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Anne, the second album By Toronto saxophonist and composer Joseph Shabason, is
a tonal essay on degenerative illness. Delicately and compassionately woven with
interviews of Shabason's mother from whom the album takes its name, Anne finds
its creator navigating a labyrinth of subtle and tragic emotions arising from his
mother's struggle with Parkinson's disease. Across the nine vivid postcards of jazzladen
ambience that comprise the album, Shabason unwraps these difficult themes
with great care and focus revealing the unseen aspects of degenerative diseases that
force us to re-examine common notions of self, identity, and mortality. Shabason's
uncanny ability to manoeuvre through such microscopic feelings is mirrored by his
capacity to execute a similar tightrope-walk through musical genres. His music
occupies a specific space that is as palpable as it is difficult to pin labels to. R.I.Y.L.
Brian Eno, Jon Hassell, Beverly Glenn-Copeland, Laraaji, Robert Rich, Harold Budd

Limited Edition Cloudy Clear Vinyl.Combining Processed Recordings Of Wind And Water With Analog Synthesizers And Chamber Orchestra, Elori Kramer's The Blue Of Distance Is An Audio Dissertation On The Role Technology Plays In Our Relationships To Geography And Nature, Unspoolinginto An Examination Of Memory And Longing Across Seven Sections That Layer Filmic Minimalism Over Churning Electronic Soundbeds. Half Of The Suite Was Written In The Adirondack Mountains During Summer Amid Lakes, Rivers, And Moss-Ladenforest Floors, While The Other Half Was Conceived On A Frozen Lake Superior Island In Deep Winter, Creating A Subtextual Dialogue Between The Two Extreme Settings. Kramer, Who Was Born In 1990 And Grew Up Alongside The Internet, Uses Her Musicto Explore Nature In The Actual And The Virtual World, Through Direct Experience And Facsimile Alike, Focussing And Blurring The Line Between The Two. "Looking Back At My Videos Of That Summer-- Which Is Where The Processed Audio Came From-- I Triedto Remember What It Had Felt Like To Be There," She Recalls, "Thinking About Questions Of Reality Versus Imagination; Physical Versus Digital; And The Ways In Which Memory Shifts Through Our Minds And Technology." The Title The Blue Ofdistance Was Derived From Rebecca Solnit's Book A Field Guide To Getting Lost, Referring To The Phenomenon Of Faraway Mountains Appearing Blue Due To Light Particles Getting Lost Over Distance. "If We Were To Go Up To The Mountains Thatappear Blue From Far Away, We Would See That They Weren't Actually That Color." She Says. "This Beauty Is Made Possible Because Of Their Distance," Much In The Same Way That The Splendor Of A Lush Season Is Only Fully Realized In The Throes Of A Bleak One, And The Joy Of An Event Can Only Be Felt When It Has Long Since Been Consigned To Remembrance.R.I.Y.L Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith, Philip Glass, Steve Reich, Josiah Steinbrick, Emily Sprague

Hello! Tim here. My band is called Strand of Oaks. This is my eighth record andit's called Miracle Focus.I spent over three years building Miracle Focus. In the midst of writing, Ibecame a painter and spent two seasons acting on a television show (MayansMC). The dichotomy of painting for days in my garage and then flying out to LAto play a villainous biker on TV was one of the most thrilling experiences of mylife.The idea of Miracle Focus was born out of one simple concept: to make peoplefeel good. Throw in a healthy mix of Ram Dass, yoga, Freddie Mercury, AliceColtrane, and Beastie Boys, plus over a year of writing and building theextremely dense architecture of the songs, and Miracle Focus was born. Theresult is FUN, wild, rhythmic music filled with synth layering and mantra-likelyrics intended to upli and hopefully bring some light to whoever listens.In many ways, this record is a love letter to bliss. Through meditation, I found away to connect with something greater, a positive force that allowed me towrite music as a manual towards a more love-focused life. And the miracles Irefer to aren't asking the universe for anything; it's just acknowledging andcelebrating this complex beautiful moment that we all get to share. It will begone, it will re-emerge as something new, that will be gone, repeat....repeat...repeat_this eternal cycle. My most sincere hope is that whoever listensmight through sonic osmosis experience a similar joy.Sending peace and love. Thank you for your time.-Tim

On Labyrinth, Heather Woods Broderick serves as our reflective host, subverting expectations of conventional songcraft with impressionistic language and quietly relentless explorations of the human experience that's at once light and dark, more circular and less linear. "Many of us yearn for stillness and peace, as an escape from the movement all around us," she explains when asked about the themes of the album. "Yet movement is perpetual, happening all the time on some level. It's as wild as the wind, yet eternally predictable in its inevitability. It is linear in part, but infinite in its circuitry. Our lives just punctuate it." Broderick began crafting Labyrinth in March 2020, when most forms of move- ment were brought to a screeching halt. The Maine-born, Los Angeles-based songwriter _ who, in addition to her work as a solo musician, built a life playing and touring with acts such as Sharon Van Etten, Beth Orton, Damien Jurado, and Efterklang _ was suddenly forced off the road for the first time in her career. She used this disruption as an opportunity to pare down her creation process and construct the scaffolding for Labyrinth in her apartment. Employing only the most crucial tools at her disposal, Broderick found herself opening different artistic doors as she focused on sharpening her recording skills, capturing the majority of the album on her own before finishing the remainder with co-producer D. James Goodwin. For all of Broderick's sage lyricism and vocal authority, Labyrinth never provides the listener with any easy answers. If the image of the labyrinth represents the enormity of modern life and the difficulty of navigating it, Heather Woods Broder- ick provides a guide to its endless kinetic wonders _ of being present, aware, and connected despite its disconnects. She describes the texture of its walls, its indifferent rhythms, and the inherent poeticism of feeling lost amid the dead-ends and unexpected turns. At this point in our history, perhaps that's all we need to keep moving.

Heather Woods Broderick's new album Invitation is about rediscovering the everyday magic and healing potential found in nature. It's also about recognizing that even though it's not easy, we can shift our perspectives on our lives when our circumstances seem bleak. Ultimately it's about accepting the myriad little invitations the universe sends us to keep moving forward, and in so doing, redefining one's self-perception, in order to establish a new sense of equilibrium and inner peace. HWB's last album Glider was called "ethereal and perfect" by NPR, "exquisitely beautiful" by Mojo, and "Stunning" by The Sunday Times. Since its release she has toured with Alela Diane, and Lisa Hanigan, and has done one-off shows with The War on Drugs, Laura Gibson, and others, in addition to continuing her role in Sharon Van Etten's band.

