Jagjaguwar Vinyl, CD & Tape 126 Items

The descent into darkness is a trope we find time again across history, literature and film. But there’s also an abyss above. There’s a winding white staircase that goes ever upward into the great unknown — each step, each turn, requiring a greater boldness and confidence than the one before. This is the journey on which we find Angel Olsen.

Olsen's artistic beginnings as a collaborator shifted seamlessly to her magnificent, cryptic-to-cosmic solo work, and then she formed bands to play her songs, and her stages and audiences grew exponentially. But all along, Olsen was more concerned with a different kind of path, and on her vulnerable, Big Mood new album, 'All Mirrors,' we can see her taking an introspective deep dive towards internal destinations and revelations. In the process of making this album, she found a new sound and voice, a blast of fury mixed with hard won self-acceptance.

This will come as no surprise to those who've followed GGM since 2014's Bishouné: Alma Del Huila, the critically-lauded, self-produced EP that put him on the map, and served as sample fodder for a handful of popular music's most iconic artists. His follow-up LP, 2017's Jardin, melded classical and folkloric instruments with rnb, hip-hop, and cumbia, proving once again that Gabriel is totally comfortable making transformative, funky, cathartic records all by himself. Agüita, his first release for Jagjaguwar, is a sequence of impossibly diverse offerings ranging from trap anthems to string-drenched art pop ballads - a prismatic self-portrait, personal and universal all at once. The artist is present, and he is in final form. The magic of Agüita lives in Gabriel's ability to consolidate a range of truths into a focused, crystallized idea. "Bloom," "Blue Dot," and "Fields" compare the growth and loss inherent in human life with the changing of the seasons and the life cycles of the universe; on "Fields," Garzón-Montano evokes the despondent whimper of Thom Yorke. There are mirrors of the same themes in compositions like "With a Smile," "Tombs," "Someone," and "Moonless," a quartet of songs that explore the births and deaths of the relationships we have with the people we love; on "Moonless," Gabriel explores for the first time his struggle with the grief of his mother's passing: "Mama died / and I was moonless in a Stygian tide...trying to hide the ripening tumor / breathing fire, love but a rumour / There's a woman in my sky / 17 when I learned to cry_" It is to his immense credit as a songwriter that we are left with an understanding of the depth of his loss, despite having never experienced it. Equally impactful are the trap and reggaeton cuts - the album's energetic high points. On "Agüita," "Mira My Look," and "Muñeca," GGM delves into club-banger territory, performing in Spanish for the first time on record. Whether you're here for the medium, or for the message, for the man himself, or one of his characters, Agüita stands as the strongest installment thus far in a series of alarmingly sincere, sensationally profound works, from an artist who has sought not only to challenge established preconceptions and categories, but to expose their ultimate unworthiness. From composition to execution, the product distills the essence of Gabriel Garzón-Montano's genius, an uninterrupted creative process rare in this age of fattened album credits.

"Even my subconscious is self-conscious," Okay Kaya sings on "Inside Of A Plum", giving us a sense of the mental state she entered while making SAP, an album she wrote, performed, engineered, and produced alone, sometimes spending weeks at a time without social interaction. This is a concept album about consciousness in which Okay Kaya focuses her trademark combination of abstraction and wit on what happens to her mind unaccompanied, on her tendency to feel less like a human and more like the sticky secretion of a tree. After releasing her Spellemann Award winning album Watch This Liquid Pour Itself in January of 2020, Kaya left her home in New York and moved to Europe to create and show her various interdisciplinary exhibitions. Among others, she made an installation that amplified music made underwater and an interactive sculpture based on Jungian sandplay therapy for children. Between her exhibits, Kaya recorded through lockdowns by herself in the loaned studios of generous friends. SAP first grew from the first single "Spinal Tap" about Kaya wandering in Berlin, tree-touching. "Sap reminds me of the bodily functions I need to remember to do, like sleep. One might say it `resinates.'" The album was further inspired by Ketamine Therapy which is discussed in "The Inside Of A Plum." Kaya explains, "The doctor said this treatment grows literal physical branches in your brain." As she experimented with ego death, the subject of her song "Jazzercise", Kaya found herself writing in the voices of fictional characters she'd encountered in other people's stories. In `Jolene From Her Own Perspective,' she imagines Dolly Parton's nemesis responding to her song. In `Origin Story,' Kaya writes as a mythical goddess frustrated with her creation myth. In `I've Spent Forever Planning A Crisis,' Kaya responds to Cassavetes' film A Woman Under The Influence writing from the perspective of the story's children. Okay Kaya's investigations of mind-body come along with sexy dance beats, unpredictable interlocking synths, delicate soft guitars, and close-to-the-mike R&B whispering. But Kaya likes her falsettos cracking and her soul-inspired hooks careening wildly, a beautiful chaos that somehow fits together. When she returned to New York, Kaya was excited to collaborate again, to get friends to "bless the record." She invited friends to Gaia Studios in Greenpoint, Brooklyn to sing or play an instrument. Most songs on the album unfold with guest performances from artists as varied as deem spencer, Taja Cheek of L'Rain and Adam Green of The Moldy Peaches. Just as the recording process began with isolation and ended with friends, SAP starts with the internal and leads outside to romance, to lovers who serve as funhouse mirrors, reflecting Kaya back to herself from different angles. In "Pearl Gurl" Kaya harmonizes with her multi-tracked second self and sings her uncertain conclusion: "If love is not the answer, it's one hell of a question."

