Territory: Germany, Austria, Switzerland only

Single LP Gatefold (terracota vinyl)

Tracklist

1. Kravitz
2. Pantalla azul
3. Elastica II
4. Oidos
5. Quieras o no
6. Enfrente
7. Elastica
8. Márgen del indice
9. Alarmas olvidadas
10. Descubrimos un suspiro
11. Intento fallido
12. Kitana
13. Angel nuevo

A sense of destiny hangs over Sentir Que No Sabes, Mabe Fratti’s fourth solo-credited album released in a five year span. Her work has always possessed a finely tuned sense of drama capable of expressing a range of emotional states, and across this new album, she conveys the struggle to process various relationships or situations–and the actions that come next. Sentir Que No Sabes is urgent and clear, poppy, generous and approachable, while showcasing a considerable emotional hinterland. It is also, as Fratti is quick to mention, “groovy.”

Written and recorded with her partner, multi-instrumentalist, and co-composer Héctor Tosta (I.La Católica, Titanic), Sentir Que No Sabes is the result of an intense, detail-oriented process. Fueled by a new confidence gained in their collaborative project, Titanic, and its critically acclaimed 2023 LP, Vidrio, the two hunkered down in the familiarity of their studio (aka Tinho Studios) to bash out the initial sonic coordinates of her new record. “We talked and talked, and discussed ways of playing and recording, until things became inevitable,” Fratti explains. “We recorded a bunch of demos at our home studio and that meant we had a lot of time to re-edit and experiment. We really dug in. We were super focused on detail.” Tosta also took up the controls as producer and arranger-in-chief for all additional instruments. The album was later completed at Willem Twee Studios in Den Bosch in the Netherlands, and Pedro y el Lobo Studios and Soy Sauce Studios, in Mexico City.

For the final studio recordings, the pair were joined by drummer Gibran Andrade and trumpetist Jacob Wick to fill out and expand on Tosta’s percussion and brass arrangements. This small group of friends were able to work quickly and openly, and without fear: a testament to the exhaustive groundwork put in at Tinho Studios. This can be heard in three short, intermediary tracks that also manage to be the most aggressive on the record: “Kitana” (a scratch-laden instrumental that acts as a strange prelude for the last track, “Angel nuevo”) and a pair of two-minute instrumental interludes, “Elastica” I and II. None are throwaway mood pieces; rather they act as emotional cue cards, and hint at the way Fratti and Tosta created the overall atmosphere of Sentir Que No Sabes.

A strong sense of rhythm irrigates the sound from the jump, as heard on the glorious opening track, “Kravitz.” Here, the brilliant plucked cello line acts as a bassline and props up the steady thump of the kick drum. The cello’s growl serves as a conduit for a set of slightly paranoid lyrics that tell us “Quizás haya oídos en el techo” (“maybe there are ears in the ceiling”), while the song also introduces another staple of the record: the clever brass stabs, whistles, parps, and other interjections that paint a canvas of traffic in a city. It’s a postmodern, widescreen sound that for some might recall The Blue Nile’s Hats.

Sentir Que No Sabes is a record full to the brim with a modern pop sensibility, invoked by the sort of magpie spirit that ensnares anything it can find, repositioning sounds for the here and now. The keys and melody on the melancholy “Pantalla azul” (“Blue screen error”) transport us back to the glossy mid-1980s. “Oídos” (“Ears”) is a beautiful slice of contemporary, hybrid pop, in which Fratti’s vocal lines delicately spin themselves around the lean structures erected by the brass and drums, and the descending “plink” of a set of piano chords. Then we have a gloriously strong ending with the swell of “Angel nuevo” (“New angel”), another cinematic track full of gentle, instrument-rich swells and eddies that manages to be almost endless in its range–and yet intensely personal, as Fratti’s voice is close, almost whispering in your ear. A much needed lullaby for our fractious times.

The lyrics, for their part, have a stop-start quality to them, and hint at the small, incremental emotional taxes we pay through just living our lives. They circle around the music like birds waiting to swoop. There is something of the spiritual in all of Fratti’s work that expresses itself in a form of yearning: she looks to new horizons while personal dramas find themselves internalized, contextualized, and then dealt with through metaphor. Here, she was keen to mention Tosta’s constant encouragement in her finding a path to best sing or phrase her words to impart their maximum effect. “Hector was super inquisitive about my lyrics and asked me questions about what I meant, which sometimes is something you don't wonder so much about in isolation,” Fratti explains. “Besides, he is a great poet, and you can see that in what he did on the Titanic record. This made me go deeper into my lyric writing and definitely transformed it into something that I feel super happy about now.”

Take “Enfrente” (“In Front”), a track that initially comes across as a languid, glossy number, with plucked cello strings standing in for a bass line and brittle synth parts. Soon we catch on to a brilliant minor chord switch, which mirrors the fear and doubt expressed in the lyrics as someone “trembles up to the podium” in a “search for meaning.” There’s also the startling introduction of a vocoder in “Quieras o no” (“Whether you want it or not”); it comes precisely at the point Fratti sings “Quieras o no es un desastre” (“Whether you want it or not, it's a disaster”). Moments like these leave room for interpretation and, over time, create a strong bond between the listener and the record.

In fact, across Sentir Que No Sabes, each phrase–whether instrumental or vocal–becomes at some level emblematic of acts and moods that impart deep emotional significance. We see this best on “Intento fallido” (“Failed attempt”), which could be the score to feeling trapped in self-doubt, only to suddenly be sprung free by the song’s gloriously upbeat ending. On “Márgen del índice” (“Index margin”), the quicksilver switch between initial disharmony and a beautiful melody is breathtaking, all augmented by evocative arrangements, textured production, and the slightly playful, gnomic lyrics. The track’s emotional ecosystem allows another brilliant ending, which uses the simple repeated phrase, “Cómo lo va a ver?” (“How are you going to see it?”).

