist asks if a painting is “good,” whether it aligns with the latest shift from conceptual art to a “new kind of figuration,” whether it risks becoming a new academicism, the cat’s single, invariable language becomes the perfect mirror for an art world drowning in discourse and market speculation. Formally, the work is disarmingly simple: a voice, a cat, the faint resonance of the museum environment, five minutes of call and response. Yet this minimal setup opens onto many of Broodthaers’ core preoccupations. The Musée d’Art Moderne itself was a fictional institution that he founded and installed in real spaces, a long‑running project in which eagles, labels, vitrines and bureaucratic trappings were used to probe how museums create authority, value and meaning. Placing the “interview” there doubles the satire. The artist’s questions about innovation, markets, collectors and the fate of previous artworks are exactly the questions that haunt any institutional moment of aesthetic change. The cat’s refusal to answer in human language turns every enquiry into an echo chamber of anxiety. When Broodthaers finally arrives at the deadpan injunction to “close the Museums!” and plays with the Magritte‑echoing refrain “This is a pipe / This is not a pipe,” the piece tips fully into a poetic loop where representation, language and reality chase each other in circles, while the cat keeps on meowing. The vinyl edition underscores the work’s status as both artwork and object. To “own” Interview with a Cat is to own a record of a conversation that never resolves, a “document” that simultaneously mocks and inhabits the documentary mode. The fold‑out translation and transcript extend Broodthaers’ interest in the printed word as a material surface, where typography and layout participate in the performance of meaning and its breakdown. Listening on headphones or through speakers, one hears not only a relic of 1970s conceptualism, but a work whose humour and scepticism feel uncannily current in an era where artistic value is still framed by markets, labels and increasingly opaque discourse. Born in 1924, Marcel Broodthaers began as a poet and remained one even after he “became an artist” at the end of 1963, following two decades of near‑poverty and marginal literary activity. Briefly associated with surrealism and the post‑war “surréalisme‑révolutionnaire” milieu, he turned to making objects by literally embedding unsold copies of his poetry book in plaster, a gesture that fused language, sculpture and self‑irony. In the twelve years that followed, until his death in 1976, he built a dense, elusive and profoundly influential body of work embracing poetry, books, film, photography, slides, drawings, painting and sculpture. Again and again he tested how words and images interact, how rhetoric shapes our understanding of art, and how institutions script what can be seen and said. Interview with a Cat condenses many of these themes into a compact, accessible form - a tiny masterpiece of conceptual deadpan in which the most eloquent critical position belongs, quite literally, to the animal who refuses to explain.
A sequel. An escalation. Pressure spikes from bar one: future-facing, low-latency. A firmware update for the body. Cuts bite into cuts. Fragments swarm, collide, die out. Drums stumble until they speak; samples crop up without names and leave without warning. Momentum is the one and only rule. Unpredictable, gridless, post-genre. From TikTok feed to vinyl: born digital, cut for the floor. The glitch grows a body, develops a nervous system. Match it or get out of the way. Damned be the ones that are stuck on tradition.
A further volume of Arja Kastinen's eerie amalgamations of 110 year old wax cylinders with her own meticulously transcribed takes, this time focussing in on Armas Otto Väisänen's field recordings of kantele player Iivana Mišukka (b. 1861 d.1919). "Iivana Mišukka (1861–1919) was one of the Karelian kantele players recorded by the folk music researcher Armas Otto Väisänen on wax cylinders in 1916 and 1917. In the early 20th century, the remote areas of Border Karelia were undergoing the final phase of a transformation in musical culture, with the ancient runo song tradition giving way to newer forms of music. This transition is reflected in Mišukka's repertoire and choice of instrument. The ancient small kantele, hollowed out of a single piece of wood, was already rare at the turn of the century. Mišukka’s kantele was a new type of instrument with 26 strings, constructed of several parts, but he played it using the traditional plucking technique. Like other Border Karelian kantele players, his repertoire consisted of music rooted in runosong culture, as well as newer dances and songs from the east and west. Most of the recorded material falls into the latter category. Ivan Bogdanov Mišukka was born out of wedlock in Suursara village, Suistamo, on 1 May 1861. He began playing the kantele at the age of five or six, quickly mastering the instrument. In adulthood, he was considered one of the area's best master players. Mišukka was landless for most of his life and lived in different parts of the Suistamo parish. His first wife, Tekla Markintytär, died in 1897 at the age of 40, and his second wife, Jevdokia Filipintytär Jeminen, died in 1907 at the age of 50. Seven children were born from the first marriage, two of whom died young. The third wife, Maria Ignatintytär Gurnan (Kuurnanen), was a well-known master of lamentations. Together with Maria, Iivana Mišukka worked as a tenant farmer in the village of Suursara. Mišukka suffered from rheumatism, which prevented him from participating in physical work like Maria. This was apparently partly the reason why Iivana Mišukka went to earn extra money by playing the kantele on gig trips. He often had other traditional artists from Suistamo as his travelling companions, such as the runosingers Konstantin Kuokka and Iivana Onoila. Iivana Mišukka died in Leppäsyrjä village, Suistamo, on 18 May 1919 at the age of 58, and his kantele was donated to Teppana Jänis. Mišukka only used 14 of the 26 strings on his kantele, playing the same tunes either a fourth higher or lower. He tuned his kantele to the major scale using fifths, except for a low seventh scale degree on the upper strings, but not below the fundamental. Since he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all, he could use the major scale both lower and a fourth higher with this tuning. According to Mišukka, the sound of higher, or 'finer', strings is 'more beautiful', while that of lower ones is 'greater'. Among runosingers, the size of the thirds varied, ranging from major to minor to neutral. A similar phenomenon can be observed in kantele tunings, where the third, sixth and seventh