On Origins Chris Bartels takes on the role of singer-songwriter for the first time under his Elskavon moniker, unveiling a voice that wouldn't sound out of place next to vocal-forward artists like Justin Vernon, Jónsi, or Baths, who master the balance between conventional songcraft and bold, idiosyncratic experimentation. Origins is vast yet intimate, fluttering yet cohesive, tattered yet clean, a little like rainfall during sunlight. Shedding the ambient-classical confines of his previous output, the album's opener and title track, offers a swirling mosaic of acoustic textures that recall the beloved duo The Books, laced with warped vocal utterances flitting in and out of a club-friendly beat. "Origins" is followed by the equally danceable "Coastline," which drives home the smiling melodies and intricate sound-design that form the spine of Origins, keeping Bartels' voice in a largely decorative and impressionistic role up to this point. "Blossom and the Void" dissolves the introductory tension as Bartels comes out lyrically swinging, his digitized voice chanting widely over the mutated New Wave-esque anthem. Here, Bartels shows his instinct for dynamics by rising to bombast and quickly dispelling it, making steep yet grace- ful descents into skillfully delicate sound-design. Throughout Origins, the patient glacial aesthetic of his previous work is still discernible-- there are wordless, expansive panoramas that stretch out patiently for minutes at a time and smartly resist the impulse to pack each moment with a persona made even more impactful when Bartels chooses to wield it. At other times, his spokesmanship is woven discreetly into a larger tapestry, like on "See Out Loud" (and its ambient reprise) where Bartels' voice shimmers from a distance, covering the scene in diffuse splendor. "There is so much warping, mangling, re-sampling, reversing and pitching," Bartels says of his intricate vocal manipulations. "I printed a lot of the vocal recordings onto a tape machine from the `60s, first at one speed, and then I'd halve, or double the speed going back into my comput- er," he elaborates, illustrating how this kind of analog processing freed him from his habits. "Sometimes I'd do this multiple times on one recording or layer-- it gave me such a unique and unexpected sound. At this point, I threw away any inhibition on what type of vocals to have, or not have, on the album." This newfound freedom is palpable in the peaks of soaring grandeur that dot the emotional landscape of Origins. "All These Years" cathartically reaches one such summit in its second half after laying a path of gently plodding indie-IDM in its first. The cinematic vignette "Dreymur Aftur" provides pause for reflection amid its brisk procession of string plucks and rhythmic synthesizer while marching wordlessly into album-closer "This Won't Last Forever." Here at the end, Bartels' guitar playing is laid bare in the mix, skeletally framing a single ribbon of his voice as it unfurls into the atmosphere. Though the track isn't expressly lyrical, its starkness still exemplifies the new leaf of vulnerability Bartels has turned over on Origins, an album that documents his hard-won evolution from musician, to producer, to composer_ and finally_ his confident arrival in the role of songwriter.

The Anne, EP is the afterword to Joseph Shabason's acclaimed 2018 harmonic suite Anne, through which he examined and processed his mother's struggle with Parkinson's disease. Employing a small supporting cast that includes vocalist Dan Bejar (Destroyer) and guitarist Thomas Gill (Owen Pallett), Anne, EP spotlights the Toronto saxophonist as he builds empathic tropospheres of woodwinds and synthesizers, deepening the sentiment established by the EP's companion album. In doing so, Shabason further cements jazz, ambient sound design, and new age revivalism into a timely new genre all his own.

The Anne, EP is the afterword to Joseph Shabason's acclaimed 2018 harmonic suite Anne, through which he examined and processed his mother's struggle with Parkinson's disease. Employing a small supporting cast that includes vocalist Dan Bejar (Destroyer) and guitarist Thomas Gill (Owen Pallett), Anne, EP spotlights the Toronto saxophonist as he builds empathic tropospheres of woodwinds and synthesizers, deepening the sentiment established by the EP's companion album. In doing so, Shabason further cements jazz, ambient sound design, and new age revivalism into a timely new genre all his own.

Voids employs the vocal talents of Bill Callahan, Emily Cross, Adam Torres, and Julia Holter across twelve genre-fluid, yet impressively cohesive tracks that span baroque dream-pop, filmic ambient, raga-like drones, avant-country, and even spiritual jazz, all imbued with poetic heft and seared by the West Texas sun. It was beneath this same sun that Lapham lost both of his parents, mourned a withering relationship, and shouldered the fallout of the pandemic, turning his life into the rusted-out scraps he then used to build Voids from the ground up. There is no better narrator for Lapham's story than fellow Texas resident Bill Callahan, whose iconic delivery perfectly personifies the core themes of Voids. By the time Callahan appears, he does so over a saw-blade drone that sounds like machinery echoing off the corrugated steel walls of a nearby workshop, which then breaks open into a loose yet pained confluence of violin and upright bass that recalls Joe Henderson's 1974 spiritual jazz album The Elements. On "Dreamless" the album crystallizes into its most straight-ahead moment as Lapham trains his compositional lens on a brilliant piece of pop songwriting. Featured vocalist Adam Torres soars over John Mark's punctual arrangement of stomping drums and rapturous string-work to anthemic, and gently psychedelic consequence. Voids concludes with the pleasant clatter of "Circles" wherein Lapham throws all his ingredients into a pot of celebratory catharsis. Drum sets collide with one another gleefully, and harmonized textures scatter and roll about the floor like a dropped bucket of ornate marbles. Lapham's collage-work, which up to this point has been smartly restrained, comes unglued as he transmutes grief into relief within a moment-of-death montage of aural imagery. Across Voids, that same awareness of tragedy and loneliness is made palatable by the album's exciting and varied topography, which stands insubordinately against Lapham's real-life surroundings. The settlers who established West Texas towns like the one he calls home must have done so with a sense of hope despite the hostility of their surroundings, however inevitable the withering. Similar spirits speak through John Mark Lapham's work, and he welcomes them as fascinating old friends. "That more than anything inspired a lot of what I try to express through Old Fire, faded memories, former glories, places lost in time," he discloses. "Whatever I was trying to express with Old Fire wasn't finished with the first album, like a story that was only half-read. It seemed like that was only the beginning, and there was a lot more ground to cover." If there is ground still uncovered for Old Fire after Voids, it's sure to be lush in spite of - or perhaps because of - the dusty soil beneath it.

