Hullo der,

Set times announced (kinda) for our birthday bruise-cruise next weekend - ANOTHER fucking Bank Holiday Sunday - get organised folks



PUB QUIZ 1500-1600, if you want involved - don’t be late. V nice prizes (tbd) - cheaters shall be expelled - d’ya hear?!

DJ action in the bar 14:00-midnight with unhinged shambolics from the full Wah Wah Wino crew in amongst a host of friends, enemies and staff members - can’t wait!

Tickets available from the site, limited capacity!

LC xx
NOT ON LABEL | LP | £17.99

Ships Monday! Edition of 199 numbered copies with hand-pasted sleeves, one per customer please. The second volume of previously unreleased material from cloak-and-dagger Swedish electronics project Civilistjävel!. Until last year's 1 LP their work - created mostly in the 1990s, using Juno60 and Korg MS20 - had never been officially documented or disseminated. The tracks assembled on 2 pivot away from the lonesome, levitating kosmische themes of 1, and into a dronal, dubwise, heavily psychoactive minimal techno realm. We've never heard anything quite like the steamrolling, monolithic, kickdrum-centered epic that spans all twelve icy minutes of Side 1 - never, that is, outside of a recurring dream we've had since childhood about a recommissioned Northern Rail train smuggling munitions behind enemy lines in a future rural Yorkshire as part of humanity's guerilla war effort against shadowy, possibly entirely imaginary Mysteron-like oppressors. Erm...The other two pieces that constitute this LP are paranoid, broken, sub-heavy constructions that have echoes in Jan Jelinek's Gramm or latterday stuff from Hidden Hawaii, but always with that reserve and austere, out-of-time feel peculiar to the true European mutant/drone underworld. Seriously, how had this stuff not come to light before now?! Civilistjävel! plays live as part of Low Company's 2nd Birthday all-dayer on Sunday 26th May at London's New River Studios.   


NOT ON LABEL | LP | £15.99

Welcome exhumation of unheard, sizzlin' 1980 6-track'er from Cleveland. Uncompromising art-punk spew and righteous clatter, a depressive and WRITHING tour de farce recorded in some dank basement at a time when there was still a chance for such humble, OUTRAGEOUS projects to cross over into the “real world”. No such luck for this swarming post-punk obscuro though, forever destined to buzz away in the shadows with a sting that KILLS. 150 copies - FFO The Residents, Captain Beefheart, Electric Eels +++

ZZK TAPES | CS | £6.99


Replica version of the pulsing, minimal synth and Suicide styled, glass smashing live action featured on one of the seven self-released tapes by Didaktische Einheit in 1982. Manic, dilapidated rhythms and hopeless, zoned-out chants from the German underground - one please! Edition of 150.


Long-time-coming (four years!) second album from Diat, and, we're told, the penultimate ever release from BEB. The demand for this puppy (Iron Lung, who did the US release, are already onto their second pressing) speaks for itself eh: the German/Aussie band’s debut, Positive Energy, a belter for the ages, channelled no small amount of rage and disaffection into songs of pure disarming chest-bursting JOY, speaking to punks first and foremost but with enough going on to trickle down to a much wider audience. 

Fairly sure they were taking the piss when they once described their music as "tough new wave" - but it's stuck, cos it's spot-on. They deliver the bleak outlook and angular hooks of post-punk, but ditch the implied space and minimalism in favour of a huge, head-crushing wall of sound, and some of the belligerent, bonehead swagger of, I dunno, Coitus Inc. Positive Disintegration is a more fractious, bruised, MOROSE record than its predecessor (clue's in the title!) - youthful brio replaced with uncertainty and ennui and a mounting wariness towards the no-sleep-til-Dienstag Berlin vampires who once seemed so enviably free and glamorous, dahlink. Lyrically, they make a subject, and for the most part a virtue, of that uncertainty - most vividly on ‘Missed The Bus’, an all too relatable elegy for the whole terrible aggregate of wasted/thwarted opportunities we call LIFE (it's also the gentlest song they've ever recorded, its schweet soft ache enhanced no end by backing vocals from Fran of the motherf***king CANNANES - returning the favour for Diat’s banging cover of the Oz legends’ ‘Blue Skies Over The Ocean’ on Positive Energy). Some experiments don't come off as well, but when they find their feet they’re a force of nature: see full-throttle rippers ‘Foreign Policy’ and ‘Only My Own’, both showcases  for Tobi Lill and Josh 'Itchy Bugger' Neutron’s scream-to-a-sigh, Killing Joke-meets-Chameleons twin-guitar fireworks. 

