Newsletter Archive




Hope all is well 

Kenneth has declared himself incapable of summoning the necessary jollity (is that a word?) to introduce this week's  newsletter, not sure I can do much better in this humidity and having been woken up at 4am by my screaming bawling daughter demanding to be reunited with her beloved TUPPERWARE LID, but hey we all survived yesterday's 39 degree shocker, even if yours truly's face resembled a half-melted Mini Magnum by the end of it. Oh summer - won't you just fuck off????

Lots of quality new arrivals, not sure where it’s all coming from, this is meant to be a quiet, as well as sweaty, time of year. The race to the top/bottom continues...

Speaking of which, mine Friday bean curry hath arrived....BUSINESSLUNCH! See ya!



NOT ON LABEL | 10" | £8.99

Sinewy, hard-hitting steppers from London way. Junior Loves has a bit of form, last seen on Tabernacle in 2018, but this new, self-released, hand-scribed 10", with two tracks served up discomix style, is very much its own thing: a timeless, unpretentious cry-tuff encounter that combines deeply rooted, meticulous production with a rawness and vulnerability in a manner that is properly compelling. 'Banner' and its more stripped, spatial version set the tone - propelled by Shaka-ish 4/4 drum-murderation and bolshy, corkscrewing, blue-going-on-purple synth lines that shrink the distance between early Ruff Sqwad/Rapid instrumentals and melancholic ambient techno. The grimy forward-lean is there also in both excursions of 'The Nore', but this one drifts further into ethereal cold-space, recalling John T. Gast's druidic soundboy cuts, dizzyingly psychedelic but precise and uncluttered, mashing up brain/dance/everything with perfectly judged patterns of attack and decay. Very limited press, cut by Leon at Music House. Massive tip on this one! 

HAPPIEST PLACE | 7" | £8.99

Machine-gun indie-pop/teenbeat - breezy, insouciant, twee-as-fuck but monomaniacal and speed-crazed with it - yeah it's the unstoppable  new 7” from Happiest Place (the label that brought us JJ Ulius and Amateur Hour), and the antidote to all the ugliness and overwroughtness and pretentiousness that blights you! Both sides are killer, the cute/crazed surf-synth zinger ‘Shampoo Nightclubbing’ instrumental only just edged by the rip-roaring, VU-worshipping ‘Annie Hall’. If indie-discos were still a thing (and probably they still are in Gothenburg) these tunes would be turn the dancefloor to rubble.
You listen to this shit and you quite seriously think - what is the point of any other music??? Very limited quantities in stock, act fast to avoid A LIFETIME OF DISAPPOINTMENT, and see also the smoking Levander Tot LP that just arrived from Happiest Place too.



Too good to be true - further unearthed tapes from authors of highest grade pubescent garage / psych, INDEX!

Comes as more than good news, almost a sense of relief, now that we can start to slightly distribute our overly intense, unrelenting adoration for the original platter to more than the original 9 songs that made up their self-titled '67 LP. Yes, these 13 streetwalker / sweetheart bonus blizzards, all but one or two, FULLY make the cut in our book.

Angsty, distorted themes for petty crime are scattered amongst soaring, hi-spec garage takes on songs The Byrds taught em. Like “Jill” - what the fuck is a song like this doing sitting in a cupboard for 50 years?!?! Sounds like a fierce, early version of The Clean running it in the red - EVERYONE feeling some sorta flicker of what cocky, youthful self-assurance would feel like when those DEEP, bellowing toms distort on the drum fills. Argh!!

Perhaps this is being dictated by our current playlist but we do get a similar sorta buzz out of Les Rallizes Denudes. WAY more direct body shots with the Index but with the sorta caveman simple rhythm unit sat high and proud while lead guitars get deep fried in distortion and whiz around your noggin like a convoy of ambulances with broken sirens. Best music!

Throw away bonus material business can take a fucking HIKE! Sanjay’s sound of the summer and probably the first thing we’ve agreed on since May.

Also new in: cassette edition of the original album...A total whurrrlyburd of unlikely, UNTOUCHABLE heart-wrenching late sixties psychedelia and straight-laced, proto-punk urgency kicked out by a crew of young Harvard hopefuls who play like they are watching their youth rapidly evaporate before their eyes. Too much love for this record. Transports us back to a breezy, feckless London summer where air guitar’ing to Index twice daily felt like the only constant.


A new imprint from the brains behind Vrystaete (Brannten Schnure, Interbellum, Brunnen++), Cabaret Curioux opens its account with this limited vinyl edition of a lost, privately distributed CDr by shadowy unheimlich electronics/death-folk moodists Ashburn County, with a sound the label likens to “Morricone on a dark trip or a soundtrack for Carnivale that was rejected because it was too strange.” Maintaining Vrystaete's impeccable standards / nose for outsider genius, its finely wrought beauty/grotesquerie variously reminds us of Sandoz Lab Technicians, Edward Ka-Spel, Andrew Liles’ My Long Accumulating Discontent, Bohren... Makings of an instant classic round these parts. 

PURGE | LP | £26.99

Perhaps the brain has undergone further wilting due to the aggressive heatwave which we are currently experiencing, but this, right now, sounds like thee most graceful thing we’ve heard in years! Not all that familiar with Zwarjtes / De Boer or their music and I’m sure there are a million interesting google’able things we could yak about on either one of them, but how can anyone focus on anything else when you hear THIS F*CKING RECORD!

