‘A perfect blend of barrio attitude and Caribbean swing, from 1972. Confident, creative arrangements, full of heavy Nuyorican underground salsa dura, propelled by raw trombones, off-kilter piano and in-your-face percussion. Standout tracks include the uplifting, anthemic Libre Soy, and Ha Llegado El Momento, with its minor key Moliendo Café quote at the beginning — both of which have become dance floor anthems over the years. Another mid-tempo killer is Guaguancó Tropical’, a favourite in Colombia since the 1970s.’

‘Lovely country & western-inspired music from 1950s Zimbabwe, South Africa and Kenya. Fingerpicking ‘omasiganda’ troubadours, train-car yodels, raw slide guitar and haunting travel-weary ballads, from rare 78s all reissued here for the first time. A heavy duty document of a nearly lost scene, and all the songs are stunners to boot. George Sibanda, Josaya Hadebe, Sabelo Mathe, Petrus Mntambo…  In old-school tip-on covers, with a 12” booklet of deep research and full lyrics. Co-released with Olvido.’

In front, trumpet and tenor saxophone, dominated by a wailing alto sound you can trace through to Dudu Pukwana; the bottom end, trombone or tuba or double bass; banjos strumming away; military-style drumming.

Beautifully relaxed, intimate recordings of fingerstyle guitar masterpieces by stars like Jean-Bosco Mwenda, Losta Abelo, and Emmanuel Mulemena, and brilliant but previously under-recorded artists like Tanzania’s Francis Kitime and Kenya’s Mtonga Wanganangu. From 1979-80, the sessions were set up in homes, village squares, and watering holes; you can hear laughter, children playing, and glasses clinking.
Lovely stuff.

Brilliant, jacking, extended, improvisatory, ancient dance music played at the initiation of diviners (drugged with jolonthi, to ward off spells) on a twelve-blade xylophone with calabash resonators.

Great-fun, expertly-assembled, well-presented collection of ye-ye girl pop, featuring Francoise Hardy (of course) alongside BB, Anna Karina (from the Godard films) and co.

Pinpeat and mohori music — courtly and abstract versus nocturnal and soulful — performed by a female choir and the orchestra of the Royal Palace.
Differently pitched xylophones with bamboo blades suspended above a sound-box; sets of horizontal gongs; oboes; two big buffalo-skin kettledrums.

‘Psychedelia, Afro-Roots & Champeta In 1980s Barranquilla.’

A compilation of the deepest and most affecting songs by The Philosophers National from Nigeria, beginning in the 1970s. Lilting, multi-layered, pulsing music, with muted trumpet solos, mesmerising guitar runs, driving percussion, and concise and clear-eyed lyrics sung so beautifully by Celestine Ukwu.
‘Celestine ditched the jaunty dance rhythms and relatively facile lyrics typical of the reigning highlife tunes, and ignoring the soul music tropes most of the highlife bandleaders were appropriating in an effort to inject new life to their ailing format. Instead Celestine concocted a new highlife style that was more contemplative and lumbering; with the layering of Afro-Cuban ostinato basslines and repetitive rhythm patterns that interlocked to create an effect that was hypnotic, virtually transcendental. Meanwhile, Celestine himself sang as he stood coolly onstage in a black turtleneck and a sportscoat, looking like a university professor. The message was clear: this was not necessarily music for dancing—even though the rhythms were compelling enough. This was music for the thinkers’ (Uchenna Ikonne).

Vintage rai.

‘Megarbane finds a sonic through-line in his surrounding soundscapes as he draws on the chaotic energy of the crowded Beirut metropolis (Souk El Ahah), the warm atmosphere of the Lebanese countryside (Chez Mounir), or the lushness of a Mediterranean beach resort (Portemilio). In many ways, Marzipan is a cartographic feat — it travels and traces a journey across many dimensions, both sonic and physical. Megarbane’s instrumental catalogue is suitably wide-ranging: toy glockenspiel, harpsichord, pedal steel, a classic Wurlitzer et al are used liberally on the record. Free-ranging influences — beloved artists like Ahmed Malek and Issam Hajali, West African funk, European soundtracks — result in a record of somewhat unparalleled expansiveness. Floating melodies and frantic rhythmic interludes nestle together with psychedelia — fuzz-drenched guitar, sliding microtonal interludes, hypnotic rhythmic breakdowns. The resultant sound is as sprawling as the musician’s instrumental dexterity. The closer Bala 3anouan can be translated loosely to ‘without address’ — a fitting final word.’