Ghostly International Rock & Indie 25 Items

Since their debut as Brijean, the project ofpercussionist/singer-songwriter Brijean Murphy(the percussive heartbeat for live bands like Mitski,Poolside, and Toro y Moi) andmulti-instrumentalist/producer Doug Stuart hasmoved with ingenuity, fusing psych-popabstraction with dance floor sensibilities. Throughthe body and mind, rhythm and lyricism, theymake sense of the worlds around and within; 2021'sFeelings celebrated self-reflection; 2022's Angeloprocessed loss, coinciding with the duo's firstheadlining tour, which doubled down on thematerial's desire to move. Now, across the playfulexpanse of Macro, arriving in 2024 on GhostlyInternational, Brijean engages different sides ofthemselves, the paradox of being alive. They'veleveled up to meet the complexities and harmoniesof the human experience with their most dynamicsongwriting yet. Colorful, collaborative,sophisticated, and deeply fun, the album animatesa macrocosm with characters, moods, and points ofview rooted in the notion that no feeling is final andthe only way out is through.

Memories - places, vacancies, allusions - are fundamental characters in Mary Lattimore's evocative craft. The Los Angeles-based harpist recorded her breakout 2016 album, At The Dam, during stops along a road trip across America, letting the serene landscapes of Joshua Tree and Marfa, Texas color her compositions. In 2018, from a restorative station - a redwood barn, nestled in the hills above San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge - emanates Hundreds of Days, her second full-length LP with Ghostly International. The record sojourns between silences and speech, between microcosmic daily scenes and macrocosmic universal understandings, between being alien in promising new places and feeling torn from old native havens. It's an expansive new chapter in Lattimore's story, and an expression of mystified gratitude. A study in how ordinary components helix together to create an extraordinary world.

After nearly three years and sixty demos, Launder's full-length debut is Happening. In 2019, Orange County-raised, Los Angeles-based musician John Cudlip signed to Ghostly International to build his recording project, developed out of casual sessions with friends Jackson Phillips (Day Wave), Soko, and Zachary Cole Smith (diiv). Launder's music had seen unexpected attention, with Stereogum placing it "somewhere at the intersection of `90s lo-fi and shoegaze," and Gorilla vs. Bear noting Cudlip's "serious knack for the kind of wistful, soaring choruses that immediately make you feel like you've known these songs forever." With live shows paused in 2020, he immersed fully into writing and arranging an overflow of ideas. Cudlip also embraced sobriety, redirecting his once-destructive addictive tendencies into studio craft _ all his thoughts consumed by melody and texture, all his resources lobbed into gear, every buzz, hiss, and hum of this record became his entire world. The resulting set sprawls across a double LP release; it's a considered beast of a debut and he's proud of it, living with it, finally. Through its thirteen songs, Happening is timeless, grappling with something bigger than just melody, the cathartic and the tender, indebted to indie rock greats while informed by modern and prudent self-reflection. "I feel like I've evolved into a much more self-reliant writer compared to the EP and 7-inch releases but I couldn't have made this record without the band," he says. "The songs came to life in the rehearsal space with them, it was like a light switch went on." To record the album, Cudlip and collaborators _ including Chase Meier (bass), Bryan DeLeon (drums), Nathan Hawelu (lead guitar) _ joined co-producer, engineer, and mixer Sonny DiPerri (My Bloody Valentine, Nine Inch Nails, Diiv) at New Monkey Studio, the vintage analog/modern digital recording studio in Van Nuys, California once owned by Elliott Smith. Cudlip mapped out his dream setup; alternate-tuning a fleet of Fenders to facilitate his left-handed playing, experimenting with different amps (a late `70s Marshall JMP carried much of the sound), and getting the vocals just right on Smith's old Neumann U48 microphone and Fairchild compressor. With each nuanced adjustment and improved take, they'd joke, "it's happening." The sort of phrase you say to keep the vibe light _ but there was some gravity behind it _ as the group was forced to wait to be safely in the same space again. It was apparent to them that something magnetic was shaping this record. Where debuts often feel full of rough-hewn potential, Launder has crafted a deeply honed collection that is happening right now. A process-oriented album, the work of a person maturing with their art, the sound of a songwriter pushing through their limits with thrilling and anthemic outcomes.