"It's going to be hard to talk about this when it's done." So begins A Mold ForThe Bell, the new album from Colorado singer-songwriter and producer LoganFarmer. What follows that enigmatic lyric is a collection of stark and ambientfolk songs, tethered solely by Farmer's unadorned vocals, acoustic guitar, andmoving embellishments from contributors, including saxophonist JosephShabason (who also mixed the album) and renowned harpist Mary Lattimore.With the help of Grammy-nominated producer Andrew Berlin (Gregory AlanIsakov), Farmer tracked all of the vocal and guitar parts over two days in theearly months of 2021. The tracks were recorded quickly, live in the studio tocapture the raw intimacy and immediacy of Farmer's live performances. Therest of the album's creation occurred remotely, over texts, phone calls, andemails with Shabason and a handful of other musicians, as wildfires, insurrec-tions and the pandemic raged around them."I was working at a bookstore that winter," Farmer explains, "and I'd walk to myshift every day, obsessing over lyrics and early mixes in a cheap pair ofearbuds." These daily walks would take him past a church, where he'd oftenstop on the sidewalk and listen to the bells at the top of the hour. "I've alwaysloved the sound of church bells, but as the situation worsened, what began asa comfort began to feel ominous, almost threatening." This experience, along-side influences as disparate as Tarkovsky's film Andrei Rublev and the novels ofOlga Tokarczuk, led to a collection of songs that are similarly foreboding,expanding upon the stark and spacious universe of Farmer's last album(2020's Still No Mother) to reveal an atmosphere that's even more oppressivelystill, like an abandoned Victorian home.

There is a moment on Sides, the new album from Richmond, Virginia-based duo Lean Year, in which a hospital room floor is filled with white chrysanthemums. This imagery, based on an opiate-induced hallucination experienced by vocalist Emilie Rex's mother as she recovered from surgery, is a perfect encapsulation of the band's second album: dreamlike and beautiful, yet burdened with cold, stark reality. Sides is a harrowing journey through realms of grief and memory, a meditation woven into a tapestry of synth pads, woodwinds, and Rex's instantly recognizable voice.The duo of Rex and Rick Alverson - who also works as a film director (The Mountain, Entertainment, The Comedy) - originally set out to write an album about conflict, but during the writing and recording process, they were confronted with a number of personal tragedies. Alverson lost both of his parents in rapid succession, Rex's mother received a cancer diagnosis, and the couple's beloved family dog, Orca, died. Theseevents transformed the album into an exploration of loss - an attempt at processing the painful, complex, and private emotions that bubble to the surface when confronted withdeath. "We thought we'd do a concept album called Sides where we could reflect on all of the division in the world, and some in our own families, but then COVID transformed everything / everyone, and we suffered our own specific losses. The record became about loss and grief," Rex explains. "In this way, the title Sides was still appropriate: our individual grief and collective grief, the margins of before and after, the act and feeling of during and enduring. It felt like straddling a threshold between two opposing sides - the moment before conflict and the moment after it passes, life and death, the act of living and the memory of the act. Grief feels like a contention between what you knew and what you now know, and often both feel real and unreal at once."Sides - produced by Alverson alongside Erik Hall (In Tall Buildings) and featuring contributions from...

Having crested the west coast modular-ambient wave in just a few releases - including 2018's Sharing Waves on the influential LA experimental imprint Leaving Records - Sean Hellfritsch has swapped the mossy analog synth improvisations of his prior output for refined melodic arrangements dressed in sprightly dawn-of-digital textures. Big Earth Energy plumbs the depths of Hellfritsch's multimedia mind and naturalist heart, spinning an impressionistic narrative world off of cultural touchstones like the PC game Myst, and the work of Studio Ghibli composer Joe Hisaishi. Inspired by the aforementioned, and guided by Hellfritsch's experience as an animator and filmmaker, Big Earth Energy is the soundtrack to a hypothetical video game with a pointedly ecological premise, and a twist of psychedelic charm. In Hellfritsch's imagined virtual journey, the player assumes the perspective of a treefrog sixty-five-million years ago, hopping epochs with each new level, forming a comprehensive picture of the massive changes the planet has gone through over the eons. The ultimate goal of the game is not to amass resources, defeat enemies, or gain power, but to fully witness the unfolding of one of the biggest systems of energy imaginable - or as the album's creator puts it - "to explore the incomprehensibly vast energetic expression and mystery that is Earth." Big Earth Energy is steeped in exploratory RPG intrigue, possibility, and contemplation, lovingly overlaid with Miyazaki-an sentiments and aesthetics. The through-composed, organic, meandering synthesis heard on previous Cool Maritime albums has been fully replaced by meticulous polygonal arrangements that recall the computerized sheen of late 80s work by composers like Hiroshi Yoshimura, and Yoichiro Yoshikawa - using true-to-period gear no less. Even given its referentiality, Big Earth Energy comes off as forward-facing where so much reminiscent music remains fixed to a bygone moment in pop culture. Hellfritsch has created a musical world where the endless verdancy of the biosphere finds its parallel in the golden age of early 1990s video games, and late 80s Japanese environmental music, all while pointing to a hopeful planetary and artistic future that vindicates the motives of all of these muses.