It sounds like Gavin Bryars writing a farewell letter to his loved ones just before Conny Plank ships him off to space for the rest of his puff, it’s perfectly sculpted tones of reciprocal synthesis moving in heavy, theatrical / psychoactive waves that feel less in tune with the typical, distant, fading horizons of similarly poised synthesiser music and dealing more in the palpable drama, pain and ecstasy of the universal present!

Pure greatness here. Not just in the inscrutable beauty of this dusty old antique but in the flip’s contemporary rendition via The Zwarjtes Sound System…Cast aside any scepticism you could be holding re: the tribute band - this piece is one of terminal power!! Seemingly expertly choreographed movements for treated violin and synthesisers that rage and swell like an angry ocean in an immense reverberance set to dwarf all your earthly surroundings, a sense of space so acutely captured in this live recording from the EYE film museum in Amsterdam.

Yeah, if there is too a Frans shaped hole in your art-house know how, this record should act as both a window and an invitation to jump through it. For all that you gain from copping it, the price of admission still stings on this one. It does get some bonus beats for how amazing it looks though - all sorts of fancy paper / printing techniques on show - manages to feel every bit as special as it sounds once it's in your grubby paws…..

Piggy banks and card stock aside - this beast will stand tall next to all your titans of the late night, inner-mind transport zones - Ruth White, Tibor Szezmo, Kosugi, Toniutti ++++ 

Incredible, contemporary psychedelic music from New York and the welcome return of Pat Murano’s Decimus guise.

What a return it is! A day-tripper’s delight of slow burning, shape-shifting electronics that channel all the kosmology of Besombes / Rizet or Henri Roger, drifting through ambitious melodic passages and getting repeatedly dusted down in grit kicked out from the grinding mechanicals that hold these two 20 minute epiques together.

Limited to 100 copies, sold out at source. Further psychedelic swamp'age can be found on Murano's recent collaboration with guitarist Tom Carter, which arrived the same time as this beaut.


TAPE-ECHO | CS | £7.99

A live recording from Ossia’s Devil’s Dance album launch earlier this year - the final party at the much-loved Brunswick Club, your man's beast of a mixing desk, maze of pedals, sirens and turntable set up in the middle of the subterranean (and carpeted!) skittle alley, with saxophonist Ollie Moore augmenting live takes of album cuts, unreleased material and duppy-stirring, infinity-is-now improvisations. Lucky to get our claws on some copies of this very short run, sold out at source. 




Overrun with archival all-timers this week... Final deadstock CDs of this 80s experimental classik / bonechilling fragment of English industrial culture ! Nearly an hour of unsettling, droning enchantment recorded live in the unimaginably reverberant storage tanks of a disused industrial estate in 1984 when under police curfew. Some real special dirge on offer here. Manages to capture the hopeless, oppressive tone of industrial Britain, briefly numbing your mind before hot-wiring it into a primordial, time-travelling sense of DOOM - the soundtrack to the Peking Man clattering shattered skulls in the caves of Dragon Bone Hill during some undiscovered Stone Age ritual, or something. Christ, it's past my bedtime!!


New planned slot for this rag - FRIDAY AFTERNOON - more focus, less booze etc than the fabled Thursday evening pisstake. Still subjected to the usual delays, the evergreen fuckery of bickering over who is gonna do sound clips, finding things to compare any remotely modern music to that isn’t Japanese steel or a malicious robot and finding a suitable image to header the thing (who's yer pal protecting the last froth?!) +++
Anyway - ONWARDS! 




Just when you thought it was over! Having spent the last six weeks rambling to anyone that would listen aboot the brilliance of London three-piece Triple Negative (and after three beers more or less inducting them into some fantastical hall of fame), along comes this tidy wee cassette split with unknown unit Colour Buk to ensure a continuum of fanatical babble on this band that is thoroughly invigorating the belief that there is SO much left to explore.

While it bears some resemblance to their recent LP for Penultimate Press, it is almost impossible to believe that there is anything formulaic about Triple Negative’s music. It’s frighteningly complex, BUT there’s a radiance around their output that feels more akin to magic than science - having been playing together for near 20 years, it is in those untold hours of writing that they have developed their own dialect, one that we are only now hearing to be spoken so effortlessly. Eloquently unstructured piano and violin interplay duck and dive around No Neck Blues Band-style explosions of acoustic and electric guitar, every component regularly being thrown into a cramped East London rehearsal space with flurries of frenzied drum machines and percussive invocations. Anyway - ENOUGH ALREADY! There’s so much going on - with each listen yer mind will bear witness to the multidimensional, unfathomably ONIONATED layers of intricacy and destruction at play.

Phew! This Colour Buk side, while not getting the same soul-crumbling super-fan levels of attention packs a PUNCH too. Aggy, distorted misshapes that feels like all the best bits of the Heavy Metal LPs - these couple of piss-bomb punk scribbles scattered around a 14 minute monster of sinister synth purring and deftly judged, doom-laden guitar riffs that sounds like it could have been recorded after a weekend spent rattling coffins in der club of gore!!

On repeat!

