Previously unreleased recordings made in the Chelsea Hotel in 1960 on 1/4” tape, transferred here for the first time; the basis of Confessions Of An Irish Rebel, published posthumously five years later.

The Organic Music Society in super-quality audio, recorded by RAI in 1976 for Italian TV.
Ecstatic, bare-naked, free-as-the-birds music, with Cherry playing pocket-trumpet, the great Brazilian percussionist Nana Vasconcelos, the Italian guitar of Gian Piero Pramaggiore, and the tanpura drone of Moki.
‘A pure hippie aesthetic, like in an intimate ceremony, filters a magical encounter between Eastern and Western civiliziations, offering different suggestions of sound mysticism: natural acoustics in which individual instruments and voices are part of a wider pan-tribal consciousness. A desert Western landscape marries Asian and Latin atmospheres. Indigenous contributions with berimbau explorations find fossil sounds of rattles and clap-hands invocations. Influences of Indian mantra singing are combined with eternal African voices or with folkish-Latin guitar rhythms, while flute and drums evoke distant dances.’
Interviewing Shirley Collins recently, Stewart Lee noted how so many of her songs are ‘stories that go back hundreds of years, and that suggests there’s a continuity to existence, which means we don’t have to worry.’ Quite different music, obviously, but Om Shanti Om is the same kind of miracle medicine.
It’s a must.

‘Classic Vinyl Series.’

Brilliant, game-changing re-deployments of the lap-slide Hawaiian steel guitar — in this case a Gibson Super 400, modified with a drone string and a high nut to raise the strings off the fretboard like a lap steel — away from Indian popular music, into the service of ragas.

‘Elegantly combines the delicacy of classical Arabic music, the raw expressiveness of Egypt’s countryside music, and the spontaneity of free improvisation, carefully obliterating the artificial separation between acoustic and electronic instruments. Despite the remarkable absence of any percussion or drums, The Handover is an extremely groovy band, with an ability to slow down and accelerate the tempo in almost telepathic synchronization at exactly the right moments.
‘Alongside the tight ensemble playing there is plenty of room for individual expression as the oud, synthesizer and violin take turns playing solos on top of repetitive riffs. Native Alexandrian Ayman Asfour plays violin with breathtaking beauty, not afraid to make it buzz, squeak and rattle. Belgian/Norwegian keyboardist Jonas Cambien makes the synthesizer a melodic instrument in its own right, at times evoking almost classical Maqam, at other moments coming straight out of an Egyptian wedding. The oud forms the backbone, as Aly Eissa’s solos guide the listener from minimalist, meditative drones, to a compelling climax, and back to earth.
‘There is much more to The Handover’s sound than the obvious references to Arabic and Egyptian music. The opening drone section of the album is pushed towards abstraction and even noise, and the vintage Farfisa organ gives the music a touch of 70s psychedelic rock. The repetitive riffs can be reminiscent of Embryo’s experiments combining krautrock with influences from the middle-east, but the use of repetition to induce trance dates way back in Egyptian music, and is present in many rituals like Sufi and moulid celebrations. The composed melodies on this album couldn’t be possible without Eissa’s deep love for this music. And what The Handover does with this composed material couldn’t be possible without three strong individual voices, their love to play music together and their dedication to push the traditions forward.’

‘A moody, atmospheric delight. Jim’s roots in composition via tape-editing have evolved into a highly musical assembly of found-and-processed sounds that achieve near-orchestral majesty as they hang in the very air of the drama that unfolds in Kyle Armstrong’s Hands That Bind.
‘Described as a ‘slow-burn prairie gothic drama’, set in the farmland of Canada’s Alberta province, and starring Will Oldham and Bruce Dern, Hands That Bind is a spellbinding trip to the existential bone of rural working life in North America. As conflict rises over hard worked patches of land to provide a mere and mean existence, a desperate air settles in, as a series of mysterious, often supernatural occurrences rock the small community.
‘O’Rourke’s vaporous, serpentine musical backdrops and atmospheres reflect the obsessions and distractions of the film’s principles; moods of all sorts seen or otherwise implied. Additionally, the music highlights cinematographer Michael Robert McLaughlin’s closely observed accounting of the farmers’ environment, as well as the striking widescreen images of the big sky country with unnerving flair.’

‘As with many other ethnic groups of the area, a traditional singing pattern is used with each singer adapting words to context. Many of these songs express intimate, strong emotions that bring tears to the performers while they are singing. The cascading mournful feel of this music is beautifully transcendent. You’ve never heard anything like it.
‘Instruments used by the ensemble include the babi (single tree leaf ) and mepa (tree leaf rolled up into the shape of a horn or mirliton), a chiwo (three-stringed bowed instrument), a labi (six-holed bamboo flute), a lahe (three-stringed small lute) and a meba (vertical reed instrument).’

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.”

This is sublime. Check it out!

‘The most affecting solo piano album I’ve heard since Keith Jarrett’s much-loved The Melody At Night, With You more than 20 years ago’ (Richard Williams).
‘... the notes hang individually in the air as though being held up to the light… It’s so slow and patient, it becomes an observation of passing time’ (The Wire).

‘Naqvi’s electronics, Smith’s trumpet and Cyrille’s percussion acquiesce with finesse in a perfect simpatico balance of accommodating and complimentary interplay. The trio balance bursts of energy with delicate stillness to create a feeling of meditation. Nuanced, textural, subtle yet devastatingly affective as well as sensitive and contemplative where appropriate, they also deliver bursts of incredible energy and impact; navigating a path between expressions of dismay and meditative healing resolutions – both a protest and paean for harmony.’

‘Killer!’, says Gilles Peterson.
‘Exquisitely constructed… They are not landscapes to be admired at a distance, but inscapes to be explored with attentive care’ (The Wire).
‘Solace for the soul’ (All That Jazz).