So what to make of Sentir Que No Sabes? High gloss Pastoralism? The sound of a city-bound, post-post modern soulscape? No matter the emotions evoked, it's the work of an artist coming into their own, and creating a benchmark record.



More

Territory: Germany, Austria, Switzerland only

CD

Tracklist

1. Kravitz
2. Pantalla azul
3. Elastica II
4. Oidos
5. Quieras o no
6. Enfrente
7. Elastica
8. Márgen del indice
9. Alarmas olvidadas
10. Descubrimos un suspiro
11. Intento fallido
12. Kitana
13. Angel nuevo

A sense of destiny hangs over Sentir Que No Sabes, Mabe Fratti’s fourth solo-credited album released in a five year span. Her work has always possessed a finely tuned sense of drama capable of expressing a range of emotional states, and across this new album, she conveys the struggle to process various relationships or situations–and the actions that come next. Sentir Que No Sabes is urgent and clear, poppy, generous and approachable, while showcasing a considerable emotional hinterland. It is also, as Fratti is quick to mention, “groovy.”

Written and recorded with her partner, multi-instrumentalist, and co-composer Héctor Tosta (I.La Católica, Titanic), Sentir Que No Sabes is the result of an intense, detail-oriented process. Fueled by a new confidence gained in their collaborative project, Titanic, and its critically acclaimed 2023 LP, Vidrio, the two hunkered down in the familiarity of their studio (aka Tinho Studios) to bash out the initial sonic coordinates of her new record. “We talked and talked, and discussed ways of playing and recording, until things became inevitable,” Fratti explains. “We recorded a bunch of demos at our home studio and that meant we had a lot of time to re-edit and experiment. We really dug in. We were super focused on detail.” Tosta also took up the controls as producer and arranger-in-chief for all additional instruments. The album was later completed at Willem Twee Studios in Den Bosch in the Netherlands, and Pedro y el Lobo Studios and Soy Sauce Studios, in Mexico City.

For the final studio recordings, the pair were joined by drummer Gibran Andrade and trumpetist Jacob Wick to fill out and expand on Tosta’s percussion and brass arrangements. This small group of friends were able to work quickly and openly, and without fear: a testament to the exhaustive groundwork put in at Tinho Studios. This can be heard in three short, intermediary tracks that also manage to be the most aggressive on the record: “Kitana” (a scratch-laden instrumental that acts as a strange prelude for the last track, “Angel nuevo”) and a pair of two-minute instrumental interludes, “Elastica” I and II. None are throwaway mood pieces; rather they act as emotional cue cards, and hint at the way Fratti and Tosta created the overall atmosphere of Sentir Que No Sabes.

A strong sense of rhythm irrigates the sound from the jump, as heard on the glorious opening track, “Kravitz.” Here, the brilliant plucked cello line acts as a bassline and props up the steady thump of the kick drum. The cello’s growl serves as a conduit for a set of slightly paranoid lyrics that tell us “Quizás haya oídos en el techo” (“maybe there are ears in the ceiling”), while the song also introduces another staple of the record: the clever brass stabs, whistles, parps, and other interjections that paint a canvas of traffic in a city. It’s a postmodern, widescreen sound that for some might recall The Blue Nile’s Hats.

Sentir Que No Sabes is a record full to the brim with a modern pop sensibility, invoked by the sort of magpie spirit that ensnares anything it can find, repositioning sounds for the here and now. The keys and melody on the melancholy “Pantalla azul” (“Blue screen error”) transport us back to the glossy mid-1980s. “Oídos” (“Ears”) is a beautiful slice of contemporary, hybrid pop, in which Fratti’s vocal lines delicately spin themselves around the lean structures erected by the brass and drums, and the descending “plink” of a set of piano chords. Then we have a gloriously strong ending with the swell of “Angel nuevo” (“New angel”), another cinematic track full of gentle, instrument-rich swells and eddies that manages to be almost endless in its range–and yet intensely personal, as Fratti’s voice is close, almost whispering in your ear. A much needed lullaby for our fractious times.

The lyrics, for their part, have a stop-start quality to them, and hint at the small, incremental emotional taxes we pay through just living our lives. They circle around the music like birds waiting to swoop. There is something of the spiritual in all of Fratti’s work that expresses itself in a form of yearning: she looks to new horizons while personal dramas find themselves internalized, contextualized, and then dealt with through metaphor. Here, she was keen to mention Tosta’s constant encouragement in her finding a path to best sing or phrase her words to impart their maximum effect. “Hector was super inquisitive about my lyrics and asked me questions about what I meant, which sometimes is something you don't wonder so much about in isolation,” Fratti explains. “Besides, he is a great poet, and you can see that in what he did on the Titanic record. This made me go deeper into my lyric writing and definitely transformed it into something that I feel super happy about now.”

Take “Enfrente” (“In Front”), a track that initially comes across as a languid, glossy number, with plucked cello strings standing in for a bass line and brittle synth parts. Soon we catch on to a brilliant minor chord switch, which mirrors the fear and doubt expressed in the lyrics as someone “trembles up to the podium” in a “search for meaning.” There’s also the startling introduction of a vocoder in “Quieras o no” (“Whether you want it or not”); it comes precisely at the point Fratti sings “Quieras o no es un desastre” (“Whether you want it or not, it's a disaster”). Moments like these leave room for interpretation and, over time, create a strong bond between the listener and the record.