Having crested the west coast modular-ambient wave in just a few releases - including 2018's Sharing Waves on the influential LA experimental imprint Leaving Records - Sean Hellfritsch has swapped the mossy analog synth improvisations of his prior output for refined melodic arrangements dressed in sprightly dawn-of-digital textures. Big Earth Energy plumbs the depths of Hellfritsch's multimedia mind and naturalist heart, spinning an impressionistic narrative world off of cultural touchstones like the PC game Myst, and the work of Studio Ghibli composer Joe Hisaishi. Inspired by the aforementioned, and guided by Hellfritsch's experience as an animator and filmmaker, Big Earth Energy is the soundtrack to a hypothetical video game with a pointedly ecological premise, and a twist of psychedelic charm. In Hellfritsch's imagined virtual journey, the player assumes the perspective of a treefrog sixty-five-million years ago, hopping epochs with each new level, forming a comprehensive picture of the massive changes the planet has gone through over the eons. The ultimate goal of the game is not to amass resources, defeat enemies, or gain power, but to fully witness the unfolding of one of the biggest systems of energy imaginable - or as the album's creator puts it - "to explore the incomprehensibly vast energetic expression and mystery that is Earth." Big Earth Energy is steeped in exploratory RPG intrigue, possibility, and contemplation, lovingly overlaid with Miyazaki-an sentiments and aesthetics. The through-composed, organic, meandering synthesis heard on previous Cool Maritime albums has been fully replaced by meticulous polygonal arrangements that recall the computerized sheen of late 80s work by composers like Hiroshi Yoshimura, and Yoichiro Yoshikawa - using true-to-period gear no less. Even given its referentiality, Big Earth Energy comes off as forward-facing where so much reminiscent music remains fixed to a bygone moment in pop culture. Hellfritsch has created a musical world where the endless verdancy of the biosphere finds its parallel in the golden age of early 1990s video games, and late 80s Japanese environmental music, all while pointing to a hopeful planetary and artistic future that vindicates the motives of all of these muses.

Transparent dark blue vinyl. Market is the songwriting project of Nate Mendelsohn, a Brooklyn based multi-instrumentalist. He has played live as a member of Sam Evian, Katie Von Schleicher, Emily Reo, and Lina Tullgren's bands, and has worked in the studio as an engineer and musician with Frankie Cosmos, Yaeji, and Wendy Eisenberg. Absorbing all of this music and supporting his musical community has been Mendelsohn's focus of the last few years, but with this record he steps out on his own with a clear identity and deep understanding of songcraft. After some cult internet following through early Market experimentations, The Consistent Brutal Bullshit Gong, produced by Katie Von Schleicher and recorded with a band of Brooklyn indie regulars, is a leap forwards in all categories, led by intimate open-book lyrics about family tree revelations and mental health struggles, with a slight edge and a sense of humour.

Via tape loops and synth motifs sent from LA to NY, sound artist Christopher Royal King has teamed with violinist and composer Christopher Tignor toward richly timbral, emotionally gripping works of spontaneity that unfurl immense details with each replay while marrying west coast outboard-ambient to studied east coast modern classical. The resulting debut album, A Wave From A Shore, exhibits both artists' sonic identifiers falling in and out of cooperation before binding into a new entity distinct from either's solitary palettes. A visual artist whose work includes album covers for Thrice and Deftones in addition to video bumps for Adult Swim, Christopher Royal King spent his teenage years cutting his teeth on heavy metal and punk before gravitating, quickly and perhaps unexpectedly, toward experimental composers like Philip Glass and Terry Riley. This unlikely seesaw of influences led directly to King forming the post-rock pillar This Will Destroy You with fellow San Antonio native Jeremy Galindo. Similar to his former band's output, King's solo meanderings impart a mood of buoyancy and contemplation while hinting at darker, more shadowy hues beneath the glimmer, making his music stand apart from the glut of New Age droners and modular-synth influencers. Where the genre at large is sometimes guilty of being the spiritual equivalent of a topical balm, King's aesthetic is more like a rigorous therapy session that's as healing as it is confronting. Christopher Tignor first crossed paths with King in the mid 2000s, lending string arrangements to This Will Destroy You releases, and sometimes touring as a live member of the group. Over the years, Tignor has mounted an impressive discography under his own name and with his groups Slow Six, and Wires Under Tension, all while completing Princeton's PhD program for music composition, and NYU's Masters of computer science program. He put the full power of his dual studies to use, arriving at the illusionist-like meld of sound design and physical performance that his current-day solo efforts portray. In his own words "I banned backing tracks, click tracks, and even live looping - anything that would enforce a strict grid. All sounds originate from me kicking a drum, playing the violin, or various natural percussion sources. I built software that lets me do all this. This offers an unprecedented amount of control over this music's elastic sense of time." King's own music follows parallel rivulets of happenstance, but in desktop form, his array of analog gadgets in perpetual dialogue with one another as he omnipotently guides and documents the chatter. Tignor's lucid string work frames King's impressionism, sharpening the focus while being softened by the textural overgrowth. Their debut A Wave From A Shore does its part to rescue ambient music from its purely anesthetic functionality, offering instead a profound, often ravaging emotional experience for listeners who wish to be moved and not just lulled.

Rob Burger's keyboard work can be heard in everything from Guggenheim showcases to the blockbuster film Ocean's 8 -- in addition to albums by John Zorn, Laurie Anderson, and Iron & Wine -- but the moonlit compositions he spins up on his own may be his most compelling work. His newest solo venture, Marching With Feathers, departs from the controlled exotica and kosmische of 2019's The Grid towards a genreless seesaw of electrified apprehension and capacious piano rumination. Piano-based tracks like "Figurine" and "Still" draw the listener into a realm of quiet contemplation, while arid psyche vignettes like "Library Science" and "Hotel For Saints" imbue the collection with a vital groove, conjuring images of a searing, high desert plain. At the core of the album is a central dichotomy between strength and gentleness, power and vulnerability. By uniting these seemingly opposing concepts, Burger catches you off guard by carving trails that turn from mirage to starkreality at every bend. As the album draws to a close, the listener feels as though they're waking from a dream, pensive yet determined to rise, like a lost hikerreaching a vista - or a clenched fist full of feathers.

