Piccadilly Records' Top 100 Albums of 2019

Greg Gonzalez often thinks in cinematic terms. “It should have a rougher feel, like a documentary would,” the Cigarettes After Sex frontman tells Apple Music of the recording process for *Cry*, his ambient pop outfit’s sophomore LP. “In film, it\'s like, \'Do you shoot on location or do you shoot on set?\' We weren\'t in some office recording studio where there were standards of how you do things and gear set up. Our overall philosophy is to avoid studios. We should just record where it feels nice.” For *Cry*, that meant returning to a cathedral they’d once played in Germany and setting up in the courtyard of a Mallorcan villa. “It definitely made everyone play in a very relaxed way, which was exactly what I was looking for,” Gonzalez says. “In the end, I liked the energy in the gentle landscape of Mallorca, the wind in the trees under the stars. And that\'s how the feeling of the record was, too.” Here are the stories behind every song on the album. **Don’t Let Me Go** “On our first tour of Europe, we played a show in this beautiful cathedral in Bochum, Germany, and we liked it so much we thought we should come back to record. The atmosphere inside led me to write ‘Don\'t Let Me Go’ in about five minutes—the melody and everything. It’s based on a relationship I had in my hometown before I moved to New York, a person that I lost contact with. Just to say, ‘Even though we don’t talk, this was special. This led me to where I am now. Don\'t let the memory of it go.’ It was strange to be in Germany, so far away from home and so far away from my past. You think of where you are and then you think of the person you were just years ago. There\'s something very emotional about that. There was no rehearsal—it just appeared out of thin air.” **Kiss It Off Me** “One of the strangest songs on the record. Growing up in El Paso, there was a lot of Tejano music in the atmosphere. I was listening to metal and John Zorn records in high school, but by the time I got to New York, I had really gotten into Tejana and this one song by Selena called ‘Como la Flor.’ And I just kind of thought, ‘What would happen if I took that and made it a Cigarettes song somehow? Not in some goofy way, but out of a genuine love for Selena and a real emotional connection to that song. Cigarettes stuff is very influenced by Françoise Hardy and Cocteau Twins and Julee Cruise and Leonard Cohen, so it’s like I was throwing neon green into a black-and-white painting.” **Heavenly** “We played this summer festival in Latvia in 2016 and we had his really great show, our first show where the crowd was just going crazy in a new way. It was bizarre to get that kind of reaction—where it feels like we’re Metallica or something—because the music is so relaxed. After we played, we were all on this nice, natural high, and we walked over to a beach that was part of the festival. At that time of year in Latvia, the sun goes down really late at night. We sat down and looked at this gorgeous sunset just going on for hours and hours. It was one of the most beautiful things I\'ve ever seen. And I remember thinking to myself, ‘This is where I should be right now. This is the place I\'m kind of meant to be.’ It was this moment of clarity, and I put it in the chorus of ‘Heavenly.’ I turned that feeling into something more romantic, but it came from the beauty of witnessing that sunset forever.” **You\'re the Only Good Thing in My Life** “The hardest thing to get across in writing erotic pop is deciding where you put that line: What is romance and what is pornography? With the things I\'m doing, I\'m trying to say that all the sexual elements in the music grow out of romance. The romance is part of the sex. The romance is there first, and all the sexual things kind of come out of that, but the romance has to be first. The references to *Playboy* and *Penthouse* are images that I relate to the lover in this song, almost like bedroom talk. If you\'re intimate with someone and you\'re in this very intimate space, the things you say are very intense. They can be very raw, but they can be very passionate and sweet too.” **Touch** “You can really hear the sound of the cathedral on ‘Touch,’ the vastness of it. It’s one of the darker songs, a romance that\'s going bad, one that\'s kind of breaking up and people aren\'t seeing eye to eye. There are songs I\'ve written where the same character repeats, because it\'s from a relationship I had and I\'m telling different stories from that. We did the song ‘K.,’ and we had the song ‘Sweet,’ and we had ‘Affection.’ ‘Touch’ is the finale to that story, the last song associated with that person.” **Hentai** “This is the story of my current relationship. Writing the lyrics, I thought, ‘This is actually pretty over the top. Is it worth saying?’ When we first met, my girlfriend and I had this weird, short conversation about a *hentai* scene: We were both intrigued by it. But it was very open. You need those people in your life. You need to be able to say things out loud and see what they say and see how you react. But we just understood each other, immediately. We could talk about absolutely anything when we first met, and obviously that\'s why we\'re still together. That’s the way I saw it.” **Cry** “I think we all, or many of us, want to be in relationships. I\'ve always been looking for a relationship, one that would be spiritual, one that could be forever, with someone that you just fall in love with and you can\'t help it. We had just started to really tour, and all I was trying to do was to play music for a living—to be a writer, and for that to be my identity. I had met a few people that I probably could have had deep relationships with, but I found that since we were touring, I just wasn\'t ready for it, I wasn\'t in the right place for it. This song was a reaction to all of that. I just couldn\'t commit.” **Falling in Love** “So there’s ‘Hentai,’ and there’s ‘Falling in Love,’ which is about the more traditionally romantic side of my relationship with my girlfriend. Like the image of that moment with her and talking about how it would be sweet to have a house by the ocean someday. I love those plans you can make and have with the people you date. If I\'m traveling, then most of the relationship becomes long-distance, so when we couldn\'t see each other, we would see the same movie at the same time in different cities and make a little date of it. She was in LA and I was in New York, and I\'d be like, ‘All right, here\'s a time that we can both go to that kind of lines up.’ And so we would go and pretend that we were next to each other, watching the movie.” **Pure** “There are the songs that start to lean a bit more erotica on this record, just because the imagery of that was interesting to me. These are details taken from a relationship, but I put them together in the song to kind of tell that story. You could argue it\'s a little more like fantasy the way it’s arranged. There\'s explicit sexual elements to a lot of music. But how do you balance that? It\'s positive sensuality, positive sexuality.”

“I think I am the same as an artist and as a person. Music is my way of communication and I see the art, the music as a whole thing, with no borders, divisions, or even genres.” Hania Raniis a pianist, composer and musician who splits her life between Warsaw, where she makes her home, and Berlin where she studied and often works. She has written for strings, piano, voice and electronics and has collaborated with the likes of Christian Löffler, Dobrawa Czocher and Hior Chronik, and released an album with her Polish group tęskno last year. She has performed at some of the most prestigious venues in Europe - from the National Philharmony in Warsaw, to Funkhaus in Berlin, to The Roundhouse in London (where she made her debut at the Gondwana 10thanniversary festival last October) and at festivals such as Open’er, Scope Festival and Eurosonic. Her compositions for solo piano were born out of a fascination with the piano as an instrument, and her desire to interpret its sound and harmonic possibilities in their entirety and in her own way. Esja is her debut solo album and for Rani it is her first, real, personal statement as an artist. “No hiding behind the "collaborations" or "projects" anymore. For the very first time, finally - just me, as I am”. Recorded at Rani’s apartment in Warsaw (the piano room has a beautiful reverb and the space has become part art studio and part sound laboratory for Rani) and at her friend Bergur Þórisson’sstudio in Reykjavik, Esja is a series of beautiful melodic vignettes. Sensual, sensitive, rhythmic, atmospheric, free but harmonious, beguiling and hypnotic, collectively they project a sense of unlimited space and time. Originally, Rani hadn’t planned to release a solo piano album at all. “I would like to be considered first of all as a composer of music - so not being limited to any instrument or voice or whatever. The solo album came when I went to Reykjavik, where I wrote some new songs instantly while in the studio, so they were almost improvised compositions. It was then that I decided to release an unadorned solo piano album - telling a lot about my musical roots, which are definitely in this instrument. But it’s also just a small prelude of all the music that I want to share in the future”. Rani grew up in Gdansk with her parents (a doctor and architect) and surrounded by music and films. Initially inspired to study classical music, she was introduced to jazz and electronics at music school, widening her interests and as she puts it, “mixing Chopin & Schostakovitch with Dave Brubeck and Moderat”.Other inspirations include composers such as Max Richter, Esbjorn Svensson, Miles Davis, Nils Frahm, Murcof, Portico Quartet, Radiohead and even The Beatles.“It’s what connects all these artists that inspires me, their special approach to music and sound. For me they have big hearts and huge minds.” But Rani’s inspirations aren’t just musical, she has drawn inspiration from places she has lived and visited. “It’s about the feeling, the general atmosphere, sometimes about memories. Moving to Berlin (where you have the freedom to be yourself), exploring Iceland and the wild mountains in Bieszczady, South-East Poland, all changed me as a person, so I guess, also affected me as an artist.” And inspiration comes too from visual arts. Her father was an architect and the arts remain hugely important to Rani. “Ifind that what really inspires my music is not the music, but all the other things. I take inspiration for the form of my own pieces from architecture and design. Then I translate this "foreign" language, to my own music and the outcome is way more interesting for me than just getting it from the music. Indeed, for Rani it is often an image or a colour that comes first, what she calls a sound image. “I can really feel the colours, the mood - just like with photography. If the image is strong enough, sounds come along very quickly, trying to build the right image stuck in my head. The music fills the space, the music brings the new worlds, new spaces. One such inspiration was the collage artist Anthony Zinonos whose artwork adorns the cover of Esja and whose work Hania first found when she was working on the music that would become this album.“I really like the mix of colours and minimalistic style which perfectly describe me as a person and as an artist. I am really in love with his sense of humour and rare ability to match pure shapes with energetic colours and mood” Beautifully sculpted, Esja opens with the gorgeous Eden,which features a chorus full of warmth and grace. Sun is inspired by the sensation of the warmth of the sun, but also by the feeling of being small in the face of the universe. Hawaii Oslotakes its name from the film of the same name, but is inspired by the contrast of mood and location, always changing as you listen. Biesyis named for the Bieszczady Mountains and a memory of driving in Bieszczady'sforests and twisted roads with friends. The wistful, charming, Luka, is a love song written for someone who affected Rani’s music profoundly. The shimmering Glassis named for its fragility, but also for its many colours, like glass caught in the light. Today it Cameis the only song from the album recorded on a grand piano (belonging to Olafur Arnalds in his studio in Reykjavik). Inspired by the piano, Rani wrote a simple, beautiful tune, and when asked what the song was, she replied “it came today" and that became the title of a memorable piece. Finally, Esjais the named by the mountain in south-west Iceland (which can be seen from almost everywhere in Reykjavik) and because of constant changes to the weather there, it always looks different. It therefore became the perfect title for one of her favourite pieces, one that sounds different every time she performs it. And in turn it became the perfect title for her debut album. A powerful, entrancing statement that offers new delights and new insights on every listen and announces Hani Rani as a major new artist. All prices shown are “NET of VAT” (Value Added Tax). VAT will be calculated and added at the checkout. You will be charged the appropriate rate which will vary depending on the country. This release was uploaded at 24 bit / 44.1 kHz and available in FLAC, WAV, AIFF or MP3 and available in FLAC, WAV, AIFF or MP3.