In fact, across Sentir Que No Sabes, each phrase–whether instrumental or vocal–becomes at some level emblematic of acts and moods that impart deep emotional significance. We see this best on “Intento fallido” (“Failed attempt”), which could be the score to feeling trapped in self-doubt, only to suddenly be sprung free by the song’s gloriously upbeat ending. On “Márgen del índice” (“Index margin”), the quicksilver switch between initial disharmony and a beautiful melody is breathtaking, all augmented by evocative arrangements, textured production, and the slightly playful, gnomic lyrics. The track’s emotional ecosystem allows another brilliant ending, which uses the simple repeated phrase, “Cómo lo va a ver?” (“How are you going to see it?”).

So what to make of Sentir Que No Sabes? High gloss Pastoralism? The sound of a city-bound, post-post modern soulscape? No matter the emotions evoked, it's the work of an artist coming into their own, and creating a benchmark record.



More

Territory: Germany, Austria, Switzerland only

Format: LP, obi-strip
Genre: Post-Rock, Alternative

Tracklist

A1 The Flesh of Lost Summers
A2 A Happy Death
A3 The Light in the End

B1 Partings
B2 A Collapse of Horses
B3 The Mountains are a Dream that calls to me


Forgetting You Is Like Breathing Water, the self-titled debut from the duo of trumpeter Will Evans and guitarist, synthesist, producer and multi-instrumentalist Theo Trump, arrives like a vault revelation. It feels like a decades-old yet newly unearthed masterwork of gorgeous ambient improvisation, the sort of thing scholars live to research and shepherd into deluxe reissue.

The patient, crystalline chords that swell and resonate like a series of confessions; the textured brass murmurs that suggest a ’60s or ’70s Fire Music master at their most poignant. Provocative found-sound experiments threading arcane religious recordings through dystopian soundscapes. Ear-shattering free-noise tumult. Where and when did this music come from? Who are these voices?

As it turns out, Forgetting You Is Like Breathing Water springs from an engrossing human story, though it isn’t necessarily the one you’d expect. This work of stunning maturity is in fact an entrance by two little-known explorers in their early 20s, who grew up together in Virginia, in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It documents one of those perfect, sparkling moments in post-adolescence when big decisions and responsibilities are right around the corner, but for a spell, two young artists are able to create among the comforts and nostalgia of their shared past.

It also represents a reunion of sorts, as Evans and Trump connected as toddlers, became inseparable as boys, then pursued independent lives and creative paths as young adults. “Theo is my oldest friend,” Evans says, “and I feel like that’s what this band is — us meeting right in the middle of our interests.”

Now, having conjured this magic, they’ve detached once again: Evans, whose other works include the indie/avant-jazz unit Angelica X, is currently based in New York City. Trump recently moved to England, where he’d participated in his family’s theatre company, to go to school and further his solo ambient project. “This album didn’t start out as something super ambitious,” Evans explains. “It was more just an excuse to spend time together again and make music.”

***

In conversation, Evans and Trump are a delight, especially for cynics who might think that Gen-Z is only capable of doomscrolling. They come across as kindly young intellectuals who grew up using the internet as it was intended, for exposure to ideas and art across genres and generations. Trump points to indie-folk and the oracular post-rock of late Talk Talk, Bark Psychosis and Gastr del Sol. Pressed for his guitar heroes, he cites Bill Orcutt, Mary Halvorson and Marc Ribot, and mentions his devotion to alt-country. Heyday electro-industrial stuff like Skinny Puppy and Nine Inch Nails also meant a lot to him.

Evans is equally intrepid, though his background has a greater jazz focus. Ambrose Akinmusire, among today’s most thoughtfully commanding trumpeters, is a favorite. As for the soulful murmur he offers throughout Forgetting You, Pharoah Sanders’ wistful and lyrical contributions to Floating Points’ work is a touchstone.

The two grew up down the street from each other in the northern Piedmont town of Batesville, Virginia. Their families were friends, holidays were celebrated together and they became the most loyal of pals. As children they had a pretend band.

Then life unfolded, they attended different schools and their paths diverged. Evans discovered John Coltrane and became a jazz obsessive, as Trump found punk and hardcore and later began making ambient music. As a dedicated jazz trumpeter, Evans studied formally and widely; Trump was an autodidact, teaching himself guitar and absorbing synthesis and production techniques. The late teens and very early 20s brought moves away from home and back to home, as well as plenty of listening and learning. The Covid pandemic meant an opportunity to reconnect on long walks. Through it all, together and apart, they remained reverent of each other.

By early 2023, they found themselves living again among the Blue Ridge Mountains. In the evening, after giving trumpet lessons in Charlottesville, Evans would make the eerily beautiful trek “over the mountain” to Trump’s home in Staunton, Virginia. They’d talk and eat and begin to improvise, deep into the night. Evans played trumpet and sometimes drums. (Given the wee-hours recording schedule, the neighbors didn’t appreciate the latter.) Trump plugged a rickety, junk-store Telecaster-style guitar into a cheap solid-state amp and explored open tunings; he also layered on lap steel, electric bass, synths and electronics.

They locked in and relished each other’s gifts. In Trump, those include patience and intentionality and sonic decision-making; for Evans, a distinctive trumpet sound that both musicians think of as a singer’s voice. “Will’s playing is so thoughtful and well placed,” Trump says. “My goal from a producer’s mindset is that the trumpet will occupy the space that vocals would take.”

Often, they got lost in the best way. “The thing I look for most when I’m playing is that feeling of disappearing into what you’re doing,” Evans says. “Usually when that happens, the music is good.”



