Definitive performances by pianist Judith Wegmann and Andreas Kunz.
Feldman: “The degrees of stasis, found in a Rothko or Guston, were perhaps the most significant elements I brought to my music from painting. For me, stasis, scale, and pattern have put the whole question of symmetry and asymmetry in abeyance.”
Cage about Feldman: “Listening to this music one takes as a spring-board the first sound that comes along; the first something springs us into nothing and out of that nothing arises the next something… like an alternating current. Not one sound fears the silence that extinguishes it. And no silence exists that is not pregnant with sound.”

‘This work has accompanied me like a secret, an almost silent meditation on what the viola means in my life. Through it I have experienced how much this instrument connects me to listening, to patience, to inwardness. Here Morton Feldman is not composing in order to shine, but so as to make us hear the infinitesimal, the unspeakable – that is what has touched me profoundly, and I want to share it with the listeners.’
Antoine Tamestit

Coveted, cookin rhythm and blues from the house band at Leo Gooden’s happening St Louis night spot, late fifties and early sixties.

Wants-list Kansas City power-pop, from forty years ago, luxuriously revived.

Jazz-folk originally issued in 1977 by the BRBQ label out of Bloomington, Indiana; reissued here with extras by Numero.

The 35th Anniversary Edition of the Ash Ra guitarist’s early-eighties guitars-and-electronics breakthrough, with the original embossing to the cover.
A real game-changer: a momentous influence on Basic Channel, Carl Craig and so many others.
Perfect for zoning out.
It’s a must.

Dazzling melds of classic Detroit, grime, dubstep, speed garage, Paisley rock, synth-wave and the rest, with none other than the man not-himself crowned king.

Three exclusives trailering the Splazsh album, including a carnivalesque house banger from Zomby. Out Detroit, UK bass science and UK funky, cold wave and Kraftwerk… a London thing, mongrel and dashing.

An immersive, slashing, ecstatic thumper, just about getting Mars on the radio; and a kind of unhinged marimba and thumb-piano variation, grubbing around manically in half-memories of African polyrhythm.

The implacable, alien Son Of Sleng Teng — a beast of of a tune, lumbering and snuffling, one-of-a-kind — bleeping, buzzing, knocking, dripping, reverberating… and unresolved in nine minutes.

The LP is clear vinyl enclosed in a silver-foil metallic bag with black print, plus digital download card.