Edition of 50.

NOT ON LABEL | LP | £12.99 

Re-press in plain paper sleeve. 

The second volume of previously unreleased material from cloak-and-dagger Swedish electronics project Civilistjävel!. Until last year's 1 LP their work - created mostly in the 1990s, using Juno60 and Korg MS20 - had never been officially documented or disseminated. The tracks assembled on 2 pivot away from the lonesome, levitating kosmische themes of 1, and into a dronal, dubwise, heavily psychoactive minimal techno realm. We've never heard anything quite like the steamrolling, monolithic, kickdrum-centered epic that spans all twelve icy minutes of Side 1 - never, that is, outside of a recurring dream we've had since childhood about a recommissioned Northern Rail train smuggling munitions behind enemy lines in a future rural Yorkshire as part of humanity's guerilla war effort against shadowy, possibly entirely imaginary Mysteron-like oppressors. Erm...The other two pieces that constitute this LP are paranoid, broken, sub-heavy constructions that have echoes in Jan Jelinek's Gramm or latterday stuff from Hidden Hawaii, but always with that reserve and austere, out-of-time feel peculiar to the true European mutant/drone underworld. Seriously, how had this stuff not come to light before now?! 


Stunningly well-presented, potentially Kallax-buckling 2LP incarnation of the legendary (it's the company you keep!) 2000 CD-R compilation A Lowtides Rising. 

Originally released on Antony Milton's PseudoArcana in 2003, it's an epic who's-who of the New Zealand underground at the turn of the century, a loose constellation of inspired/insane DIY musicians and home-recordists whose influence today belies their humble intentions and means of production/dissemination: Pumice, Peter Wright, Kunst/Veet (Witcyst), CJA & Anamarie, Sleep, Donald McPherson, GFrenzy, Kieran Monaghan, Swagger Jack, Birchville Cat Motel, Richard Francis, 1/3 Octave Band, Tim Cornelius, Seht, Antony Milton and James Kirk. Fördämning Arkiv, the reissue outgrowth of I Dischi Del Barone gives these lot the regal, big-boy treatment they deserve (but probably wouldn't dream of giving themselves), spreading the 16 tracks across four sides of vinyl and housing them in a "deluxe deluxe" (seriously, you can SMELL the quality) gloss gatefold sleeve with liner notes by Milton and FA's own Matthias Andersson.

An embarrassment of riches: G Frenzy’s ‘Tonight the Kids Sleep In The Car’ sounds like a demo for a Flying Nun island-hit that never was, Peter Wright and 1/3 Octave Band’s contributions repurpose downhome folk instruments and motifs for expansive, dronal free improvisation in finest Jewelled Antler fashion, James Kirk pushes things into fully crepuscular minimal ambient zone, and CJA instigate what sounds like the greatest sewer-rock-n-roll song of all time before abandoning it abruptly after 25 seconds and quite simply fucking off… too good. 16 tracks in all, hard-cut diamonds all. Yeah it's expensive... but diamonds are forever! Edition of 250. 


Originally published in the mid-1970s, Womens Work was a magazine that sought to highlight the overlooked work of female artists working at the cusp of the visual arts, music, and performance. The magazine was edited by Alison Knowles and Annea Lockwood and featured text-based and instructional performance scores by the following 25 artists, composers, and choreographers:

Beth Anderon, Ruth Anderson, Jacki Apple, Barbara Benary, Sari Dienes, Nye Ffarrabas (participating as Bici Forbes), Simone Forti, Wendy Greenberg, Heidi Von Gunden, Françoise Janicot, Alison Knowles, Christina Kubisch, Carol Law, Annea Lockwood (also included as Anna Lockwood), Mary Lucier, Lisa Mikulchik, Ann Noël (included as Ann Williams), Pauline Oliveros, Takako Saito, Carolee Schneemann, Mieko Shiomi, Elaine Summers, Carole Weber, Julie Winter, and Marilyn Wood.

GOST INSTRUMENT | 12" | £10.99
Speed trials in spaceville! Moscow’s fugitive techno abstractor, Buttechno, hands over top drawer minimal acid footraces that have a sorta rough, live, GALLOPING feel to them - the first two tracks feeling a bit like a Klettermax record taking a beating from one of those streetcleaner trucks, the second lot feeling more in line with IF’s Beverly Hills alias or some misshapen Unit Moebius album cuts. Belter!



UTR’s reissues of Return Of The Ranters and More Wealth Than Money were vital staging-posts on the way to the peak of Normil (sorry), but with What’s Going On? we have well and truly ARRIVED. There is no real name for what Normal Hawaiians were doing in the first half of the 1980s - “psychedelic post-punk” might give you the gist, but feels too prosaic…The obvious comparison for their Eno/kraut/narcotics-inspired assemblages of spiky lopsided pop songwriting, improvisation and unreality-or-nothing tape-collage is fellow Brixton-orbiters This Heat, but they feel like a different beast - more in thrall to pop, and, on this, their last and effectively lost (label Illuminated folded before it could be properly released) LP, more violently peculiar. UTR describe the content of WGO? as “experiments in British kosmische” - a judgement certainly true of the lovely ‘South Atlantic’ and ‘Going Down’, pastoral ambient aches that summon Harmonia, Deux Filles, Idea Fire Company. Even the initially more conventional-seeming songs that give the album its shape - ‘Martin’ and ‘The Big Lie’ - embrace void-chasing repetitions and teeter on the brink of total abstraction/dissolve. Elsewhere, it’s just berserk: opener ‘Quiet Village’ sets the tone, a kind of industrial folk brut that sounds like an  blind-drunk blacksmith jamming with Ghedalia Tzartes. Recorded a time of anxiety and encroaching malaise - Thatcherism was beginning to bite hard, and close friend and associate Martin Pawson killed himself in July ’83 - there was also some pressure to make a defining statement after 1982’s sprawling, piecemeal epic More Wealth Than Money. Safe to say they succeeded.. What's Going On? has an almost NWW-list-grade madness and mystery to it. 