SASAMI (Sasami Ashworth) has been making music in almost every way possible for the last decade, and between playing keys, bass, guitar within Cherry Glazerr and Dirt Dress; contributing vocal, string, and horn arrangements to studio albums by the likes of Vagabon, Curtis Harding, Wild Nothing, and Hand Habits; arranging for films and commercials; and even playing French horn in an orchestra - she has gained a reputation as an all-around musical badass. Now taking a turn to focus on her own music, SASAMI's self-titled debut will be out March 2019 on Domino. pre-order the LP at www.dominomusic.com/releases/sasami/sasami-lp-mart-exclusive

A culmination of life and musical experience, uncompromising in its vision, STONECHILD, the new studio album from Jesca Hoop is a self described “compassion project.” Released on July 5th by Memphis Industries, STONECHILD is Hoop refined and defined. Beautiful, subtle and stark, her fifth album, the follow up to 2017’s highly acclaimed ‘Memories Are Now’, is her best yet. Despite being a long term resident of Manchester, Hoop, has until now, returned to her native California to record. This time round however, “it was” according to Hoop “time to step out of my comfort zone, my safe place”, venturing south to Bristol to team up with producer John Parish (PJ Harvey, Aldous Harding, This is the Kit). Parish’s minimal and purist approach helped clarify Hoop in her ideas and subtly yet effectively realigning her sound. The simplified arrangements draw focus to the fundamental sophistication of the songs. While Hoop’s trademark finger-plucked guitar and ethereal textures remain, the songs and their presentation are ever more direct. Parish “was a gentle collaborator until he killed one of my darlings” Hoop jests. “I’ve never been so brutally edited, and I wasn’t shy about expressing my discomfort at the sight of my work on the cutting room floor. He said, you will forgive me, and in some way I think I actually enjoyed that treatment…being stripped back to the bare basics…albeit painfully”. STONECHILD ventures further into fresh territory with other voices joining the narrative, with Kate Stables (aka This is the Kit) Rozi Plain and Lucius singing the choruses and expanding the sensual depth of the sonic bloom. Embedded in Hoop’s song writing is an inherent unpredictability something she ascribes to being “guided more from instinct than study”. Perhaps more than ever before, STONECHILD sees Hoop lead us through uncharted landscapes across the course of the album. “When I look at the history of my life, I realise I have the breakdown of not only my parents’ marriage but also the breakdown of their parenting to thank for the wild and unexpected course that my life would take. I went looking for a raw and rugged world. the opposite of what I was raised in.” The album title was settled after a trip to a Philadelphia’s Mütter Museum, where the STONECHILD is a sad, compelling display of an unborn foetus carried by a woman for over 30 years. “They become a hard ball of bones, a rock. Phonetically, it's a beautiful sounding word - hard and soft – but also, I am taken by the idea of carrying something for a long time, perhaps in secret and then giving it up. I hope I have made an album of substance. There is meat on the bone”. There certainly is; the breath-taking Shoulder Charge, with Lucius contributing backing vocals, speaks of stigmatized culture and the kind of isolation that is formed by shame in a world where were “we are actually and truly the same …even in our differences. To understand all is to forgive all”. Old Fear of Father tackles an exhausted patriarchy and misogyny but if it was perpetuated by females. “I love my boys, more than I love my girl, try not to show it, she’s knows, like I knew”. It’s bare yet dense arrangement reveals a story that is both heart-breaking and shamefully true. On Red White and Black, Hoop chants down white supremacy. “Now the iron cloth that’s cut from the loom bares the black and white stripe of a cotton field rolling- And the dark mines and flame of redeemers put them right back in the iron cloth and the flag is waving”. As Hoop says “current politics is fucking disturbing. I write from personal perspective, about relationships mostly and I don’t find much music in politics, but as hate crimes increase, women’s rights are being rolled back, and the two nations I call home are building walls… well, the political has become deeply personal.” The folkiest moment on the album, the Kate Stables featuring Outside of Eden, concerns those young ones whose development is now guided by technology and the increasingly intimate relationship between child and device. “Come shut in boys for the girlfriend experience, enter the code and I’ll taste real”. STONECHILD, Hoop says, is intended to “wrap its arms around our human planet spinning in its increasingly precarious wobble”. These rich and curious songs derived from themes of our troubled times speak Hoop’s heart and mind from her empathetic yet tough loving centre point. With writing so fluid, so natural the result is an album where everything is truly meant.

***please note this album is being shipped from the US***

Somewhere amongst the 80 head-splitting, vibe-chasing, cosmically grimy minutes of the Oh Sees’ 20-somethingth album, one might begin to wonder if chief Oh See John Dwyer will ever run out of steam. More than two decades into the band’s career, they—Dwyer and his rotating cast—still manage to find new wheat to harvest from the fields of Classic American Freakouts, from bite-sized thrash (“Heartworm,” “Gholü”) to multi-part suites of drug-den soul (the 15-minute “Scutum & Scorpius,” the 21-minute “Henchlock”) tailored to weirdos of all hair lengths. Behold a vision in which punk and prog didn’t just coexist, but spawned. Fun? Menacingly. Evil? Studiously.

\"Kids in the Dark\" ushers in Bat for Lashes\' fifth album on a wave of cinematic synths that sounds like sunset and open road. It\'s the perfect introduction to a conceptual cycle that finds London-bred singer-songwriter Natasha Khan inhaling a throwback version of her new LA home base. Khan is no stranger to inhabiting complex characters (the widow of 2016\'s *The Bride*) and motifs (the fairy-tale fantasies of her debut, *Fur and Gold*), and likewise, *Lost Girls* hinges on Nikki Pink, whom Khan has described as \"a more Technicolor version\" of herself. In addition to its clear nods to the 1987 film *The Lost Boys*, the record takes cues from the original screenplay Khan was working on upon her relocation, inspired by \'80s kid flicks and vampire films, and blows them out in neon songs, tinged with drama and romance. The saxophone-laden instrumental \"Vampires\" calls to mind retro climactic scenes where imminent peril is blocked out by hope, while the disarmingly bright \"So Good\" embodies the kind of glamorous and carefree existence we often ascribe to the past. \"Why does it hurt so good?\" she begs on the hook, projecting all of the delight and none of the suffering. Khan is a master of conjuring thematic atmosphere, but here, she inhabits her era with particular gusto. In a pop culture landscape that remains obsessed with nostalgia, on *Lost Girls*, Khan transforms the familiar tropes of the past into something that feels fresh and revelatory—we are able to see old things anew, through the eyes of a person she\'s never been in a time and place she\'s never lived.

In some ways, Aldous Harding’s third album, *Designer*, feels lighter than her first two—particularly 2017’s stunning, stripped-back, despairing *Party*. “I felt freed up,” Harding (whose real name is Hannah) tells Apple Music. “I could feel a loosening of tension, a different way of expressing my thought processes. There was a joyful loosening in an unapologetic way. I didn’t try to fight that.” Where *Party* kept the New Zealand singer-songwriter\'s voice almost constantly exposed and bare, here there’s more going on: a greater variety of instruments (especially percussion), bigger rhythms, additional vocals that add harmonies and echoes to her chameleonic voice, which flips between breathy baritone and wispy falsetto. “I wanted to show that there are lots of ways to work with space, lots of ways you can be serious,” she says. “You don’t have to be serious to be serious. I’m not a role model, that’s just how I felt. It’s a light, unapologetic approach based on what I have and what I know and what I think I know.” Harding attributes this broader musical palette to the many places and settings in which the album was written, including on tour. “It’s an incredibly diverse record, but it somehow feels part of the same brand,” she says. “They were all written at very different times and in very different surroundings, but maybe that’s what makes it feel complete.” The bare, devastating “Heaven Is Empty” came together on a long train ride and “The Barrel” on a bike ride, while intimate album closer “Pilot” took all of ten minutes to compose. “It was stream of consciousness, and I don’t usually write like that,” she says. “Once I’d written it all down, I think I made one or two changes to the last verse, but other than that, I did not edit that stream of consciousness at all.” The piano line that anchors “Damn” is rudimentary, for good reason: “I’m terrible at piano,” she says. “But it was an experiment, too. I’m aware that it’s simple and long, and when you stretch out simple it can be boring. It may be one of the songs people skip over, but that’s what I wanted to do.” The track is, as she says, a “very honest self-portrait about the woman who, I expect, can be quite difficult to love at times. But there’s a lot of humor in it—to me, anyway.”

Aldous Harding’s third album, Designer is released on 26th April and finds the New Zealander hitting her creative stride. After the sleeper success of Party (internationally lauded and crowned Rough Trade Shop’s Album of 2017), Harding came off a 200-date tour last summer and went straight into the studio with a collection of songs written on the road. Reuniting with John Parish, producer of Party, Harding spent 15 days recording and 10 days mixing at Rockfield Studios, Monmouth and Bristol’s J&J Studio and Playpen. From the bold strokes of opening track ‘Fixture Picture’, there is an overriding sense of an artist confident in their work, with contributions from Huw Evans (H. Hawkline), Stephen Black (Sweet Baboo), drummer Gwion Llewelyn and violinist Clare Mactaggart broadening and complimenting Harding’s rich and timeless songwriting.

“I think everybody was ready to take a hiatus, pull the shades down for a year or so,” The National frontman Matt Berninger tells Apple Music of his band’s state of mind at the end of their tour for 2017’s Grammy-winning *Sleep Well Beast*. “Everyone in the band was exhausted and had no intention of diving back into a record at all. But Mike Mills showed up and had an idea, and then the idea just kept getting more exciting.” Mills—the Oscar-nominated writer and director behind *20th Century Women*, and not, it can’t be stressed enough, the former R.E.M. bassist—reached out to Berninger with the intention of maybe directing a video for the band, but that soon blossomed into a much more ambitious proposition: Mills would use some tracks that didn’t find their way onto *Sleep Well Beast* as the springboard for a short film project. That film—also called *I Am Easy to Find*—features Oscar winner Alicia Vikander portraying a unnamed woman from birth to death, a life story told in picaresque black-and-white subtitled snippets, to the swells of The National’s characteristically dramatic music. Those subtitles in turn informed new songs and inspired the band to head from touring straight into making another full album, right when they should have had their toes in sand. “All the song bits and lyric ideas and emotional places and stuff that we were deep into all went into the same big crock pot,” Berninger says. “We knew there would be a 25-minute film and a record, but it\'s not like one was there to support or accompany the other.” Just as the film is about nothing more and nothing less than an examination of one person’s entire existence, the album is The National simultaneously at their most personal and most far-flung. Don’t be fooled by the press photos showing five guys; though the band has been increasingly collaborative and sprawling over its two-decade run, never has the reach of the National Cinematic Universe been so evident. Berninger is still nominally the lead singer and focal point, but on none of the album’s 16 tracks is he the *only* singer, ceding many of the album’s most dramatic moments to a roster of female vocalists including Gail Ann Dorsey (formerly of David Bowie’s band), Sharon Van Etten, Kate Stables of This Is the Kit, Lisa Hannigan, and Mina Tindle, with additional assists from the Brooklyn Youth Chorus. Berninger’s wife Carin Besser, who has been contributing lyrics to National songs for years, had a heavier hand. Mills himself serves as a hands-on producer, reassembling parts of songs at will with the band’s full blessing, despite never having done anything like that before in his life. Despite this decentralization, it still feels like a cohesive National album—in turns brooding and bombastic, elegiac and euphoric, propelled by jittery rhythms and orchestral flourishes. But it is also a busy tapestry of voices and ideas, all in the name of exploring identity and what it means to be present and angry and bewildered at a tumultuous time. “There\'s a shaking off all the old tropes and patterns and ruts,” Berninger says. “Women are sick and tired of how they are spoken about or represented. Children are rebelling against the packages that they\'re forced into—and it\'s wonderful. I never questioned the package that I was supposed to walk around in until my thirties.” The album’s default mood is uneasy lullaby, epitomized by the title track, “Hairpin Turns,” “Light Years,” and the woozily logorrheic, nearly seven-minute centerpiece “Not in Kansas.” This gravity makes the moments that gallop, relatively speaking—“Where Is Her Head,” the purposefully gender-nonspecific “Rylan,” and the palpitating opener “You Had Your Soul with You”—feel all the more urgent. The expanded cast might be slightly disorienting at first, but that disorientation is by design—an attempt to make the band’s music and perspective feel more universal by working in concert with other musicians and a film director. “This is a packaging of the blurry chaos that creates some sort of reflection of it, and seeing a reflection of the chaos through some other artist\'s lens makes you feel more comfortable inside it,” says Berninger. “Other people are in this chaos with me and shining lights into corners. I\'m not alone in this.”

