A bobbing, minimal groover from the Berlin corner, dug-in and funked-up over ten minutes; and icily original, top-dog work from Pev, tethered between a kind of arrested Highlife and a Detroit breakout.

What a great record. Soaring early-eighties soul from Bill Withers’ spar — original, loose-limbed and funky, full of emotional intelligence and good vibes. Includes Love’s Too Hot To Hide, two-step heaven.

Solo acoustic guitar renditions of nine Thelonious Monk tunes.
‘Baker will remind you through his playing that the idiosyncrasies of Monk’s composing are further dimensions of the Americana continuum (and source musics) that has been his turf for years. Especially in Monk’s centennial year, many will address Monk’s oeuvre, in fact hundreds will interpret the scores, but very few can inhabit this music in the way Duck Baker does here.’

Superlative solo acoustic guitar interpretations of the compositions of the brilliant, offbeat pianist. (Herbie’s two mid-fifties Blue Note LPs are unmissable; dazzlingly just a totter sideways of Monk. He co-wrote Lady Sings The Blues with Billie Holiday.)
Acoustic Guitar magazine called it ‘one of the best guitar records ever recorded — by anybody.’
“Nowadays a lot of people are giving Nichols’ music the attention it deserves, but only Duck Baker’s playing makes me feel Herbie in the room” (Roswell Rudd).
Warmly recommended.

Mats Gustafsson on alto, tenor, baritone, and bass saxophones, and flute, and Tony Lugo on drums and electronics… but playing separately from each other… then both of them devising a form of interactive exchange with a life of its own, as a third collaborator.
Mastered by Lasse Marhaug; artwork by Peter Brötzmann.
From a new Italian label to watch out for.
‘What the fuck is it?’, it wonders. ‘Interaction and FRICTION.’ ‘Play it loud.’

‘An absolute must,’ as Steve Barker writes in The Wire. ‘The main Attraction is the dubplate mixes of the Jah Shaka power play Jah No Parshall, here retitled Gates Of Zion. One astonishing dub mix features vocals from Prince Mohammed aka George Nooks in his early deejay guise. Chopped from the lyric and dropped into the chasmic dub mix, the phrase ‘heavy as lead’ would have made an apt title.’

Electrifying extracts from a Sunday service in the last snake-handling church in the Appalachians: the trance-like rhythms of a demented kind of rockabilly punk, with duelling guitars, concussive trap drums, and possessed, howling vocals.

“I’d sworn to stay far away from the snakes at the service,” recalls the recording engineer, “but instead they were waved in my face as they coiled in the preachers’ hands, and I crouched down at the foot of the altar tending to the equipment. The pastor soon was bitten and blood splattered, pooling on the floor. The female parishioners hurriedly came to wipe up the mess, and it instantly became clear just what the rolls of paper towels stacked on the pulpit had been for. You can actually hear this moment transpire towards the end of the track ‘Don’t Worry It’s Just a Snakebite (What Has Happened to This Generation?)’. The congregation leapt to its feet and a mini mosh-pit formed. The tag-team preachers huffed handkerchiefs soaked in strychnine, as they circled like aggro frontmen and an elderly worshipper held the flame of a candle to her throat, closing her eyes and swaying. The church PA blew out from the screams as a bonnet-wearing senior whacked away at a trap kit that dwarfed her. It was the most metal thing I’d ever seen, rendering Slayer mere kids play.”

‘Boomerangs back into the slashing chords and frenzied double-picking of the Harry Pussy years, tossing the gentler melodic glow of the last few solo records into the dustbin. In other words, this may be Orcutt’s most overtly punk-rockist record since Gerty Loves Pussy, his first solo electric LP from a decade ago. It’s an affirmation that Orcutt is above all a lead player—angular runs scaling the heavens, ricocheting back to ground zero before climbing again. Orcutt builds tension with short phrases, repeated with slight variability until it seems like they’ll never stop, finally slamming into a fresh line like the dawning valley at the crest of the mountain pass. Another Perfect Day is, ultimately, something of a solo guitar Nouveau Roman, an exhilarating run through melodic reiteration, impossible crescendos (check out those ecstatic crowd hoots on For the Drainers) breaking into—a moment rarely found on an Orcutt record—soft, whisper-quiet tracer notes at the end of A Natural Death. Another Perfect Day returns Orcutt to the immediacy of his earliest records while maintaining the melodic complexity, phrasing, and flow of a player, who’s been going, what—four-plus decades now? And when he taps his roots, it’s a reminder of exactly what was so exciting about Orcutt’s playing in the first place.’