More

Territory: Germany, Austria, Switzerland only

Single LP Gatefold (terracota vinyl)

Tracklist

1. Kravitz
2. Pantalla azul
3. Elastica II
4. Oidos
5. Quieras o no
6. Enfrente
7. Elastica
8. Márgen del indice
9. Alarmas olvidadas
10. Descubrimos un suspiro
11. Intento fallido
12. Kitana
13. Angel nuevo

A sense of destiny hangs over Sentir Que No Sabes, Mabe Fratti’s fourth solo-credited album released in a five year span. Her work has always possessed a finely tuned sense of drama capable of expressing a range of emotional states, and across this new album, she conveys the struggle to process various relationships or situations–and the actions that come next. Sentir Que No Sabes is urgent and clear, poppy, generous and approachable, while showcasing a considerable emotional hinterland. It is also, as Fratti is quick to mention, “groovy.”

Written and recorded with her partner, multi-instrumentalist, and co-composer Héctor Tosta (I.La Católica, Titanic), Sentir Que No Sabes is the result of an intense, detail-oriented process. Fueled by a new confidence gained in their collaborative project, Titanic, and its critically acclaimed 2023 LP, Vidrio, the two hunkered down in the familiarity of their studio (aka Tinho Studios) to bash out the initial sonic coordinates of her new record. “We talked and talked, and discussed ways of playing and recording, until things became inevitable,” Fratti explains. “We recorded a bunch of demos at our home studio and that meant we had a lot of time to re-edit and experiment. We really dug in. We were super focused on detail.” Tosta also took up the controls as producer and arranger-in-chief for all additional instruments. The album was later completed at Willem Twee Studios in Den Bosch in the Netherlands, and Pedro y el Lobo Studios and Soy Sauce Studios, in Mexico City.

For the final studio recordings, the pair were joined by drummer Gibran Andrade and trumpetist Jacob Wick to fill out and expand on Tosta’s percussion and brass arrangements. This small group of friends were able to work quickly and openly, and without fear: a testament to the exhaustive groundwork put in at Tinho Studios. This can be heard in three short, intermediary tracks that also manage to be the most aggressive on the record: “Kitana” (a scratch-laden instrumental that acts as a strange prelude for the last track, “Angel nuevo”) and a pair of two-minute instrumental interludes, “Elastica” I and II. None are throwaway mood pieces; rather they act as emotional cue cards, and hint at the way Fratti and Tosta created the overall atmosphere of Sentir Que No Sabes.

A strong sense of rhythm irrigates the sound from the jump, as heard on the glorious opening track, “Kravitz.” Here, the brilliant plucked cello line acts as a bassline and props up the steady thump of the kick drum. The cello’s growl serves as a conduit for a set of slightly paranoid lyrics that tell us “Quizás haya oídos en el techo” (“maybe there are ears in the ceiling”), while the song also introduces another staple of the record: the clever brass stabs, whistles, parps, and other interjections that paint a canvas of traffic in a city. It’s a postmodern, widescreen sound that for some might recall The Blue Nile’s Hats.

Sentir Que No Sabes is a record full to the brim with a modern pop sensibility, invoked by the sort of magpie spirit that ensnares anything it can find, repositioning sounds for the here and now. The keys and melody on the melancholy “Pantalla azul” (“Blue screen error”) transport us back to the glossy mid-1980s. “Oídos” (“Ears”) is a beautiful slice of contemporary, hybrid pop, in which Fratti’s vocal lines delicately spin themselves around the lean structures erected by the brass and drums, and the descending “plink” of a set of piano chords. Then we have a gloriously strong ending with the swell of “Angel nuevo” (“New angel”), another cinematic track full of gentle, instrument-rich swells and eddies that manages to be almost endless in its range–and yet intensely personal, as Fratti’s voice is close, almost whispering in your ear. A much needed lullaby for our fractious times.

The lyrics, for their part, have a stop-start quality to them, and hint at the small, incremental emotional taxes we pay through just living our lives. They circle around the music like birds waiting to swoop. There is something of the spiritual in all of Fratti’s work that expresses itself in a form of yearning: she looks to new horizons while personal dramas find themselves internalized, contextualized, and then dealt with through metaphor. Here, she was keen to mention Tosta’s constant encouragement in her finding a path to best sing or phrase her words to impart their maximum effect. “Hector was super inquisitive about my lyrics and asked me questions about what I meant, which sometimes is something you don't wonder so much about in isolation,” Fratti explains. “Besides, he is a great poet, and you can see that in what he did on the Titanic record. This made me go deeper into my lyric writing and definitely transformed it into something that I feel super happy about now.”

Take “Enfrente” (“In Front”), a track that initially comes across as a languid, glossy number, with plucked cello strings standing in for a bass line and brittle synth parts. Soon we catch on to a brilliant minor chord switch, which mirrors the fear and doubt expressed in the lyrics as someone “trembles up to the podium” in a “search for meaning.” There’s also the startling introduction of a vocoder in “Quieras o no” (“Whether you want it or not”); it comes precisely at the point Fratti sings “Quieras o no es un desastre” (“Whether you want it or not, it's a disaster”). Moments like these leave room for interpretation and, over time, create a strong bond between the listener and the record.

In fact, across Sentir Que No Sabes, each phrase–whether instrumental or vocal–becomes at some level emblematic of acts and moods that impart deep emotional significance. We see this best on “Intento fallido” (“Failed attempt”), which could be the score to feeling trapped in self-doubt, only to suddenly be sprung free by the song’s gloriously upbeat ending. On “Márgen del índice” (“Index margin”), the quicksilver switch between initial disharmony and a beautiful melody is breathtaking, all augmented by evocative arrangements, textured production, and the slightly playful, gnomic lyrics. The track’s emotional ecosystem allows another brilliant ending, which uses the simple repeated phrase, “Cómo lo va a ver?” (“How are you going to see it?”).