On 3rd September 2017, director Mike Mills emailed Matt Berninger to introduce himself and in very short order, the most ambitious project of the National’s nearly 20-year career was born and plans for a hard-earned vacation died. The Los Angeles-based filmmaker was coming off his third feature, 20th Century Women, and was interested in working with the band on... something. A video maybe. Berninger, already a fan of Mills’ films, not only agreed to collaborate, he essentially handed over the keys to the band’s creative process. The result is I Am Easy to Find, a 24-minute film by Mills starring Alicia Vikander, and I Am Easy to Find, a 68-minute album by the National. The former is not the video for the latter; the latter is not the soundtrack to the former. The two projects are, as Mills calls them, “Playfully hostile siblings that love to steal from each other” -- they share music and words and DNA and impulses and a vision about what it means to be human in 2019, but don’t necessarily need one another. The movie was composed like a piece of music; the music was assembled like a film, by a film director. The frontman and natural focal point was deliberately and dramatically sidestaged in favour of a variety of female voices, nearly all of whom have long been in the group’s orbit. It is unlike anything either artist has ever attempted and also totally in line with how they’ve created for much of their careers. As the album’s opening track, ‘You Had Your Soul With You,’ unfurls, it’s so far, so National: a digitally manipulated guitar line, skittering drums, Berninger’s familiar baritone, mounting tension. Then around the 2:15 mark, the true nature of I Am Easy To Find announces itself: the racket subsides, strings swell, and the voice of long-time David Bowie bandmate Gail Ann Dorsey booms out—not as background vocals, not as a hook, but to take over the song. Elsewhere it’s Irish singer-songwriter Lisa Hannigan, or Sharon Van Etten, or Mina Tindle or Kate Stables of This Is the Kit, or varying combinations of them. The Brooklyn Youth Choir, whom Bryce Dessner had worked with before. There are choral arrangements and strings on nearly every track, largely put together by Bryce in Paris—not a negation of the band’s dramatic tendencies, but a redistribution of them. “Yes, there are a lot of women singing on this, but it wasn't because, ‘Oh, let's have more women's voices,’ says Berninger. “It was more, ‘Let's have more of a fabric of people's identities.’ It would have been better to have had other male singers, but my ego wouldn't let that happen."

An eccentric like Madlib and a straightforward guy like Freddie Gibbs—how could it possibly work? If 2014’s *Piñata* proved that the pairing—offbeat producer, no-frills street rapper—sounded better and more natural than it looked on paper, *Bandana* proves *Piñata* wasn’t a fluke. The common ground is approachability: Even at their most cinematic (the noisy soul of “Flat Tummy Tea,” the horror-movie trap of “Half Manne Half Cocaine”), Madlib’s beats remain funny, strange, decidedly at human scale, while Gibbs prefers to keep things so real he barely uses metaphor. In other words, it’s remarkable music made by artists who never pretend to be anything other than ordinary. And even when the guest spots are good (Yasiin Bey and Black Thought on “Education” especially), the core of the album is the chemistry between Gibbs and Madlib: vivid, dreamy, serious, and just a little supernatural.

J-Walk returns this summer with a new LP Mediterranean Winds. A deep set of Vangelis-inspired sounds plunging the listener into waters deep whilst leaving crumpled anoraks behind, before forging the sound into the soulful vibrations of the J-Walk world we love!

“In this post-industrial, post-enlightenment religion of ourselves, we have manifested a serpent of consumerism which now coils back upon us. It seduces us with our own bait as we betray the better instincts of our nature and the future of our own world. We throw ourselves out of our own garden. We poison ourselves to the edges of an endless sleep. Animated Violence Mild was written throughout 2018, at Blanck Mass’ studio outside of Edinburgh. These eight tracks are the diary of a year of work steeped in honing craft, self-discovery, and grief - the latter of which reared its head at the final hurdle of producing this record and created a whole separate narrative: grief, both for what I have lost personally, but also in a global sense, for what we as a species have lost and handed over to our blood-sucking counterpart, consumerism, only to be ravaged by it. I believe that many of us have willfully allowed our survival instinct to become engulfed by the snake we birthed. Animated — brought to life by humankind. Violent — insurmountable and wild beyond our control. Mild — delicious. This is perhaps the most concise body of work I have written to date. Having worked extensively throughout my musical life with dramatics, narrative, and ‘melody against all odds’, these tracks are the most direct and honest yet. The level of articulation in these tracks surpasses anything I have utilized before.” -Benjamin John Power

Nashville is Oz for rising rock and country stars, and Jack White is one of the wizards behind the curtain. His tastemaking Third Man Records launched the careers of Music City mold-breakers like Margo Price and The Black Belles, and his next bet is Lillie Mae, the buzzed-about singer-songwriter touring with Robert Plant. White and Mae go way back—she played fiddle in White’s touring bands for years, until the two collaborated on her 2017 debut *Forever and Then Some*, a rootsy, folksy, electric wonder that made bluegrass feel alive and new. *Other Girls*, her spellbinding follow-up, digs deeper. Produced by Dave Cobb (Chris Stapleton, Brandi Carlile) and recorded in the historic RCA Studio A, it tells Mae’s stories of heartbreak and self-discovery through deceptively simple melodies (“Some Gamble”), chilling harmonies (“Crisp & Cold”), and expansive, almost mystical instrumentation (“You’ve Got Other Girls for That”). The songs are packed with personality and left turns: “How?” asks big questions with wandering, childlike intonations, and the dizzying, six-minute “Love Dilly Love” is a vision quest of spoken word that seems to recount all the ways love can let us down.

Lillie Mae led a sequestered childhood touring in a motorhome with her musician parents, constricted by religious boundaries. In her adolescence she busked from RV parks to the Rio Grande, swept through Nashville clubs, and achieved Top 40 country status in her sibling group Jypsi, but on Other Girls, a new side of herself emerges with more to say than ever before. She embraces personal triumphs on “I Came For The Band (For Show),” breathes new perspective into “Terlingual Girl,” a song she wrote as a 19-year-old in the South-Texan desert, and professes brave truths as heard in “You’ve Got Other Girls for That.” After a vagabond past, crossing paths with hundreds of musicians, she limits the cast of Other Girls to just her brother, sister, and a few trusted collaborators.

Melina Duterte is a master of voice: Hers are dream pop songs that hint at a universe of her own creation. Recording as Jay Som since 2015, Duterte’s world of shy, swirling intimacies always contains a disarming ease, a sky-bent sparkle and a grounding indie-rock humility. In an era of burnout, the title track of her 2017 breakout, Everybody Works, remains a balm and an anthem. Duterte’s life became a whirlwind in the wake of Everybody Works. After spending her teen years and early 20s exploring an eclectic array of musical styles—studying jazz trumpet as a child, carrying on her Filipino family tradition of spirited karaoke, and quietly recording indie-pop songs in her bedroom alone—that accomplished album found her playing festivals around the world, sharing stages with the likes of Paramore, Death Cab for Cutie, and Mitski. In November of 2017, seeking a new environment, Duterte left her home of the Bay Area for Los Angeles. There, she demoed new songs, while also embracing opportunities to do session work and produce, engineer, and mix for other artists (like Sasami, Chastity Belt). Reckoning with the relative instability of musicianhood, Duterte turned inward, tuning ever deeper into her own emotions and desires as a way of staying centered through huge changes. She found a community; she fell in love. And for an artist whose career began after releasing her earliest collection of demos—2015's hazy but exquisitely crafted Turn Into—in a fit of drunken confidence on Thanksgiving night, she finally quit drinking for good. “I feel like a completely different person,” she reflects. Positivity was a way forward. The striking clarity of her new music reflects that shift. After months of poring over pools of demos, Duterte, now 25, essentially started over. She wrote most of her brilliant new album, Anak Ko—pronounced Anuhk-Ko—in a burst during a self-imposed week-long solo retreat to Joshua Tree. As in the past, Duterte recorded at home (in some songs, you can hear the washer/dryer near her bedroom) and remained the sole producer, engineer, and mixer. But for the first time, she recruited friends—including Vagabon’s Laetitia Tamko, Chastity Belt’s Annie Truscott, Justus Proffitt, Boy Scouts’ Taylor Vick, as well as bandmates Zachary Elasser, Oliver Pinnell and Dylan Allard—to contribute additional vocals, drums, guitars, strings, and pedal steel. Honing in on simplicity and groove, refining her skills as a producer, Duterte cracked her sound open subtly, highlighting its best parts: She’s bloomed. Inspired by the lush, poppy sounds of 80s bands such as Prefab Sprout, the Cure, and Cocteau Twins—as well as the ecstatic guitarwork of contemporary Vancouver band Weed—Anak Ko sounds dazzlingly tactile, and firmly present. The result is a refreshingly precise sound. On the subtly explosive “Superbike,” Duterte aimed for the genius combination of “Cocteau Twins and Alanis Morissette”—“letting loose,” she says, over swirling shoegaze. “Night Time Drive” is a restless road song, but one with a sense of contentedness and composure, which “basically encapsulated my entire life for the past two years,” she says—always moving, but “accepting it, being a little stronger from it.” (She sings, memorably, of “shoplifting at the Whole Foods.”) Duterte focused more on bass this time: “I just wanted to make a more groovy record,” she notes. The slow-burning highlight “Tenderness” begins minimally, like a slightly muffled phone call, before flowering into a bright, jazzy earworm. Duterte calls it “a feel-good, funky, kind of sexy song” in part about “the curse of social media” and how it complicates relationships. “That’s definitely about scrolling on your phone and seeing a person and it just haunts you, you can’t escape it,” Duterte says. “I have a weird relationship to social media and how people perceive me—as this person that has a platform, as a solo artist, and this marginalized person. That was really getting to me. I wanted to express those emotions, but I felt stifled. I feel like a lot of the themes of the songs stemmed from bottled up emotions, frustration with yourself, and acceptance.” The title, Anak Ko, means “my child" in Tagalog, one of the native dialects in the Philippines. It was inspired by an unassuming text message from Duterte’s mother, who has always addressed her as such: Hi anak ko, I love you anak ko. “It’s an endearing thing to say, it feels comfortable,” Duterte reflects, likening the process of creating and releasing an album, too, to “birthing a child.” That sense of care charges Anak Ko, as does another concept Duterte has found herself circling back to: the importance of patience and kindness. “In order to change, you’ve got to make so many mistakes,” Duterte says, reflecting on her recent growth as an artist with a zen-like calm. “What’s helped me is forcing myself to be even more peaceful and kind with myself and others. You can get so caught up in attention, and the monetary value of being a musician, that you can forget to be humble. You can learn more from humility than the flashy stuff. I want kindness in my life. Kindness is the most important thing for this job, and empathy.”

Warmduscher return. Heavy metals. Disco Peanuts. CCTV in the break room. A little something to get you through the week. There’s enough to go around. Revenge is a dish best served bold. Melt in the mouth disco basslines on a fragrant bed of feedback. Try it with the boom bap tapenade. Here for a good time, not a long time. If you made your way out of Whale City with your faculties intact, this one’s for you. Clams Baker, Lightnin’ Jack Everett, Mr Salt Fingers Lovecraft and The Witherer have been joined by Quicksand on cutting board and cheese wire and commis chef Cheeks on vibes. They’ve been cooking. Michelin stars. The finest ingredients money can buy: Kool Keith and Iggy Pop. Funk, punk, hip-hop and lounge rock. Love is real. Band biographer and revered botanist Dr Alan Goldfarb describes the album as “a sample hole through which to taste another universe. A dramatic warning. A gilded aroma. It is a tale of wanton desire and limitless treachery. A tale of disillusionment – the refusal of exploitation.” If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.