STAUBGOLD | LP | £19.99

Finally back in print: Staubgold's vinyl edish of David Cunningham's peerless The Secret Dub Life of The Flying Lizards. The source tapes for this LP were recorded in Jamaica by Jah Lloyd circa '73-'74 as a part of a series he was making for Virgin's Front Line imprint, but were never used for their intended purpose. Instead, Front Line's Jumbo Vanrennen (we should all have a friend called Jumbo) passed them to Cunningham and invited him to remix them as he saw fit. 

Cunningham continues: "I accepted the project, expecting lots of time in one of Virgin's studios to play with the music and the equipment, only to be presented with a mono master tape. So I began to invent (or perhaps re-invent) techniques of editing, looping, filtering and subtraction to deal with unremixable mono material (these were the days before samplers).

"The subsequent work took a long time: as I thought it might be something of an indulgence I worked on it at weekends and evenings rather than let it interfere with other projects. The techniques used here expanded my vocabulary of musical electronic (as opposed to electronic music) treatments and appear in a very different form on records made at that time. Notably 'Fourth Wall', my collaboration with Patti Palladin, and my production work on Michael Nyman's records."

The result - which lay unreleased until a CD on Cunningham's Piano label in 1995 - is one of the most strikingly inventive and immersive dub sets of all time, radical yet rootical, properly tuff rhythm-wise but at the same taking reggae into a truly meditative, ethereal space, exploring the limits of form and technique while staying true to the spirit of Lloyd's tunes and his (unidentified) musicians' playing (truer than the brace of '95-produced tracks Cunningham added for the CD issue - both brilliant, but occupying more of a date-stamped ambient-techno zone). The original cache of '74 versions remain uniquely sumptuous, aqueous, ineffable, awe-inspiring. 

No home etc etc! 



Whats been goin on over here? Ehhh, vast portion of our time has been spent drowning out our recently enthused but ill-informed football chat with the behemoth Triple Negative and Civilistjavel! LPs, as well as speculating questions for the pub quiz (overseen by The South Yorkshire Mick Hucknall) that’s going down at our second bday thing. Shout out to Paco's travelogue keeping us amused, the photo above being one of the few that doesn’t feature nudity, rare records or BOTH. 

On to the good shit, until next time!

LC xxxxx


Completely in love with this record! An explosive siege of ideas, "Precious Waste In Our Wake" is the debut LP from London based three-piece Triple Negative. Ringing like a LOUD warning shot to any cumbersome emulators of classics and those whomst would obey the rulebooks of the arthritic avant-garde, passages of abstract, energetic garage-psych and a previously unimaginable range of unexplored tone and texture (both electronic and acoustic) are weaved together with sensitive, understated jumble-sale genius!!

Perhaps some local, vivacious gig-go'ers may already be familiar with these folk's increasingly frequent live performances, however none of us fools at the shoppe have actually pulled the finger out to catch them in action yet (apparently we are all too busy keeping up to date with ham-acted, scripted-on-the-bog British crime dramas - fuck sake!) but they are meant to be PULVERISING. 

Only on hearing this monster LP in full now do we TRULY realise the errors of our ways - while equally as non-negotiable as their 7" single from late last year (also on the mighty PP imprint), they here get a chance to gather speed when set free to stretch their legs across a full length trip. A disorderly mind-heist from the very start, the band steer an almost formless vehicle daringly close to the edge of total destruction, the rhythms of “Precious Waste...” strengthen and decay across carefully considered, pasted together songs, with erratic, juxtaposed (and surprisingly TUNEFUL) elements working their way in and out of this idiosyncratic update on some of the finest Xpressway-style pile ups.
The delicate, dust-disturbing piano on “Nothing Is Possible” and the glass-cut basslines on “Destroy” permeate swarms of phasing drum-machine metronomy, with tape churned vocals and bouzouki cascading gracefully in every direction like a falling leaf over the creaking, bric-a-brac textures. Shamanistic levels of enchantment throughout and an ectopic groove beating at the heart of the whole album, the subtle drifts come with a poise that recalls the finest moments on that Maciunas Ensemble collection from last year or indeed the disintegrative NZ death-march of The Dead C’s “Armed Courage”, every ounce of this trio equipped with jaws capable of delivering the same level of writhing combustible haunting BITE and rhythm as This Heat.