On his debut album Half Mirror, Matthew O'Connell superimposes warm analog synths onto self-described "confessional folk" with a simultaneously cosmic and earthly outcome. Tracked at home in the mountains of North Carolina using a vintage tape delay, electric guitar, and a self-designed synthesizer named `Balsam,' Half Mirror is at once a lonesome push-pull of electronics humanized by folk elements, and folk music made alien by electronic adornments. O'Connell's own story is just as captivatingly segmented. While growing up on a farm in Palmyra, Indiana, he became obsessed with metal drumming and spent most of his free time practicing in the garage, occasionally recording on four-track tape machines with his brother Joe (Elephant Micah). Reflecting on those formative years, O'Connell says, "I think that period instilled two things in me: a long attention span, and the ability to work obsessively on something in solitude." It's these monastic inclinations that helped form the spirit of Half Mirror. While in college, his interest in math led him to participate in a six-month intensive study program in Budapest, Hungary. There, he continued writing song fragments on a borrowed guitar and fiddling with musical electronics at the Kitchen Budapest_a collective of artists, theorists, and coders. In 2011, his interest in electronics and engineering led him to Asheville, North Carolina, where he worked for Moog Music calibrating and building synthesizers, and testing vintage analog delay chips by day. At night he would spend his time building homemade synths and writing songs. It was here in Asheville that he began the bulk of the work on Half Mirror, imbuing his music with the qualities of his environment almost by necessity. O'Connell made a deliberate effort to keep the album's production sparse. His interest in restraint stems in part from his love of albums like Nearly God by Tricky and Ghost Tropic by Songs: Ohia, both of which feature uncomfortably bare vocals and uncanny production that commands the listener's attention. Additional inspiration came from Mark Hollis' striking minimalism, and the freeform songwriting of Arthur Russell and John Martyn. Filtering the poetry of fractured, imperfect memories through a lush, yet sparse palette of sounds, Half Mirror evokes a profoundly moody sense of place: the fog heavy in the mountain peaks, the dew present on early morning walks, and the musky smell of rhododendrons in the air.

Director David Lynch once said "I long for a kind of quiet where I can just drift and dream. I always say getting inspiration is like fishing. If you're quiet and sitting there and you have the right bait, you're going to catch a fish eventually. Ideas are sort of like that. You never know when they're going to hit you." Inspired by this quote in both name and spirit, Hollie Kenniff's The Quiet Drift is an ambient gallery of cloudlike synths, seraphic strings, echoing guitars, and other celestial textures guided to cohesion by Hollie's own wordless singing. Though the album certainly creates (and originates from) the kind of space where Lynch's proverbial "fish" can be caught, The Quiet Drift is a fitting title for Hollie's own history, both recent and distant. During the course of the album's creation, Hollie and her family moved cross-country from an island in Washington state, to an island in Maine before ultimately relocating to Canada. "As a child I visited Ontario year-round," she explains in her own words. She continues "More than any other landscape, I think the lake, rivers, and woods there left the most enduring impression on me. The landscape and pace of life of these places will always stay with me." But the reverberant spaces Hollie crafts need no physical headquarters. Instead of conjuring views of nature at the ground level, her sound more readily evokes a top-down perspective, with the distinct features of the land shrinking underfoot as the listener becomes untethered from geography altogether. The Quiet Drift belongs more to the liminal spaces between life and afterlife, memory and fantasy, landscape and dreamscape, than any mappable locale. Describing her formative years, Hollie says "As a dual US/Canadian citizen who spent my childhood in a rural town-- one that I haven't returned to in many years - I have a sense of not entirely belonging anywhere. When I was a teenager my close friends were male musicians, so I was also an outsider to the degree that they were wild and anarchic in a way that I wasn't. I was a quiet book reader and avid music listener who enjoyed being around a creative group. I was also a radio DJ for alternative and punk music throughout high school." In this light, The Quiet Drift attests that creativity is placeless, and calls into question the stereotype of artists as scene-centric city dwellers. Having come of age in the absence of metropolitan sensory overload, Hollie learned to spot the muse in nature, and within herself, instead of the echo chamber of a frenzied peer group. On The Quiet Drift Hollie Kenniff wholly escapes from such pop-culture feedback loops into transcendent, shimmering realms, and she brings the listener along with her. In this age in which we have all been called to reevaluate our relationship to indoor spaces, and seek refuge in the great outdoors, The Quiet Drift provides an apt soundtrack for such rebalancing.

Carter Tanton Has Been Performing And Recording Music Since The Age Of 15. Over The Years, Tanton Has Toured And Recorded With Numerous Artists Including Marissa Nadler, Strand Of Oaks, Lower Dens, And The War On Drugs. In 2012, He Assembled Freeclouds, His First Collection Of Songs For Western Vinyl. A Couple Of Years Later, Tanton Moved To England Where He Wrote All Of The Songs On His Sophomore Solo Album Jettison The Valley, Which Featured Vocal Contributions By Nadler And Sharon Van Etten.Carter Tanton On His New Self-Titled Album: "I Recorded These Songs From May To September 2017 In My Childhood Home Which Had Been Sitting Empty On The Market For Nearly A Year When I First Brought Over A Microphone And Laptop, Guitar And Piano. I Set Up In My Parents Old Room Because It Had The Best Sunlight And Quietest Electrical Grounding But From The Start An Allegorical Quality Ran Underneath Any Surface Level Pragmatism I Told Myself Was Guiding Things. (...) The Records Which Haunt Me Are The Ones Which Have A Definitive Feeling Of Time. "Plastic Ono Band", Cat Power's "Covers Record", "Seventeen Seconds", The Blue Nile's "Hats" And Lewis' "L'amour" All Seem...

Limited Editon Lp Format With Extra Heavy Textured Jackets And Metallic Silver Ink. Lp Includes 12" Square Insert With Lyrics And Images Of The Artist, And Download. The Raw Inspiration For Vague Tidings Came From A 2006 Diy Tour Of The 49th State. It Was A Trip That Went Off The Beaten Path-Sometimes A Bit Too Far For Comfort. Now, Over A Decade Later, Listeners Find Joe O'connell Aka Elephant Micah Stationed At A Creaky Spinet Piano, Singing About The Alaskansky. Throughout, His Lyrics Take A New Angle On A Pet Theme: Human Encounters With The Natural World. Vague Tidings Places These Encounters In The American West And, At Times, In Its Sci-Fi Corollary, Outer Space. Its Imagery Draws From The Allure Of Alaska, The Idea Of Western Prosperity, And The Human Relationship To Wilderness More Broadly. Often, O'connell Sings About The Goal Of Capturing And Commodifying Nature. In Poeticsketches Of Resource Extraction Industries And Dark Sky Tourism, Frontier Lust Runs Amok. Pipelines Catch Fire And Stars Disappear, All To The Tune Of A Stark, Uncanny Americana.Vague Tidings Is A Sustained, Hallucinatory Rendering Of This Theme. In Style, Its Eight Songs Follow A Switchback Path Between Foggy Incantations And Mountain Anthems. Made With A Small Cohort Of Acoustic Instrumentalists, The Record Is Rough Hewn, But Easy On The Ears. To Put Vague Tidings Down On Tape, O'connell Assembled Some Of His Favorite Musicians In Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina Area, Where He's Lived Since2015: Libby Rodenbough (Mipso) Bows And Plucks A Detuned Fiddle, Matt Douglas (Mountain Goats) Breathes Life Into Various Woodwinds, And Matt O'connell (Lean Year) Sets The Pace On A Two-Piece Drum Set. Their Loose, Imaginative Playing Pushes Vague Tidings Beyond The Singer-Songwritergenre Into Something Richer In Texture. Ultimately, This Is Foreboding But Spacious Music, With Plenty Of Room For Reconsidering Life On Earth. R.I.Y.L. Jason Molina, Bonnie Prince Billy, Bill Callahan, Damien Jurado.