The overall sound was pretty accidental” reckons Kavus Torabi. “I certainly didn’t expect the music to sound so ecstatic and positive, Without wanting to puncture the mystery, there really felt like an element of magic at play in making this album. For the most part it was incredibly effortless” “The band evolved from having had so much fun together and also sharing similar musical tastes” continues Steve Davis, “Mike (York) was living in Glastonbury where Kavus and I DJ’d in 2017. We all hung out together during the festival and the Utopia Strong was born. The name came later and I suppose reflects the fact that - once we’d jammed together and listened back to the improvising - the music felt pretty euphoric and otherworldly. It was very psychedelic but also strangely wonky” It was never any secret that Davis - even at the peak of his household name status in the 1980s - was as happy putting a needle on a vinyl record as anything else involving a cue. Renowned as an aficionado of soul, jazz-funk and progressive rock from the seventies onwards, he famously once single-handedly promoted three nights at the Bloomsbury Theatre for French esoteric leviathans Magma, so frustrated was he by their absence from British shores. Steve was first introduced to the modular synthesis world by Teeth Of The Sea’s Mike Bourne at a show the latter was playing with Hirvikolari at Cafe Oto in 2016. “Like many others before me, I was intrigued by the wires, knobs and blinking lights of the modular synth and it wasn’t that long after that I felt the need to get my own, even though I didn’t have a clue what I was letting myself in for! The instrument has the ability to create whatever your imagination can deal with” What’s more - with his tastes having moved into the fringes of experimental electronica as his record collection expanded exponentially, his music obsession took on new bounds after his retirement in 2016, with his DJ partnership with Torabi (Gong/Cardiacs/Knifeworld/Guapo) taking him to festivals and clubs for many a head spinning rampage, in which the wide-eyed assembled would be as likely to hear Autechre as Black Sabbath. All this aside, few would have expected the artist whose previous recorded output comprised one Top Ten hit in 1986 (The Matchroom Mob featuring Chas & Dave’s ‘Snooker Loopy’) would be a part of the aural epiphanies that are chronicled in The Utopia Strong’s debut album, The combined forces of Davis, Torabi and Michael J. York (Coil/Teleplasmiste/Guapo) have arrived at no less than a modular-driven kosmische colossus of transcendent power enough to drive all talk of green baize firmly into the blue yonder. An extraordinary marriage between celestial radiance and hallucinatory repetition - in which Davis’ modular geometry and ambient structures weave with Torabi’s keen and skewed sense of melody and York’s various gifts for pipes, drones and fevered abstract - the result is a beguiling tapestry as likely to remind listeners of the countercultural benchmarks of Terry Riley, Cluster and Fripp/Eno as the later vortex-voyages of Emeralds and Seefeel. Perhaps the centrepiece of the record is the ten-minute ‘Brainsurgeons 3’, in which techno-style exultance, hypnotic foward-motion and the perhaps unlikely but crucial arrival of York’s bagpipes collude to provide a truly formidable endorphin rush. “Kavus and I started programming an unmixed version of Brainsurgeons 3 into our DJ sets and the reaction was amazing!” concurs Steve. “Some nights the track got the most thumbs up of the set. We broke Shazam with it!” “in twenty years of making records it’s certainly been the easiest and most enjoyable to make” reflects Kavus. “Now, this may have been partly due to us having no preconceptions or expectations but it wasn’t just that. There was absolutely no conflict, and we spent a lot of time together working on it - in my experience that’s a total fucking miracle” “The personal journey I’ve been on since January 2nd 2018 with Kavus and Mike has been surreal” reflects Steve. “Probably more so than even the path that unfolded for me in snooker. That was pretty far out but this seems otherworldly! Maybe Glastonbury is a mystical place after all” ---

Michael Kiwanuka never seemed the type to self-title an album. He certainly wasn’t expected to double down on such apparent self-assurance by commissioning a kingly portrait of himself as the cover art. After all, this is the singer-songwriter who was invited to join Kanye West’s *Yeezus* sessions but eventually snuck wordlessly out, suffering impostor syndrome. That sense of self-doubt shadowed him even before his 2012 debut *Home Again* collected a Mercury Prize nomination. “It’s an irrational thought, but I’ve always had it,” he tells Apple Music. “It keeps you on your toes, but it was also frustrating me. I was like, ‘I just want to be able to do this without worrying so much and just be confident in who I am as an artist.’” Notions of identity also got him thinking about how performers create personas—onstage or on social media—that obscure their true selves, inspiring him to call his third album *KIWANUKA* in an act of what he calls “anti-alter-ego.” “It’s almost a statement to myself,” he says. “I want to be able to say, ‘This is me, rain or shine.’ People might like it, people might not, it’s OK. At least people know who I am.” Kiwanuka was already known as a gifted singer and songwriter, but *KIWANUKA* reveals new standards of invention and ambition. With Danger Mouse and UK producer Inflo behind the boards—as they were on *Love & Hate* in 2016—these songs push his barrel-aged blend of soul and folk further into psychedelia, fuzz rock, and chamber pop. Here, he takes us through that journey song by song. **You Ain’t the Problem** “‘You Ain’t the Problem’ is a celebration, me loving humans. We forget how amazing we are. Social media’s part of this—all these filters hiding things that we think people won\'t like, things we think don\'t quite fit in. You start thinking this stuff about you is wrong and that you’ve got a problem being whatever you are and who you were born to be. I wanted to write a song saying, ‘You’re not the problem. You just have to continue being *you* more, go deeper within yourself.’ That’s where the magic comes—as opposed to cutting things away and trying to erode what really makes you.” **Rolling** “‘Rolling with the times, don’t be late.’ Everything’s about being an artist for me, I guess. I was trying to find my place still, but you can do things to make sure that you fit in or are keeping up with everything that’s happening—whether it’s posting stuff online or keeping up with the coolest records, knowing the right things. Or it could just be you’re in your mid-thirties, you haven’t got married or had kids yet, and people are like, ‘What?’ ‘Rolling with the times’ is like, go at your own pace. In my head, there was early Stooges records and French records like Serge Gainsbourg with the fuzz sounds. I wanted to make a song that sounded kind of crazy like that.” **I’ve Been Dazed** “Eddie Hazel from Funkadelic is my favorite guitar player. This has anthemic chords because he would always have really beautiful anthemic chords in the songs that he wrote. It just came out almost hymn-like. Lyrically, because it has this melancholy feel to it, I was singing about waking up from the nightmare of following someone else’s path or putting yourself down, low self-esteem—the things ‘You Ain\'t the Problem’ is defying. The feeling is, ‘Man, I\'ve been in this kind of nightmare, I just want to get out of it, I’m ready to go.’” **Piano Joint (This Kind of Love) \[Intro\]** “As a teenager, I’d just escape \[into some albums\], like I could teleport away from life and into that person’s world. I really wanted to have that feel with this record. It would be so vivid, there was no chance to get out of it, no gap in the songs—make it feel like one long piece. Some songs just flow into each other, but some needed interludes as passageways. This intro came when I was playing some bass and \[Inflo\] was playing some piano and I started singing my idea of a Marvin Gaye soul tune—a deep, dark, melancholic cut from one of his ’70s records. Then Danger Mouse had the idea, ‘Why don’t you pitch some of it down so it sounds different?’” **Piano Joint (This Kind of Love)** “I used to always love melancholy songs; the sadder it is, the happier I’d be afterwards. This was my moment to really exercise that part of me. Originally, it was going to be a piano ballad, and then I was like, ‘Why don’t we try playing some drums?’ Inflo’s a really good drummer, so I went in and played bass with him, and it sounded really good. I was thinking of that ’70s Gil Scott-Heron East Coast soul. Then we worked with this amazing string arranger, Rosie Danvers, who did almost all the strings on the last album. I said to her, ‘It’s my favorite song, just do something super beautiful.’ She just killed it.” **Another Human Being** “We were doing all the interludes and Danger Mouse had found loads of samples. This was a news report \[about the ’60s US civil rights sit-in protests\]. I remember thinking, ‘This sounds amazing, it goes into “Living in Denial” perfectly—it just changes that song.’ And, yeah, again, I’m ’70s-obsessed, but the ’60s and ’70s were so pivotal for young American black men and women, and it just gave a gravitas to the record. It goes to identity and something that resonates with me and my name and who I am. It gives me loads of confidence to continue to be myself.” **Living in Denial** “This is how me, Inflo, and Danger Mouse sound when we’re completely ourselves and properly linked together. No arguments, just let it happen, don’t think about it. I was trying to be a soul group—thinking of The Delfonics, The Isley Brothers, The Temptations, The Chambers Brothers. Again, the lyrics are that thing of seeking acceptance: You don’t need to seek it, just accept yourself and then whoever wants to hang with you will.” **Hero (Intro)** “‘Hero’ was the last song we completed. Once it started to sound good, I was sitting there with my acoustic, playing. We’d done the ‘Piano Joint’ intro and I was like, ‘Oh, we should pitch down this number as well and make it something that we really wouldn’t do with a straight rock ’n’ roll song.’” **Hero** “‘Hero’ was the hardest to come up with lyrics for. We had the music and melody for, like, two years. Any time I tried to touch it, I hated it—I couldn’t come up with anything. Then I was reading about Fred Hampton from the Black Panthers and I started thinking about all these people that get killed—or, like Hendrix, die an accidental death—who have so much to give or do so much in such a small time. I also love the thing where all these legends, Bowie and Bob Dylan, were creating larger-than-life personas that we were obsessed with. You didn’t really know who they were. That really made me sad, because I don’t disagree with it, but I know that’s not me. So, ‘Am I a hero?’ was also asking, ‘If I do that stuff, will I become this big artist that everyone respects?’—that ‘I’m not enough’ thing.” **Hard to Say Goodbye** “This is my love of Isaac Hayes and big orchestrations, lush strings, people like David Axelrod. Flo actually brought in this sample from a Nat King Cole song, just one chord, and we pitched it around, and then we replayed it with a 20-piece string orchestra packed into the studio. We had a double-bass cello, the whole works, and this really good piano player Kadeem \[Clarke\] who plays with Little Simz, and our friend Nathan \[Allen\] playing drums. That was pretty fun.” **Final Days** “At first, I didn’t know where this would fit on the record, like, ‘Man, this is cool, I just don’t *love*it.’ I wrote some lyrics and thought, ‘This is better, but it’s missing something.’ It always felt like space to me, so I said to Kennie \[Takahashi\], the engineer, ‘Are there any samples you can find of people in space?’ We found these astronauts about to crash, which is kind of dark, but it gave it this emotion it was missing. It gave me goosebumps. Later, we found out that it was a fake, some guys messing around in Italy in the ’60s for an art project or something.” **Interlude (Loving the People)** “‘Final Days’ was sounding amazing, but it needed to go somewhere else at the end. I had this melody on the Wurlitzer, and originally it was an instrumental bit that comes in for the end of ‘Final Days’ so that it ends somewhere completely different, like the spaceship’s landing at its destination. But I was like, ‘Let’s stretch it out. Let’s do more.’ Danger Mouse found this \[US congressman and civil rights leader\] John Lewis sample, and it sounded beautiful and moving over these chords, so we put it here.” **Solid Ground** “When everything gets stripped away—all the strings, all the sounds, all the interludes—I’m still just a dude that sits and plays a song on a guitar or piano. I felt like the album needed a glimpse of that. Rosie did a beautiful arrangement and then I finished it off—everyone was out somewhere, so I just played all the instruments, apart from drums and things like that. So, ‘Solid Ground’ is my little piece that I had from another place. Lyrically, it’s about finding the place where you feel comfortable.” **Light** “I just thought ‘Light’ was a nice dreamy piece to end the record with—a bit of light at the end of this massive journey. You end on this peaceful note, something positive. For me, light describes loads of things that are good—whether it’s obvious things like the light at the end of the tunnel or just a light feeling in my heart. The idea that the day’s coming—such a peaceful, exciting thing. We’re just always looking for it.” *All Apple Music subscribers using the latest version of Apple Music on iPhone, iPad, Mac, and Apple TV can listen to thousands of Dolby Atmos Music tracks using any headphones. When listening with compatible Apple or Beats headphones, Dolby Atmos Music will play back automatically when available for a song. For other headphones, go to Settings > Music > Audio and set the Dolby Atmos switch to “Always On.” You can also hear Dolby Atmos Music using the built-in speakers on compatible iPhones, iPads, MacBook Pros, and HomePods, or by connecting your Apple TV 4K to a compatible TV or AV receiver. Android is coming soon. AirPods, AirPods Pro, AirPods Max, BeatsX, Beats Solo3, Beats Studio3, Powerbeats3, Beats Flex, Powerbeats Pro, and Beats Solo Pro Works with iPhone 7 or later with the latest version of iOS; 12.9-inch iPad Pro (3rd generation or later), 11-inch iPad Pro, iPad (6th generation or later), iPad Air (3rd generation), and iPad mini (5th generation) with the latest version of iPadOS; and MacBook (2018 model and later).*