An endearingly honest and outrageously artful sense of seemingly forgetful prowess - having played together for seventeen years (!) and only now releasing their debut album, “Precious Waste..” really gives weight to the idea that it can take a long time to sound like yourself. Triple Negative's entirely unique breed of dynamic chaos providing the thrill and bewilderment of observing that which is so close to collapse, evolve into a fully realised slab of INFINITE potential.

Favourite thing we’ve heard in ages, cannot recommend highly enough. Edition of 280.   


Back in stock! Unless you're in a bad way with some heavy-handed debt collectors that favour the concrete-socks treatment, this 12” is WITHOUT DOUBT the coldest, deepest bath you should ever be taking! Submersible, armour plated drones built around a sub-zero skeleton of Sahko’s signature, almost architectural minimalism. Nearly an hour of unbeatable negative buoyancy that feels like you are floating down a seabed pipeline. Might or might not be by Kevin Drumm (genuinely no idea if that is true or not - so don’t go spreading!). Amazing sleeve and info on Greenland sharks - into it!


Outstanding LA noir from James Rushford, who had a hand in two enduring Kye belters: Manhunter (his 2013 collab with old mucker Joe Talia) and the Food Court LP (with Talia and Francis Plagne). Actually this record tickles a that hasn’t been tickled since Plagne’s own Moss Trumpet (behave!) offering up a tour de force of contemporary electroacoustic world-building. Its mood is intense but never overwrought, delivering a good dose of the numinous, occult-dabbling decadence suggested by the incredible supine serpent-woman cover painting, but ultimately heading somewhere more pointedly futuristic, cold, metallic – organic instrumentation (piano, organ, flutes, viola, voice) ceding ever more ground to melancholic Terminator synths and bombed-out, head-crushing machine-ambience, as if Sarah Connor bodged the ol’ time travel and found herself stuck in Edwardian London, caning laudanum in a futile effort to suppress those pesky Judgement Day visions of genocidal cyborgs on the rampage and downtown LA in flames. As it happens the Australian Rushford made The Body’s Night in LA (aha!), and perhaps I’m pushing the pulp-cinematic comparisons too far when I say there are passages here that seem to take Elliot Goldenthal’s brooding, steel-grey scoring of Heat and run with it, but hey that’s how it feels right now. Rushford's stated influences show more discernment on his part than we can muster: contemporary composers Klaus Lang and Jakob Ullmann, '80s purveyors of bedroom electronics like DDAA, and the totalising nihilistic sound design of black metal. Complex, poised, meticulous, open to a multitude of interpretations (art baby!), this is just an outstanding record, the real deal, new music that explores the outer limits of medium and palette, and with depth of feeling equal to its depth of learning. DO NOT MISS. 
STATIC AGE | 7" | £7.99

Beltorrr '82 West German rough n tumble, originally released on the cult Pogar label. Five track'er of raging, youthful spirited distort with the two longer tracks opening up into passages of melodic, malnourished fuzzzzzzz that feel less built for flailing limbs and more blurry, introspective zone-outs.

TIP TOP | LP | £14.99

New album from sectionable Cambridge pop-surrealist Pete Um, a world unto himself but also a standard-bearer for the kind of heroic DIY befuddlement and unflinching self-analysis that Deep Freeze Mice, Mick Hobbs, Robert Storey and the Homosexuals minted. Um’s sprawling catalogue is a beast that can’t be tamed or reasoned with, but it’s endlessly rewarding: time and time again he nails that going-mad-in-the-potting-shed-ness that is the historic, and perhaps eternal, English condition – what it is, indeed, to be a little bit ‘Fucked In The Head’ (as the title of one of the songs here has it). Where so much contemporary stuff in this vein sounds hopelessly mannered and contrived and untouched by actual real-world experience of being on the outside of ANYTHING, As You Were sounds fully free and unforced, hopelessly alienated from the thing we call society and GLAD of it, and even at its most demented and disorderly your man sounds like he’s wrenching everything he possibly can out of his primitive keyboard-and-mic set-up cos it’s all he’s bloody well got, not cos he's self-consciously imposing limitations on himself. While the influence of 80s UK squat-whimsy looms large, we’re reminded too of the synth-fuelled early-noughts art-spazz of the The Soft Pink Truth and Safety Scissors, and, more than anything or one, R. Stevie Moore – unexpectedly powerful and unforgettable songs emerging unexpectedly out of awkward, enervating loops and the more obviously pranky vignettes. ‘The Director’ is my song of the year so far, NO WORD OF A LIE: a warped, wistful sequel to Patrick Selinger’s ‘Businessman’. And ‘Ed Sheeran' is a casual takedown of the wee guitar-slinging eunuch, sure, but it’s also a long hard truthful stare at the plight of a more marginal musician: “When I was a kiddie / I wanted to be a star / I play in local venues / I guess I didn’t get that far…I don’t want no fame / It ain’t strictly pleasure / but I still gotta do it…” YES PETE xxx