Created Slowly Over A Years-Long Span That Encompassed The Recording Of 2019's Stray Fantasies, Wife And Husband Duo Hollie And Keith Kenniff Deliver In A Deep And Dreamless Sleep, A Distinctly Hazier Chapter Of Their Technicolor Pop Venturemint Julep. Where The Former Album Bore A Crystalline Latticework Of...

Across eight tracks that mesh spacious, jazz-laced composition with fourth-world and adult-contemporary tonality, Toronto saxophonist Joseph Shabason sketches an auditory map of the transcendence, unity, conditioning, and eventual renunciation of his upbringing in an Islamic and Jewish dual-faith household. The resulting album The Fellowship bears the name of the insular Islamic community Shabason's traditionally Jewish parents belonged to from a time before he was even born; a mental and spiritual push-pull which continued shaping, even controlling, his outlook well into his adulthood. As a listening experience The Fellowship follows a chronological arc that spans three generations covering his parents' early lives, his own spiritual and physical adolescence, and his subsequent struggle to eschew the problematic habituations of such a conflicted past. On The Fellowship, as on prior albums that bear his name, Joseph Shabason does what only the best instrumental music makers can: tell a story with emotional clarity that conveys even the subtlest of feelings, all without singing a single word. As wordless as ever-- with as complex a theme as ever-- this album may be his most emotionally articulate yet. Most importantly, those lost in the woods of repression and self-doubt that organized religion can be at its worst now have The Fellowship to help guide them into a softer light. R.I.Y.L. Brian Eno, Jon Hassell, Beverly Glenn-Copeland, Laraaji, Robert Rich, Harold Budd

Across eight tracks that mesh spacious, jazz-laced composition with fourth-world and adult-contemporary tonality, Toronto saxophonist Joseph Shabason sketches an auditory map of the transcendence, unity, conditioning, and eventual renunciation of his upbringing in an Islamic and Jewish dual-faith household. The resulting album The Fellowship bears the name of the insular Islamic community Shabason's traditionally Jewish parents belonged to from a time before he was even born; a mental and spiritual push-pull which continued shaping, even controlling, his outlook well into his adulthood. As a listening experience The Fellowship follows a chronological arc that spans three generations covering his parents' early lives, his own spiritual and physical adolescence, and his subsequent struggle to eschew the problematic habituations of such a conflicted past. On The Fellowship, as on prior albums that bear his name, Joseph Shabason does what only the best instrumental music makers can: tell a story with emotional clarity that conveys even the subtlest of feelings, all without singing a single word. As wordless as ever-- with as complex a theme as ever-- this album may be his most emotionally articulate yet. Most importantly, those lost in the woods of repression and self-doubt that organized religion can be at its worst now have The Fellowship to help guide them into a softer light. R.I.Y.L. Brian Eno, Jon Hassell, Beverly Glenn-Copeland, Laraaji, Robert Rich, Harold Budd

Austin-based producer and multi-instrumentalist Spencer delivers a sample-studded mood board of bass-heavy hip hop, spiraling psychedelia, and disco-house, that explores time, aging, societal upheaval, the afterlife, and the cosmic perspective as they appear through the distorting, relentless heat of his native Texas.

Art Feynman (aka accomplished recording artist and producer Luke Temple) stitches art pop, Nigerian highlife, worldbeat, and other lesser-known genres into a musical quilt that displays his unmistakable guile and eccentric songcraft. On his sophomore album Half Price at 3:30 he delivers songs that side-smile while pointing out the emotional sinkholes that whirl beneath the most overlooked, seemingly commonplace scenarios. As effortlessly as he inhabits his Art Feynman character he also slips into the lives of other personalities, both living and fictional. Where previous entries in the Luke Temple discography -- including his well-liked former group Here We Go Magic -- have utilized organic timbres even while sailing far from the guitar-and-drums shore, Half Price sees him employing drum machines, slightly glossier production, and even autotune with a tasteful balance that suggests these tools have been in his kit all along. The result affectionately evokes guerrilla recording predecessors like Francis Bebey, Arthur Russell, and Haruomi Hosono in musicological detail, yet it's Temple's hard-won creative voice that resounds over top of it all facing Half Price forward instead of nostalgically backward.

Activity are an avant four-piece featuring Travis Johnson, and drummer Steve Levine, both from the band Grooms, bassist Zoë Browne from Field Mouse, and guitarist Jess Rees from Russian Baths. Produced by engineer Jeff Berner of Psychic TV, their debut forms a casually menacing framework for lyrical themes of paranoia, exposed character flaws, and the broader human capacity for growth when an ugly truth is laid bare. Lead single "Calls Your Name," establishes the record's spectral aura with nauseated electronic bells, and a relentless Geoff Barrow-esque drum beat beneath a half-sung, half-spoken lyrics inspired by C.S. Lewis's 1945 novel The Great Divorce. In the novel, characters stuck in a grey, joyless conception of hell repeatedly deny opportunities to be taken into heaven, instead making excuses as to why they should remain in their embittered purgatory states. Allegorically, this speaks to the kind of opportunity for metamorphosis and positive change that's possible when the depths of disillusionment are reached, an idea which permeates much of the album. Despite recurrent aches of discontentment, each track glows with radiant waves of catharsis while elegantly evoking jubilation and anguish within the same breadth, showing that the two are always around the corner from one another.

