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Shit hot. Tracks from the new Burial album. Anonymous, faceless London producer. No sequencer. No quantized beats.

The first album felt like London being drowned, a sonic burial. This feels warmer, but still completely connected to the sounds of the city. Deep electronic glows. Subterranean rumbling bass. A heartbeat beneath the tarmac. Percussion like metal sliding over metal, a blade being honed. Waking up still in a dream. A phone rings somewhere, the girl next door is singing in the morning.
Desires either erase the city, or are erased by it.

This comes in delicious double vinyl. Order online at Boomkat.


I don’t care what the haters say, I’m going to see Animal Collective this week and it’s going to be a good time, like the Beach Boys during one of Brian Wilson’s bad trips. Might even re-use my Halloween mask, it’s only the day after. Peacebone!


Animal Collective & Vashti Bunyan – I remember learning how to dive

Also on my mind this week…


This naked Japanese guy is Pseudo-Nippon. I saw him opening at an Upset the Rhythm show a few weeks ago, and he blew me away. Imagine aliens landed in Tokyo and decided that gabba should be the new language of the universe. Then they decided to learn karate and move to Shoreditch. You’re getting close, but you’re not there yet.


Big Man Moustache


A few years ago I was wasting vast amounts of cash in a record store in Washington, DC, when I came across a stark white album with two words impacted on the front:

I flipped the record over, but all it said was:

So, still completely ignorant, I bought it. It wasn’t until a couple of months later that I took it round to my girlfriend’s house and properly listened to it. I thought it was nice folky guitar picking, good for background music. But by the second track we were silent, listening to the sounds pouring from the speakers. Completely hooked.

There’s not much point in me going on about John Fahey, although I could. I could talk about how he started his own label in 1959 as a teenager (to release the ‘split’ with his alter-ego, Blind Joe Death, which I would later find in DC), how he rediscovered Mississippi bluesman Bukka White, how he fused his blues/folk with the dissonance of Bartok, his surreal, hilarious liner notes, how he explored eastern styles, his incredible Christmas albums (yes, really), or how he redefined the steel string guitar as an instrument:

And go on to wax poetic on his prolific recording career in the 1960s and 70s, the experimenting with soundscapes and tape loops, when he was always different, always the same – music which he would later dismiss as ‘cosmic sentimentality’:

Or his battles with illness and alcohol, his own slide into obscurity and poverty, and eventual ‘rediscovery’ and late return to music before his death in 2001. But you can read all that elsewhere.

On The Sunny Side of the Ocean (1965)

Impressions of Susan (1967)

The Yellow Princess (1968)

Lion (1968)

The Singing Bridge of Memphis, Tennessee (1968)

A Raga Called Pat (Part III) (1968)

America (1971)

The Waltz That Carried Us Away and then A Mosquito Came And Ate Up My Sweetheart (1971)

Beverly (1973)

I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free (1973)

Thus Krishna On The Battlefield (1973)

Dry Bones In The Valley (1974)

Stomping Tonight on the Pennsylvania/Alabama Border (live 1978)

Summertime (2003)

Red Cross, Disciple of Christ Today (2003)