So what to make of Sentir Que No Sabes? High gloss Pastoralism? The sound of a city-bound, post-post modern soulscape? No matter the emotions evoked, it's the work of an artist coming into their own, and creating a benchmark record.



More

Territory: Germany, Austria, Switzerland only

CD

Tracklist

1. Kravitz
2. Pantalla azul
3. Elastica II
4. Oidos
5. Quieras o no
6. Enfrente
7. Elastica
8. Márgen del indice
9. Alarmas olvidadas
10. Descubrimos un suspiro
11. Intento fallido
12. Kitana
13. Angel nuevo

A sense of destiny hangs over Sentir Que No Sabes, Mabe Fratti’s fourth solo-credited album released in a five year span. Her work has always possessed a finely tuned sense of drama capable of expressing a range of emotional states, and across this new album, she conveys the struggle to process various relationships or situations–and the actions that come next. Sentir Que No Sabes is urgent and clear, poppy, generous and approachable, while showcasing a considerable emotional hinterland. It is also, as Fratti is quick to mention, “groovy.”

Written and recorded with her partner, multi-instrumentalist, and co-composer Héctor Tosta (I.La Católica, Titanic), Sentir Que No Sabes is the result of an intense, detail-oriented process. Fueled by a new confidence gained in their collaborative project, Titanic, and its critically acclaimed 2023 LP, Vidrio, the two hunkered down in the familiarity of their studio (aka Tinho Studios) to bash out the initial sonic coordinates of her new record. “We talked and talked, and discussed ways of playing and recording, until things became inevitable,” Fratti explains. “We recorded a bunch of demos at our home studio and that meant we had a lot of time to re-edit and experiment. We really dug in. We were super focused on detail.” Tosta also took up the controls as producer and arranger-in-chief for all additional instruments. The album was later completed at Willem Twee Studios in Den Bosch in the Netherlands, and Pedro y el Lobo Studios and Soy Sauce Studios, in Mexico City.

For the final studio recordings, the pair were joined by drummer Gibran Andrade and trumpetist Jacob Wick to fill out and expand on Tosta’s percussion and brass arrangements. This small group of friends were able to work quickly and openly, and without fear: a testament to the exhaustive groundwork put in at Tinho Studios. This can be heard in three short, intermediary tracks that also manage to be the most aggressive on the record: “Kitana” (a scratch-laden instrumental that acts as a strange prelude for the last track, “Angel nuevo”) and a pair of two-minute instrumental interludes, “Elastica” I and II. None are throwaway mood pieces; rather they act as emotional cue cards, and hint at the way Fratti and Tosta created the overall atmosphere of Sentir Que No Sabes.

A strong sense of rhythm irrigates the sound from the jump, as heard on the glorious opening track, “Kravitz.” Here, the brilliant plucked cello line acts as a bassline and props up the steady thump of the kick drum. The cello’s growl serves as a conduit for a set of slightly paranoid lyrics that tell us “Quizás haya oídos en el techo” (“maybe there are ears in the ceiling”), while the song also introduces another staple of the record: the clever brass stabs, whistles, parps, and other interjections that paint a canvas of traffic in a city. It’s a postmodern, widescreen sound that for some might recall The Blue Nile’s Hats.

Sentir Que No Sabes is a record full to the brim with a modern pop sensibility, invoked by the sort of magpie spirit that ensnares anything it can find, repositioning sounds for the here and now. The keys and melody on the melancholy “Pantalla azul” (“Blue screen error”) transport us back to the glossy mid-1980s. “Oídos” (“Ears”) is a beautiful slice of contemporary, hybrid pop, in which Fratti’s vocal lines delicately spin themselves around the lean structures erected by the brass and drums, and the descending “plink” of a set of piano chords. Then we have a gloriously strong ending with the swell of “Angel nuevo” (“New angel”), another cinematic track full of gentle, instrument-rich swells and eddies that manages to be almost endless in its range–and yet intensely personal, as Fratti’s voice is close, almost whispering in your ear. A much needed lullaby for our fractious times.

The lyrics, for their part, have a stop-start quality to them, and hint at the small, incremental emotional taxes we pay through just living our lives. They circle around the music like birds waiting to swoop. There is something of the spiritual in all of Fratti’s work that expresses itself in a form of yearning: she looks to new horizons while personal dramas find themselves internalized, contextualized, and then dealt with through metaphor. Here, she was keen to mention Tosta’s constant encouragement in her finding a path to best sing or phrase her words to impart their maximum effect. “Hector was super inquisitive about my lyrics and asked me questions about what I meant, which sometimes is something you don't wonder so much about in isolation,” Fratti explains. “Besides, he is a great poet, and you can see that in what he did on the Titanic record. This made me go deeper into my lyric writing and definitely transformed it into something that I feel super happy about now.”

Take “Enfrente” (“In Front”), a track that initially comes across as a languid, glossy number, with plucked cello strings standing in for a bass line and brittle synth parts. Soon we catch on to a brilliant minor chord switch, which mirrors the fear and doubt expressed in the lyrics as someone “trembles up to the podium” in a “search for meaning.” There’s also the startling introduction of a vocoder in “Quieras o no” (“Whether you want it or not”); it comes precisely at the point Fratti sings “Quieras o no es un desastre” (“Whether you want it or not, it's a disaster”). Moments like these leave room for interpretation and, over time, create a strong bond between the listener and the record.