Angelo is an EP, named after a car, featuring nine songs Brijean have crafted and carried with them through a period of profound change, loss, and relocation. It finds percussionist and singer Brijean Murphy and multi-instrumentalist/producer Doug Stuart processing the impossible the only way they know how: through rhythm and movement. The months surrounding the acclaimed release of Feelings, their full-length Ghostly International debut in 2021 which celebrated tender self-reflection and new possibilities, rang bittersweet with the absence of touring and the sudden passing of Murphy's father and both of Stuart's parents. In a haze of heartache, the duo left the Bay Area to be near family, resetting in four cities in under two years. Their to-go rig became their traveling studio and these tracks, along with Angelo, became their few constants. Whereas Feelings formed over collaborative jams with friends, Angelo's sessions presented Murphy and Stuart a chance to record at their most intimate, "to get us out of our grief and into our bodies," says Murphy. They explored new moods and styles, reaching for effervescent dance tempos and technicolor backdrops, vibrant hues in contrast to their more somber human experiences. Angelo beams with positivity and creative renewal _ a resourceful, collective answer to "what happens now?". Angelo the car is a 1981 Toyota Celica they got off Craigslist during their first stint in Los Angeles, where Murphy and Stuart have since settled. "Such a bro-y, `80s dude car, it's been super fun to drive around in a new town," Murphy says. "He's older than us, he's a classic, he's got a story." It is a spiritual vehicle with a cinematic appeal, first dropping them off in an alleyway for the scene-setting intro, "Which Way To The Club." The question is quickly resolved by "Take A Trip" as a cruising basslinemingles with crowd sounds, hand-claps, cuíca hiccups, whip-cracks, even a horse neigh. Brijean have found some club on this cross-dimensional trip - the kind of imagined space or cham...

Mary Lattimore's music functions as a kind of emotional synesthesia. Rather than seeing colors when she hears notes, Lattimore feels things: sadness, hope, longing, memory. She funnels all of that into stirring songs composed on her harp. "I feel like a lot of my music is me channeling feelings or memories," she says. "I just do whatever I want, and try to paint a picture of a memory."The memory that provides the basis for At the Dam is particularly striking. Lattimore received a prestigious fellowship from the Pew Center for Arts & Heritage - a rare honor given out to just 12 people every year - and she used the funds to take a road trip across America with a friend, writing and recording songs at each stop along the way. Armed with little more than her harp and her laptop, Lattimore drew inspiration from each location, letting the environments in which she recorded seep into her work. The result is music that is stirring, delicate and beautiful, Lattimore's harp at times bright and skipping, other times distant and hazy, swathed in gauzy delay. The net effect feels like what it is, recreations of moments from the past, tender, soft and warm.

Los Angeles-Based H...

On vinyl for the first time.

In the late 2000s a sprawling catalog of what is now genre-defining music was emanating from an unlikely place. Cleveland, Ohio has a broad reputation for many things, but in the aughts, psyche-expanding Kosmische wasn't necessarily Cleveland's calling card_ until Emeralds. The trio of John Elliott, Steve Hauschildt, and Mark McGuire had released a profusion of limited-run cassettes, CD-Rs, and vinyl titles that had been passed around basement shows and then migrated to niche music communities online, creating a unique kind of murmur at the height of the DIY blog era. Three kids from the rust belt were crafting a distinctive and truly far-out strain of music on their own terms in the Midwest. They were flipping lids in wood-paneled basements and circulating around the underground with soaring sounds stylistically indebted to deep German electronic music pioneers and released with the ethos and twisted fervor of renegade Midwestern noise freaks. After several releases garnered a die-hard fandom in niche circles of internet/music culture, and then catching the attention of the late Peter Rehberg, the renowned artist and curator of the Editions Mego label, an expectation was set that the next Emeralds record was going to be a big one. And in 2010, Does it Look Like I'm Here was it.Artistically, the album is a definitive statement; this is to say it was crafted by heads for heads, a genuine article and a profoundly deep listen, but the mainstream dove in too. Pitchfork acknowledged the rarefied nature of the album's electricity with a "Best New Music" rating. This crossover success is a result of the tracks' potency and wonderfully engineered and succinct structures. It's dialed in. Still creating their distinct yawning cosmic sound, Elliott and Hauschildt shower the stereo spectrum with shimmering arpeggios, dusty, melodically dynamic swells, rippling FM textures, and canyon-wide waveshapes. McGuire's signature guitar playing echoes emotive new age pathos and cascading astral space rock trance states. Their p...

