A fresh iteration of the mid-eighties LP (itself a compilation of recordings from the previous five years or so), replacing two tracks — Dancing In The Rain and All Things — with their full 12” versions.
This is a deeply personable, expert, limber blend of roots and lovers, kicking off with an exclusive mix of the deadly Mash Down Babylon; dropping classic, lush, spaced-out Wackies dub science to close; and taking in reworkings of Lickshot, Billie Jean and The Righteous Flames’ I Was Born To Be Loved, along the route.
The moniker ‘Chosen Brothers’ is Lloyd Barnes’ spiritual way of sharing the credit for his solo projects. “Anyone in the studio at the time could be a Chosen Brother,” he says. In this case a full crew includes Sugar Minott and Prince Douglas at the desk; Jah Batta, Milton Henry, Wayne Jarrett and Junior Delahaye all on backing vocals; and such dream-team Bullwackies instrumentalists as Clive Hunt, Jerry Johnson, Fabian Cooke and Ras Menelik.

Ska classics produced by Ken Khouri (who founded the first recording studio in Jamaica), including deadly unreleased selections.
Murders from the get go — a knockout acoustic version of You Made Me Warm, by The Sharks.

Copper-bottomed rocksteady do-over of Take Five, by Buster’s go-to saxophonist. The title is nicked from a comedy film directed by Norman Jewison, out a couple of years beforehand in 1966.
Plus Glen Adams having a not so shabby go at an Eddie Holman, on the flip.

Two sides of rare, body-rocking rocksteady lit up by Linval Martin’s personable singing, and the sweet, warm close harmonies of Hyacinth McKenzie and co, behind him.

Cassie Kinoshi, Tenderlonious, Femi Koleoso, Joe Armon-Jones, Midori Takada, Nabihah Iqbal, Nat Birchall, Ben LeMar Gay, Black Forum, Gqom… and plenty more… over more than 130 pages.

Monster dubs of Yabby You productions of Michael Prophet, Patrick Andy, Alric Forbes and Wayne Wade, by way of King Tubbys. The first-round knockout is pure Shaka fire: an extended version of Gates Of Zion.

A survey of Nashboro Records gospel, by Mike McGonigal of the Detroit Gospel Reissue Project.

The first album-length collection of the recordings of this collaborator of La Monte Young, who contributes here: a diverse, diaristic compilation by Forti herself (with Yoshi Wada’s son Tashi) of never-before-released work from the early 60s to mid-80s, showcasing her use of voice and handmade instruments, folk songs and physical space; together with a 28-page colour booklet of her writings, drawings, and photos.

Compositions from 1969/70, when Forti was based in Woodstock, New York — ‘stoned in the woods,’ she recalls — around the time of the Festival, just before moving to California, and working and performing with Charlemagne Palestine.
The seven songs here were recorded in 2012 during her exhibition Sounding, at The Box gallery in Los Angeles. The blue vinyl carries an etching of Forti’s Illuminations Drawing on the flip; accompanied by a sixteen-page colour book with images of the original sheet music scored by Charlemagne Palestine.

‘These recordings are traces of something I have come to love to do in large resonant spaces, which is to set up sustained chords on multiple organs and then move slowly through the sound. The instruments are usually far apart, which makes for the emergence of large fields of continuous change, spaces of harmonicity that can be passed through layer by layer and which contain within them points of both clarity and overwhelming complexity. The organ pipes are tuned and retuned, though sometimes I leave them just as they are. What I’m searching for is the moment when a particular kind of sounding texturality is revealed – it is rough, focused and yet strangely transparent.’

Curtis Mayfield, every way but loose. A version of The Impressions’ classic marks PK’s first recording with Bunny Lee; and Glen Adams moodily rides the same rhythm Lee used for Slim Smith’s cover of Gypsy Woman, on the flip.

The Blues Buster showing his gospel roots in this superb, soaring version of the Sam Cooke, with support from Bobby Aitken and the Carib Beats.
Backed with some bumptious ska, led by Val Bennett.

Killer roots detournement of Georgia Turner‘s dread blues about a New Orleans brothel, to the tune of a seventeenth-century English folk song, by way of Bob Dylan, Nina Simone and The Animals.
Bunny Gale revives another folk song on the flip — Dead Man’s Chest — via The Viceroys’ classic Studio One outing.
More crucial Keith Hudson runnings, courtesy of Dub Store in Tokyo.

Snoopy is hard to follow up. The same brilliant musicality is lavished on Orange — a combination of unmistakably original, skittering drum programming, startlingly fresh instrumental interjections, creepily invocatory voices, and dubwise treatments — giddily imbued with the dark arts of ritual and seance. But Orange is more gripping, focussed and urgent, more intense and ambitious. Next level.

Its first quarter presents a trio of forays in suspense.
Bassline squares up like an epic psych-funk grinder, with a moody guitar line traversed by ticking drum patterns and faint electric crackle. In no time the guitar is staggering and stammering under the duress of echo and distortion, and over-run with percussive electronics and the first of the voices massing in the music’s head. The mood has quickly become more trepidatious. We’re deeper underground; it’s gloomier, wetter.
Shred propulsively ratchets up the tension and menace. Glazily tentative xylophone is played against slashing, nervy cello. The voices are more strangulated and sick now. Flutes and chimes evoke the same kind of beautiful, contaminated efflorescence which is pictured on the LP’s front cover.
Voice Of The Spider makes easier progress across this cavernous, shadowy, dripping terrain, with funky pads and Nasty, eighties, No Wave electric bass; woozy chimes, non-plussed keys, singing-in-tongues.

Pink Mist marks an arrival, or unbottling, with annunciatory church-organ and choral voices from the off, and a newly relaxed, head-nodding kosmische rhythm.

Mandarin is a short, beat-less and voice-free interlude for piano and bass. It’s reflective and nostalgic, ambivalent and inconclusive, with a lovely snatch of melody. A bridge half-way.

Would You Like A Vampire is a triumphant, mesmerizing go at New Folk, with strummed acoustic guitar, descant song, and jazzily restless drum programming (including a tasty bass-bin trembler). Amazingly, Conrad Standish is joined at the mic by none other than Bridget St John. Together they sing ‘Earth is Paradise’ so repeatedly and tremulously — and the song is cut off so abruptly at the end — it seems as if the verb is teetering on the past tense, and hymn fading into valediction and catastrophe.

In the same line of thought, Storm Rips Banana Tree begins idyllically enough, with a CS-&-Kreme-style raga… before something like an immense, obliterative drill starts up. Harpsichord and organ — by James Rushford — and flutes, and clapping, distant chanting and insectile percussion steadily leaven the dread, till finally all that is left is lapping water.
It’s an epic, deeply immersive, compelling, thought-provoking, twenty-minute finale… the coup de grâce.