It feels appropriate in our current climate. Words from Moses, "Black in Deep Red, 2014 was ignited by the first and last time I attended a protest.

It was in the fall of 2014, after a grand jury decided not to charge the offending officer in the Mike Brown murder, delivering the verdict just in time for them to get home for Thanksgiving. I felt like a camouflaged outsider at the protest, like an anthropologist performing a study amongst his own kind.

I took to the mountains soon after that and wrote these songs, wondering if power was a transferable device that could change hands through the vocalizing of unrest.

Features bonus track "Take it With Me". All We Grow was and is a convergence of S. Carey's young lifetime spent immersed in music: his Waltz For Debby-era Bill Evans inflected jazz tendencies; his performance degree in classical percussion from the University of Wisconsin, Eau Claire; his cental role in the galeforce power of the Bon iver live show; his hints of Mark Hollis' Talk Talk. In his downtime on tour with Bon Iver, Sean would spend time pining for his life at home, dreaming and composing in that headspace. All We Grow also retests the waters of modern classical composition, investigating the moodiness generated by percussive repetition in a manner familiar to fans of Steve Reich. For as spacious as they are, Carey's compositions are incredibly dynamic, with moments of bombast held right next to moments of subtle depth and texture. How apropos, then, that this anniversary edition of All We Grow adds a cover of Tom Waits' "Take it With Me", a timeless lullaby from another artist whose voice strikes us in bracing, unexpected ways. Ten years ago, S. Carey and All We Grow crept into our world like a seedling _ delicate and unassuming, but putting down roots that would deepen and grow whether we saw them or not. Ten years later, S. Carey and All We Grow endure as a part of our soil, an earthen, inextricable part of planet Jagjaguwar. At a time when serenity feels particularly scarce, All We Grow stands as a classic album - born without expectation and met with adoration - a cathartic result of Carey's extraordinary and vibrant life experiences that resonates loss, dreams and heart in a manner so instantly relatable, you feel as though you can touch it.

Sharon Van Etten has always been the kind of artist who helps people make sense of the world around them, and her sixth album, We've Been Going About This All Wrong, concerns itself with how we feel, mourn, and reclaim our agency when we think the world - or at least, our world - might be falling apart. How do we protect the things most precious to us from destructive forces beyond our control? How do we salvage something worthwhile when it seems all is lost? And if we can't, or we don't, have we loved as well as we could in the meantime? Did we try hard enough? In considering these questions and her own vulnerability in the face of them, Van Etten creates a stunning meditation on how life's changes can be both terrifying and transformative. We've Been Going About This All Wrong articulates the beauty and power that can be rescued from our wreckages. We've Been Going About This All Wrong is as much a reflection on how we manage the ending of metaphorical worlds as we do the ending of actual ones: the twin flames of terror and unrelenting love that light up with motherhood; navigating the demands of partnership when your responsibilities have changed; the loss of center and safety that can come with leaving home; how the ghosts of our past can appear without warning in our present; feeling helpless with the violence and racism in the world; and yes, what it means when a global viral outbreak forces us to relinquish control of the things that have always made us feel so human, and seek new forms of connection to replace them. We've Been Going About This All Wrong is intensely personal, exploring themes like motherhood, love, fear, what we can and can't control, and what it means to be human in a world that is wracked by so much trauma. The track "Home To Me," written about Van Etten's son, uses the trademark "dark drums" of her previous work to invoke the sonic impression of a heartbeat. Synths grow in intensity, evoking the passing of time and the terror of what it means to have your child move inevitably toward independence, wanting to hold on to them tightly enough to protect them forever. In contrast, "Come Back" reflects on the desire to reconnect with a partner. Recalling all the optimism of love felt in its infancy, Van Etten begins with the plain beauty of just her voice and a guitar, building the arrangement alongside the call to "come back" to anyone who has lost their way, be it from another person or from themselves. Hovering between darkness and light, "Born" is an exploration of the self that exists when all other labels - mother, partner, friend - are stripped back. Unlike Van Etten's previous albums, there will be no songs off the album released prior to the record coming out. The ten tracks on We've Been Going About This All Wrong are designed to be listened to in order, all at once, so that a much larger story of hope, loss, longing and resilience can be told. This is, in itself, a subtle act of control, but in sharing these songs it remains an optimistic and generous one. There is darkness here but there is light too, and all of it is held together by Van Etten's uncanny ability to both pierce the hearts of her listeners and make them whole again. Things are not dark, she reminds us, only darkish.

