Baby Whale doses a cross between classic Chicago house and E2-E4 with a no-prisoners boogie bassline and piano chords glistering in from Rimini. JV’s signature spaced-out production assures a head-turning dancefloor banger for the 4am crew.
Adam & Eve is an intriguing mix of exotica and Arthur Russell. ‘The sound of Matisse,’ says the label.

Pure worries from Leipzig — three club burners steeped in Detroit traditions, distilling the explorations in collective, nervy hypnosis of KM live sets. As the music slowly unfurls, there he is at every turn, subtly tweaking its parameters, redistributing its weight, pricking its grooves into a state of utterly infectious perpetual movement.
The two visions of Chilazon track opposite pathways: the first is twelve minutes of gorgeous, dubwise, aquatic techno, spattered with kicks and razor-sharp hi-hats, and smeared with ghostly echoes; then a terse mesh of broken drums, escalating to a quiet yet feverishly intense peak. Lanthanum is calligraphic swordplay, its toms and bass stabs warily circling one another in a graceful steppers’ dance, spaced-out and fathoms-deep.

Fierce, subtle music, radically strange and unafraid of the deep, but with a killer understanding of rhythm. Lush drum-machine nocturnes, gnarly electronica and glorious flowerings of zoned-out dubspace: an evolutionary music, continuously engaged with experimentation both in the studio and the club.
Whether prepared solo, or jointly with his spar Mix Mup, a Kassem Mosse recording is less of a stand-alone creation than the next thrilling installment of an unstoppable groove. True to form, Disclosure dazzlingly extends some of the most mystical, essential dancefloor-rooted music of the last decade, from dusty, dream-state techno on Workshop and Mikrodisko, to frazzled beatdowns on Trilogy Tapes and Nonplus.
Pedigree techno and house are the lifeblood of Disclosure, yet with something newly microscopic about them. Its mesmerising juggle of pointillistic percussion, melting-wax chords and fleshy bump’n’grind suggests biological processes at work, as if Mosse has zoomed right into the cellular metabolism ticking away at the core of the music.
These textures are woven into some of KM’s richest and most emotionally complex material so far, constantly enlivened by forays into jazz, dub and beyond. Check the farty-bottom, broken-down, steel-pan minimalism of Collapsing Dual Core, just the job for coursing around Detroit in a car at night; and Phoenicia Wireless’ dastardly, intricate combination of glowering John Carpenter synths, heavy static and junked consoles on remote, as if the beats are fighting a wave of dirt, soot and fossilisation. The frantic, interstella tarantella of Galaxy Series 7; the wonky bump-and-hustle and heavy-lidded drama of Purple Graphene, to close.
Expertly pieced-together and paced, Disclosure brilliantly registers all the self-contained coherence and artistic authority of an album proper, yet shadowed throughout by the open-ended and questing spirit so vital to Mosse’s music. Its intimate enactments of non-closure, and its sense that anything could happen at any moment; its thematic play between excess and incompleteness, babble and tongue-tied stutter, and-you-don’t-stop grooving and entropy, wobble and the pause-button.
Trash and ready in a spiffy Bankhead sleeve, too.
Double bim. Bim, bim.

Sparky, engaging, inventive kitchen wave — on a mission to connect with you, cheer you up, and make you dance — rolling into TTT by way of Incienso and Workshop.

Also check out Kiki’s online cooking programmes and get pickling.

His first solo outing in ages. Method Man, Inspectah Deck, Cappadonna and Masta Killa, all here.

With an Actress.

The Bristolian bad boy, ex of Skudge and R-Zone, touting a blazing cocktail of acid mayhem and Wormhole-era Ed Rush. Other bad influences, by turn: Bunker and mid-90s Metalheadz; the tension and darkness of Torque; the Vangelis whoosh.