scale degrees vary in a comparable way. During a meeting, Väisänen suggested that Mišukka play the smaller kantele belonging to Konstantin Kuokka. The idea was to bring it closer to the horn to improve the recording quality. However, the kantele was completely out of tune, and now Mišukka tuned it to the Lydian scale (track 18). Using the old plucking technique, Mišukka placed his right middle finger on the fundamental tone, his right index finger on the second scale degree, his left middle finger on the third scale degree and his left index finger on the fourth scale degree, and his right thumb on the fifth. The thumb also played the notes above the fifth note of the scale. As Mišukka remarked to Väisänen: 'Peigaloll’ tuloo enemb ruadoa' (the thumb has to do more work). However, he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all. Below the fundamental note, he played the seventh and sixth notes of the scale with his right middle finger of and the fifth note of the scale with his right ring finger. This fifth scale degree below the fundamental is almost always used as a drone. Sometimes, when the melody required it, Mišukka, like other players, also varied the fingering. He would also occasionally strike the same string with the side of his fingernail after plucking it. The wax cylinder recordings of Karelian kantele players are kept in the archives of the Finnish Literature Society in Helsinki, Finland. Copies were made of them onto reel-to-reel tapes in both the 1960s and 1980s. The 1960s copies are mono and the 1980s copies are stereo. However, not all kantele recordings from these decades have survived. The sound of the kantele is difficult to hear in wax cylinder recordings due to its low volume, and it occasionally becomes completely obscured by noise. During the copying process, the cylinder sometimes rotates unevenly, resulting in breaks or jumps in the music. Additionally, the rotation speed of the cylinder in the copies does not correspond to the performance speed of the original music, which alters the pitch. However, since Väisänen's precise notes are available in the archive, it is possible to deduce the melodies, their speed, and the tuning level of the kantele in the recordings. Of the copies of the original recordings from the 1960s and 1980s, I have selected the one that best met the requirements of this publication and adjusted the speed of the recording to align with Väisänen's notes. To enhance the listening experience, I have replayed the songs, which now partly overlap the old recordings on this release." — Arja Kastinen
First time reissue of JP / US free jazz rarity. Old-style Gatefold LP with rare photographs & liner notes by Ed Hazell. Edition of 1000 BUY HERE: www.aguirrerecords.com/products/marion-brown-awofofora-lp The 1970s were Marion Brown’s most searching decade, a period during which he sought to move beyond the free jazz of the previous era and find more personal approaches to structuring improvisation and composition. After leaving New York for Europe in 1967, Brown began reshaping his music into what he described as “a more deliberate kind of music that had more structure to it,” pacing it so that moods and modes could develop over time. Albums such as In Sommerhausen, Afternoon of a Georgia Faun, Geechee Recollections, and Sweet Earth Flying trace this evolution: rhythmic structures moved to the foreground, harmony receded, and composition became a matter of orchestrating interlocking rhythmic parts as one would polyphonic lines. Released in 1976, Awofofora is an overlooked but crucial entry in that sequence. At the time, its use of funk and reggae beats, electric guitars, and grooves drawn from contemporary Black popular music led some to misread it as a jazz-rock detour. In retrospect, it is entirely consistent with Brown’s methodology. As he admired in the Art Ensemble of Chicago, the stimulus comes from within the community. Here Brown filters Afro-Caribbean rhythms and funk through his own sensibility, abstracting their structural qualities rather than adopting surface style. “La Placita,” making its first recorded appearance, layers distinct rhythmic phrases in a manner reminiscent of African drum ensembles, over which Brown and trumpeter Ambrose Jackson spin extended improvisations. The standard “Flamingo” is reshaped through diasporic rhythm and lyrical soloing, while “Pepi’s Tempo” and “Mangoes” harness crisp funk and reggae grooves to generate what Brown called a “manifestation of community” through collective improvisation. Even the overdubbed solo feature “And Then They Danced” reflects his structural thinking, ingeniously re-voicing a duet composition for two alto saxophones performed by one player. This was the only recording by a short-lived band that briefly polarized audiences during festival appearances in 1976. Yet Brown consistently sought unity across change: different sounds, same principles — rhythm as structure, melody as architecture, collective improvisation, and above all, the primacy of tone. Awofofora stands not as a departure, but as a vivid synthesis of the elements he had been refining since the late 1960s, its grooves and golden alto lines conveying a sound drawn, in his words, “from life and from the world of experience.”
"When you notice the cheerful mystery playing with the synths, the edges of this small world start to look slightly distorted. In any era, someone is always creating mysterious music on their own." (7FO) Music in DNA is an album recorded in the early 1980s in New York City and self-released in 1984 in Japan by Yasuhito Ohno, a young Japanese man breaking free from the constraints of his homeland. The album is a naive burst of outsider DIY enthusiasm, inspired by the multiple avant-garde movements of the era, in music, painting and performance, as well as the native energy of 80s NYC. Ohno channeled his youthful “edge” and zeal into open-minded lo-fi musical explorations using a mere two machines: the then-new technological glories of a four-track cassette recorder and that polyphonic synthesizer masterpiece, the Roland Juno-60; on several pieces he vocalizes. These seven tracks have a zestful, innocent, anything-goes charm, free from preciousness and self-consciousness: a raw and youthful human spirit at play in a new world. Ohno was also inspired by the humanistic promise of the general technological developments of the day, including DNA research, personal computing, and early computer graphics, an example of which can be found on the cover. Ohno later returned to Japan, becoming a renowned composer/producer. In an era of jaded cynicism, Music in DNA is a welcome taste of big-hearted innocence, a revival of a raw self. Available on CD/LP/Digital, with E/J liner notes by the artist.