Sharon Van Etten has always been the kind of artist who helps people make sense of the world around them, and her sixth album, We've Been Going About This All Wrong, concerns itself with how we feel, mourn, and reclaim our agency when we think the world - or at least, our world - might be falling apart. How do we protect the things most precious to us from destructive forces beyond our control? How do we salvage something worthwhile when it seems all is lost? And if we can't, or we don't, have we loved as well as we could in the meantime? Did we try hard enough? In considering these questions and her own vulnerability in the face of them, Van Etten creates a stunning meditation on how life's changes can be both terrifying and transformative. We've Been Going About This All Wrong articulates the beauty and power that can be rescued from our wreckages. We've Been Going About This All Wrong is as much a reflection on how we manage the ending of metaphorical worlds as we do the ending of actual ones: the twin flames of terror and unrelenting love that light up with motherhood; navigating the demands of partnership when your responsibilities have changed; the loss of center and safety that can come with leaving home; how the ghosts of our past can appear without warning in our present; feeling helpless with the violence and racism in the world; and yes, what it means when a global viral outbreak forces us to relinquish control of the things that have always made us feel so human, and seek new forms of connection to replace them. We've Been Going About This All Wrong is intensely personal, exploring themes like motherhood, love, fear, what we can and can't control, and what it means to be human in a world that is wracked by so much trauma. The track "Home To Me," written about Van Etten's son, uses the trademark "dark drums" of her previous work to invoke the sonic impression of a heartbeat. Synths grow in intensity, evoking the passing of time and the terror of what it means to have your child move inevitably toward independence, wanting to hold on to them tightly enough to protect them forever. In contrast, "Come Back" reflects on the desire to reconnect with a partner. Recalling all the optimism of love felt in its infancy, Van Etten begins with the plain beauty of just her voice and a guitar, building the arrangement alongside the call to "come back" to anyone who has lost their way, be it from another person or from themselves. Hovering between darkness and light, "Born" is an exploration of the self that exists when all other labels - mother, partner, friend - are stripped back. Unlike Van Etten's previous albums, there will be no songs off the album released prior to the record coming out. The ten tracks on We've Been Going About This All Wrong are designed to be listened to in order, all at once, so that a much larger story of hope, loss, longing and resilience can be told. This is, in itself, a subtle act of control, but in sharing these songs it remains an optimistic and generous one. There is darkness here but there is light too, and all of it is held together by Van Etten's uncanny ability to both pierce the hearts of her listeners and make them whole again. Things are not dark, she reminds us, only darkish.

Sharon Van Etten has always been the kind of artist who helps people make sense of the world around them, and her sixth album, We've Been Going About This All Wrong, concerns itself with how we feel, mourn, and reclaim our agency when we think the world - or at least, our world - might be falling apart. How do we protect the things most precious to us from destructive forces beyond our control? How do we salvage something worthwhile when it seems all is lost? And if we can't, or we don't, have we loved as well as we could in the meantime? Did we try hard enough? In considering these questions and her own vulnerability in the face of them, Van Etten creates a stunning meditation on how life's changes can be both terrifying and transformative. We've Been Going About This All Wrong articulates the beauty and power that can be rescued from our wreckages. We've Been Going About This All Wrong is as much a reflection on how we manage the ending of metaphorical worlds as we do the ending of actual ones: the twin flames of terror and unrelenting love that light up with motherhood; navigating the demands of partnership when your responsibilities have changed; the loss of center and safety that can come with leaving home; how the ghosts of our past can appear without warning in our present; feeling helpless with the violence and racism in the world; and yes, what it means when a global viral outbreak forces us to relinquish control of the things that have always made us feel so human, and seek new forms of connection to replace them. We've Been Going About This All Wrong is intensely personal, exploring themes like motherhood, love, fear, what we can and can't control, and what it means to be human in a world that is wracked by so much trauma. The track "Home To Me," written about Van Etten's son, uses the trademark "dark drums" of her previous work to invoke the sonic impression of a heartbeat. Synths grow in intensity, evoking the passing of time and the terror of what it means to have your child move inevitably toward independence, wanting to hold on to them tightly enough to protect them forever. In contrast, "Come Back" reflects on the desire to reconnect with a partner. Recalling all the optimism of love felt in its infancy, Van Etten begins with the plain beauty of just her voice and a guitar, building the arrangement alongside the call to "come back" to anyone who has lost their way, be it from another person or from themselves. Hovering between darkness and light, "Born" is an exploration of the self that exists when all other labels - mother, partner, friend - are stripped back. Unlike Van Etten's previous albums, there will be no songs off the album released prior to the record coming out. The ten tracks on We've Been Going About This All Wrong are designed to be listened to in order, all at once, so that a much larger story of hope, loss, longing and resilience can be told. This is, in itself, a subtle act of control, but in sharing these songs it remains an optimistic and generous one. There is darkness here but there is light too, and all of it is held together by Van Etten's uncanny ability to both pierce the hearts of her listeners and make them whole again. Things are not dark, she reminds us, only darkish.

