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With more-than-welcome new jams from Tortoise hitting this month, it's a good time to dig back into the band's extensive live collection on Archive.org. If you're looking for somewhere to start, you can't go wrong with this 1996 gig at Bimbo's in San Francisco. The David Pajo-era lineup of Tortoise starts out soaring with a gorgeous “Gamera” and pretty much stays at a beautiful elevation for the rest of the show.
A Good Band Is Easy To Kill documents the final tour of indie-pop band Beulah in the fall of 2003. Although in many ways an early-aughts time capsule from over twenty years ago, the documentary showcases how little has changed for touring indie bands and the tribulations of life on the road.
Peruvian artist, researcher, and sound experimentalist Alejandra Cárdenas, who records under the moniker Ale Hop, joins forces with Congolese guitarist Titi Bakorta for the ecstatic Mapambazuko, released earlier this year on the Uganda-based label Nyege Nyege Tapes. Recorded in the Ugandan capital of Kampala, the album’s blend of soukous-infused guitar patterns and industrial-tinged electronics makes for an enthralling listen, where frenetic Congolese rhythms dash and dart across a terrain of glitchy, squeaking oscillations.
Phi-Psonics is a spiritual jazz collective headed by Los Angeles-based composer and acoustic bassist Seth Ford-Young, whose prolific session work can be heard on releases such as the recent stunner by Takuro Okada. The uninhibited, meditative soundscapes of previous studio offerings The Cradle and Octava quickly made waves after catching the attention of Manchester jazz label Gondwana, flashing nods to A Love Supreme and a lush framework playing off of Ford-Young's Mingus-inspired upright bass, lifting woodwinds and the Wurlitzer piano of Mitchell Yoshida.
As the Amadors (notably unaccompanied by the rhythm section) run through a subtle blend of stroke tremolos, arpeggios, and golpes, they remind their elders that they have the utmost respect for their history, clarifying that, actually, there’s so much to get excited about—all of us—and remain so, even decades after the release of this astonishing, idiosyncratic treasure of Spanish rock culture, which surely deserves to be devoured by international listeners, with the same fervor that it is in Spain, at this point in history. Do yourselves a favor.
“What is ashwaganda?” asks the first track of this reggae-jam-surf-groove opus, and fair enough, let’s look it up. Ashwaganda, it turns out, is an evergreen herb that smells a bit like wet horse, commonly prescribed for anxiety and stress. It's a good time all the way through, and maybe that’s enough for now. We’ve had plenty of floating anxiety over the last few years, why not a dose of floating good will?
Call it “brain fog,” call it “attention economy burnout,” call it the dregs of late capitalism: however you label it, Tamara Lindeman has been feeling it. With “Neon Signs,” our favorite song from her 2025 album as The Weather Station, Humanhood—out now on Fat Possum Records—she gives names and shapes to the sense of dread so many of us feel permeating our daily existence. This week on Transmissions, she joins host Jason Woodbury to discuss Humanhood—the album, sure, but also the concept of what makes us human.
California-based indie veteran Jim Putnam has worn just about every hat imaginable in the music industry. This eponymous solo record on French label We Are Unique! recalls the assiduous songwriting from his previous Radar Brothers venture and beyond: a trusty slice of sunbaked comfort. Coming as no surprise, the stark and layered orchestration comes courtesy of the journeyman playing all of the instruments himself.
Keith Jarrett didn’t have to make a rock album filled with noodly guitar and muted boogie. But he did, and in its unusually obvious imperfections, eccentric choices and rambling longueurs, it shows the famously demanding pianist at his most mercurial and relaxed. In his perpetual hunt for wells of inspiration and rivers of feeling, Jarrett’s curious detour still leads to some fascinating backwaters and rewarding reservoirs.
“Still no reverb (mostly)” — a brief recording note found in the liners for Aux Meadows’ latest, Draw Near. And yet! These 11 gorgeously dusty instrumentals conjure up as many wide-open spaces as any echo-laden cosmic Americana group you might mention. This is the sound of musicians listening to one another, dreaming in real time.
Mick Turner’s guitar playing is instantly recognizable. From his role as the binding agent in the seminal band Dirty Three to his numerous solo albums and now his latest group, the dreamy duo Mess Esque, there’s no other guitar player with Turner’s distinctive sense of rhythm and tone. His sound can be hesitant, composed, jagged, and ragged, yet consistently in command and always compelling. AD caught up with Turner about the artistic blind date that started Mess Esque, how he collaborates with lyricists, his approach for painting versus music, and more.
Hot on the heels of their thrilling debut, Basic is back with Dream City. The Basic formula remains in place, with percussionist Mikel Patrick Avery’s hypnotic electro-acoustic rhythms providing the sturdy foundation for Chris Forsyth to weave fantastical six-string tapestries. It’s far more than just “shredding over the top,” however — in fact, Dream City features some of Forsyth’s most lyrical and imaginative playing, forgoing flash for melody, fireworks for pure texture. This stuff has a pleasingly neverendless feel, like we’re only hearing choice snippets of an eternal jam. Basically beautiful.