Rebirth takes place when everything falls apart. DIIV—Zachary Cole Smith [lead vocals, guitar], Andrew Bailey [guitar], Colin Caulfield [vocals, bass], and Ben Newman [drums]—craft the soundtrack to personal resurrection under the heavy weight of metallic catharsis upheld by robust guitars and vocal tension that almost snaps, but never quite… The same could be said of the journey these four musicians underwent to get to their third full-length album, Deceiver. Out of lies, fractured friendships, and broken promises, clarity would be found. “I’ve known everyone in the band for ten years plus separately and together as DIIV for at least the past five years,” says Cole. “On Deceiver, I’m talking about working for the relationships in my life, repairing them, and accepting responsibility for the places I’ve failed them. I had to re-approach the band. It wasn’t restarting from a clean slate, but it was a new beginning. It took time—as it did with everybody else in my life—but we all grew together and learned how to communicate and collaborate.” A whirlwind brought DIIV there. Amidst turmoil, the group delivered the critical and fan favorite Is the Is Are in 2016 following 2012’s Oshin. Praise came from The Guardian, Spin, and more. NME ranked it in the Top 10 among the “Albums of the Year.” Pitchfork’s audience voted Is the Is Are one of the “Top 50 Albums of 2016” as the outlet dubbed it, “gorgeous.” In the aftermath of Cole’s personal struggles, he “finally accepted what it means to go through treatment and committed,” emerging with a renewed focus and perspective. Getting back together with the band in Los Angeles would result in a series of firsts. This would be the first time DIIV conceived a record as a band with Colin bringing in demos, writing alongside Cole, and the entire band arranging every tune. “Cole and I approached writing vocal melodies the same way the band approached the instrumentals,” says Colin. “We threw ideas at the wall for months on end, slowly making sense of everything. It was a constant conversation about the parts we liked best versus which of them served the album best.” Another first, DIIV lived with the songs on the road. During a 2018 tour with Deafheaven, they performed eight untitled brand-new compositions as the bulk of the set. The tunes also progressed as the players did. “We went from playing these songs in the rehearsal space to performing them live at shows, figuring them out in real-time in front of hundreds of people, and approaching them from a broader range of reference points,” he goes on. “We’d never done that before. We got to internalize how everything worked on stage. We did all of the trimming before we went to the studio. It was an exercise in simplifying what makes a song. We really learned how to listen, write, and work as a band.” The vibe got heavier under influences ranging from Unwound and Elliot Smith to True Widow and Neurosis. They also enlisted producer Sonny Diperri [My Bloody Valentine, Nine Inch Nails, Protomartyr]. his presence dramatically expanded the sonic palette, making it richer and fuller than ever before. It marks a major step forward for DIIV. “He brought a lot of common sense and discipline to our process,” adds Cole. “We’d been touring these songs and playing them for a while, so he was able to encourage us to make decisions and own them.” The first single “Skin Game” charges forward with frenetic drums, layered vocals and clean, driven guitars that ricochet off each other. “I’d say it’s an imaginary dialogue between two characters, which could either be myself or people I know,” he says. “I spent six months in several different rehab facilities at the beginning of 2017. I was living with other addicts. Being a recovering addict myself, there are a lot of questions like, ‘Who are we? What is this disease?’ Our last record was about recovery in general, but I truthfully didn’t buy in. I decided to live in my disease instead. ‘Skin Game’ looks at where the pain comes from. I’m looking at the personal, physical, emotional, and broader political experiences feeding into the cycle of addiction for millions of us.” A trudging groove and wailing guitar punctuate a lulling apology on the magnetically melancholic “Taker.” According to Cole, it’s “about taking responsibility for your lies, their consequences, and the entire experience.” Meanwhile, the ominous bass line and crawling beat of “Blankenship” devolve into schizophrenic string bends as the vitriolic lyrics. Offering a dynamic denouement, the seven-minute “Acheron” flows through a hulking beat guided under gusts of lyrical fretwork and a distorted heavy apotheosis. Even after the final strains of distortion ring out on Deceiver, these four musicians will continue to evolve. “We’re still going,” Cole leaves off. “Hopefully we’ll be doing this for a long time.” Ultimately, DIIV’s rebirth is a hard-earned and well-deserved new beginning.

There’s nothing all that subtle about Jamila Woods naming each of these all-caps tracks after a notable person of color. Still, that’s the point with *LEGACY! LEGACY!*—homage as overt as it is original. True to her own revolutionary spirit, the Chicago native takes this influential baker’s dozen of songs and masterfully transmutes their power for her purposes, delivering an engrossingly personal and deftly poetic follow-up to her formidable 2016 breakthrough *HEAVN*. She draws on African American icons like Miles Davis and Eartha Kitt as she coos and commands through each namesake cut, sparking flames for the bluesy rap groove of “MUDDY” and giving flowers to a legend on the electro-laced funk of “OCTAVIA.”

In the clip of an older Eartha Kitt that everyone kicks around the internet, her cheekbones are still as pronounced as many would remember them from her glory days on Broadway, and her eyes are still piercing and inviting. She sips from a metal cup. The wind blows the flowers behind her until those flowers crane their stems toward her face, and the petals tilt upward, forcing out a smile. A dog barks in the background. In the best part of the clip, Kitt throws her head back and feigns a large, sky-rattling laugh upon being asked by her interviewer whether or not she’d compromise parts of herself if a man came into her life. When the laugh dies down, Kitt insists on the same, rhetorical statement. “Compromise!?!?” she flings. “For what?” She repeats “For what?” until it grows more fierce, more unanswerable. Until it holds the very answer itself. On the hook to the song “Eartha,” Jamila Woods sings “I don’t want to compromise / can we make it through the night” and as an album, Legacy! Legacy! stakes itself on the uncompromising nature of its creator, and the histories honored within its many layers. There is a lot of talk about black people in America and lineage, and who will tell the stories of our ancestors and their ancestors and the ones before them. But there is significantly less talk about the actions taken to uphold that lineage in a country obsessed with forgetting. There are hands who built the corners of ourselves we love most, and it is good to shout something sweet at those hands from time to time. Woods, a Chicago-born poet, organizer, and consistent glory merchant, seeks to honor black people first, always. And so, Legacy! Legacy! A song for Zora! Zora, who gave so much to a culture before she died alone and longing. A song for Octavia and her huge and savage conscience! A song for Miles! One for Jean-Michel and one for my man Jimmy Baldwin! More than just giving the song titles the names of historical black and brown icons of literature, art, and music, Jamila Woods builds a sonic and lyrical monument to the various modes of how these icons tried to push beyond the margins a country had assigned to them. On “Sun Ra,” Woods sings “I just gotta get away from this earth, man / this marble was doomed from the start” and that type of dreaming and vision honors not only the legacy of Sun Ra, but the idea that there is a better future, and in it, there will still be black people. Jamila Woods has a voice and lyrical sensibility that transcends generations, and so it makes sense to have this lush and layered album that bounces seamlessly from one sonic aesthetic to another. This was the case on 2016’s HEAVN, which found Woods hopeful and exploratory, looking along the edges resilience and exhaustion for some measures of joy. Legacy! Legacy! is the logical conclusion to that looking. From the airy boom-bap of “Giovanni” to the psychedelic flourishes of “Sonia,” the instrument which ties the musical threads together is the ability of Woods to find her pockets in the waves of instrumentation, stretching syllables and vowels over the harmony of noise until each puzzle piece has a home. The whimsical and malleable nature of sonic delights also grants a path for collaborators to flourish: the sparkling flows of Nitty Scott on “Sonia” and Saba on “Basquiat,” or the bloom of Nico Segal’s horns on “Baldwin.” Soul music did not just appear in America, and soul does not just mean music. Rather, soul is what gold can be dug from the depths of ruin, and refashioned by those who have true vision. True soul lives in the pages of a worn novel that no one talks about anymore, or a painting that sits in a gallery for a while but then in an attic forever. Soul is all the things a country tries to force itself into forgetting. Soul is all of those things come back to claim what is theirs. Jamila Woods is a singular soul singer who, in voice, holds the rhetorical demand. The knowing that there is no compromise for someone with vision this endless. That the revolution must take many forms, and it sometimes starts with songs like these. Songs that feel like the sun on your face and the wind pushing flowers against your back while you kick your head to the heavens and laugh at how foolish the world seems.

A collection of unreleased meditative, spiritual jazz from the Gondwana archives in a 3xLP vinyl set The recordings on Oneness date from Jan, March and September 2008 and were born from a period of experimentation as Halsall first began to explore the music that would provide the inspiration for his spiritual jazz recordings Fletcher Moss Park and When the World Was One. They also offer an intriguing snapshot into the birth of Halsall’s Gondwana Orchestra and feature many musicians who would go on to become a key part of Halsall’s musical journey, such as harpist Rachel Gladwin, bassist Gavin Barras and saxophonist Nat Birchall. The recordings sat in the Gondwana Records vaults for over a decade before Halsall felt it was the right time to share them. Asked about the recordings Halsall says: “I’ve always treasured these recordings and loved how vulnerable, open and free they are, but I just felt they were too subtle and sensitive to release early on in my career, so I held them back until now. I also feel now is the right time to release these before I begin a fresh journey with a new bunch of musicians.” Remarkably, the beautiful compositions heard here were all built around a simple tanpura drone sound. An instrument Halsall heard on Alice Coltrane’s ‘Journey In Satchidananda’ album and then at a later date in a concert featuring Arun Ghosh on clarinet and John Ellis on piano. “I loved the way this instrument created a sort of meditative atmospheric pulse for the musicians to work over and it had this beautiful feeling of togetherness, so after the gig I went out and bought a Raagini Shruti box featuring the tanpura drone and began to practice my trumpet over it and wrote lots of loose themes and melodies”. The sessions that make up Oneness capture Halsall in the process of building a new band, reaching out to various musicians he’d discovered and admired on the Manchester, Liverpool and Leeds music scene. “I really liked this idea of bringing lots of musicians together from different backgrounds and was fascinated with how they would all react to each other and the tanpura drone box seemed to bring everyone together really well, it was kind of like a nice meditative icebreaker exercise for everyone to loosen up, before we got stuck into the more composed tunes I’d created, some of which ended up on the Sending My Love and Colour Yes albums”. The album’s title, Oneness, speaks to both Halsall’s conviction that the planet should be shared equally with all of its inhabitants. That no human being or other inhabitant deserves to exist more than the other and that we can achieve far more together than against each other. And also importantly to what Halsall was aiming for musically: “I really believe in Oneness and I’ve always loved the term ‘greater than the sum of its parts’. I could make music on my own and live a fairly isolated antisocial life, but there’s something far more rewarding about creating things with others. And for me these sessions document the coming together of lots of different musicians in a wonderfully organic soulful way to make egoless music”. It’s a belief that continues to underpin Matthew’s music making and a message that the world sorely needs right now as we feel more divided and separated than ever. This then is Oneness, a decade in the making and well worth the wait. Enjoy! All prices shown are “NET of VAT” (Value Added Tax). VAT will be calculated and added at the checkout. You will be charged the appropriate rate which will vary depending on the country. This release was uploaded at 24 bit / 96 kHz for maximum fidelity and is available in FLAC, WAV, AIFF or MP3.