If it's really a post-genre world, why does everything sound the same? The two halves of Tampa rap duo They Hate Change_Dre (he/him) and Vonne (they/them)_first came together in front of the apartment complex where they both lived as teens. Dre had just moved down from Rochester, NY; Vonne was trying to sell him bad weed. It was clear from the start that the two listen to music differently from most people_they're sonic omnivores, obsessive deep-divers, lovers of rare and radical sounds. Starting as kids trawling the internet for tracks, they've been collecting music from around the world and across the decades, amassing a shared sonic knowledge so deep that "encyclopedic" barely begins to cover it _ not just the East Coast hip-hop that Dre grew up on, or the hyperlocal bass-music variants like jook (the Gulf Coast's twerkably raunchy answer to house) and crank (think "Miami bass meets Nola bounce"), but also drum `n' bass, Chicago footwork, post-punk, prog (they're, like, seriously into prog), grime, krautrock, emo, and basically any genre on the map. Once they graduated to DJs on the Tampa DIY scene _ which includes everything from punk rock house parties to the black "teen nights" that pop up in rec centers and ballrooms _ they figured out how to pull all these disparate sounds together into a cohesive style. More importantly, they figured out how to make it something people will actually move to. When they made the transition to rapping and making beats, they brought that pleasure-seeking approach to sonic experimentation with them. "With this album, Vonne says, "it's really like, okay, you know how you talk about the internet breaking down borders? Here's what that actually sounds like. It's not just a hip-hop record with a couple more weird sounds. You want homegrown DIY? This is a record that was written, produced, and recorded in a 150-squarefoot bedroom from the least cool city you could think of." Finally, New is what a truly post-genre musical landscape is supposed to be: building deep connections that transcend outdated distinctions between them, spilling over with the joy of exploration and possibility, and daring other artists to think broader, go deeper, take bigger risks. Let the rest of them keep playing by the old rules_They Hate Change will keep changing the game.

If it's really a post-genre world, why does everything sound the same? The two halves of Tampa rap duo They Hate Change_Dre (he/him) and Vonne (they/them)_first came together in front of the apartment complex where they both lived as teens. Dre had just moved down from Rochester, NY; Vonne was trying to sell him bad weed. It was clear from the start that the two listen to music differently from most people_they're sonic omnivores, obsessive deep-divers, lovers of rare and radical sounds. Starting as kids trawling the internet for tracks, they've been collecting music from around the world and across the decades, amassing a shared sonic knowledge so deep that "encyclopedic" barely begins to cover it _ not just the East Coast hip-hop that Dre grew up on, or the hyperlocal bass-music variants like jook (the Gulf Coast's twerkably raunchy answer to house) and crank (think "Miami bass meets Nola bounce"), but also drum `n' bass, Chicago footwork, post-punk, prog (they're, like, seriously into prog), grime, krautrock, emo, and basically any genre on the map. Once they graduated to DJs on the Tampa DIY scene _ which includes everything from punk rock house parties to the black "teen nights" that pop up in rec centers and ballrooms _ they figured out how to pull all these disparate sounds together into a cohesive style. More importantly, they figured out how to make it something people will actually move to. When they made the transition to rapping and making beats, they brought that pleasure-seeking approach to sonic experimentation with them. "With this album, Vonne says, "it's really like, okay, you know how you talk about the internet breaking down borders? Here's what that actually sounds like. It's not just a hip-hop record with a couple more weird sounds. You want homegrown DIY? This is a record that was written, produced, and recorded in a 150-squarefoot bedroom from the least cool city you could think of." Finally, New is what a truly post-genre musical landscape is supposed to be: building deep connections that transcend outdated distinctions between them, spilling over with the joy of exploration and possibility, and daring other artists to think broader, go deeper, take bigger risks. Let the rest of them keep playing by the old rules_They Hate Change will keep changing the game.