Following their archival excavations of ‘80s Macedonian electro-pop sensation Bastion and sepulchral post-punk stylists Novostj/DSRone, ACC Records addresses the FEBRILE PRESENT with this LP of “executive information music” from London-based, Bulgarian-born Stan Iordanov aka AJ Pain. Pain is about right - these ultra-angular, cryptic, neurotic-ecstatic rhythm trax fair throttle you into submission. The label’s own description is spot-on: “The pulse is the great protagonist here - across the seven tracks we’re turning, ticking, knocking, scraping, feeling a million modulations on what a beat might be, in a panorama made up of striated and broken waves, lambent textures and metallic arabesques…this is a record that leaves you wondering what’s left of the idea of industrial music in a post-industry world.” Difficult to think of many obvious analogues for this gear, which is a compliment in itself, but fans of recent abstract dancefloor-dramas from Heith, Xyn Cabal, Eartheater and ST/NE should take a very close look.



Pacey, synth wielding, drumbox abusin' split single in the veins of Didaktische Enheit or that photo of Dan's dogs dressed up as Suicide. Well good! Edition of 150.



Thumping four tracker of dislocated, skip-diving punk devolutions that feel like a justifiably cynical update on that 1979 trash/treasure compilation "Weird Noise" on Fuck Off Records. "We are the young professionals!" Edition of 175.



Last week’s summer sloth has been somewhat redeemed through spirited in-shop DIY / flatpack assembly that truth be told, isn’t all that impressive or exciting but if we don’t tell you who THE FUCK are we gonna tell?

We’ve got a nice shelf of BOOKS on sale now, we’ll get them all up on the website pronto but come by the shop for a gander. Also worth getting off your deckchair for, we’ve put out another DOD of mixed-up second hand business. Mostly post-punk / 80s experimental business, some posh noise LPs and some other lumped and lauded nuggets. Good shit within!

ALSO we are staying open late tonight, Friday 5th July, having drinks and nurturing sun burns from 6pm till 2330 or so - music from mates Elle, Claire, Gonz and Conrad. Summer will be gone before we know it folks! 

Crazy stuff finally arriving from all over the globe this week. All you tape crackers are especially blessed - with some micro-edition cassettes of mega-clout pulling in…


Stop what you're doing! C60 reissue of Left Odours, an extremely rare solo album/compilation of strange, sardonic, demolished folk/DIY from NZ crackpot-visionary Brent Hayward in his Smelly Feet guise, featuring an array of otherwise unreleased material. 

If you're familiar with Hayward it's most likely via The Kiwi Animal (a duo with Julie Cooper), whose beautiful, austere, experimental folkways are venerated round ours, or maybe his stint in Wellington punk outfit Shoes This High (exhumed/championed decades later by Siltbreeze). Smelly Feet, whose main recorded output consisted of three self-released singles all put out in '81, has a more whimsical, private, provisional feel, songs cohering and unravelling when you least expect, but still high on the pop narcotic - think Pip Proud, Bing Selfish, Alastair Galbraith in songwriter mode, Itchy Bugger...all the good stuff! You'll quickly have your own favourites, but take it from us, 'Cadillac', 'Fashion Street' and the oddly poignant 'Pass Me The Rubbish Bag I Want To Be Sick' are bona fide goatfucking genius. 

"Smelly Feet is coming to your town soon. Smelly Feet is a person/band Brent - formerly with Shoes This High. Smelly Feet is travelling the country selling his self-produced single; with the hand battered, fold out, xerox and felt tip cover. This record stinks, metaphorically speaking- of course! Images of death and decay, festured [sic] toes and bloated bodies sloth rampantly over the landscape of ambient untuned guitar on the main course - O.H.M.S.

“I asked Smelly Feet about his guitar turning, thinking he might have swapped the strings around. What really happened was ‘I couldn’t tune the guitar in the studio at the time, and I didn’t want them thinking I was a jerk so I just played it anyway.’

“Smelly Feet is trying to do what hasn’t been done and not copying what is happening in the UK or the US, ike so many other bands. The single is sombre and depressive but his new songs are more humorous.

“‘Its easy to say everything is fucked, and point the finger, but sooner or later you have to look at yourself. You don’t have to stay in the same hole, you can always crawl to another.’”

Edition of 50 tapes, including newsprint inlay and a xerox of the inkie article quoted above, and now sold out at source… seriously, don't miss this stinkin' slice of sweet, scabrous, sub-underground pop nirvana!!!

