Edition of 100 cassettes from Miles Devens aka Ignatz, with a charged set of mystery-soaked acid folk and iconoclastic electric blues that join the dots between Mark Fry, Sterling Smith and the revenant form of your favourite ghost.

Double header of new Russian avant/pop underground moves from a pair of groups that share similar sonic tendencies to the Flying Nun cabal or even some of the stuff coming out of Oz right now but given a weird Eastern cold wave edge, even as it swims through pools of distant garage reverb and vaguely utopic teen stylings: “Russia was a place as yet unexplored under Goaty’s auspices, and in light of X-Men: First Class, I worried that the Russian-American dynamic was the same as ever. Is it all still blue jeans and nuclear threats, misunderstood attempts at world domination? I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t too sure. Lucky for us, Dva Zagorodnyh Doma and Swim with a Carrot—two different, but related, Russian projects—render this paradigm null. Both bands craft lo-fi pop atmospherics that share some qualities with the recent outburst of American garage basementisms, but their palette is at the same time exceptional—hazy, warm, almost tepid. Dva Zagorodnyh Doma follows a more traditional format, caking simple delicate pop songs in dynamic effects. Swim with a Carrot is a little more abstract, but harnesses a similar mood. The result is a split cassette that varies in form, but maintains a certain friendliness.” – GT.

New cassette from this psychedelic Portland duo who navigate their way between monochord/Parson Sound-style wipeout, ethno-tinged almost-AACM style percussive improvisation w/plenty of zonked fourth world detail and classic cultic flutes and bongo style levitations ala Kalacakra/Yatha Sidhra/Paivansade et al. “These veterans of instrumental psychedelia offer up a sundry set of new works, rotating between sparse single-instrument meditations, cyclical atmospherics, and some profoundly groovable full-scale jammers. This is Hammer of Hathor at their best, weaving imperceptibly between cool La Monte Young meditations and sweltering Wattstax commotion.” – GT. 

Fantastic drunken, sloppy avant garage that jacks off all over The Fall and The Afflicted Man with a series of crude assaults that’ll have you reminiscing about The Puddle and The Tall Dwarfs while imagining what they would have sound like if The Velvet Underground had been a buncha skins from the Midlands. Amazing.  “When was the last time two Australian duos recorded a Christmas and Thanksgiving (wtf?) holiday special. But it’s members of Taco Leg and Rank/Xerox, so we expect the utterly unexpectable. To be honest, the absolute groovability of these scummy punk ballads makes any such dislocations meaningless. Pauline Manson’s particular brand of wasted, half-unplugged repetition was just meant to be—it improves your attitude on some fundamental level.” – GT. 

Inspired double-sider with a bunch of unreleased malevolent new wave/post-Velvets jags from Juergen Gleue of German art/punk duo 39 Clocks recorded back in the 1990s and some contemporary avant pop from Banana Head: “Banana Head and the Phantom Payn share a naïve approach, where clarity and virtuosity are relegated to the periphery. An elemental type of song-writing dominates both sides of this tape: simple and familiar pop strategies rub up against off-beat, dopey, and sometimes droll counterstrategies. But while Banana Head recorded these songs in the USA over the last six months, the Phantom Payn’s tracks were gathered from 15 year-old German sessions. These discrepancies make for radically different subtexts. The Phantom Payn considers real life phenomena-apartment evictions, vacation musings-with a sardonic brand of drowsiness. His post-Velvets psych-rock moves share this directness. Banana Head, on the other hand, pushes towards abstractions—pop songs that are eviscerated, turned over, and left almost unrecognizable.” – GT. 

New tape w/two separate albums from this loner American whose album on Feeding Tube turned a bunch of heads. This one is even more devolved, with a one-chord Twisted Village fuzz monster aspect usurped by distant helium vocals and weird acoustic/electronic detail. But it’s the guitars you’ll keep coming back for, with a confused 90s basement appeal that is monomaniacally satisfying even as hypnotises with thin fields of ultra-magnetic Rat-tone and epic three-note leads:“The two albums offered on this tape present a funny contradiction. The songs are jarringly minimal, made up almost exclusively from electric guitar, subsidiary vocals, and some other, almost unrecognizable skree—is that an electric accordion? Even the tempo and crunch of each guitar wavers in one grey area, giving each song a consistent effect. Flipside: he guitar playing is totally 100% through-and-through maximal. The whole tape flays like over-amped hysteria. Or euphoria. The result isn’t really punk, or rock, or whatever. It’s specific to so many guitars played by one dude in such a way. Whatever way that is.” – GT.

Supremely weirdo collection of sociopathic/self-loathing crack up No Wave DIY-isms that combine bleak Industrial confusion with “Cock In My Pocket” style swagger: “The Super Goaty Mix Tape gathers a massive amount of archival recordings from the one and only Robert Ridley-Shackleton. Robby’s aggressive no-rock invectives are splattered all over the internet, but it was only a few months ago when I first ear-ate his waste–courtesy of a typed note addressed to “Sir/Madame.” This collection runs the bedroom studio gamut of drum machines, electric guitars, keyboard, and squeaky microphones, but all of the songs still fall pleasantly and uneasily between Baronic Wall’s synthesizer wastelands and GG Allin’s vein-popping rock and parole mania. Themes swing between high intensity machismo and timid self-loathing. And despite the feeling that these songs were written for Robby and Robby alone, there seems to be something for everybody.” – GT. 

Collection of cut-up tape noise, radio blasts, tragic English comedy and found sound interspersed with barefaced Shadow Ring-worshipping monologues, shackles-raising Philip Best-isms and even a touch of The Strolling Ones. Veers on almost shameless parody at points and of course it’s existence would be impossible without the groundbreaking work of Lambkin and co but if you can’t get enough of suburban DIY and are still cut-up about the fact that The Shadow Ring are not about to reform any time soon, then this could be your favourite tribute group: “The Teleporters are R. Walker and the Octogram. Walker also plays in London’s ever-lovable Pheromoans. But that reference is misleading, as this tape has little in common with today’s garage punk wizardry. Instead, they deliver something that’s, well, progressive..? Side A wheels through radio samples, electronics, and oddly gripping monologues, all interspersed with minimal post-punk moments that recall the weirdest of Door & the Window. The spoken portions are reminiscent of Graham Lambkin speaking through Darren Harris in the Shadow Ring, except the Teleporters replace modernist bareness with a brighter, nimbler, more ironic reflection on shitty things from everyday British life. On the B side, R. Walker offers up extended piano sequences interspersed with bold words and frail croons that owe much to England’s DIY legacy, and yet, in obvious ways, departs from it.” – GT.