S. Carey is the moniker of Eau Claire, Wisconsin-based multiinstrumentalist, songwriter, and producer Sean Carey. Over the past decade, Carey has fostered his flourishing solo career via themes of nature and sustainability, songwriting built from jazz beginnings, and heartfelt, emotive lyricism. His latest and fourth album, Break Me Open, is best described in his own words: In Break Me Open, I confronted darkness, I wrote about fear, I looked at love from different angles, I left it all out on the field. These past couple years have been the hardest of my life: full of grief, loss, and change. I feel like I had two choices. I could run from life, turn away, grow cold, resort to drugs, run and keep running. Or, I could give myself a deep look within. I could dig deep where the pain lives, where fear is festering, to try shed a new skin and come back a better person.Everyone is so far from perfect. This is not a "divorce" album. And while going through that has shook me to my core, leaving me at times, wondering who I am, and where to go, this record is bigger. It's about love - past, present, and future. It's about fatherhood - the overwhelming feeling of deep love for my kids and the melancholy of watching them grow up right before my eyes. It's about accepting my faults and wrongdoings, exposing myself, and trying to know myself better than I did the day before. But above the darkness, it's a message of hope, honesty, and growth. It's a call to be vulnerable: Break Me Open.

Jagjaguwar 25th Anniversary compilation featuring covers of songs originally by Tracy Chapman, Stereolab, Dinosaur Jr., Smog, and more by the likes of Angel Olsen, Bruce Hornsby, Jamila Woods, and other Jagjaguwar artists and friends. Midway through his long, earnest and often very, very funny essay on the role playing game Dungeons & Dragons in the September 2006 issue of The Believer, writer Paul La Farge proposes that Dungeons & Dragons is not a game at all but rather a ritual. La Farge notes the marked difference between game and ritual. Whereas a game seeks to demonstrate how unequal or distinct players/teams are from one another, rituals seek to do the very opposite. "Ritual, on the other hand, is the exact inverse, for it brings about a union," La Farge writes, himself paraphrasing anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss. "Or in any case an organic relation between the initially separate groups." And so, across the 25-year history of Jagjaguwar, an independent record label curiously named using a Dungeons & Dragons name generator, we find this idea of ritual as a conjoining practice. We see it early on when Jagjaguwar joins forces with a midwestern label called Secretly Canadian for a powerful fusion. We see it in familial relationships and collaboration among Jagjaguwar artists, and the ways those artists' most treasured collaborators make their ways to the Jagjaguwar game board. Join The Ritual, the third piece of Jagjaguwar's 25th Anniversary celebration, looks to pay homage to the labels and artists that, whether they know it or not, invited Jagjaguwar to the table, to this wild, dark magic ritual of music. We're talking about independent titans like Drag City, Too Pure, K Records and Touch & Go. We're talking about heroes like R.E.M., Slint, Stereolab and Tracy Chapman. These songs captured the imaginations of our founders Darius Van Arman and Chris Swanson - and ultimately, opened up worlds to them.

· First release of the Jagjaguwar 25th anniversary celebration happening in 2021. · Features production and composition accompaniment from Bon Iver, Mary Lattimore, Angel Bat Dawid, Gia Margaret, and Sam Gendel. · Limited edition Opaque Green vinyl. Over the last 12 years, Ross Gay's poems have given us indelible images and phrases of radical empathy and unabated gratitude; about community, collaboration, connectedness and hard work. They have crept into our hearts and made a home of all of us. And so we are launching our 25th Anniversary celebration with `Dilate Your Heart', our first spoken word album since titan Robert Creeley's self-titled release twenty years ago. "Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude" is given a gorgeous, slowly creeping bed of vines by Bon Iver, as Gay's unadorned voices speaks a lifetimes of Thank You's. On "Burial," harpist and composer Mary Lattimore's lunar landscape follows Gay's voice into space, telling of our endless energy exchange with nature. Chicago's Angel Bat Dawid dances with the frenetic, joyous scene Gay leads us through on "To the Fig Tree on 9th and Christian," in which a group of Philadelphia strangers scramble together to harvest the fruit of the titular urban fig tree. Songwriter Gia Margaret provides a mystical, amniotic environment for Gay's "Poem To My Child If Ever You Shall Be," a love letter to an imagined future child, treating Gay's voice like a message in a bottle to a far off idea made only of love and potential. Sam Gendel, a secret weapon collaborator, affects Gay's voice on "Sorrow Is Not My Name" to something glassy and almost singsongy. Throughout, Gay recites his poems with bright aliveness, his voice as warm and easy when he speaks about death as when he speaks about mercy, or love.