STAUBGOLD | LP | £19.99

Finally available again - Steve Beresford and David Toop’s inimitable, emphatically dubwise, deep-sea-diving masterpiece, Danger In Paradise. I always think of DIP as a reggae album, but for all its thiiiick basslines and reverbs, in essence it’s a bizarre hybrid of exotica, art-pop and jazz (Lol Coxhill lends his sax appeal to readings of Sun Ra’s ‘Interplanetary Music’ and ‘We Travel The Spaceways’), all collaged and smeared together by Beresford and an uncredited David 'Flying Lizards' Cunningham’s ingenious tape and synthesiser treatments. It’s all over the place, but it hangs together perfectly, whether nailing Vivien Goldman/Brenda Ray-ish bedsit pop (the sleepy-eyed but swaggering, Dawn Roberts-sung opener ‘My Other Body’) or, on the mighty ‘Sea Hunt’, sounding Lee Perry tearing chunks out of The Shadows. Originally released on tape by Touch in '84, it was issued on vinyl for the first time in 2012 by Staubgold, and quickly went out of print...dankes all-round for this spick n span '19 re-press. 

INFANT TREE | CS | £6.99

New decaying kosmische spools from the bedroom of local seer Brume... Marble-rattling, synth stabbing works-for-industry Exhaust Trails takes us on a more melodic slant than previous MB haunts. Maybe melodic isn’t the right word, but it’s as if the NYC ambient school (K. Leimer / Marc Barreca etc) took a field trip across the pond and got dusted down in all the car-fart and truck-belch of central London. For all the playful, pathfinder synthesis that takes the lead, there’s a sorta agoraphobic atmosphere that hangs thick in the air throughout the whole 40 minutes or so, with delay units commanding and contorting an array of bric-a-brac powered sound design in the background. A real development of an already singular sound. To have such quality music / art so humbly documented and disseminated is rare these days, and properly exciting. 

Psycho electronic whirlwind rescued from 1976 - Horacio Vaggione and Eduardo Polonio’s maiden voyage before becoming seasoned synth nutters ( Vaggione’s “La Maquina De Cantar” and Polonio’s “Acacia La Mañana” WELL worth a gander).

In perfect cadence with the bustling, blossoming coral reef sleeve, “Viaje” is a vivid, glistening electronic ecosystem that could go head to head with all of the we-are-not-worthy astral synth spooling of all the other finest Creel Pone’d gear (Jack Tamul / Jean Hoyoux / Michael Lobel ++) that evolves with an impulsive, at times aggressive balance of improvisation / composition.

The three long-form pieces see melodies rapidly sprouting and developing in the spaces between the sprawling synthesiser tones, like plants amidst the fissures in a rock, the sonic void rapidly overflowing to shattering what anyone would think to be the limitations of the sonic spectrum!

I guess in that sense it has the properties of a noise record, all the dense, electronic landscaping and psychedelia that escalates into climactic studio pile-ups (easy lads!!) subsiding and leaving you with more space than you ever knew existed, like you’ve just realised you are trapped in a cave that is the size of the earth. Help!!

Nowt banal or bearded about this planet crashing summer scrambler. MENTAL.


Lush, poetical, high-romantic interfusings of mind and landscape from Tom James Scott (piano), Andrew Chalk (arrangements) and new foil Ecka Mordecai (cello). Mordecai’s plangent strings bring a whole new energy and colour-palette to Chalk/Scott’s well-trodden ethereal terrain, both reinforcing and revitalising it, and while there’s shortage of the wise ambient passivity we expect from and adore in all Faraway Press offerings, there are also moves towards more of a muscular, quicksilver chamber-trio dynamic - see ’Butterflies’, with Mordecai’s volatile bowed tones crescendoing across a backdrop of lush lunar synth drones and carefully portioned minor-key chords. Where in the past Chalk and Scott have typically favoured amorphous, almost vaporous compositional structures, and an emotional inscrutability that sometimes borders on constipation(!), Circaea’s pieces are relatively open, expressive, and not averse to linear narrative - a track like ‘Mirages’, for instance, combines brooding atmosphere with subtle rhythmic momentum/uplift in a manner that is positively cinematic. But not too cinematic, don’t worry…a sense of mystery and deep English reserve still prevails.

Cut ups of 80s/90s Bristol Pirate Radio broadcast, amazing snapshots that capture the spirit of the city through advertisements, phone-ins, hip hop, jungle, dancehall, house, dub + + ....SO good. 

“Smithies is the one - the place you have to come, the steak is nice, the chicken is nice, it’s Jamaican spice - down at Smithies! 126 Cheltenham Road, Telephone 241452”


Heatwave! Businesslunch! 

We’ve been working hard if working hard is threatening to paint walls, budget furniture shopping and working on a theory based around the axis of cool / lame which Sanjay has been developing in his spare time.

If Grandad could see me now..

Maintaining focus, some dead gid stuff showing up. Haven’t had THE BUZZ outta a mail-out as much as this one in wee while, so hopefully it should lift some sweaty spirits amidst your commute to/from HELL. Bleugh!!! 
Also some timely restocks in - that REQ double cassette is back on a second edition, the lost Israeli wildcard that apparently loads of people were waiting for - Amnon Raviv's "Mirror" and that garden-shed sheathed SCREAMER comp on Kashual Plastik, "No Order In Destiny".
See below!