Over the past decade, Destroyer has shifted seamlessly into middle age. Where restless, lesser artists might have manufactured reinvention narratives or settled into the indie oldies circuit (imagine the money to be made from a Kaputt 15th anniversary tour), Bejar and his muse have kept on truckin’: ken, Have We Met, LABRYNTHITIS, and now Dan’s Boogie. Not career-defining statements, but statements out of which a career is defined.
For over 20 years across countless releases and contexts Jefre Cantu-Ledesma has been honing in on the liminal space between sound and silence. His new album Gift Songs feels like the most realized version of this concern. In a time when information overload and short attention spans are at an all time high, Gift Songs feels like a transmission from another place inviting the listener to slow down, take a breath, look around. You'll be glad you did.
Bronx-born songwriter Estelle Levitt struck gold in 1968 with “All I Dream,” a slice of psychedelic soul and rustic-tinged funk that grooves with the incantatory cadence of a Lee Hazlewood tune. A stormy platter of unrequited love, Levitt’s silky, kaleidoscopic vocals float over a gritty, stalking guitar, swooning strings, and bright, undulating keys. “All I dream is to be in your dream someday,” she sings to a parting lover, “see my face on your clock as the hands chase you on your way.”
This month marks thirty years since the release of Radiohead’s sophomore album, and first masterpiece, The Bends. Threatened with relegation to status as one-hit wonders, the Oxfordshire quintet answered the success of Pablo Honey with an album even more infectious and confident than the last, a collection of songs which took the band’s inherent contradictions in stride. In twelve tracks and fifty-eight minutes, The Bends travels the spectrum from oppositional to vulnerable, from artistic to commercial, from alienated to universal and back again—frequently in the same blow.
Okonski return with Entrance Music, revealing the flipside of the perpetual afterhours reverie of Magnolia. For their sophomore outing, the trio gently open the curtains to find themselves in the light of a new day, unimpeded by anything that isn’t melody or mood. Entrance Music drifts along like a perfect daydream, homey and lived-in, but maintaining a sense of spontaneity that leaves no doubt pianist Steve Okonski, bassist Michael Isvara “Ish” Montgomery, and drummer Aaron Frazer are attuned to the same ephemeral frequency.
It is probably fitting that Jeffrey Lewis’ visual homage to Dylan’s 1963 second album is a bit of a goof. Lewis remakes the iconic cover in much the same way he’s been remaking literate, ironic folk singing for the last several decades —naked and confrontational and without the slightest instinct for self-protection. The cover, too, is just the beginning. Lewis never saw a cliché or consensus opinion he didn’t want to upend, whether it’s the “do what you love” twaddle of career self-help or the myth of drug-assisted creativity. His venom goes down with surprising ease, blended as it is with a deep, wry acceptance of what it is to be human.
Kris Kristofferson wasn’t a natural fit to become a Hollywood leading man. But in the misfit era of the 1970s, his rough and edgy all-American charm made him the perfect choice for a number of iconoclastic directors. His star may have fallen in the 1980s but there are a number of cult movies throughout his five-decade career that take advantage of his one-of-a-kind charisma.
Not quite an original score, though not quite a rehashing of trad-folk mythos, Seán Ó Riada’s The Playboy of the Western World is not your typical soundtrack. Much like the scores of Morricone, Greenwood or even Jack Nitzsche’s for One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Ó Riada’s work moves beyond the film for which it is meant to complement. Though steeped in tradition, the application of modern composition techniques and a healthy dose of heady experimentation takes The Playboy of the Western World well beyond the humble origins of the songs that constitute it. Erin go brách, or at least through today.
From the ballads to the effortless melodic hooks, Silver Synthetic's formula is one permeated with a clear sky buoyancy; an aural antidote of glowing laid-back comfort. Described by label Curation as "the album we have been waiting for", Rosalie is best served with the windows open. The perfect companion to the budding springtime breeze.
The RVNG Intl label comes through yet again with an absolutely uncategorizable, absolutely essential archival collection. The Invisible Road gathers a host of valuable tracks from the duo of Sussan Deyhim and Richard Horowitz, whose adventurous sound blends caffeinated downtown minimalism, traditional Middle Eastern modes, almost Kate Bush-y avant-garde synth pop and more.
An absolute one-off of the purest grade. Erik Heller dropped in with Look Where I Am in 1967 and immediately vanished. The Vanguard LP came out of nowhere. A fleeting artifact that has outlived its creator, Heller can’t be found in another band, has no prior recordings, and nothing would surface down the road. There isn’t a clear picture of Heller’s background, how the record came about, or even a list of the studio musicians that prop up much of the LP.