Through evocative, emotionally resonant music, Goodbye, Hotel Arkada , the new LP from American harpist and composer Mary Lattimore , speaks not just for its beloved namesake _ a hotel in Croatia facing renovation _ but for a universal loss that is shared. Six sprawling pieces shaped by change; nothing will ever be the same, and here, the artist, evolving in synthesis, celebrates and mourns the tragedy and beauty of the ephem - eral, all that is lived and lost to time. Documented and edited in uncharacteristically measured sessions over the course of two years, the material remains rooted in improvisation while glistening as the most refined and robust in Lattimore's decade-long catalog. It finds her communing with friends, contemporaries, and longtime influences, in full stride yet slow - ing down to nurture songs in new ways. The cast includes Lol Tolhurst (The Cure), Meg Baird, Rachel Goswell (Slowdive), Roy Montgomery, Samara Lubelski, and Walt McClements . "When I think of these songs, I think about fading flowers in vases, melted candles, getting older, being on tour and having things change while you're away, not realizing how ephemeral experiences are until they don't happen anymore, fear for a planet we're losing because of greed, an ode to art and music that's really shaped your life that can transport you back in time, longing to maintain sensitivity and to not sink into hollow despondency." For the title and inspiration, Lattimore's mind returns to the island of Hvar in Croatia, where she first saw those silver ladders at the water's edge. "There's a big old hotel there called the Hotel Arkada, and you could tell it had been hosting holiday-goers for decades in a great way. I walked around the lobby and the empty ballrooms and it looked like a well-worn, well-loved place. My friend Stacey who lives there told me to `say goodbye to Hotel Arkada, it might not be here when you get back' and I heard soon after that it was actually going to be renovated in a very crisp, modern way." Lattimore became fixated on the ingredients that make a place special _ for Hotel Arkada, the patinaed chandeliers, the patterned bedspreads, the echoes of its intangible charm _ and how when those leave this world, as they inevitably always will, it feels import - ant to memorialize them, "to bottle it for a brief second.

Since their debut as Brijean, the project ofpercussionist/singer-songwriter Brijean Murphy(the percussive heartbeat for live bands like Mitski,Poolside, and Toro y Moi) andmulti-instrumentalist/producer Doug Stuart hasmoved with ingenuity, fusing psych-popabstraction with dance floor sensibilities. Throughthe body and mind, rhythm and lyricism, theymake sense of the worlds around and within; 2021'sFeelings celebrated self-reflection; 2022's Angeloprocessed loss, coinciding with the duo's firstheadlining tour, which doubled down on thematerial's desire to move. Now, across the playfulexpanse of Macro, arriving in 2024 on GhostlyInternational, Brijean engages different sides ofthemselves, the paradox of being alive. They'veleveled up to meet the complexities and harmoniesof the human experience with their most dynamicsongwriting yet. Colorful, collaborative,sophisticated, and deeply fun, the album animatesa macrocosm with characters, moods, and points ofview rooted in the notion that no feeling is final andthe only way out is through.