LC xx


TURMANATOR TRANCE! Nerve-damaged, hallucinatory zoners non pareil...Robert Turman’s Flux is back in print on eat-yer-dinner-off-it 2LP and as mesmerising, whacked-out and unsettling as ever. Fuck me, it’s so good. I have no idea where RT’s head was at when he made this, but it feels like a vision of minimalism as mental illness, ambient as analogue for numbness and despond. It was his first solo release, and marked a conscious turn away from the nihilistic industrial muse he’d pursued in his previous work with NON, Z.O. Voider and others. But its meditative, measured, often breathtakingly pretty long-form pieces - each one “a complex bed of interweaving micro-stasis” made with simple configurations of tape-loops, piano, kalimba and Mini Pops Jr drum machine – have a scarred, PTSD feel, their gently eddying currents of sound suggestive of all kinds of suppressed nastiness. But hey that’s just me! Maybe the guy was genuinely jus' relaxing. It’s hard to think of many comparable records, but there’s an unmistakeable Satie influence in the gently climbing piano motifs, and elsewhere the smeared pastorals of Andrew Chalk and Vikki Jackman come to mind, but the zombie andante / zen-techno pulsations of its second half are of another planet entirely. All-timer.

EXIT | 12" | £9.99

Everything we wanted from dnb in 2019 but were afraid to ask...Skeptical's stuff sometimes leaves us a bit cold but these four dubwise, armour-plated, ultra-technical steppers are the business, with minimal, dungeon-decimating bassline torpedo 'Charge' the pick of the bunch. The production is unbelievable, seemingly sent back from the future with express orders to KILL KILL KILL, and unlike so many of is contemporaries Skep doesn't ruin every breakdown / drop-out with dodgy samples of film dialogue, instead keeping dance and bonce properly dialled-into the eternal dystopian moment. Required wreckers! 
IKUISUUS | CS | £6.99

Rabid Finns BLASTING out some smash and grab free muzak voodoo with deformed, blown-out grooves and brooding, midnight atmospheres that give ye the same high-torque hairdryer treatment as you would get sat in the front row at a Cairo Free Jazz Ensemble gig or listening to a Vermonster LP full blast in a shipping container. 

Unsettling as it is INVIGORATING, layers upon layers of elastic electronics and graceful keys lurking around - spectators to the reoccurring elephant seal deathmatch between the soaring brass and frantic percussion and leaving the whole thing feeling a bit like the soundtrack to some demented ritual that involves throwing a pile of Albert Ayler records down the stairs on the stroke of midnight, fuck knows - where’s me inhaler!?
Edition of 75.

Psycho electronic whirlwind rescued from 1976 - Horacio Vaggione and Eduardo Polonio’s maiden voyage before becoming seasoned synth nutters ( Vaggione’s “La Maquina De Cantar” and Polonio’s “Acacia La Mañana” WELL worth a gander).

In perfect cadence with the bustling, blossoming coral reef sleeve, “Viaje” is a vivid, glistening electronic ecosystem that could go head to head with all of the we-are-not-worthy astral synth spooling of all the other finest Creel Pone’d gear (Jack Tamul / Jean Hoyoux / Michael Lobel ++) that evolves with an impulsive, at times aggressive balance of improvisation / composition.

The three long-form pieces see melodies rapidly sprouting and developing in the spaces between the sprawling synthesiser tones, like plants amidst the fissures in a rock, the sonic void rapidly overflowing to shattering what anyone would think to be the limitations of the sonic spectrum!

I guess in that sense it has the properties of a noise record, all the dense, electronic landscaping and psychedelia that escalates into climactic studio pile-ups (easy lads!!) subsiding and leaving you with more space than you ever knew existed, like you’ve just realised you are trapped in a cave that is the size of the earth. Help!!

Nowt banal or bearded about this planet crashing summer scrambler. MENTAL.

ULTRA ECZEMA | LP | £17.99

Trust ol’ man Tyfus to unleash this American psychobilly, Frankie Hurricane, onto unsuspecting European audiences. The album (originally a self-released tape, then issued as a CDR on Joshua Burkett's Mystra label) is tie-dye Manson Family folk meets the ear-worm vocal melodies and loner-jazz/orchestral arrangements of Blod’s Knutna Nävar. Throw in the heart-bleed blooz of ‘One Night At Wildorado’ and it’s only a sidestep to the ‘gangstrous’ hip-hop excursions of ‘Who U Is?’ and ‘Pymp World’ around the corner (neither of which would be out of place on Del-boy Edwards’ L.A. Club Resource). It’s an art-damaged-folk DIY-hip-hop-country travelogue clearly patched together at different times with borrowed equipment and with no mind paid to consistency (refreshing!). The fact that the LP was written in Georgia might be the only thing that gives it any sense of plausible context. But only maybe. Approach this one with an open mind and you shall be rewarded time and time again. Edition of 250 copies with insert. 
SEAGRAVE | 2CS | £13.99