Singer-songwriter Natalie Mering’s fourth album as Weyes Blood conjures the feeling of a beautiful object on a shelf just out of reach: You want to touch it, but you can’t, and so you do the next best thing—you dream about it, ache for it, and then you ache some more. Grand, melodramatic, but keenly self-aware, the music here pushes Mering’s \'70s-style chamber pop to its cinematic brink, suffusing stories of everything from fumbled romance (the McCartney-esque “Everyday”) to environmental apocalypse (“Wild Time”) with a dreamy, foggy almost-thereness both gorgeous and profoundly unsettling. A self-described “nostalgic futurist,” Mering doesn’t recreate the past so much as demonstrate how the past is more or less a fiction to begin with, a story we love hearing no matter how sad its unreachability makes us. Hence the album’s centerpiece, “Movies,” which wonders—gorgeously, almost religiously—why life feels so messy by comparison. As to the thematic undercurrent of apocalypse, well, if extinction is as close as science says it is, we might as well have something pretty to play us out.

The phantom zone, the parallax, the upside down—there is a rich cultural history of exploring in-between places. Through her latest, Titanic Rising, Weyes Blood (a.k.a. Natalie Mering) has, too, designed her own universe to soulfully navigate life’s mysteries. Maneuvering through a space-time continuum, she intriguingly plays the role of melodic, sometimes melancholic, anthropologist. Tellingly, Mering classifies Titanic Rising as the Kinks meet WWII or Bob Seger meets Enya. The latter captures the album’s willful expansiveness (“You can tell there’s not a guy pulling the strings in Enya’s studio,” she notes, admiringly). The former relays her imperative to connect with listeners. “The clarity of Bob Seger is unmistakable. I’m a big fan of conversational songwriting,” she adds. “I just try to do that in a way that uses abstract imagery as well.” “An album is like a Rubik’s Cube,” she says. “Sometimes you get all the dimensions—the lyrics, the melody, the production—to line up. I try to be futuristic and ancient at once, which is a difficult alchemy. It’s taken a lot of different tries to get it right.” As concept-album as it may sound, it’s also a devoted exercise in realism, albeit occasionally magical. Here, the throwback-cinema grandeur of “A Lot’s Gonna Change” gracefully coexists with the otherworldly title track, an ominous instrumental. Titanic Rising, written and recorded during the first half of 2018, is the culmination of three albums and years of touring: stronger chops and ballsier decisions. It’s an achievement in transcendent vocals and levitating arrangements—one she could reach only by flying under the radar for so many years. “I used to want to belong,” says the L.A. based musician. “I realized I had to forge my own path. Nobody was going to do that for me. That was liberating. I became a Joan of Arc solo musician.” The Weyes Blood frontwoman grew up singing in gospel and madrigal choirs. “Classical and Renaissance music really influenced me,” says Mering, who first picked up a guitar at age 8. (Listen closely to Titanic Rising, and you’ll also hear the jazz of Hoagy Carmichael mingle with the artful mysticism of Alejandro Jodorowsky and the monomyth of scholar Joseph Campbell.) “Something to Believe,” a confessional that makes judicious use of the slide guitar, touches on that cosmological upbringing. “Belief is something all humans need. Shared myths are part of our psychology and survival,” she says. “Now we have a weird mishmash of capitalism and movies and science. There have been moments where I felt very existential and lost.” As a kid, she filled that void with Titanic. (Yes, the movie.) “It was engineered for little girls and had its own mythology,” she explains. Mering also noticed that the blockbuster romance actually offered a story about loss born of man’s hubris. “It’s so symbolic that The Titanic would crash into an iceberg, and now that iceberg is melting, sinking civilization.” Today, this hubris also extends to the relentless adoption of technology, at the expense of both happiness and attention spans. The track “Movies” marks another Titanic-related epiphany, “that movies had been brainwashing people and their ideas about romantic love.” To that end, Mering has become an expert at deconstructing intimacy. Sweeping and string-laden, “Andromeda” seems engineered to fibrillate hearts. “It’s about losing your interest in trying to be in love,” she says. “Everybody is their own galaxy, their own separate entity. There is a feeling of needing to be saved, and that’s a lot to ask of people.” Its companion track, “Everyday,” “is about the chaos of modern dating,” she says, “the idea of sailing off onto your ships to nowhere to deal with all your baggage.” But Weyes Blood isn’t one to stew. Her observations play out in an ethereal saunter: far more meditative than cynical. “I experience reality on a slower, more hypnotic level,” she says. “I’m a more contemplative kind of writer.” To Mering, listening and thinking are concurrent experiences. “There are complicated influences mixed in with more relatable nostalgic melodies,” she says. “In my mind my music feels so big, a true production. I’m not a huge, popular artist, but I feel like one when I’m in the studio. But it’s never taking away from the music. I’m just making a bigger space for myself.”

Over the decade-plus since he arrived seemingly fully formed as the platonic ideal of indie DIY made good, Justin Vernon has pushed back against the notion that he and Bon Iver are synonymous. He is quick to deflect credit to core longtime collaborators like Chris Messina and Brad Cook, while April Base, the studio and headquarters he built just outside his native Eau Claire, Wisconsin, has become a cultural hub playing host to a variety of experimental projects. The fourth Bon Iver full-length album shines a brighter light on Bon Iver as a unit with many moving parts: Renovations to April Base sent operations to Sonic Ranch in Tornillo, Texas, for much of the production, but the spirit of improvisation and tinkering and revolving-door personnel that marked 2016’s out-there *22, A Million* remained intact. “This record in particular felt like a very outward record; Justin felt outward to me,” says Cook, who grew up with Vernon and has played with him through much of his career. “He felt like he was in a new place, and he was reaching out for new input in a different way. We\'re just more in the foreground inevitably because the process became just a little bit more transparent.” Vernon, Cook, and Messina talk through that process on each of *i,i*\'s 13 tracks. **“Yi”** Justin Vernon: “That was a phone recording of me and my friend Trevor screwing around in a barn, turning a radio on and off. We chopped it up for about five years, just a hundred times. There’s something in that ‘Are you recording? Are you recording?’ that felt like the spirit that flows into the next song.” **“iMi”** Brad Cook: “It was like an old friend that you didn\'t know what to do with for a long time. When we got to Texas, a lot of different people took a crack at trying to make something out of that song. And then Andrew Sarlo, who works with Big Thief and is just a badass young producer, he took the whack that broke through the wall. Once the band got their hands on it, Justin added some of the acoustic stuff to it, and it just totally blew it wide open.” **“We”** Vernon: “I was working on this idea one morning with this engineer, Josh Berg, who happened to be out with us. And this guy Bobby Raps from Minneapolis was also at my studio just kind of hanging around, and he brought this dude named Wheezy who does some Young Thug beats, some Future beats. So I had this little baritone-guitar bass loop thing, and Wheezy put his beat on there. All these songs had a life, or had a birth, before Texas, but Texas was like graduation for every single one. That\'s why we went for so long and allowed for so much perspective to sink into all the tunes. It\'s a fucking banger; I love that one.” **“Holyfields,”** Vernon: “The whole song is an improvised moment with barely any editing, and we just improv\'d moves. I sang some scratch vocals that day when we made it up, and they were weirdly close to what ended up being on the album. We didn\'t really chop away at that one—it kind of just was born with all its hair and everything.” **“Hey, Ma”** Vernon: “It just felt like a good strong song; we knew people would get it in their head. A couple of these tunes, and some of the tunes from the last album, I sort of peck around the studio with BJ Burton from time to time, and 90 percent of the stuff we make is death techno or something. So, there\'s another one that sort of just hung around with a stake in the ground, so to speak. And then our team—the three of us and the rest of everyone—just kept etching away at it, and it ended up becoming the song that felt emblematic of the record.” **\"U (Man Like)\"** Cook: “We had Bruce \[Hornsby\] come out to Justin\'s studio for a session for his *Absolute Zero* record. Bruce was playing a bunch of musical ideas that he had just sort of done at his house, and that piano figure in that song—I feel like we were tracking 15 seconds later. It was like, \'Wait, can we listen to this again?\'” Vernon: “I\'m not so good at coming up with full songs on the spot, but I can kind of map them out with my voice, or inflection. Then it takes a long time to chip away at them. Messina might have an idea for what that line should be, or Brad, or me. The melody that I sang that first day probably sounds remarkably like the melody that\'s on the album.” **“Naeem”** Vernon: “We did a collaboration with a dance group called TU Dance, and that was one of the songs. So we\'ve been performing \'Naeem\' as a part of this thing for a while. It\'s in a different state, but it\'s the finale of this big collaboration. And it just seemed very anthemic, and a very important part of whatever this record was going to be. It feels really nice to have a little bit more straightforward—not always bombastic, not always sonically trying to flip your lid or something.” **“Jelmore”** Vernon: “Basically an improvisation with me and this guy Buddy Ross. Again I probably didn\'t sing any final lyrics, but it\'s based on an improvisation, much like the song \'\_\_\_\_45\_\_\_\_\_\' from \[*22, A Million*\]. And when we were down outside El Paso, me and Chris were over on one part of this studio and Brad was with the band in a big studio across the property, and they sort of took \'Jelmore\' upon themselves and filled it in with all the lovely live-ness that\'s there. As the record goes on, it feels like there\'s a lot of these things that are sort of bare but have a lot of live energy to them.” **“Faith”** Vernon: “A basement improv that sat around for many years; maybe could have been on the last album, was for a while. I don\'t know, man—it\'s a song about having faith.” **“Marion”** Chris Messina: “I think that\'s one that Justin\'s been noodling around with for a while; for a few years, he would pick up that guitar and you would just kind of hear that riff. And we didn\'t really know what was going to happen to it. It\'s another one that exists in the TU Dance show. But what\'s cool about the version that\'s on the record is we did that as a live take with a six-piece ensemble that Rob Moose wrote for and conducted, and it was saxophone, trombone, trumpet, French horn, harmonica, and I think that\'s it that we did live. And then Justin was singing live and playing guitar live.” **“Salem”** Vernon: “OP-1 loop, weird Indigo Girls/Rickie Lee Jones vibes. I got really into acid and the Grateful Dead this year, so there\'s definitely some early psych vibes in there. The record really is supposed to be thought of as the fall record for this band, if you think of the other ones as seasons. Salem and burning leaves—these longings and these deaths, it\'s very much in there in that song, so it\'s a really autumn-y song.” **“Sh’Diah”** Vernon: “It stands for Shittiest Day in American History—the day after Trump got elected. It\'s another that sort of hung around as an improvised idea, and we finally got to figure out where we\'re going to land Mike Lewis, our favorite instrumentalist alive today in music. He gets to play over it, and the band got to do all this crazy layering over it. It\'s just one of my favorite moods on the album.” **“RABi”** Messina: “Justin\'s singing a cool thing on it, the guitar vibe is comforting and persistent, but we just weren\'t really sure where it needed to go. And then Brad and the rest of the dudes got their hands on it and it came back as just a dream sequence; it was so sick. We all kind of heard it and it was like, whoa, how can this not close out the record? This is definitely \'see you later.\'” Vernon: “Just some ‘life feels good now, don\'t it?\' There\'s a lot to be sad about, there\'s a lot to be confused about, there\'s a lot to be thankful for. And leaning on gratitude and appreciation of the people around you that make you who you are, make you feel safe, and provide that shelter so you can be who you want to be, there\'s still that impetus in life. We need that. It\'s a nice way to close the record, we all thought.”