After nearly three years and sixty demos, Launder's full-length debut is Happening. In 2019, Orange County-raised, Los Angeles-based musician John Cudlip signed to Ghostly International to build his recording project, developed out of casual sessions with friends Jackson Phillips (Day Wave), Soko, and Zachary Cole Smith (diiv). Launder's music had seen unexpected attention, with Stereogum placing it "somewhere at the intersection of `90s lo-fi and shoegaze," and Gorilla vs. Bear noting Cudlip's "serious knack for the kind of wistful, soaring choruses that immediately make you feel like you've known these songs forever." With live shows paused in 2020, he immersed fully into writing and arranging an overflow of ideas. Cudlip also embraced sobriety, redirecting his once-destructive addictive tendencies into studio craft _ all his thoughts consumed by melody and texture, all his resources lobbed into gear, every buzz, hiss, and hum of this record became his entire world. The resulting set sprawls across a double LP release; it's a considered beast of a debut and he's proud of it, living with it, finally. Through its thirteen songs, Happening is timeless, grappling with something bigger than just melody, the cathartic and the tender, indebted to indie rock greats while informed by modern and prudent self-reflection. "I feel like I've evolved into a much more self-reliant writer compared to the EP and 7-inch releases but I couldn't have made this record without the band," he says. "The songs came to life in the rehearsal space with them, it was like a light switch went on." To record the album, Cudlip and collaborators _ including Chase Meier (bass), Bryan DeLeon (drums), Nathan Hawelu (lead guitar) _ joined co-producer, engineer, and mixer Sonny DiPerri (My Bloody Valentine, Nine Inch Nails, Diiv) at New Monkey Studio, the vintage analog/modern digital recording studio in Van Nuys, California once owned by Elliott Smith. Cudlip mapped out his dream setup; alternate-tuning a fleet of Fenders to facilitate his left-handed playing, experimenting with different amps (a late `70s Marshall JMP carried much of the sound), and getting the vocals just right on Smith's old Neumann U48 microphone and Fairchild compressor. With each nuanced adjustment and improved take, they'd joke, "it's happening." The sort of phrase you say to keep the vibe light _ but there was some gravity behind it _ as the group was forced to wait to be safely in the same space again. It was apparent to them that something magnetic was shaping this record. Where debuts often feel full of rough-hewn potential, Launder has crafted a deeply honed collection that is happening right now. A process-oriented album, the work of a person maturing with their art, the sound of a songwriter pushing through their limits with thrilling and anthemic outcomes.

Kate Bollinger's songs tend to linger well beyond their run times, filling the negative space of ordinary days with charming melodies and smart phrasings. She writes them at home in Richmond, Virginia, letting her subconscious lead, an open-ended process she likens to dreaming. From a chord progression appears a line, maybe a syllable will start to stick, enough to pursue, but she says sometimes the words don't feel likeher own, more like shapes that form in the mind's sky. Bollinger's musical universe is relaxed, tender, and unassuming; within lives a timeless sensibility, a songwriter's knack for noticing the little things and their counterpoints. Darkness and light, pain and pleasure, reality and escape. Her new EP, Look at it in the Light, her first project on Ghostly International, is collaborative; she shoots music videos with her friends and colors each of her folk-pop songs with musicians in her community. The title Look at it in the Light is a reference to the aspects of Bollinger's life that she knows need examining. For one, there's her persistent resistance to change _ she chooses to ignore it on the title track ("I try not to notice / I deny my fate"), as wiry strums sync with crisp drums. She surrenders to comfort on "Who Am I But Someone," a light and softly psychedelic number. "Yards / Gardens" finds Bollinger in full swing, skipping verses of uncertainty above a bright and nimble bassline and kick. Guitar riffs unravel across the bridge, trailing her lines like ellipses. The string-backed "Lady in the Darkest Hour" is the set's most luxuriant statement, recorded during a session at Matthew E. White's Spacebomb Studios with in-house arranger Trey Pollard (Natalie Prass, Helado Negro). Here her lines ring bittersweet yet reassuring, uplifted by swells of golden-hued instrumentation. From the hushed abstractions of "I Found Out" to the biting suspicions of closer "Connecting Dots," Kate Bollinger uses every inch of this dazzling EP to find her footing amidst the ever-present sways of life

Kate Bollinger's songs tend to linger well beyond their run times, filling the negative space of ordinary days with charming melodies and smart phrasings. She writes them at home in Richmond, Virginia, letting her subconscious lead, an open-ended process she likens to dreaming. From a chord progression appears a line, maybe a syllable will start to stick, enough to pursue, but she says sometimes the words don't feel likeher own, more like shapes that form in the mind's sky. Bollinger's musical universe is relaxed, tender, and unassuming; within lives a timeless sensibility, a songwriter's knack for noticing the little things and their counterpoints. Darkness and light, pain and pleasure, reality and escape. Her new EP, Look at it in the Light, her first project on Ghostly International, is collaborative; she shoots music videos with her friends and colors each of her folk-pop songs with musicians in her community. The title Look at it in the Light is a reference to the aspects of Bollinger's life that she knows need examining. For one, there's her persistent resistance to change _ she chooses to ignore it on the title track ("I try not to notice / I deny my fate"), as wiry strums sync with crisp drums. She surrenders to comfort on "Who Am I But Someone," a light and softly psychedelic number. "Yards / Gardens" finds Bollinger in full swing, skipping verses of uncertainty above a bright and nimble bassline and kick. Guitar riffs unravel across the bridge, trailing her lines like ellipses. The string-backed "Lady in the Darkest Hour" is the set's most luxuriant statement, recorded during a session at Matthew E. White's Spacebomb Studios with in-house arranger Trey Pollard (Natalie Prass, Helado Negro). Here her lines ring bittersweet yet reassuring, uplifted by swells of golden-hued instrumentation. From the hushed abstractions of "I Found Out" to the biting suspicions of closer "Connecting Dots," Kate Bollinger uses every inch of this dazzling EP to find her footing amidst the ever-present sways of life