Hello, and apologies for being LATE

The hours of a Thursday afternoon we normally spend fannying about assembling our newsletter were yesterday instead spent fannying about finalising the line-up and logistics of our 2nd birthday party - Sunday 26th May at New River Studios, London N4. Details of that, plus a handful of this week's highlights in music/vehicular restraining devices, below. 

Have yourselves a LOVELY weekend


TICKET | £16.00

Admission x 1 for Low Company's birthday bruise cruise, Bank Holiday Sunday 26th May at New River Studios, London N4. 

LIVE: Lolina, Bobby Would, Thomas Bush, Bridget Hayden, Civilistjävel!, O Yuki Conjugate, Dennis Tyfus

Pub Quiz hosted by The South Yorkshire Mick Hucknall

DJ: Wah Wah Wino, Fearbubbler & Mystery Nude DJ, Flora ACC, Rausch Turning, Carla, Nick Horn O'Plenty, Estelle

2pm-midnight, more details to follow.... 

**Once purchased, your name will be added to the guest list. If you buy more than one you will be added with your name plus however many extra (eg. Anne Gillis + 2)**


Bold, broken and as TOXIC as a gulp from the Thames - nearly fifty minutes of live damage from Lolina and a welcome re-dose of her themes for a nightbus-to-nowhere.

Dismantled and pasted back together in real time “Live In Geneva” reveals the flesh n bones of these dizzying productions, all the disorientating elements and abstractions of the hits laid bare - yah, the HITS.

Amidst a sea of unpredictable, maverick-dancehall and glitch'ing, GLISTENING electronic laments lie those now cast-iron anthems, ones that we will still be reaching for in years to come when LC is a cold, dead husk and our wee shoppe is reverted back to a hairdressers. Wah! Truly struggling to recall a deadlier one-two crossing the threshold than “The Smoke”’s “Style & Punishment” / “The River” - every ounce deranged as they are anthemic, these two slabs of open sewer electronics wheeze in and out of focus, stampeded by dance-with-the-traffic beat cycles and sluggish bass hooks -  all these takes, strung out and subjected to subtle automations to create a stunning, hi-def, ALMOST kosmische wandering commanded only by Lolina’s quick-witted, inner mind theatrics. 
Disintegrated pop blizzard, highest recommendation!

CDr, edition of 115.

THE TRILOGY TAPES | 12" | £10.99

Our boy FFT delivers his best yet with two extended, frequency sweeping hurricanes that tear through hi-tek / avant-garde grime and razor sharp, contemporary sound design... 

FIRE | 2LP | £25.99

How can we make you understand? Do you want to understand? The Groundhogs’ diesel-powered, trogged-out, ultra-alienated PTSD-garage-blues-punk head-crusher Thank Christ For The Bomb is back in print and it means...SOMETHING. Most people in our orbit don’t fuck with Groundhogs beyond ‘Cherry Red’, or mebbe mainman Tony McPhee’s schizo synth-splatter solo side Both Sides Of... (beloved of Demdike etc). But all of that stuff pales before the THUMPING artillery-raid/napalm-scorch of Thank Christ For The Bomb. It’s essentially two demented concept albums (uh-oh) for the price of one: Side 1 is narrated from the perspective of a shellshocked Tommy scrapping it out behind enemy lines and praying for an H-bomb to put him out of his misery. Side 2 is a slightly more bewildering account of a burned-out English aristo who decides to leave his Chelsea mansion and all his worldly possessions to go feral on the shores of Embankment. McPhee’s guitar is a hyper-conflicted, speed-crazed platoon unto itself, one minute lost in jangly reverie, the next unleashing almighty, electrified hell - dispensing brutally economical bonehead riffage that effortlessly out-thugs Brainbombs, never mind Dave Davies, or heading off on screaming vertiginous solos that come off like the mutant offspring of Hendrix, Skullflower and Marquee Moon. Hardly surprising that Joy Division and especially M.E.S. were fans too - McPhee, Ken Pustelnik (drums) and Pete Cruikshank (bass) set a standard for minimal, metronomic, kill-all-hippies death-march/glam-racket that a hundred brow-beaten Fall guitarists and rhythm sections could never hope to meet. 