There’s a sense of continuity that runs through the music that San Francisco’s Scott Hansen makes as Tycho. But *Weather*, his follow-up to 2016’s *Epoch*, marks a major shift: It’s his first album to feature vocals—not just massaging them into the mix, but setting them front and center. That’s hardly unusual for Tycho’s brand of chill, but where his peers might recruit a rotating cast of featured singers, *Weather*’s eight vocal tracks are all the work of just one person: Saint Sinner, a.k.a. Hannah Cottrell—a Texas singer-songwriter with very little on record until now. Hansen had wanted to work with a singer for years, but nothing had ever clicked. With Cottrell, things were different, and before long a handful of demos had turned into an entire album. \"I just kind of followed her on her trip,” Hansen tells Apple Music. “I wanted this to be somebody nobody had ever heard of. I was just like, this isn\'t a feature, this is literally what Tycho is right now.” Through each of the album\'s tracks, Hansen tells us more about that transformation. **\"Easy\"** \"I made the instrumental version that I was really happy with. But then, after I’d worked with Hannah on all the vocal sessions and we were pretty much done, I pulled out all these unused vocal samples, and I thought it would be cool to work with her voice like I used to work with voices—like a sampler, like an instrument. It made me realize, this is a great jumping-off point as the first track. You introduce vocals and lull people into a false sense of security. They\'re like, \'Oh, he’s just going to use them like he used to. Cool, okay, what a relief.\' And then I hit them over the head with \'Pink and Blue.\'” **\"Pink and Blue\"** \"When I didn’t know if there were going to be vocals or not, I really struggled, because I was like, what is this? How do you make this into a compelling instrumental? There’s something really cool about this song, but it feels like it’s missing something big. And slowly, it was like, it’s probably vocals. The second she sang, it was like, oh yeah, that’s what it was missing. Once all this stuff started coming together and I started hearing what it was going to be, there was definitely this element of, all right, this song wants to be huge and big and powerful. So it was like, okay, I gotta step this up.\" **\"Japan\"** \"This was the stylistic center of what I had been working towards before the vocals—this grainy, digital era of synthesizers. That was the stuff that I had access to when I first started making music—low-quality digital stuff from the early ’90s and late ’80s. I moved to San Francisco in 1995, and it was my first time living outside my parents’ house. I was going to University of San Francisco, so I spent a lot of time in Japantown. I\'m from a small town outside of Sacramento, so I\'d never had sushi; I didn\'t really know much about Japan, or even San Francisco, for that matter. I had just started listening to electronic music. My world was opening up, and that just happened to be where we hung out and skated all day. So this song is speaking to the very early beginnings of what I thought the outside world was like, outside of my small reality in Fair Oaks, California. I later grew an affinity for Japan—I\'ve been there several times since and love the place, and draw a lot of inspiration, especially aesthetically, from their culture.” **\"Into the Woods\"** \"This one is pure Tycho. I wanted to make the most Tycho song ever. I’ve spent lot of time exploring external spaces, just to challenge myself or push myself in a different direction. But I always wanted to revisit the idea: What if I’d just stayed in my bedroom making electronic music all these years, and never really tried to do anything outside of that? What if there’s some parallel universe where *Past Is Prologue* just kept going?\" **\"Skate\"** \"Every album since *Dive*, I try to have one song where I just sit down and write it on a guitar and there isn’t much else going on. Most of those I dress up with synths and put all these electronic elements around them, but at their core they\'re just a pretty, sad guitar song. That’s what ‘Skate\' started out as, and it was going to be this really simple closer. Then, once Hannah sang over it—that was the first song we worked on together—it completely transformed. I tried a couple of times to dress it up the way that I used to—put a kick drum in it, did a few things—but everything I did was like, just don\'t touch this, leave it, let it be what it is.\" **\"For How Long\"** “‘Japan\' is the stylistic center of the album, but this is the first song that I wrote. I have this pile of ideas on my computer, all these comps that I bounce, like, oh, that’s a cool idea, maybe I’ll come back to that. Then there’s a critical mass where it’s like, whoa, there’s enough stuff here \[for an album\]. Or at least a couple of strong ideas that I could use as jumping-off points. This was the moment—when I wrote this song, it just kind of clicked. It’s like, okay, this is the path that I follow for this record.” **\"No Stress\"** \"This was the first and only song I wrote just for Hannah. All the other songs, if you muted the vocals and added a couple of elements, that’s essentially the instrumental version that existed. I started learning how vocals fit into songs and I was like, this might be very different if I’m not forcing her into a preexisting space. I sent her the demo, which was really sparse and stripped down. I was very conscious of trying to let her voice breathe. The elements are more electronic and a lot more concise. There’s not these giant reverb tails, all this melting stuff. It had space carved out for vocals from square one. It was an interesting experiment of, okay, what if we had written a record from scratch together? I think it’d be a lot like this.” **\"Weather\"** \"I wanted some giant, towering, emotive song to finish the album off. I want this period in my life to be about being more prolific and getting more ideas out there. I kind of got stuck into this thing of \'Here’s an album, see you in two years, I’m going on tour.\' I didn’t really like that because you disconnect from the process, and by the time you come back, you’ve forgotten how to go about it. I just want to keep putting stuff out. I have all this material, because I spent so much time writing before this record. I have this giant stack of songs that I need to finish. This song is the jumping-off point to what’s next.\"

If some of literature’s greatest works—*The Sun Also Rises*, \"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” *Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows*—can start with an epigraph, why can’t an album? “It sort of sets the scene in a way,” Kindness tells Apple Music of their choice to introduce their third LP with an a cappella from Detroit techno group Galaxy 2 Galaxy’s “Transition.\" \"It shows that the author\'s read someone other than themselves.” Kindness is definitely one of those authors. The singer-songwriter-producer born Adam Bainbridge makes plush downtempo pop tunes that not only wear their diverse influences on their sleeve (avant-garde disco, classic house music, ’90s hip-hop, Balearic beat) but emblazon them across their chest in huge block letters (boldly sampling \'80s R&B singers Cherrelle and Alexander O’Neal, DC go-go royalty Trouble Funk, and UK synth-pop experimenters Art of Noise). So the salvo that opens “Sibambaneni” is particularly fitting: “There will be people who will say, ‘You don’t mix *this* with *that*.’ And you will say, \'Watch me.’” From there, *Something Like a War*’s all-inclusive utopia takes shape, as Kindness and their score of collaborators (including the late Cassius producer Philippe Zdar, who helped make Kindness’ debut album and to whom this one is dedicated) weave personal reflections and soulful, atmospheric excursions with a stylistic vision that\'s matched only by peers like Solange and Blood Orange’s Dev Hynes. The geographically unbound Kindness explains how each of the album’s songs came together. **“Sibambaneni”** \"This was inspired by the best parts of a visit to Johannesburg. My mother\'s family are Indians who immigrated to South Africa, and who experienced some really horrible things under apartheid. I didn\'t really want to go back, but I went in 2016 and had both good and bad experiences. And the good of the experience was often finding a mutual understanding with other queer and non-white communities there. That was very cathartic and positive, and the idea of standing in solidarity and attempting to uplift each other was what we tried to put into the song.\" **\"Raise Up”** “This is the more positive continuation of \'Sibambaneni.’ You can’t really have light without dark. The piano comes in and the beat comes in, and it’s just trying to get closer to that communal euphoria—the joy of these voices singing together. These first two songs have string contributions from Rob Moose and vocals from my friends Bryndon Cook and Amanda Khiri.” **\"Lost Without\" (feat. Seinabo Sey)** “What I hope is the first of many songs with Seinabo. The song was originally written by myself and Kelela. We did a demo that was quite far removed from this, around the time of my last album. I always think it’s nice to have these little foundational pieces that carry on from one project to the next. The incredible bass was recorded in Johannesburg, the lead vocals in Stockholm, and the rest of the instrumentation in New York, where 99 percent of this record was made.” **\"Softness as a Weapon”** \"Mixing is a key part of making records for me. But I’m absolutely not a mixer; it’s too technical, too many decisions. This was the first track that Philippe mixed, and working with him was like coming home. So absolutely natural yet also insanely exciting. I remember him pushing the volume of new vocal effects he recorded and taking the song to a really extreme place which no one else could have done. This whole album is a testament to our friendship and collaboration.\" **\"Hard to Believe\" (feat. Jazmine Sullivan)** \"Jazmine Sullivan posted an Instagram story about her song \'Bust Your Windows,\' saying how she’d want strings on everything if she could have them. I was in the middle of writing a song which I knew would have some, so I went out on a limb and sent it to her management. We followed up maybe a thousand times, but the persistence was worth it. It’s kinda nice to have Jazmine and Bahamadia on the same record, too. This is definitely my East Coast album.\" **\"Who You Give Your Heart To\" (feat. Alexandria)** \"I’ve been a fan of Alexandria since 2014’s *Rebirth*. This is inspired by house projects like Nuyorican Soul—by vocal house and where those arrangements can take you.\" **\"Samthing’s Interlude\" (feat. Samthing Soweto)** \"I always love LPs where someone takes an interlude and resets the energy for a moment. It was amazing to come across Samthing’s music online and then meet him in Joburg. If you have a chance, listen to the song which introduced me to him: ‘Kwamampela.\'\" **\"Dreams Fall\"** \"I moderated Robyn’s lecture for Red Bull Music Academy in 2018, and perhaps this was a little window of fate. I had been chipping away at a few songs—this one, ‘Cry Everything,\' and ‘Softness as a Weapon’—but really needed a second pair of ears. She came into the studio and instinctively knew what the right move was for each. I’m indebted to her, both for our collaborations and songs like these where I get to pick her songwriter’s brain. That said, she is quite audibly singing a very country-esque background *oooh* in the breakdown of the track.\" **\"The Warning\" (feat. Robyn)** “I remember playing ‘Who Do You Love?’ from \[2014’s\] *Otherness* to Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis. Robyn and I were working with them at the time on songs I truly hope we’ll one day finish. Terry was horrified by \'Who Do You Love?’—all loping rhythm, asymmetry, and fidgety arrangement. I can understand his point. But a few weeks later, we played them this and his reaction was a smile, and one of relief. I think it’s wonderful to have finally made something approaching a straightforward ballad with Robyn, as her voice is heartbreaking when most unadorned. This is also the first song she and I wrote together.\" **\"Cry Everything”** \"There are a lot less samples on this LP than on previous ones. I think samples should really sound like samples—enormous-sounding, otherworldly, too much to be the product of any one individual. That’s what’s amazing about using samples sometimes: It’s a hybrid song which couldn’t exist in the scale of ambition it has if it weren’t for the original composition. I’m grateful to have been able to use Todd Rundgren’s voice in this song. The original, \'Pretending to Care,\' was just already such a beautiful and profound piece of music that it was interesting to try and do something respectful, but also make it sound huge.” **\"No New Lies\" (feat. Cosima)** \"These last three songs are kind of the moody ending to an otherwise uptempo record. \'No New Lies\' was such a fantastic title from Cosima, and we built the track around her energy. This song also manages to do something I’ve always wanted to do and builds into another completely separate track. I had charts on my walls for years of keys and tempos, always on the lookout for when a song idea might end up blending into another.” **\"Something Like a War\" (feat. Bahamadia)** \"With the last LP, I felt like there was something incongruous working with American MCs when I was based in London, but this record really brought me close to all of the incredible musicianship close to home in NYC and the surrounding cities. It took a little time to make contact, but it was so worth it. Bahamadia has long been a hero. Her work on *Kollage* and Roni Size’s *New Forms* LP are super formative for me. Everything she touches is golden. This song was part of a longer thematic discussion. She wanted to see the rest of the lyrics for the record and hear as much as she could, and then extrapolate from there.” **\"Call It Down\" (feat. Cosima and Nadia Nair)** \"This is sort of in keeping with the traditions of vinyl sequencing—you put your soft and drumless tracks at the end of a side of vinyl, where there’s less loudness and dynamic range. As a listener who enjoys records released in the vinyl era, there are a lot of peaceful last songs in my collection. This was inadvertently one of those, and brings together so many of the team who worked on this LP: Philippe on the mix, Daniel Aged on bass, Rob Moose on strings, Hanna Benn on choral vocals, and Cosima and Nadia Nair singing lead with me. It’s bonkers to me that we get to make records. I can’t tell you how honored I feel to have made this one with so many incredible people.”