Composer, performer, and producer Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith's new album EARS is an immersive listening experience in which dizzying swirls of organic and synthesized sounds work together to create a sense of three-dimensional space and propulsion. Dense and carefully crafted, each of the songs on EARS unfolds with a fluid elegance, while maintaining a spontaneous energy, and a sprightly sense of discovery. Listeners familiar with her previous album Euclid (an album that prompted Dazed to call her “…one of the most pioneering musicians in the world.”) will no doubt notice her heavier use of vocals on EARS. On all but one song, her gently ecstatic swells of vocals emerge to soar over a dense jungle of synths and woodwinds.
Much of the album's warmth and energy stems from Smith's use of the versatile analog synthesizer, the Buchla Music Easel. According to Smith, “…nothing compares to the sound of a Buchla. In my mind a Buchla synthesizer has the most human sound in it. I wanted to show the Easel’s versatility and range of motion within a live set. I also wanted to spend as little time as possible in front of the computer during the creation.” After initially composing on the Buchla, she wrote arrangements for a woodwind quintet, added vocals, and further refined the pieces with granular synthesis techniques she developed in her sound design work (she contributed sound design to Panda Bear's “Boys Latin” video, and handled sound design and original compositions for Brasilia co-written by and starring Reggie Watts).
Though the pallet of sounds Smith employs on EARS is darker than the ebullient tenor we heard on Euclid, she's careful to let in just enough light to covey a feeling of cosmic bliss and transcendence. Kinetic arpeggios of synths pulse, often buoying her graceful vocal mantras, while woodwinds breathe and flutter, emulating the wildlife Smith observed while growing up on the West Coast (she even studied recordings of slowed down bird calls prior to composing these pieces). Though some of her gestures echo the musical tropes used by early minimalist composers, the world she creates on EARS is uniquely hypnotic and full of life, not unlike Miyzaki's film Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, which she cites as an inspiration.
EARS is a masterful articulation of Smith's vision, which she achieved in part by spending time preparing her mind prior to composing the album. As she explains, “I am very intentional about the months leading up to when I am going to compose something new. I really trust the subconscious and try and feed it only information I want it to feed back to me. I make playlists that I listen to nonstop, or have images I look at daily, or I go to places I want to be inspired by…I do all this prep work and then try and forget it when I am writing.” Listening to EARS, it's clear that her approach paid off, and that the seeds she planted within have born a vibrant and hyper-natural world that's as joyful to experience as the flora and fauna that inspired it.

Gabriel Birnbaum cuts straight to the spiritual essence of the charactershe inhabits, painting affecting and lovingly drawn scenes bolstered bycathartic hooks. Like one of his own espoused patron saints, Paul Simon,Birnbaum sets new challenges for himself with each recording, honingthe nuts and bolts of his songcra and pinpointing unexpected newaesthetic contexts for it. The lush and psychedelic folk-rock songs on hisnew album Patron Saint of Tireless Losers confidently cut to the essenceof his artistry, highlighting a mature narrative voice, and a consistentlysurprising musical syntax. As much as anything Birmbaum has put intothe world, it's a tour de force that thrives on both self-assuredness andrestlessness_marks of a crucial and constantly evolving artist whosework it's impossible to turn away from once you tap into its frequency.

Hello! Tim here. My band is called Strand of Oaks. This is my eighth record and it's called Miracle Focus. I spent over three years building Miracle Focus. In the midst of writing, I became a painter and spent two seasons acting on a television show (Mayans MC). The dichotomy of painting for days in my garage and then flying out to LA to play a villainous biker on TV was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. The idea of Miracle Focus was born out of one simple concept: to make people feel good. Throw in a healthy mix of Ram Dass, yoga, Freddie Mercury, Alice Coltrane, and Beastie Boys, plus over a year of writing and building the extremely dense architecture of the songs, and Miracle Focus was born. The result is FUN, wild, rhythmic music filled with synth layering and mantra-like lyrics intended to uplifting and hopefully bring some light to whoever listens. In many ways, this record is a love letter to bliss. Through meditation, I found a way to connect with something greater, a positive force that allowed me to write music as a manual towards a more love-focused life. And the miracles I refer to aren't asking the universe for anything; it's just acknowledging and celebrating this complex beautiful moment that we all get to share. It will be gone, it will re-emerge as something new, that will be gone, repeat....repeat... repeat - this eternal cycle. My most sincere hope is that whoever listens might through sonic osmosis experience a similar joy. Sending peace and love. Thank you for your time. - Tim

One of the most in-demand producers in indie rock, and one half of Foxygen,Jonathan Rado's recordings for The Killers, Father John Misty, The Lemon Twigs,Whitney, and Weyes Blood devour the canon, and return something distinctlymodern. On For Who The Bell Tolls For, Rado's first solo release in ten years, theproducer unveils a refined version of his signature sound, intricately sculpted byanthemic maximalism and good old-fashioned studio magic.The album is an exercise in mournful maximalism, transforming the mythos of Americanpop music into a vibrant meditation on death. The spirit of late producerRichard Swift _ Rado's friend and mentor _ can be found across the collection, imbuingtracks like "Easier" with a tangible sense of loss, and Swift-ian turns of phrase. Onother songs, such as the addictive "Don't Wait Too Long," Rado paints anarena-ready production with streaks of longing and hopelessness. In many ways, ForWho The Bell Tolls For is a musical ode to Swift, nodding to the late producer'slegacy with homespun epics that straddle the line between joy and grief.Recorded at Electric Lady Studios, New York and Sonora Recorders and DreamstarII, Los Angeles, the album features appearances by Rado's frequent collaborators,including The Lemon Twigs, Brad Oberhofer, Andrew Sarlo, Jackie Cohen, and KaneRitchotte. Despite this esteemed lineup and the gargantuan sound of the record, ForWho The Bell Tolls For is a solo album at heart. Rado plays the studio like an instrument,his distinct voice present in every nook and cranny of the structure. Thispresence can be easily detected in every project that the artist touches, but it's neversounded so honest, so shimmering, or so Rado as it does here.