WHOA. Much needed second edition of this staggeringly well-presented double-cassette compilation of unreleased tracks from the archives of one of our all-time favourite producers: UK graffiti pioneer and Brighton native REQ, whose deep, droning, dub-smudged hip-hop scapes quietly deconstructed and remodelled the genre in late 90s - for those who were listening, anyway. We’re paraphrasing slightly, but it was another avowed fan, Lee Gamble, who said that REQ’s 1997 album One is to hip-hop what A Guy Called Gerald’s Black Secret Technology is to jungle. Like B.S.T., REQ’s music has a strung-out, quiet, reflective, Isolationist intensity to it, it’s music made not for the dancefloor but for intense private zoning… proper head music, unerringly rhythmic but constantly threatening pure ambient drift, and sounding as alien, smoked-out and futuristic today as it did 20+ years ago. Curt, tuff boom-bap rhythms are smeared and smothered into space-curdling abstraction, loops are sustained and hooks repeated for way longer than any right-thinking rap producer would dare - yeah REQ’s music feels, at times, like hip-hop extrapolated into a new kind of minimal B-boy techno. Not to mention the foregrounding of crackle and tape-hiss, reverb and delay, which is rooted in classic 90s sampledelia but clearly prefigures the early 2000s micro/dub experiments of Jan Jelinek, Pole etc and the kind of ultra-spatialised sound design we take totally for granted today. The lost tunes assembled across this set of two tapes feel like tunes too long, too cerebral, too fucked-up to fit in the context or duration of a conventional, commercially released album, and as such they represent REQ at his most bold, idiosyncratic and avant-garde. Seriously, fucking hell, this is nothing short of the MOTHERLODE. I need to have a lie-down. 

Pair of pro-dubbed cassettes - 1 black, 1 white - with contrasting on-body prints from REQ's 90's graffiti blackbook. Supplied in a double butterfly case with full-colour double-sided j-cards. Includes download code and die-cut sticker designed by REQ.


This Kind of Punishment’s third and final album: reverberant art-rock death-jag In The Same Room. If TKOP’s self-titled debut was the sound of a band finding its feet, and if the texturally adventurous chamber-pop on Beard of Bees is represents their artistic zenith, then In The Same Room is… what? Well it's my favourite, for what its worth. Beautifully, vividly recorded - its title couldn’t be more apt, this now extremely rare swansong for one of New Zealand's best ever bands offers an embarrassment of riches: ‘Immigration Song’ and ‘Don’t Go’ hark back to the post-punk slash-and-burn of the pre-TKOP grouping Nocturnal Projections, the spiky, jangling folk implosions of ‘Overground In China’ and ‘The Men By The Pool’ anticipate Peter Jeffries’ surly solo masterpiece Last Great Challenge In A Dull World, while the windswept widescreen ‘On Various Days’ surely numbers among the very best songs in the Flying Nun catalogue. Absolute belter. 


Strictly business today!

Slight and possibly unnecessary modifications made to the website today, apologies to anyone who’s browsing experience was terrorised.

Ye, not got much time for chat tonight (its barbecue weather! kinda!), loadsa wicked stuff arrived today though, see below.



ULTRA ECZEMA | 7" | £9.99

WILD two-tracker from Lebanese-American artist akimbo Nour Mubarak turned one-woman band for Dennis the mennis Tyfus' Ultra Eczema imprint. It's disorderly, desirous pop in rapid, low fidelity transit. A joyride with the breaks cut listening to some Kas Product / Neon tapes, the impulsive, sorta self-conscious bedroom jangle of Itchy Bugger, the unlikely summer balladry of Brenda Ray. Fark. Yes, THAT good. 

“Synapse Fusion Refusal” offers five minutes of phasing, subway-station recorded guitar riffs chasing their tail around distant, tin rhythm-box presets and wrung-out, violently manipulated vocals - all the elements feeling as chaotic and THRILLING as going downhill in an old, rickety, unmanned streetcar, the friction between them acting as the only component to give any direction.

“Wont to Wanton Eyebath” bears all the stealthy, rhythmic shadow boxing of an early Lena Platoons cut, Mubarak’s FX drenched poetics and deep spoken word moving like dry ice between the sluggish low-end beat patterns, that could be mistaken for one of those oddball NYC electro 45’s from the mid 80s playing at the wrong speed. Perfect 7”!!

ULTRA ECZEMA | 7" | £9.99

Boozy, Belgian covers of Velvet Underground from the late 80s. Only 200 copies of this party-starter!
EARLY MUSIC | CD | £7.99


Live 10 April, 2019
EARLY MUSIC | CD | £7.99

CD-R. Cold, refined but utterly transcendental blues minimalism, documenting a duo performance by Jon Collin and Sarah Hughes that took place barely two months ago at Rhizome in Washington, DC. With its small-hours echoes of John Surman’s classic ECM outings and the mighty Vor Der Flut compilation, this disc has knocked us for six - Collin using his treated, tremulous guitar sorcery to create sparse, impressionistic but utterly absorbing environments for his collaborator’s woodwind and reeds to roam in and grapple with. Hughes’ interventions begin as ghostly residue, a droning spirit-world rebuke to the alive and unseeing and ungrateful, but then swell unexpectedly, and ecstatically, to climaxes of weeping, plangent, unaffected jazz lyricism. And back again. If this one does anything for you, make sure you check Collin and Jordan Perry’s Charlottesville, 10 April 2019, which is also newly available courtesy of Early Music. You need both sets, to be honest, but the Hughes/Collin disc is just extraordinary… one of the year’s finest, no doubt.