Tobacco City stomps and swaggers through “Mr. Wine,” the band’s haunting atmospheres wrapped around a roadhouse anthem. The song, about the longing to escape small town life, has its own confining circumstances to slip loose from. Its reassuring cadences of country blues light out for mystery in flights of pedal steel. Its steady pulse of rocking bass pushes on but is overlaid with disorienting slow drips of trebly guitar. The chorus sways and sashays with quavering certainty, but when it’s over, textures turn soft and indefinite and full of ambiguity. This second album from the Chicago cosmic twangers swings harder than the debut, while also exploring a broader palette of out-there textures through guest collaborators including Califone’s Jim Becker, Matthew J. Rolin and Jen Powers.
“I’m trying to convince people that I’m a wizard and she always helps,” Richard Dawson chuckles, over Zoom, acknowledging the presence of his adorable and aptly named cat Trouble, who has cozily curled herself around the crook of the songwriter’s neck, perfectly poised like a luxurious scarf. She mostly remains in that position while Dawson speaks about the various themes and influences that provided a strong foundation for his excellent eighth studio album, The End of The Middle. A far more self-contained offering–not difficult compared to its larger than life predecessor The Ruby Cord, which boldly announced itself with the epic 41-minute opening track, “The Hermit”–End of The Middle exists within an intimate space that’s immensely welcoming and warm.
The great writer Lucy Sante joins us on Transmissions to talk about her latest book, I Heard Her Call My Name: A Memoir of Transition, Bob Dylan, fashion, the early days of music journalism, The Velvet Underground and more: "I didn't meet anybody who listened to The Velvets, until I got to college in ‘72. But it felt then there was a secret society of us all over the globe. It's like that Eno quote about 'everybody who heard the first album went out and started their own band.' Well, everybody who heard the second album, I don't know. I guess we all turned into other kinds of weirdos." Plus, Scott Bunn of Recliner Notes joins us in the intro to discuss Sante's singular way with words.
Haley Fohr wrote Halo on the Inside at night, alone, gripped by an obsession with transformation, with Ovid-style metamorphosis from animal to human, from human to tree, from god to beast. The horns she wears on the album cover evoke Pan, the god of nature, fertility, music and spring, and the music inside, likewise, pushes relentlessly through the dirt, finding light and life and purpose in the struggle towards the light. The songs plunge deep into shadowy and oceanic depths. Dense, wavering orchestral textures unfurl behind her, crescendo after crescendo, blast beat upon blast beat, but Fohr surfs easily atop the boiling turbulence, her opera-worthy, four-octave voice cutting through like a klieg light in fog, like a rain shower in the desert, like a prayer answered.
On their third album, Flamingo Tower, LA’s monde ufo feel stranger, darker, and heavier than ever before – a damning and ghostly document of erosion, malaise, and decay. With a recurring psalm theme and atmospheric operatic vocals from Kathryn Tabachnick, the album’s groggy, spiritual cacophony feels perpetually on edge, with bandleader Ray Monde’s hushed spells mired in an occult dread constituted by propulsive, free-jazz psychedelia, hallucinatory bossa nova, and possessed, lo-fi garage rock.
The stateside debut of a versatile Japanese guitarist focuses on mostly solo work, largely recorded at home over a period of years. Encompassing ambient ECM mellowness, electronic urgency and tangy noir, The Near End, the Dark Night, the County Line shows us an eclectic musician stubbornly chasing tranquility and always restlessly on the move.
Will Oldham, aka Bonnie "Prince" Billy offers a three-song set of exclusive recordings for Aquarium Drunkard. Tune in to hear "Boise, Idaho" and "Guns Are For Cowards" from his great new album The Purple Bird and "Behold, Be Held!" from 2023's Keeping Secrets Will Destroy You.
Under the moniker Adeline Hotel, New York-based musician Dan Knishkowy has spent nearly the last decade releasing one fantastic album after another. A benchmark identity of the project is that no release ever repeats quite the same sonic foray, a deliberate approach taking creative inspiration from the likes of Jim O'Rourke and Arthur Russell, the musician revealed to AD last year. After hearing that sound mutate from fingerpicking guitar to the jazzy orchestral pop of Hot Fruit to last year's personal concept album Whodunnit, Adeline Hotel's inaugural Lagniappe Session reveals everything on full display.
Reviewing Yves Jarvis' All Cylinders, we wrote, "Where once was a loose attempt at art gospel or chopped-up soul, now there is a conscious, sincere engagement with the classics Jarvis clearly adores—Paul McCartney, Love, Stevie Wonder, and Prince." Those are clearly classic touchstones, but Jarvis does more than tap into them: he taps into their spirits and synthesizes them into something brand new. Jarvis is a melodic polymath, which is made clear by his first ever Lagniappe Session, which finds him covering material from Porter Robinson, John Mayer, and a standard from Frank Sinatra.
Continuing the drive to get the On-U Sound catalogue back out there and following on from the '80s Dub Syndicate box set Ambience In Dub, the label presents the Out Here On The Perimeter box set – with a title that makes no effort to hide the label's otherness from usual dub fare - collating four Dub Syndicate records spanning 1989-1996. As a special bonus, a fifth recording is included entitled Obscured By Vision, on which Sherwood reworks rhythms from the period.