Storage units hold possessions on pause from the outside world, objects capable of reconnecting us to a time or place. Hana Vu (born in 2000s California) grew up with her family making regular use of public storage spaces in Los Angeles, moving every few years, leaving a mix of the sacred and the mundane to sit inside concrete and steel. Public Storage builds on the sound of Vu's early work underscoring her strengths as a songwriter with a deeper sense of luster, sophistication, and urgency. She calls it "very invasive and intense sounding music," refreshingly out of step with contemporary trends; this is music to engage with rather than lean back to. Co-producer Jackson Phillips (Day Wave) helped Vu create a vast, grainy, multifaceted world to stretch into vocally, her distinct contralto drifting freely between evocative low-lit ruminations and soulful, skyward bursts. Vu opens the album fixed on a force that recurs throughout. The first sounds we hear are charming: isolated piano keys cycle into warm strums and self-harmonies on "April Fool," as Vu's protagonist dismisses her surroundings and ability to communicate. The soft amber glow diffuses into the album's title track, a darker, murkier, louder place. Vu rips through "Public Storage'' with a series of defiant rejections (failure, family, magic) and cathartic demands. It's a rare and powerful display of vulnerability from a lyricist who favors the abstract over autobiographical. Built on a disco synth pattern and grooving bass stabs, "Aubade" has the bright bounce of its morning namesake, cleverly at odds with its downbeat subject. The contrast continues on "Keeper," a pulsating new wave cut, replete with soaring dreamy synths and a cooly snarling narrator, again challenging that force. "Gutter" returns to the grungy lowlight, with muscular guitar riffs striating above a bed of feedback, swelling alongside orchestral strings to a roaring finish. The back half of Public Storage features some of its most striking moments: the rhythmic, hook-heavy "Everybody's Birthday" speaks to the evil absurdity of the present, the end of times. The night is red, the mood is blue, and her character's shame is painted gold. Vu saves "Maker" for last, a final go at the existential.

Storage units hold possessions on pause from the outside world, objects capable of reconnecting us to a time or place. Hana Vu (born in 2000s California) grew up with her family making regular use of public storage spaces in Los Angeles, moving every few years, leaving a mix of the sacred and the mundane to sit inside concrete and steel. Public Storage builds on the sound of Vu's early work underscoring her strengths as a songwriter with a deeper sense of luster, sophistication, and urgency. She calls it "very invasive and intense sounding music," refreshingly out of step with contemporary trends; this is music to engage with rather than lean back to. Co-producer Jackson Phillips (Day Wave) helped Vu create a vast, grainy, multifaceted world to stretch into vocally, her distinct contralto drifting freely between evocative low-lit ruminations and soulful, skyward bursts. Vu opens the album fixed on a force that recurs throughout. The first sounds we hear are charming: isolated piano keys cycle into warm strums and self-harmonies on "April Fool," as Vu's protagonist dismisses her surroundings and ability to communicate. The soft amber glow diffuses into the album's title track, a darker, murkier, louder place. Vu rips through "Public Storage'' with a series of defiant rejections (failure, family, magic) and cathartic demands. It's a rare and powerful display of vulnerability from a lyricist who favors the abstract over autobiographical. Built on a disco synth pattern and grooving bass stabs, "Aubade" has the bright bounce of its morning namesake, cleverly at odds with its downbeat subject. The contrast continues on "Keeper," a pulsating new wave cut, replete with soaring dreamy synths and a cooly snarling narrator, again challenging that force. "Gutter" returns to the grungy lowlight, with muscular guitar riffs striating above a bed of feedback, swelling alongside orchestral strings to a roaring finish. The back half of Public Storage features some of its most striking moments: the rhythmic, hook-heavy "Everybody's Birthday" speaks to the evil absurdity of the present, the end of times. The night is red, the mood is blue, and her character's shame is painted gold. Vu saves "Maker" for last, a final go at the existential.