New York’s B Boys (Andrew Kerr, Brendon Avalos, Britton Walker) find inspiration in the chaos that surrounds them: the aggressive attitude and sonic lawlessness of the city they live, work, and breathe in every day. Their raw, yet meticulous style is characterized by rhythmic complexity, commanding riffs, and introspective lyrics that are as playful and self-aware as they are cutting. Across two acclaimed releases on Captured Tracks—2016’s No Worry No Mind EP and 2017’s debut full-length Dada—B Boys explore solitude and self-reflection through sharp, high-energy shouts and melodic mediations. Now, the sprightly sarcasm and acerbic commentary continues on the band’s highly anticipated sophomore LP, Dudu. Recorded by Gabe Wax (Deerhunter, Ought, Crumb) at Outlier Inn, and mixed by Andy Chugg (Pill, Pop. 1280, Bambara) to be released on July 26, 2019. B Boys have toured the U.S. and Europe extensively, supporting acts such as Parquet Courts, Merchandise, Shame, Sunflower Bean, and Thee Oh Sees. Influenced by The Clash, Wire, and Talking Heads, Dudu finds B Boys picking up where they left off, pondering quotidien grievances while examining the bigger picture. On tracks like “Cognitive Dissonance” and “Automation,” subtle tensions meet agonizing pressure that softly build, then explode. “I Want,” featuring Pill’s Veronica Torres, is a bright, feel-good critique of capitalism and greed. There’s a lot of noise in the world, but what are we actually saying? On Dudu, B Boys take time to laugh, scream and chant their way through the absurdity of it all.

A first taste of Ty? Hardly, but First Taste erects extreme new sonic skylines for Segall to soar over. His natural state of urgency is paired with a thirsty contemplative vibe as Ty examines both sides now, twisting some of his best songs and production wack into hard left turns both sweet and hot.

After a two-year hiatus, Froth is back with their most fully realized work to date, ​Duress. Co-produced with longtime friend and collaborator Tomas Dolas (Oh Sees/Mr. Elevator) at his analog-focused Studio 22 in Cypress Park, CA, the record is unapologetically experimental yet undeniably accessible - combining some of the band’s strongest hooks with left-field sounds and unexpected flourishes of electronica. Joo Joo Ashworth has matured into a talented producer in his own right, communicating his singular vision through studio technique as much as his angular, Verlaine-inspired guitar sound. As always, the rhythm section of Jeremy Katz and Cameron Allen displays a tightness and sense of mutual understanding only achieved through years of friendship and extensive touring. Duress sees the band stepping outside the shadow of their influences and into something wholly their own. It’s an impressive and self-assured statement from a group only just entering their prime

There’s something about the Swedish city of Malmo that doesn’t add up. Named the “happiest” city in Sweden in 2016 (who gets the job of judging these things?), Malmo’s DNA contains a “none-coding” strain that reveals the city’s penchant for a world more studious, fashioned in a vintage era, telescoped by pop culture that arrives via the TV-approved bridge that connects it to Denmark. Surely, it can’t be the same place. Marleen Nilsson, Magnus Bodin and Anders Hansson of Death and Vanilla couldn’t come from anywhere else. They are dreamers, antiquarians, music-obsessed individuals, lauded by the media for their last album ‘To Where The Wild Things Are’ from 2015… “Swedish exponents of dreamily lovely psych and lush, late-60s-style baroque pop.” The Guardian “Lush and enveloping, reminiscent of Curt Boettcher and Margo Guryan.” The Wire “Fantastically eerie.” Clash The trio’s love of all things “old” is well known – they’ve tinkled ivories, played vibraphone, recorded with a Sennheiser microphone and a nod to everything from Fun Boy Three to Orchestre Poly Rythmo de Contonou, while still roaming somewhere between an ambient Eno and Cocteau Twins at a late-night soiree. Prior to recording their new album ‘Are You A Dreamer?’, they scored several soundtracks, that process undoubtedly influencing the new album’s dreamlike euphoria built with added mellotron and affected electric guitar. Expanded with bass and drums in their quest for the grail, Death And Vanilla’s songs are longer; more plush and pampered; more hypnotic and haunting. ‘Are You A Dreamer?’ is melancholy at its most refined, riddled with super-memorable motifs and melodies that nestle in reflective echo. Death And Vanilla are an alluring confection, hard to resist and wantonly moreish as Marleen Nilsson’s sepia tones are embraced by the trio’s gorgeous arrangements and intricate ambience.

The city and the country both have distinct, vibrant energies - but there’s something happening in between, too. As factories give way to fields, and highways drift into gravelly roads, the friction can be palpable, the aura electric. The lines between city and country were on Jack Cooper’s mind when he named his new band Modern Nature. He took the phrase from the diaries of filmmaker Derek Jarman, written on the coast of Kent in his Dungeness cottage. Visiting Jarman’s home, Cooper was struck by what he calls a “weird mix of urban and rural” - such as the way a nuclear power station sits next to open grasslands. On Modern Nature’s debut album, How to Live, urban and rural cross into each other. Plaintive cello strains melt into motorik beats. Pastoral field recordings drift through looping guitar figures. Rising melodies shine with reflective saxophone accents. Throughout this continuous work, where no song ever really seems to end, there’s an indelible feeling of constant forward motion. It’s as if the band is laying down a railway and riding it simultaneously, and you can hear all kinds of landscapes passing by. The endless feel of How to Live was inspired by Cooper’s experience making his 2017 solo album Sandgrown. It was the first time he made a record with a defined theme - a suite of songs about his hometown of Blackpool - and imposing a narrative framework turned out to be refreshingly liberating. “When I started thinking about a new project,” he recalls, “going back to making an album of unconnected songs seemed as strange as making a movie with completely unconnected scenes.” As he began writing songs, Cooper was also tuning to the vibes of Earth Loop, an instrumental solo album by BEAK>’s Will Young (under the name Moon Gangs). For a long time, Cooper had hoped to work more with Young, who almost joined his first band, Mazes, and was in the touring version of his next group, Ultimate Painting. So he decided now was finally the time, as he puts it, “to make good on hundreds of late night 'we should really do music together' conversations.” “Over the next few weeks I started sending Will songs, and we began meeting up, working on ideas and formulating the bigger picture as it were,” Cooper recalls. “Approaching the album as a film or play made complete sense, and from that came the idea to have a very defined narrative, reoccurring themes and chord progressions, field recordings and a set palette of instruments and sounds. Each song came with pages and pages of notes, musical references, films, books, places, words and feelings.” Cooper is hesitant to explain too much about How To Live’s story, preferring to let the listener to find his or her own narrative to fit what they hear. But he can offer some guideposts. “Broadly speaking, the album moves from an urban environment at the beginning to an escape at the end...whether that's solitude or acceptance or isolation,” he says. “At the beginning the songs reflect a different type of isolation, the sort of isolation or disassociation one can only feel in a very crowded, hectic environment.” The vibrations of these environments come across immediately on How To Live. The album’s first line is “There’s a hum in the street,” and the rest of the hypnotic “Footsteps” masterfully paints a picture: “the click repeats, repeats, repeats”....”Isolation, repetition, spark burst fission”...”turns loops to the point in which they meet.” Throughout the remainder of the record, ideas recur and sounds return, often forming new shapes. A careful guitar pattern sprouts into the halting “Seance”, which ends with that same guitar pattern flipped into reverse. The beatific “Peradam” revels in the cycles of nature, as Cooper asks to be led “out of spirit worlds, let it whirl, out and in, swirling like fireflies. The pulsing “Nature” takes a darker view of our current environment, calling it “the great failure” and concluding with the imperative to “lock them up and don’t forgive them.” The richness of the ideas in these songs is matched by the resonance of the music. Cooper and Young’s organic compositions gain skin and muscle through the thoughtful cello of Rupert Gillett, the insistent drumming of Aaron Nevue (of compatriot outfit Woods), and the expressive saxophone of Jeff Tobias, from Brooklyn jazz/rock juggernaut Sunwatchers. Each track on How to Live evolved as these creative forces joined the group, and it shows. The entirety of How To Live courses with both precision and vitality. The band is closely tuned to the core of each piece, but also unafraid to throw themselves into every moment. The care that went into How To Live is clear in album notes, which map out impressionistic ideas behind each step - one block describes the song “Nightmare” as “the calm after the storm, nihilism, acceptance!! HOW TO LIVE??” - and include a list of the music and film that inspire Modern Nature. You can hear traces of those influences throughout the album – the subtle mediations of Talk Talk, the stirring folk of Anne Briggs, the searching melodies of Robert Wyatt, the atmospheric waves of Harmonia. But ultimately, the music on How to Live speaks for itself. It’s a work of surprising layers and limitless depths, impressing more strongly with each listen. Modern Nature may have been inspired by the line between urban and rural, but with How To Live they’ve gone a step further, and created their own complete world.

Ode to Joy, Wilco's 11th studio album features 11 songs and will be available worldwide October 4, 2019

Transmission Suite - the highly anticipated new album from acid-house pioneers and electronic music legends 808 State is out now: a record that remains true to the forward-thinking ethos of this remarkable band three decades after they first formed. 808 State are without doubt one of the most important bands in electronic music. From their 1988 album debut LP Newbuild, (that won them notable early fans including Aphex Twin: “It was the next step after Chicago acid, and as much as I loved that, I could relate much better to 808 State. It seemed colder and more human at the same time”), through collaborations with Bjork and New Order, to the definitive Pacific State, their legacy and influence cannot be overstated. Their new album Transmission Suite reflects the rich backstory of electronic music, but with 808 State being 808 State, they also deliver an innovative and forward-thinking vision. Put simply, Transmission Suite – their seventh album – effortlessly evokes the past, present and future. PRAISE FOR TRANSMISSION SUITE: "As accomplished as anyone else around" 8/10, Mixmag “Timeless… enduring music that still sounds relevant and fun” 8.5/10, DJ Mag “One of the most exciting electronic albums in years” Blow Up Magazine “Wanders confidently around a dystopian cityscape that is all its own” The Arts Desk “focused, confident and delightfully wistful” Exclaim!

Pang! is a pop album in Welsh with a couple of verses of Zulu and an English title. Pang! developed unexpectedly over the course of about 18 months and is a solo album of songs by Gruff Rhys, produced & mixed by the South African electronic artist Muzi and recorded in Cardiff, Wales. The title track features drums by Welsh-American psychedelic warlord Kliph Scurlock, brass by Gavin Fitzjohn, flute and percussion by the engineer Kris Jenkins, beats, bass & ah’s by Muzi and of course Gruff Rhys on vocals and guitar. Gruff shared some info on the title track: “Pang!” is a Welsh language song with an English title. It started life as a folk reel and soon expanded into a ‘list’ song, listing various reasons for pangs; hunger, regret, twitter, pain, bad design etc. Using the English word pang in a Welsh language track may appear weird but I suppose it’s like using the French word ‘Magazine’ in an English song. In that it’s slightly pretentious but completely acceptable.