Ridiculously over-the-top 2LP reissue from Fire, good on 'em (I think?!), with gatefold sleeve in red slipcase with poster, ration book liner notes, DL and a whole extra platter of radio sessions and live cuts we haven't had time to listen yet cos we've been too busy caning the album proper. All-time rager. BOOF.

NOT ON LABEL | £0.00

  • Bulldog DC400 Autoclamp for Motorhomes and Vans. 
  • ‘D’ (mm) ~ 580 - 740
  • ‘W’ (mm) to include trim ~ 190 - 255
  • Wheel Nut Disc Dia (mm) ~ 270
  • Product Weight ~ 9.0kg
  • Lightweight and fully adjustable simple to use and fit. 
  • Case hardened top arms for added security. 
  • Highly visible. 
  • Rubber backed steel disk protects wheel nuts. 
  • High security drill and pick resistant lock. 
  • Insurance Approved. 

"Loved by vehicle insurers." For the past three months valuable floorspace in the shoppe has been taken up by a 9kg metal wheel-clamp which was addressed and delivered to us, presumably in error, by persons unknown. Despite our best efforts we've been unable to trace the owner. It's used, as you can see, but it still works. 

If by any chance this £150 RRP clamp belongs to you, or if you just want to take it off our hands, please have it, free of charge, provided you can come and collect it (yeah we ain't shipping it) no later than May 2nd... at which point we'll have to get rid. You can add it to your order or email us at 

Happy clamping! 




If you happen to be reading this in Hamburg (could happen!), be advised that Nina is hosting our very own Kenneth, Meg, Jim and full Nunhead No Wave crew at Golden Pudel this Saturday. Will be gut>>>

Looking further ahead, and as we've mentioned before, the Low Company 2nd birthday thing is on Bank Holiday Sunday 26th May - details next week, finally, promise! 




Time to leave the city! The expansive, homeopathic teachings of Jean Ritchie’s 1952 debut sees its first vinyl reissue (LORD how needed it was) in perfect cadence with our first glimpses of summer.

Her all-encompassing, powerful yet TREMBLIN’ voice, accompanied only by a home-built, calmly flayed mountain dulcimer, Ritchie’s own fantasies and imaginations are injected across sixteen songs that were first taught to her by her mother, father and fourteen older siblings - fully set to dial us into the bewildering PHENOMENON that is the natural world. This collection also somehow manages to make the thought of growing up amongst the bees n trees, sharing a bedroom with 10 + of yer brothers and sisters and doing actual physical labour every day sound quite, er, idyllic…?

Calorie counting commuter-(b)rat daydreams to one side, the liner notes read: 
“These songs did not come from books”.

Too right - a million miles from the stiff, procedural conventions you may or may not expect from songs that are centuries old, what ye have here are HEART-STUNG ballads played with a strong, intuitive rhythm. Songs like “O Love Is Teasin” and “Black Is The Colour” effortlessly evolve, traversing their traditional trappings and giving new life to these visions of the country. TEEMING with personality, the phrasing and flexibility (FOLK AEROBICS?) of these translations ascend into love-lorn mountain mantras and sparse, rhythmic dulcimer enchantments with Ritchie’s life’s practice blended and embedded deep in every note, drawing timeless parallels between all mortal struggles and the cyclic comforts of nature. FFO Basho, Collins, “Gardens Where We Feel Secure”, The Fates, Sandy Bull ++