Sky Blue Vinyl.Unbound opens with a single, trembling chord that rises anddescends before meeting a warm, beguiling voice, a voicesinging in a tradition that's been heard in this northern rivercountry for millennia. The music that follows is a soulfuldialogue between the ancient tradition of powwow singing anda contemporary musical palette. On Unbound, the powwowstyle of singing is entwined with synthesized voice modulation,and hand drumming is accented with electronic samples andbeats _ the harmonies and resonances are equal parts culturaland musical.Geographically, Bizhiki is almost wholly a made-in-Wisconsinproject, a collaboration between Dylan Bizhikiins Jennings, JoeRainey and the multi-instrumentalist Sean Carey (S. Carey), whofor years has been a secret weapon within the Bon Iver family.Bezhikiins Jennings grew up singing within the powwowtradition, around the Lac Du Flambeau and Lac Courte Oreillesreservations in Central Wisconsin. He now makes his home inNorthern Wisconsin, on the Bad River reservation on the shoresof Lake Superior. He's joined on the album by his adoptedbrother, Rainey, a Red Lake Ojibwe powwow singer fromMinneapolis who now makes his home within his wife's OneidaNation on the shores of Lake Michigan.The collaboration between these three musicians first began atthe Eaux Claires festival in 2015. The festival was being organizedon Ojibwe's ancestral homelands, and the organizers didn't feelright without the inclusion of the native communities who livednearby. Bizhikiins Jennings remembers getting an invitation toplay the festival and thinking "I wish more people would say this_ that instead of reading from some land acknowledgement,that they would say `we're gonna give your people space andjust invite you to do what you wanna do.'" The open-endednessof the initial invitation and the "let's just do something together"spirit continues to inform Bizhiki's process.Recording steadily over the course of years _ and between...

Unbound opens with a single, trembling chord that rises anddescends before meeting a warm, beguiling voice, a voicesinging in a tradition that's been heard in this northern rivercountry for millennia. The music that follows is a soulfuldialogue between the ancient tradition of powwow singing anda contemporary musical palette. On Unbound, the powwowstyle of singing is entwined with synthesized voice modulation,and hand drumming is accented with electronic samples andbeats _ the harmonies and resonances are equal parts culturaland musical.Geographically, Bizhiki is almost wholly a made-in-Wisconsinproject, a collaboration between Dylan Bizhikiins Jennings, JoeRainey and the multi-instrumentalist Sean Carey (S. Carey), whofor years has been a secret weapon within the Bon Iver family.Bezhikiins Jennings grew up singing within the powwowtradition, around the Lac Du Flambeau and Lac Courte Oreillesreservations in Central Wisconsin. He now makes his home inNorthern Wisconsin, on the Bad River reservation on the shoresof Lake Superior. He's joined on the album by his adoptedbrother, Rainey, a Red Lake Ojibwe powwow singer fromMinneapolis who now makes his home within his wife's OneidaNation on the shores of Lake Michigan.The collaboration between these three musicians first began atthe Eaux Claires festival in 2015. The festival was being organizedon Ojibwe's ancestral homelands, and the organizers didn't feelright without the inclusion of the native communities who livednearby. Bizhikiins Jennings remembers getting an invitation toplay the festival and thinking "I wish more people would say this_ that instead of reading from some land acknowledgement,that they would say `we're gonna give your people space andjust invite you to do what you wanna do.'" The open-endednessof the initial invitation and the "let's just do something together"spirit continues to inform Bizhiki's process.Recording steadily over the course of years _ and betweenseveral project...