A Flor de Piel, the new album from singer-songwriter and composer Maria MonicaGutierrez (aka Montañera), is a meditative journey of self-discovery across oceans, time,and the traditional confines of genre. Originally from Bogota, Colombia, Gutierrezbegan the album as a way to explore her identity after a difficult move to London left herfeeling untethered in a strange new place. The result is an examination of the immigrant'sexperience through a rich sonic lens of ambient pop textures, inspired by sources asdisparate as Colombian traditional music, traditional Senegalese music, and whalesongfrom the depths of the Atlantic.The album begins with the title track "A Flor de Piel," Gutierrez's indelible vocals floatingabove a vast expanse before being joined by deep, silky bass and the plucks of akoto-like stringed instrument. "The song was inspired by traditional Japanese music,"Gutierrez explains, "It's about making my heart a little lighter; I know that inside of me Ican be as light as mist in heat, I can be fragile as the song of a sparrow."That sentiment perfectly encapsulates much of what makes A Flor de Piel so special. Thealbum comes with a message of healing for all people, without forgetting the centuries ofstruggle and hurt that form the bedrock of modern society.The track "Santa Mar," for instance, is inspired by the musical traditions of afro-pacificwomen in Colombia, and the crucial role that they play as peacebuilders in the region.Backed by a hypnotic beat, the song features contributions from marimba player Cankita,alongside Las Cantadoras de Yerba Buena, an all-female vocal group that utilizestraditional Afro-Colombian music to preserve their history and promote peace.Standout track "Como Una Rama" is a futuristic take on bullerengue, a traditional style ofmusic and dance originally developed by Maroon communities on Colombia's Caribbeancoast. Deeply affecting, the song combines Gutierrez's indomitable voice withelectronics that recall Steve Reich's...

The Art of Surrender marks a return to life, sown from primalimpulses and hard-won emotional truths. Unrestrained melodicrapture soars above a relentless kick drum, speaking a needto move, to dance, to love. The music is as ambitious as itsorigins are personal. Tignor plays with scale, craftingmulti-movement epics along side one-miniute minita...

Until now, Art Feynman _ the eccentric alter ego of accomplished producer Luke Temple _ has strictly been a solo act, a way for the artist to explore surprising sonic landscapes without the burdens of identity. Slightly twisted takes on Kosmische Musik, worldbeat, and art pop can all be found scattered across the Art Feynman discography, but with his new album Be Good The Crazy Boys, Feynman fully immerses himself into pools of collective madness Unlike his first two albums, Crazy Boys was recorded live in the studio with a full band, a first for Feynman, capturing a spirit of restless anxiety that recalls the most frenetic work by Talking Heads, or Oingo Boingo at their darkest. Despite these callbacks, the collection remains firmly rooted in modern concerns, with songs about fearing the end of the world and struggling with Fomo _ narratives that would be relatable if they didn't sound so completely unhinged. With Be Good The Crazy Boys, Art Feynman proves to be more than just a character. He represents the part of the modern collective consciousness that's struggling to maintain balance in a toxic, chaotic world. In less skilled hands, that concept could result in a very somber listen. Fortunately, when Art Feynman gets his hands on the chaos of the modern age, it simply makes you want to dance.

In 2019, Stephen Steinbrink discovered a short YouTube video of a street magician who approaches a highschooler walking home in Barstow, California. "Here, let me show you my idea," he says, as he places a quarter on the kid's hand. The magicianperforms some relaxed flourishes, and the coin vanishes. In silence, the kid stares at his hand at the nothing where there once, indisputably, was something, until his wonder finds a single word: "Cool." The title of Disappearing Coin, the new album from Oakland songwriter Stephen Steinbrink, comes from this short clip. "When I look at it now," he says, "I relate to the kid, who's obviously uneasy in his body, and going through the experience of being a teenager in the early 2000s growing up in a bleak desert town like I did. I also relate to the coin, an inanimate disc of possibility. And I relate to the magician, an absurd facilitator of sending what is tactile and concrete into the wispy conceptual realm." "I've watched it probably a hundred times," he says. "It cracked me up but also blew my mind open_ thefeeling of wonder I experienced watching this video became a guide as I navigated new ways of staying in the realm of what's both real and magical."Following the 2018 release of Utopia Teased, Steinbrink completed an apprenticeship in the nearly-lost art of Stained Glass, becoming a glazier at a studio thatover three years, fully restored the enormous 90-year-old windows in San Francisco's Grace Cathedral. He committed to his Buddhist study, beginning lay monastictraining before the process was thwarted by the pandemic. He dove deeper into music production for other artists, engineering two albums by Boy Scouts releasedon Anti- Records in 2018 and 2021. Steinbrink delighted in the way these pursuits pulled at the thread of ego's tapestry and decentralized him from his craft, allowing him to embody a new role as a creative caretaker engaging in practices thatfelt communal and restorative."As I slowly began writing for myself again, I tried to imbue m...

In 2019, Lightning Dust broke up. Not the band, but Amber Webber and Joshua Wells-the couple at the core of it-ended their longtime relationship. In the wake of the split, the two musicians realized that Lightning Dust was still important to them and decided to stay together as an artistic partnership. The experience made them think about nostalgia as a concept and how this sort of longing for the past can be destructive, cancerous, useless. Webber and Wells reconvened virtually in mid-2020 to work together again as creative comrades, sharing some new ideas by correspondence, stitching together their song fragments into the dramatic arrangements now heard across Lightning Dust's forthcoming new album, Nostalgia Killer. The album title couldn't set a more perfect expectation for what the album holds. Hearing those words together, one might anticipate something harder, more chilly and severe. But what happens is quite the opposite: listeners find themselves wandering into someplace warm, guided by familiar sounds and voices. Little do they know they'll soon be flung into a climate unknown. Throw away the old coat-these songs signal a new season. This is a winding and moving album. Sensual, confessional, and free of fences. Each song builds with inexorable force, often pulling back to a whisper before washing over the listener completely. With their wealth of new imagery and the most incandescent flights, Lightning Dust sweeps you away from wherever you happen to be. Across Nostalgia Killer, Lighting Dust introduces a sound that feels vaguely familiar while forming a mythology all of their own. Although this exact work may not have been created if it wasn't for the duo's separation, it would be wrong to simply call it a break-up album. The songs here don't merely travel that well-trod landscape, they reinvent the scene altogether; after all, sometimes love needs reinventing. Nostalgia Killer is about something that affects us all, which is how we make sense of the world and each other over time and across borders. And far out as always, Lightning Dust is reinvented here magnificently.