In fact, across Sentir Que No Sabes, each phrase–whether instrumental or vocal–becomes at some level emblematic of acts and moods that impart deep emotional significance. We see this best on “Intento fallido” (“Failed attempt”), which could be the score to feeling trapped in self-doubt, only to suddenly be sprung free by the song’s gloriously upbeat ending. On “Márgen del índice” (“Index margin”), the quicksilver switch between initial disharmony and a beautiful melody is breathtaking, all augmented by evocative arrangements, textured production, and the slightly playful, gnomic lyrics. The track’s emotional ecosystem allows another brilliant ending, which uses the simple repeated phrase, “Cómo lo va a ver?” (“How are you going to see it?”).

So what to make of Sentir Que No Sabes? High gloss Pastoralism? The sound of a city-bound, post-post modern soulscape? No matter the emotions evoked, it's the work of an artist coming into their own, and creating a benchmark record.



More

Territories: World excl. UK

FORMAT 12" vinyl, generic sleeve, pantone printed labels, printed dl card

TRACKLIST
1. / A1 Multiplying My Absurdities 06:22
2. / A2 Punks In The Gym 07:12
3. / B1 Humanoid Fruit 08:41

With Multiply Your Absurdities, Helena Hauff delivers her long-awaited 12-inch debut on Tresor: a multi-colored inauguration, masterfully crafted by the inimitable Hamburg producer and DJ.
The title track Multiplying My Absurdities opens the record, with a slow burn of magnetic synths and numbing acid drops. Through its simple yet thrilling dynamics, it occasionally falls into playful skepticism, creating something truly unique, uncompromised, and beautiful.
Punks in the Gym is named after an infamous climbing route in Australia. As its namesake, the track mercilessly rises to a techno summit. It gets steeper and steeper with every bar, resembling a volcanic dance where 303 earthquakes shake the ground before eruptions. Once you're halfway in, there's no turning back; all you can do is keep moving forward.
The closing track, Humanoid Fruit, transports to an even darker prehistoric landscape. Synths bursts remind of fossilized Pterodactyls revived—a challenging but rewarding trip through acidic rain and the alleys of your mind. Originally released as the soundtrack for Teslaism by artist and filmmaker Bahar Noorizadeh, a 3rd person musical racing game featuring Elon Musk and his self-driving car/lover and life coach, as they drive towards a shareholder meeting in a post-gamified Berlin landscape. It premiered at the “Tresor 31: Techno, Berlin und die große Freiheit” exhibition in 2022 and deals with stimulating skepticism about the emergence of a new era after Post-fordism that she calls Teslaism: "an upgrade to the system of production and consumption predicated on advanced storytelling, financial worldbuilding, and imagineering 'the look of the future.'" What has been once inspired by Helena Hauff's dystopian sound has now been made into an official music video for the track. Much like the video, Multiply Your Absurdities represents a journey into futuristic uncertainty.
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Turning their gaze to the buoyant culture of wyrd, modernist German folk music, Quindi welcome a spectacularly idiosyncratic offering from Johannes Schebler, aka Baldruin. Bewildering narrative twists, high drama and intricate delicacy make Mosaike der Imagination an engrossing listen from the outset, as baroque atmospheres and tumbledown drums intertwine with tactile string plucks and needlepoint synthesis in an authoritative bridging of ancient and hypermodern sonic sensibilities.
Schebler's catalogue as Baldruin is extensive, reaching back to the late 00s and covering a lot of ground through cassette albums on respected underground labels like SicSic, A Giant Fern and Lullabies For Insomniacs. Meanwhile, his work has been recognised as part of a broader movement of experimental electronic music in Germany taking inspiration from folk traditions, as documented on last year's essential Bureau B compilation, Gespensterland. Beyond his solo work, Schebler also works with Jani Hirvonen as Grykë Pyje (mappa), and both collaborate with Paul Wilson as Yayoba (Not Not Fun). Christian Schoppik of leading dark folk project Brannten Schnüre joins him as Freundliche Kreisel (STROOM). It's a tangled, fascinating and evocative sound world which Mosaike der Imagination offers a compelling window into.
No two tracks on the album follow the same pattern or palette, whether gliding through the Giallo synth undulations and post rock tonal arcs of 'Stimme des Wegelagerers' or spelling out miasmic incantations through flickering flames on 'Aus dem Feuer, aus dem Licht'. 'Hinein, hinaus, hinüber' revolves around meditative drum mantras and cascading melodic phrasing, densely layered and evolving with purpose. 'Gemeinsam hindurch' flicks between swooping strings and pizzicato plucks in a purely romantic expression of orchestration, 'Mit verbundenen Augen' is a bewildering choral voice study and 'Im Sternstrom' revels in ecstatic synth arpeggios. Nothing can be predicted except the vibrancy and clarity of Schebler's vision.
It's a vision which extends to the front cover artwork for Mosaike der Imagination — a glorious tapestry created by Finnish artist Jan Anderzén, with a responding design and layout from Schebler adorning the rear sleeve.
Stepping to the side of the cosy daydream reveries that inhabit much of the Quindi output, Mosaike der Imagination indulges the label's penchant for sophistication in a freakily fascinating new framework from the heart of an exciting movement in experimental folk music.

Tracklist:
A1 Zwischen Planeten
A2 Stimme des Wegelagerers
A3 Aus dem Feuer, aus dem Licht
A4 Immer wieder im Kreis
A5 In den Tiefen
A6 Hinein, hinaus, hinüber
A7 Fantasiegebilde
A8 Der verwunschene Hain
A9 Blick nach Drüben
B1 Innerlich außerhalb
B2 Schimmernde Chimäre
B3 Gemeinsam hindurch
B4 Mit verbundenen Augen
B5 Purpur-Trank
B6 Im Sternstrom
B7 Schlingerling
B8 Endstation Sehnsucht More

Vinyl Only Release lim. to 500 copies worldwide!