JOLLY DISCS | LP | £10.00

**Vinyl edition, housed in full picture sleeve.** Free, fresh, rowdy-cum-wistful rave/blooz mutations from Thomas Bush and Guy Gormley (Special Occasion, Enchante), improbably applying hardstyle tempos to breezy, dub-scuffed pop songs with soca/funky-derived rhythms and eerie, ambient/folk textures (what?). Hashed out over a few sessions at GG’s studio over the road from us back in December, it’s a looser, spacier excursion than the duo’s last RAP outing, the brightly lit and tightly wound ‘Originals’ - and in true Jolly Discs fashion it goes down so easy it takes a few listens before the true extent of its craft and daring and attention to detail becomes apparent. Those of us craving more from Bush after last year’s banging Old & Redought to be first in line - his distinctive young-druid vocals are used sparingly, but very effectively, here, while as co-producers he and Gormley deliver something more than the sum of themselves, folding upful, bashy UK house tropes into a more private, moody, crepuscular sphere - a world where floatation-tank techno chords, steel-drum vamps and LFOish sub-bass plasma-bursts co-exist with eldritch swirls of woodwind and stately, high-lonesome piano nocturnes. It could be music imagined from a point so far in the future, or by a civilisation so far away, that they perceive the temporal and cultural distance between Gareth Williams and Karizma to be effectively zero. Or just people making stuff to suit themselves, and kindly sharing the spoils with you>>>>

JOLLY DISCS | 12" | £8.99

Dunno how it’s going wherever you are in the world, but - UNTIL TODAY AT LEAST - summer in London 2019 has been, to use the official meteorological term, “utter shite”. Thank god then for this factor-30-slathered 6-track 12” from Special Occasion, Guy Gormley and David Gray’s first new material together since 2017’s brilliant The Word tape (so brilliant, you may recall, that we were moved to give it a vinyl release via our shoppe label a year later). They’re back with the Jolly Discs mothership now for Ibiza Redux’s salt-breezed, sun-gilded and all-instrumental paeans to the White Isle – we’re assuming they have in mind its more secluded, er, more More-ish spaces rather than the paved-with-Englishman’s-vomit main drag. Not that this stuff isn’t dance music / wouldn’t sound good if you were mullered – opener ‘Sandstone’ occupies the no man's land between Virgo Four and Double's ‘Captain Of My Heart’ (eek!), while ‘Rampling’’s bruk, soca-ish snares and heat-warped steel-drums evoke more of a London thing, finding magic at the crushed-tinny-and-chicken-bone-strewn outer edge of carnival. 'Jet Ski' and 'Big Wheel', with their triumphantly twee synth lines and trilling coin-op FX, split the difference between peak Metro Area and the soundtrack to Sonic The Hedgehog: Amnesia '87. But generally the SO MO is more sensitive, melancholic, exposed: see especially the bittersweet empyrean jazz of ‘Let Me In’, with its echoes of Antena, Crépuscule, The Sea and Cake’s Oui... before 'Rupies' brings you back to port on a raft of ruff, rolling dub-house. The prevailing mood throughout is WISTFULNESS. Our favourite thing. Azure skies and seas recollected from behind rain-lashed English windows. Ecstasy meets unrequited love. Yeah Ibiza Redux is pretty much my favourite celebration / deconstruction of the Balearic experience since the Pet Shop Boys' 'Domino Dancing' vid. No higher praise than that! 
SOFT ABUSE | 7" | £7.99

On first listen this new 7" from Claire Mahoney's "slowly scrambled solo endeavour" Thistle Group seemed a bit slight, bit wispy, but more fool me... it's a wild animal, a blinder, but the kind you have to meet in the middle. 'Hold On' lays down the sleep-deprived, hyper-sensitised, high-lonesome vibe: Mahoney's drowned-folk vocalisations bobbing and weaving amidst industrial flotsam / ice-floe, strangled guitar and funereal one-armed-drumming. Party! 'High' gestures in the direction of pop bliss, with its spacey Fisher Price keyboard tones (think Pickle Factory, Call Back The Giants etc) and gently climbing lullaby melody, and 'Always The First Sleep' combines righteously involuted axe-melt in the tradition of Mahoney's countrymen Brian Crook and the Dead C with cold machinic death-throb, and 'Into The Night' comes over like some unholy hybrid of CDF and early '90s Whitehouse.  

VHF | LP | £21.99

Top drawer garage band abstractions and droning, static-clash hauntology from the Dead C's Bruce Russell and fellow Christchurch racket-maker Luke Wood, previously released as a micro-edition lathe cut on Wood's Illam Press. A small child just walked in the shop as we were playing "Visceral Realists" for the first time and dubbed it "engine music". Not far off, kiddo! 

Twisted,  strangled bedroom pop from Portland. Part synth pop / new wave / garage / post-punk. Sounds like a outta-tune Glaswegian indie troupe (think a slowed down Vital Idles) in a head-on collision with RAP/Special Occassion/Jolly Discs crew.  Skittish and unwieldy in the best possible way - never the same on the next go-‘round. One of last year’s gems that slipped our attention.