Our Carla returns with the 'So Much Better' 7", her first release since last year’s Top of The Pops covers tape, and her first original material since 2017’s The Garden EP, and it also happens to be the maiden voyage for her own Kallista label, envisioned as an outlet for contemporary deconstructed club sounds / neo-braindance. JOKES. The title track and A-side, ‘So Much Better’ seems to occupy, at first, a similar zone to her immaculate reimagining of Renee’s ‘Lay Me Down’ on TOTP... But while certain signature CDF motifs are firmly in place – spacewalk bassline, strafing mysteron synths and submerged, ricocheting snare hits – it’s not quite business as usual. The refined, startlingly intimate vocal style she unveiled to A+ effect on The Garden - its crisp diction and in-yr-ear intimacy a world away from the claggy distance and dissolve of You Know What It’s Like – becomes an offensive weapon here, as the lyrics move from dazed urban travelogue to a caustic, confrontational, unambiguously fuck-you-mate climax. Blimey. Incidentally this is probably the first, and undoubtedly the best, song in the history of recorded music to use the word “unseemly” – bo! Meanwhile anyone who felt stirrings of the second coming of trip-hop (NOT a dirty word) in Carla’s earlier work can witness its full flowering in instrumental B-side ‘Fever Walk’ - its scuffed breakbeat, moody keys and death-ray bass distortion reminding me of nothing so much as the Folk Implosion’s Kids score (!). SO MUCH BELTER.


The second (and final?) instalment of Andrew Winton’s DESTROY ALL ART compilations, plus very last copies of the now classic Vol.1. These amazing LPs do for raw 90s US murder-punk / lo-fi spazz what Killed By Death did for the ’70s/‘80s sub-underground, lining up 30-odd tracks of obscenely grotty, no-hope, no-legacy GENIUS from a time before the internet, nice coffee and COLOURFUL GRAPHIC DESIGN ruined punk forever.

I mean maybe the likes of The Conmen and Splayed Innards and The Ignatz WILL have some kind of a legacy now, the same way that the KBD sides taught suggestible late 90s weirdos to fuck their music (and themselves) up a little bit in pursuit of the scumbag sublime. AS IF. Still, what tunes. “These particular singles earned mostly ZERO distribution at the time thanks to the then-dominant ‘punk’ trends of pants-shitting emotional and prog-metal wankage,” ,” says Ryan Wells in his priceless sleevenotes. “Chances are if you were even alive and starving for the real deal in the 90s you never caught a whisper of any of these, but better late than never.” We’re talking properly, hilariously obscure - take Austin, TX’s The Nubees, who only issued 45 copies of their lone 7”, or Portland, OR’s Disasternauts, who apparently “grew so bored of the basic idea of their 1998 7” that it never got a pic sleeve, and [they] defaulted to ‘distributing’ their records by leaving them in random phone booths.”

The fruits of Winton’s late 90s / early 2000s committed rummaging through the used bins at Amoeba and Rasputin's in Oakland, walking away with armfuls of $1 blind-buys and then carefully dissecting them at home, Destroy All Art is everything you want from a compilation series: flashes of unfathomable oneaway brilliance from bands who were otherwise pretty pedestrian, brilliant bands lost on dreary labels, brilliant bands who broke up before anyone bought their first record, bands who definitely aren't in any way brilliant but are somehow inspirational nonetheless. Vol.1 is perhaps a little more out-there/art-damaged, Vol.2, is more straight-up death-stomp... both are essential. 

UNTERTON | 12" | £10.99

Mark back with another maxi of coiled, concussive breakbeat brawlers, and another rebuke of our limited grasp of German possessive grammar. ‘Fucking Sick Of Myself Since Day One (Hotdesk Mix)’ is a radgy, super-hectic breakbeat brawler, and a teeming gorescape of self-loathing, as if the Chapman brothers had populated Fucking Hell with rictus-smiling co-working space / start-up c***s instead of Nazis, while ‘Hats Off to Herr F’ offers something more in line with the rolling, handbrake-turning technoid d’n’b of his previous 12”s – all sinewy, minimal funk and churning Reese bass. Toll! The title track, with contributions from Silvia Kastel and Wilted Woman, turns like a jaded, strung-out Jedi back to the darkside, ultimately settling into a lithe, trail-thrashing dungeon flex reminiscent of classic Ruffhouse. Hieronymous BOSH. Arf. 