Crack Cloud has always been something beyond a rock band: bothprofound and grand, vaporous and elusive.The first iteration of Crack Cloud was formed nearly a decade ago as aproxy-rehab outlet on the fringes of Calgary. Over time, two EPs andaccompanying visual pieces were produced out of the residence knownas Red Mile. By 2017, several members had relocated to Vancouver,working out of harm reduction centers and low-barrier shelters. Sobriety,self-reformation and the idealism of their work further formed an ethosfor Crack Cloud. It was during these years that the band produced theirastounding 2020 album Pain Olympics. At once, their vision becameexpansive, cinematic.Now, Red Mile is a bit of a homecoming. Members have returned toCalgary. But Calgary/home has become a liminal space, a place of flux.After a decade of personal and collective growth, what does home evenmean? Red Mile is, for them, something like samsara: a return and arebirth.Red Mile's sound breathes expansive energy into the circuitous, streetbound sonics of Crack Cloud's prior material. Fizzling synths intertwinewith chiming pianos. Songs layer like Russian nesting dolls; one may finda Ramones chorus set within a desolate Western prog soundtrack only towatch it erupt into a joyous anthem. Real-ass guitars _ alternately lilting,scuzzy and soaring _ ring out across wide sun-bleached spaces. In 2024,the cumulative effect is (in rock instrumentation terms) naturalistic. Anywhiff of embalmed nostalgia is absent. Even the close of the album - awinding, alllllmost Jerry Garcia guitar noodle that leads us out of Red Mile- is delivered without sentimentality. Principal songwriter Zach Choy'slyrics are cutting but merciful, with a sharp self awareness that neverslides into self-satisfaction. Crack Cloud as artists are critical _ andultimately as forgiving _ of themselves as they are the melting worldaround them. The songs balance an easy charm and cathartic power:affirming life without denying de...

Crack Cloud has always been something beyond a rock band: bothprofound and grand, vaporous and elusive.The first iteration of Crack Cloud was formed nearly a decade ago as aproxy-rehab outlet on the fringes of Calgary. Over time, two EPs andaccompanying visual pieces were produced out of the residence knownas Red Mile. By 2017, several members had relocated to Vancouver,working out of harm reduction centers and low-barrier shelters. Sobriety,self-reformation and the idealism of their work further formed an ethosfor Crack Cloud. It was during these years that the band produced theirastounding 2020 album Pain Olympics. At once, their vision becameexpansive, cinematic.Now, Red Mile is a bit of a homecoming. Members have returned toCalgary. But Calgary/home has become a liminal space, a place of flux.After a decade of personal and collective growth, what does home evenmean? Red Mile is, for them, something like samsara: a return and arebirth.Red Mile's sound breathes expansive energy into the circuitous, streetbound sonics of Crack Cloud's prior material. Fizzling synths intertwinewith chiming pianos. Songs layer like Russian nesting dolls; one may finda Ramones chorus set within a desolate Western prog soundtrack only towatch it erupt into a joyous anthem. Real-ass guitars _ alternately lilting,scuzzy and soaring _ ring out across wide sun-bleached spaces. In 2024,the cumulative effect is (in rock instrumentation terms) naturalistic. Anywhiff of embalmed nostalgia is absent. Even the close of the album - awinding, alllllmost Jerry Garcia guitar noodle that leads us out of Red Mile- is delivered without sentimentality. Principal songwriter Zach Choy'slyrics are cutting but merciful, with a sharp self awareness that neverslides into self-satisfaction. Crack Cloud as artists are critical _ andultimately as forgiving _ of themselves as they are the melting worldaround them. The songs balance an easy charm and cathartic power:affirming life without denying de...

There are ghosts all across AVANTI, the debut album fromMalice K. At points it's howling and unhinged, a grungy layeratop a lush foundation of melodic capital-s Songwriting, but inother moments it dissolves into a gentle, wistful haunting.Malice K's songs are blunt, uncomplicated and unflinching as heprobes the interiority of memories, of mistakes - saturated withan innate intensity that sucks you into his gnarled and visceralworld, so barbed it could draw blood.Malice K is helmed by visual artist and songwriter AlexKonschuh, New York-based but born and raised in Olympia,Washington. Following a stint living in Los Angeles, where hebecame a member of the artist collective Death Proof Inc., a tripto New York resulted in him simply never leaving the city. Aperiod of chaos ensued, Malice K exhausted and unmoored andultimately, unwell.The record is unpredictable across its 11 songs. The album openswith a jarring scream on "Halloween," Malice K's breathlessvocals buried beneath a grungy, roving Nineties riff. The trackemanates a manic energy, enveloping. It's a fitting entrypointfor the record, and for the vividness of Malice K. The snarling andobsessive "You're My Girl" has a swaggering paranoia: "I got sohigh I thought my hand touching my hand was your hand." ButAVANTI exists in quieter moments too; "Radio," with itsfluttering morose cello, moves at an almost glacial pacecomparatively. The aching wistfulness of "The Old House" is analbum stand-out, anchored in an acoustic guitar, an uneasylullaby that never quite settles into itself: "I think to myself I gotthe things that I wanted, but I can't help think there'ssomething else that I forgot to do."A recent press interview called Malice K a shapeshifter, but he'snot amorphous in that way. He's decisive and intense, moreconcerned with carving his own path, and building his ownworld. Every part of Malice K is distinctly himself: from hissweaty high-octane shows to the high-flash high-contrastphotos;...