Black and White Vinyl.Zach Saginaw consistently grounds his music in a deeply personal, familial context; his grandmother inspired two releases, his producer aliases, Shigeto and Frank Omura, both reference family names and it's not for nothing that his latest release as Shigeto is titled Lineage.While only Saginaw could speak to the ancestral motivation being referenced on the eight instrumental songs that comprise the mini-LP, Lineage, it's easy to see it as an acknowledgement of debt to musical forebears, reverent respect due to the jazz, hip-hop, funk and folk that animates these eight songs. And while these elements aren't new to Saginaw's work, never has he demonstrated such complete command of his material. Each song is a complex constellation of sounds and ideas, but his compositional focus and restraint grounds songs that are otherwise cosmically inclined."Lineage (Prologue)" eases into being with windchimes, effects, circular organ and little else, recalling a particularly subdued Sun Ra passage. That segues into "Lineage" proper, which props up the melody with shifty uptempo percussion and bass. "Ann Arbor Part 3 & 4" announces itself with lovely keys and falling rain before hip-hop beats steal the show. "Soaring" eases back into a handclap, acoustic guitar and harp sounds reverie, underpinned with lazy, spacey bass. Shigeto's brilliant drumming takes center stage on "A Child's Mind," moving from a bombastic unaccompanied run into esoteric jazz and finally settling into a shuffling, prismatic hip-hop. Shigeto's deft cymbal and snare work are also found on Huron River Drive, a dubby, smoky, soulful joint that dials back the lysergic digitalia that colors so much of the mini-LP as a whole. The title of "Field Trip" perfectly captures the adolescent joy and wonderment of the song, with live drums, ebullient toybox sounds and wide-eyed melodies. The understated "Please Stay," which adds rare vocal sounds to Shigeto's repertoire of claps and keys, gently guides listeners out of the journey th...

In the late 2000s a sprawling catalog of what is now genre-defining music was emanating from an unlikely place. Cleveland, Ohio has a broad reputation for many things, but in the aughts, psyche-expanding Kosmische wasn't necessarily Cleveland's calling card_ until Emeralds. The trio of John Elliott, Steve Hauschildt, and Mark McGuire had released a profusion of limited-run cassettes, CD-Rs, and vinyl titles that had been passed around basement shows and then migrated to niche music communities online, creating a unique kind of murmur at the height of the DIY blog era. Three kids from the rust belt were crafting a distinctive and truly far-out strain of music on their own terms in the Midwest. They were flipping lids in wood-paneled basements and circulating around the underground with soaring sounds stylistically indebted to deep German electronic music pioneers and released with the ethos and twisted fervor of renegade Midwestern noise freaks. After several releases garnered a die-hard fandom in niche circles of internet/music culture, and then catching the attention of the late Peter Rehberg, the renowned artist and curator of the Editions Mego label, an expectation was set that the next Emeralds record was going to be a big one. And in 2010, Does it Look Like I'm Here was it.Artistically, the album is a definitive statement; this is to say it was crafted by heads for heads, a genuine article and a profoundly deep listen, but the mainstream dove in too. Pitchfork acknowledged the rarefied nature of the album's electricity with a "Best New Music" rating. This crossover success is a result of the tracks' potency and wonderfully engineered and succinct structures. It's dialed in. Still creating their distinct yawning cosmic sound, Elliott and Hauschildt shower the stereo spectrum with shimmering arpeggios, dusty, melodically dynamic swells, rippling FM textures, and canyon-wide waveshapes. McGuire's signature guitar playing echoes emotive new age pathos and cascading astral space rock trance states. Their p...