LEVANDE BEGRAVD | 12" | £14.99

Short sharp SICK LP of javla rock n roll, JJ Ulius and this Swedish squad SKIFTANDE ENTER kick out a thumpin, mob-minded debut of fierce, CALAMITOUS garage-punk autopsy, rife with warble’d organ and drunken nunchuck drumming. We went bonkers for Ulius’ solo 7” last year, that lackadaisical brawling of “Tander Ett Ljus” barely recognisable here (‘cept for the one track available to preview - d’oh), that slow-motion Buzzcocks swagger ramped up into a ferocious, Eddy Current-esque boil. Trust us, DAMAGE.



New one on in-shoppe label landed this week, debut LP from BOBBY WOULD - more thoughts and feelings on it’s brilliance below and a snapshot from the currently unreleased promotional video above.

We can now also safely/softly announce that these troops will be playing at the next LC swally, amongst some other SERIOUS talent tba - Sunday 26th May - keep THE WHOLE DAY free.

Anyway, nuff riddling - plenty to be getting thru

LC xxx

LOW COMPANY | LP | £13.99

"IT’S HAPPENING TO YOU, AGAIN…" Lovelorn, tranq’d-out, majestically understated rok y roll lullabies and dub-pocked, acid-damaged, pain’-it-dark drone-punk from Robert P. of Heavy Metal and Muscle Barbie++, coming over like some celestial 4AM face-off between George Harrassment, The Great Unwashed and Can. Gulp. Yeah this is a record so patently, self-evidently brilliant that we have to stop ourselves from calling it an instant classic (oops). There are some affinities with the homesick jangle of Itchy Bugger’s Done One, an album which R. played on (and painted the cover for), and the songs sure are pretty (find me a more romantic refrain in 2019 than ‘Luna''s "You and me / shivering in the street"), but Baby feels like more of a TRIP, as if some 23rd century Martian moptop-pop combo crash-landed at a dosed up Kensington houseparty circa ’66, plugged in their gear and got stuck right in: hypnotic space-guitar ultra-reverberant and in a permanent state of comedown/dissolve, choppy death-surf riffs and gently weeping leads ringing into infinity, squeezed and smeared for every last trace of scorch and sting…wooiii! There are some echoes too of banner UK DIY/squat-wave and the mildewed NZ psych of the Spies and the Renderers, but all shot through with a kinda Teutonic sensibility/rigour, loopy and ultra-repetitive - equal debts to the full-throttle drainpiped psycho-beat of 39 Clocks’ ‘Dom’ and the glacial ambient-glam sampledelia of Love Inc.’s ‘Life’s A Gas’ (!). Rare to encounter a record as simultaneously heart-rending, sonically intrepid and effortlessly SWINGING as this. Couldn't be more in love. Edition of 275. xxx

BÔŁT | LP | £16.99

YES it’s April and YES we are recommending you an LP of Christmas carols. And no we haven't lost our f****ng minds. We're talking Polish Christmas carols, translated into Arabic (more specifically a dialect from the region of Aleppo), and reimagined as political lamentations, and interrogations of Christian charity, or what’s left of it. “Songs for the time of contempt we live in,” according to Barbara Kinga Majewska and Marcin Masecki. “[An] era of rising xenophobia replacing care and empathy in relation to to the growing number of defenceless victims of wars, conflicts and other calamities. When thousands of unwanted strangers, searching for shelter from a certain death, die at the gates of fortified Europe, we cannot sing about any joyful news as we have always done.” It's a noble cause and conceit, and the music is up to the task, thanks to a number of factors: the innate beauty of the carols themselves, new to us and we assume to most non-Polish ears; the ways in which the imported Arabic language compliments, and complicates, and at times palpably chafes against, the sonorous high-Catholic melodies (“the songs run out of words; begin to sound in strange keys…”) but above all the sparseness and ECM-spaciousness of the arrangements. Majewska’s voice is the most haunting instrument of all, supernaturally crystalline at times, but also capable of drawing on deep wells of hurt; while Masecki’s minimal synth, harpsichord and piano accompaniments offer daubs of cooling, consoling ambient texture and, at times, something more atonal, frictional, closer to complaint. There are obvious parallels with Svitlana Nianio's and particularly Jessica Kenney’s work, but this one’s ultimately out on its own - stunningly poised and powerfully emotive music. It's also clad in the most exquisite/evocative artwork we’ve beheld in a while. It's really not miss.

