Over three hundred pages: numerous previously-unpublished photographs of Sun Ra and the Arkestra by Hartmut Geerken and Val Wilmer; a fully revised discography by Chris Trent, co-author of The Earthly Recordings Of Sun Ra; articles by Amiri Baraka, Chris Cutler, Robert L. Campbell, Salah Ragab and others; and newly gathered, full-colour images of hundreds of Sun Ra album covers, posters, handbills and ephemera, including reproductions of rare, hand-drawn, hand-coloured LP sleeves.
French fold cover, metallic foil blocking on cloth, hardback; 290mm x 245mm.
Fab. Pricey, but it’s a must, let’s face it (and Amazon has the previous, inferior edition for a grand).

Stupendous rendition of a Chinese folk song over red-hot rocksteady, produced by Ronnie Narsalla in 1967. Aimed at the Chinese community in Kingston; super-rare ever since.
Pure worries. The guaranteed musical detonation of any kind of dance or party.
Cheng, evidently, not Chang. Essential reading, here.

A stunning complement to Theme De Yoyo!
Panou was an activist and actor, in Paris from Benin; he plays a refuse collector in Jean-Luc Godard’s Weekend. His texts here cross existentialism and Black Power like a knockabout Richard Wright, with an extra shot of anti-colonialism. Recorded by Pierre Barouh for Saravah, in the same months as its classic Comme A La Radio LP with Brigitte Fontaine, furthering the AEC’s rowdily brilliant elaborations of Leroy Jones’ Black Dada Nihilismus.
It’s a scorcher; hotly recommended.

Four experiments in Pisan beat science — fleet and swirling at the limits of its dancefloor idioms, but faultlessly grooving with the hypnotic charge of classic techno, and flashing a precious combination of exquisite, confident melodicism and ruthless intensity.
Beautifully presented in stickered yellow sleeves with PVC covers, inserts and stamped inners.

Luigi Pirandello provides the conceit for the tenth Baroque Sunburst: his thinking about masks, duplicity, and ensnarement; the idea that ‘self’ and ‘identity’ are unattainable plenitudes; that we are all trapped behind masks and other concealments.
Hence each of the four tracks is designed for playback at either 33 or 45 rpm. Maschera itself is a half-time stomper with the slithering grace of a snake, intricate IDM refrains, and riddling drum patterns. Trappola is melodic hide-and-seek, with a stately, captivating tribal rhythm which slowly gathers intensity. The snake returns in Specchio, biting its own tail in an endless birth-death infinity mirror… before KRSLD brings the curtain down with a dubwise, dancehall rework of the opener, teasing the snake into the open. Or does it?