Through evocative, emotionally resonant music, Goodbye, Hotel Arkada , the new LP from American harpist and composer Mary Lattimore , speaks not just for its beloved namesake _ a hotel in Croatia facing renovation _ but for a universal loss that is shared. Six sprawling pieces shaped by change; nothing will ever be the same, and here, the artist, evolving in synthesis, celebrates and mourns the tragedy and beauty of the ephem - eral, all that is lived and lost to time. Documented and edited in uncharacteristically measured sessions over the course of two years, the material remains rooted in improvisation while glistening as the most refined and robust in Lattimore's decade-long catalog. It finds her communing with friends, contemporaries, and longtime influences, in full stride yet slow - ing down to nurture songs in new ways. The cast includes Lol Tolhurst (The Cure), Meg Baird, Rachel Goswell (Slowdive), Roy Montgomery, Samara Lubelski, and Walt McClements . "When I think of these songs, I think about fading flowers in vases, melted candles, getting older, being on tour and having things change while you're away, not realizing how ephemeral experiences are until they don't happen anymore, fear for a planet we're losing because of greed, an ode to art and music that's really shaped your life that can transport you back in time, longing to maintain sensitivity and to not sink into hollow despondency." For the title and inspiration, Lattimore's mind returns to the island of Hvar in Croatia, where she first saw those silver ladders at the water's edge. "There's a big old hotel there called the Hotel Arkada, and you could tell it had been hosting holiday-goers for decades in a great way. I walked around the lobby and the empty ballrooms and it looked like a well-worn, well-loved place. My friend Stacey who lives there told me to `say goodbye to Hotel Arkada, it might not be here when you get back' and I heard soon after that it was actually going to be renovated in a very crisp, modern way." Lattimore became fixated on the ingredients that make a place special _ for Hotel Arkada, the patinaed chandeliers, the patterned bedspreads, the echoes of its intangible charm _ and how when those leave this world, as they inevitably always will, it feels import - ant to memorialize them, "to bottle it for a brief second.

The first album in over six years from American songwriter Julie Byrne isa testament to patience and determination, the willingness to transform through the desolation of loss, the vitality of renewal, and the courage to rise, forever changed. For nearly a decade, Byrne has moved through the world as a characteristically private artist largely outside the public eye. A self-taught musician that has committed her life to her work, she now emerges from a deeply trying and generative period with the most powerful, lustrous, and life-affirming music of her career, The Greater Wings. While they hold the plasticity of grief and trauma, the songs are universally resonant, unbridled in their devotion and joy, held up by the love and alliance of a chosen family. Byrne leans further into atmospheres both expansive and intimate; the lush, evocative songcraft flows between her signature fingerpicked guitar, synthesizer, and a newly adopted piano, made wider by flourishes of harp and strings. It is the transcendent sound of resource, of friendship that was never without romance, of loyalty that burns from within like a heart on fire, and the life force summoned in unrepeatable moments - raw, gorgeous, and wild. The Greater Wings was written across several seasons, pulling imagery from nights on tour, periods of isolation, and the drives cross-country for its various collaborations between Chicago, New York, and Los Ange-les. Recording started with the late Eric Littmann, her longtime creative partner and Not Even Happiness producer, and finished in the Catskills of New York with producer Alex Somers (Sigur Rós, Julianna Barwick). "My hope for The Greater Wings is that it lives as a love letter to my cho-sen family and as an expression of the depth of my commitment to our shared future. Being reshaped by grief also has me more aware of what death does not take from me. I commit that to heart, to words, to sound. Music is not bound to any kind of linear time, so in the capacity to record and speak to the future: this is what it felt like to me, when we were simultaneous, alive, occurring all at once. What it has felt like to go up against my edge and push, the love that has made it worth all this fight. These memories are my values, they belong with me. " Julie Byrne will confess the success of her 2017 LP Not Even Happiness was unexpected; nine gracefully road-worn odes to the fringes of life she assembled without any expectation that they'd travel so far beyond their DIY origins. But its hushed closing track, "I Live Now As A Singer," did forecast an intention. She knew the open space - occupied by Littmann's signature palette of synth tones, Jake Falby's strings, and Byrne's robust, drifting voice - presented something new and thrilling, something they'd develop as a live band touring the world, and what would later be under-stood as the catalyst for material to come. From orchestral folk meditations ("The Greater Wings", "Portrait of a Clear Day") to wind swept piano ballads ("Moonless", "Death Is The Diamond") to the luminous, synth-driven euphoria of "Summer Glass", The Greater Wings builds on this revelatory space at every turn.