FAITICHE | 2LP | £24.99

Front-rank, smoked-out, 1999-vintage but utterly future-proof microhouse / dub abstractions from the mind-machine of Jan Jelinek. 1999, fuck me. Coming hot on the heels of his Farben 12”s, and with Loop-finding-jazz-records still two years away, this ultra-broken, ight-on-its-feet but properly soundboy-clobbering 2LP bridges those two projects: combining a clipped, swung, almost two-step momentum with fathomlessly deep basslines and that droning, melancholic, acutely paranoid but never explicitly DARK textures that Jelinek is THE master of, and which has always elevated his work from the turn-of-the-millennium morass of clicks’n’cuts. I’d literally forgotten how good Personal Rock is… and right now I can’t think of anything, not even those early SND records, that comes close. Truly some of the most spatially dynamic, hallucinatory post-techno hocus-pocus ever to grace our ears. We are not worthy. FLAWLESS MASTERPIECE. 

AN’ARCHIVES | LP | £21.99

Master drummer Ikuro Takahashi is a bona fide living legend / dark prince of the Japanese psychedelic underground, having served time in the cockpits of void-chasing juggernauts like High Rise, Fushitsusha and LSD March, as well as anchoring more pastorally minded, slow-burning troupes like Nagasa Ni Te and Maher Shalal Hash Baz (we could list at least a dozen more).

Born in Hokkaido in 1957, he lived in downtown Tokyo for some years before settling back in Sapporo with his partner, dancer Yoko Murunoi. All the music featured on this LP from An’Archives was composed for live performances from their Anoyonodekigoto duo project. Yoko died in 2017, so しりえないものとずっと(Shirienaimono to Zutto) is a kind of elegy, “the last flower laid at the shrine of her dance.” There are some passages of bin-lid crashing catharsis, no mistake, but the most striking of these six improvisations venture into a more granular ambient realm - although I’m not sure“ambient” is exactly the right word to describe music so teeming and twitching with anguish and fury and general unrest. Overlaying oscillators, music boxes and metronomes, Takahashi generates rhythmic, fluid, circular patterns (the influence of Takehisa Kosugi looms large) that seem designed to unpick the locks of the spirit-world, if he doesn't kick the goddamn door down first. Very special presentation from An as usual, with silkscreened jacket, obi, inserts and postcard. Edition of 275.

RECITAL | LP | £27.99

This contemporary album of Brexit-inspired electro-acoustic improvisations is a fascinating exploration of what "remain" could mean for-- JOKES! Words and Music is a rare and deeply idiosyncratic 1975 album by artist Tom Phillips (b.1937), who really had no way of foreseeing how jarring/button-pushing his use of the Union Jack would feel in the confused, conflicted, auto-annihilating Britain of 2019. Actually you’ve probably encountered Phillips’ work before, even if you didn’t realise it: the cover image of Brian Eno’s Another Green World is a detail from Phillips’ 1972 painting After Raphael, and it was in fact Phillips - teaching at Ipswich, Bath and Wolverhampton art schools - who introduced his star-student Eno to the ideas that would help him develop his ambient and generative musics>>>>>. In addition to his prolific and venerated painting (the National Portrait Gallery mounted a solo exhibition for him in 1989), Phillips collaborated with Cornelius Cardew in The Scratch Orchestra, and in 1990 co-created an award-winning TV adaptation of Dante’s Inferno with Peter Greenaway (A TV Dante). His key work remains A Humument: A Treated Victorian Novel, a reworked version of W.H. Mallock’s obscure book A Human Document, each page painstakingly painted and collaged over, and published in six editions between 1970 and 2017.

The second side of the Words and Music LP - originally published by Hansjörg Mayer and never re-pressed until now - is comprised of readings from Humument, with Phillips himself narrating its strange, romantic poetry. It’s the other half of the LP that’s of chief interest, though: four Cardew-ish chamber works grown form impressionistic and graphic scores. Subdued, submerged, at times heart-stoppingly lyrical and melancholic, these pieces exude, as Recital so beautifully put it, “an air of forlorn fantasy", and there are passages that could have sat comfortably alongside Gavin Bryars, Michael Nyman et al on Eno’s Obscure series. Urge you to check this one out, even if you can't bare the sight of it! Edition of 215 and not expected to come around again.