There are mysterious records. Records hiding and showing something at the same time. This is one of them. It is made from two records that were most probably released in the mid-1970s, most probably primarily by Turkish Roma.
It brings together what Anadolu pop music lovers always dream of: Anatolian geleneksel (traditional folk tunes), disco and funk, jazz and hard rock, psychedelic sounds, hard-hitting drums, Arabesk percussion, and hip-hop friendly breaks. Put together in a careful, smooth production with a warm, relaxed and dance-friendly vibe.
Here you get it: Roma-nized instrumental Turkish pop music in all its facets of the 1970s.

Track Titles:

A1 Yagmur Yagdi Kac
A2 Adana Ücayak

B1 Sis Kebabi
B2 Hint Geceleri

C1 Cilli
C2 Kalaycilar

D1 Fesuphanallah
D2 Zühtü
D3 Harmandali

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Rights: World excluding Fr & UK

2 x Solid White LP, 5mm spine Sleeve UV Gloss Finish, 2x Heavy Weight Printed Inner Sleeve UV Gloss finish, marketing sticker.

TRACKLIST DOUBLE VINYLS:
A1. Ringa Ringa (The Old Pandemic Folk Song) (feat. The Mediaeval Baebes)
A2. Day One (feat. Dina Ipavic)
A3. Are You Alive? (feat. Penelope Isles)

B1. You Are The Frequency (feat. The Little Pest)
B2. The New Abnormal

C1. Home (feat. Anna B Savage)
C2. Dirty Rat
C3. Requiem For The Pre-Apocalypse

D1. What A Surprise (feat. The Little Pest)
D2. Moon Princess (feat. Coppe)

SHORT INFOS :

Legendary electronic music duo Orbital return Early 2023 with new album “Optical Delusion”, the Hartnoll brothers first studio album since 2018’s Monster’s Exist. Recorded in Orbital’s Brighton studio, “Optical Delusion” includes contributions from Sleaford Mods, Penelope Isles, Anna B Savage, The Little Pest, Dina Ipavic, Coppe, and perhaps most surprisingly, The Medieval Baebes.
Earlier this year, Orbital celebrated their storied history with “30 Something” which, unlike other Best Of’s, contains reworks, remakes, remixes and re-imaginings of landmark Orbital tracks including “Chime”, “Belfast”, “Halcyon”, “Satan”, and “The Box”

SHORT BIOG:

“A human being experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest [of humanity] – a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison…”

You many have seen this quote attributed to Albert Einstein on social media, the archetypal Smartest Guy Ever apparently having an out-of-character religious epiphany. It certainly leapt out at Paul Hartnoll of Orbital who spotted it in Michael Pollan’s 2018 book How to Change Your Mind: What the New Science of Psychedelics Teaches Us About Consciousness, Dying, Addiction, Depression and Transcendence.

“As soon as I saw ‘optical delusion’ I thought Oh hey, that’s the album title,” says Paul. “It just seemed to say so much about how people construct their own realities, how we see patterns that aren’t there, how we see what we want to see.

“But it’s actually a misquote. He never quite said that. In the German original what he’s really saying is that human experience is as relative as physics. Wouldn’t it be good if we could accept that, and find a kind of universal theory of everything for the human race? Then you look at everything from history to art to your Twitter feed and you think yeah, that’s what we’re all trying to do all of the time…”

Hence ‘Optical Delusion’, the tenth original Orbital album and the latest in a burst of renewed post-pandemic creativity for two brothers who’ve stayed at the top of their game longer than anyone from the post-1988 Class of Acid House.

Now with ‘Optical Delusion’ the Hartnolls dig deeper into the unquiet psyche of our increasingly surreal and disordered world. Sketched out partly during lockdown but fully recorded in the uncertain After Times, the album summons up conflicting emotions and sometimes beguiling images from years when the science fiction doomsdays that the Hartnolls watched on TV as kids finally came true. There are mesmeric tracks with names like ‘The New Abnormal’ and ‘Requiem For The Pre-Apocalypse’ and ‘Day One’. But there are also straight-up bangers and ethereal cosmic dreams, abstract sound wars and deeply human songs of separation and loss.

And it all starts with a bang. Lead single ‘Dirty Rat’, an outright Fall-meets-Front-242 class rant with vocals by Sleaford Mods mob orator Jason Williamson, harks right back to the Hartnolls’ days of politicised anarcho-squatpunk. It began as a remix swap (Orbital did the Sleafords’ ‘I Don’t Rate You’) and morphed into a comic, brutal, bass-driven harangue not so much against our rulers but at the petty, mean-spirited, frightened, Mail-reading voters who put them there: the people who are “blaming everyone in hospital/blaming everyone at the bottom of the English Channel/blaming everyone who doesn’t look like a fried animal.”

Also key to the album is opening track ‘Ringa Ringa (The Old Pandemic Folk Song)’ which returns to an Orbital truism, that time always becomes a loop. This chugging, cyclical Orbital groove gives way to an unnerving past-meets-present timeslip fit for ‘Sapphire And Steel’ as goth maenads The Mediaeval Baebes materialise to sing ‘Ring O’Roses’ – the innocent nursery rhyme whose roots are in the Black Death.

“I’ve always liked folk music and mediaeval sounds,” says Paul, himself an occasional Morris dancer. “I had the basis of that track and I wanted to spin it off somehow.” Trawling his archives he stumbled on The Mediaeval Baebes’ version of ‘Ring O’Roses’ “and my hackles just went up. I was like, my God, this is the original pandemic folk song.”