There are ghosts all across AVANTI, the debut album fromMalice K. At points it's howling and unhinged, a grungy layeratop a lush foundation of melodic capital-s Songwriting, but inother moments it dissolves into a gentle, wistful haunting.Malice K's songs are blunt, uncomplicated and unflinching as heprobes the interiority of memories, of mistakes - saturated withan innate intensity that sucks you into his gnarled and visceralworld, so barbed it could draw blood.Malice K is helmed by visual artist and songwriter AlexKonschuh, New York-based but born and raised in Olympia,Washington. Following a stint living in Los Angeles, where hebecame a member of the artist collective Death Proof Inc., a tripto New York resulted in him simply never leaving the city. Aperiod of chaos ensued, Malice K exhausted and unmoored andultimately, unwell.The record is unpredictable across its 11 songs. The album openswith a jarring scream on "Halloween," Malice K's breathlessvocals buried beneath a grungy, roving Nineties riff. The trackemanates a manic energy, enveloping. It's a fitting entrypointfor the record, and for the vividness of Malice K. The snarling andobsessive "You're My Girl" has a swaggering paranoia: "I got sohigh I thought my hand touching my hand was your hand." ButAVANTI exists in quieter moments too; "Radio," with itsfluttering morose cello, moves at an almost glacial pacecomparatively. The aching wistfulness of "The Old House" is analbum stand-out, anchored in an acoustic guitar, an uneasylullaby that never quite settles into itself: "I think to myself I gotthe things that I wanted, but I can't help think there'ssomething else that I forgot to do."A recent press interview called Malice K a shapeshifter, but he'snot amorphous in that way. He's decisive and intense, moreconcerned with carving his own path, and building his ownworld. Every part of Malice K is distinctly himself: from hissweaty high-octane shows to the high-flash high-contrastphotos;...

Darning Woman is an intentional, beautiful, sometimes confrontational album that shreds expectations of DIY, bedroom music, and feminine themes. There's a lushness and maternal instinct at play, as Coope connects the dots between physicality, ephemera, and the ultrafeminine. "I don't really like to deal that much with themes of personal hardships, or heartache and love," says Anastasia Coope. "Ultimately, I work most honestly with the language of what is happening in a moment and the passage of time around it. That, coupled with my reaction to entering the artistic landscape, and my thoughts about what does and doesn't get representation, comprises most of this album." Darning Woman explores, among other things, the meditative aspect of sewing, patching and embellishment, care and repair, collection not as modern, craven consumption but as a counterpoint to materialism. This sort of collection - the good kind, the gathering of things to make a home - can be, in Coope's words, "A very baby way to critique capitalism. Birds make nests, right? It can be a new life for a thing that was made. What you surround yourself with matters." To that end, Anastasia Coope is also the founder and leader of the Bonzo collective and show series, an exciting new home for the type of expansive, profoundly creative scene that New York has been missing for some time. And while Bonzo may well be the ascent of a new community, Darning Woman is the story of Anastasia Coope, herself. It is the sound of Coope entering the world as an artist, acknowledging the tangle of what changes - the gaze of the world, Coope's art in reaction and community to art in general - and what does not: her ideas and her own self.

Darning Woman is an intentional, beautiful, sometimes confrontational album that shreds expectations of DIY, bedroom music, and feminine themes. There's a lushness and maternal instinct at play, as Coope connects the dots between physicality, ephemera, and the ultrafeminine. "I don't really like to deal that much with themes of personal hardships, or heartache and love," says Anastasia Coope. "Ultimately, I work most honestly with the language of what is happening in a moment and the passage of time around it. That, coupled with my reaction to entering the artistic landscape, and my thoughts about what does and doesn't get representation, comprises most of this album." Darning Woman explores, among other things, the meditative aspect of sewing, patching and embellishment, care and repair, collection not as modern, craven consumption but as a counterpoint to materialism. This sort of collection - the good kind, the gathering of things to make a home - can be, in Coope's words, "A very baby way to critique capitalism. Birds make nests, right? It can be a new life for a thing that was made. What you surround yourself with matters." To that end, Anastasia Coope is also the founder and leader of the Bonzo collective and show series, an exciting new home for the type of expansive, profoundly creative scene that New York has been missing for some time. And while Bonzo may well be the ascent of a new community, Darning Woman is the story of Anastasia Coope, herself. It is the sound of Coope entering the world as an artist, acknowledging the tangle of what changes - the gaze of the world, Coope's art in reaction and community to art in general - and what does not: her ideas and her own self.