?his being Orbital, there are collaborations galore on the album, the roles once played by Alison Goldfrapp, Lady Leshurr or David Gray now filled by new talents. London singer-songwriter Anna B Savage contributes a compellingly fragile, Anohni-like vocal to ‘Home’, in which nature reclaims the scorched and vacant mega-cities. ‘Day One’ is a pulsing techno track featuring the singer Dina Ipavic. Paul got in touch with her after working on a score for a sculpture show of giant robotic installations by his friend Giles Walker during the pandemic. First Paul cut up his own score and Ipavic’s vocals on the track The Crane, which appears on the deluxe version of the album. Then he thought, Why not work with her for real? The result is school of ‘Belfast’, a bassy dreamscape with vocalised clouds billowing above.

The pensive ‘Are You ?live?’ adds to the Orbital product range of existential questions (‘Are We Here?’, ‘Where Is It Going?’) in collaboration Bella Union signings Penelope Isles, AKA brother and sister act Lily and Jack Wolter. “They’re our studio mates, they work upstairs!” says Paul happily. “And they’ve both got amazing voices.”


But Orbital are Orbital and never far from the dancefloor. “Eventually the more abrasive bits came back into the fold…” ‘You Are The Frequency’, first of two tracks to feature mysterious vocalist The Little Pest, surrounds the listener with warped voices ordering you to the dancefloor (Phil: “we wanted the idea that the music is kind of absorbing you”). And the second, the sinister ‘What A Surprise’, traps you in a paranoid electronic hall of mirrors.

In another nod to Orbital’s resurgent past the cover artwork once again comes from fine art painter John Greenwood, creator of fantastical grotesques for the covers of ‘Snivilisation’, ‘In Sides’ and Orbital’s most recent album, 2018’s ‘Monsters Exist’. Orbital had just had a slick Mark Farrow cover for ‘30 Something’ – this is a return to the overripe and bulbous techno-organic constructions that somehow express Orbital’s own uncontrollably fertile sound.

There are gaps in the future that Orbital are desperate to fill too; there will be tours and festivals and rooms and fields full of people. Those long paralysed months when we had little to look forward to but a Zoom DJ set made Paul and Phil appreciate the things that make life worth living.
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- Beautiful 2 LP Edition with Gatefold incl. incl. selective UV High Gloss Varnish, Liner Notes, Sticker
- Official double album reissue of Yoshio Ojima's monumental full length Une Collection des Chaînons I, originally released in 1988 (on CD only) for sound-designing the Wacoal Art Center in Aoyama (Tokyo).
- Genre: - For fans of ambient, experimental, environmental, minimalism, avant-garde, synth, field recordings, Midori Takada, Hiroshi Yoshimura, Satoshi Ashikawa, Yutaka Hirose, Vanity Records, sound design, architecture, the Metabolist movement, and spirals.

Tracklisting DLP

A1. Entrance 6:05
A2. Esplanade [LIVE]?8:29
A3. Float on 5:41
B1. Glass Chattering 5:52
B2. Entomology (misfortune) 3:24
B3. Flius 9:30
C1. Mensis10:23
C2. Serene4:49
D1. #1 (11-02) 7:28
D2. #4 (11-10) 10:01


Info
WRWTFWW Records is insanely happy to announce the first ever vinyl reissue for both volumes of Yoshio Ojima's superb environmental music project Une Collection des Chaînons I and II: Music For Spiral, originally released in 1988 on CD only. Each volume is sourced from original masters and comes as a double vinyl LP with liner notes in English and Japanese. This marks the inaugural release from the ESPLANADE SERIES by WRWTFWW Records which focuses on the works of Yoshio Ojima and friends.

Une Collection des Chaînons I (along with its complementary part two Une Collection des Chaînons II) gathers selected music pieces conceptualized and produced for sound-designing the Wacoal Art Center in Aoyama (Tokyo) also known as Spiral, a hub for a wide range of sophisticated cultural proposals spanning visual arts, theatre, music, design, fashion, and lifestyle.

Named after its superb curled-shaped structures laid in a vast atrium, Spiral is a monumental work of architecture by Fumihiko Maki, designed according to the principles of Metabolism, a movement advocating the fusion of the notions of megastructures and organic biological growth - in essence, evolving designs and constructions, adapting to human needs naturally.

Evolving, organic, adapting, these are notions that perfectly describe Yoshio Ojima's divinely designed brand of environmental music. From its eerie and levitating "Entrance" to the quirky "Esplanade (LIVE)", the gentle and reassuring "Flius", or the measured and ravishing escalation of "Mensis", Une Collection des Chaînons I is a delicately laid out sonic landscape where textures provide the link between space and emotions, adjusting and transforming through the ear of the listeners.

Sitting alongside Midori Takada's Through The Looking Glass, Satoshi Ashikawa's Still Way, Hiroshi Yoshimura's Green, or Yutaka Hirose's NOVA, Une Collection des Chaînons is a pivotal work of Japanese environmental/ambient/minimalist music.

A note from Yoshio Ojima: "Please listen to this album at around the same volume as daily life sounds such as air conditioners and refrigerators."

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RE-RELEASE! No one can say they didn’t see these two brats coming! Justice, who’s name the world (well at least that part of the world that loves to dance) chants with emotion and whose first album is awaited with bated breath ever since the French duo revolutionised dancefloors with two radically different hits. It comes as no surprise that «†», the first album by Justice, is a fantastic treat for the ears and for the feet. A kind of musical opera marked with religious and baroque symbols, where the melodies are ripped to shreds by the beats, where electro teaches rock a lesson and where pop gets a botox injection. More