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Ziúr's music has always been difficult to classify. A longtime fixture in Berlin's nightlife, the musician, producer and DJ has cut through decades of threads to arrive on a sound that accurately represents her journey. She's sung, played guitar and drums and reduced club music to a burning cinder; with "Antifate", her third album under the Ziúr moniker, she approaches electronic music without any preciousness or reverence to genre. 2019's acclaimed "ato" re-introduced songs to her canon, contorting her vocals over an undulating electronic backdrop. On "Antifate", she takes this idea further, pushing abstracted pop forms into mists of digital euphoria and extracting unexpected instrumental flourishes from collapsing clouds of distorted rhythm. Electronic instrumentation is melted into acoustic sounds and vice-versa, creating a breathing organic universe that's entirely Ziúr's. "Antifate" is an abstract reference to the mythical land of Cockaigne, a utopia where wine flows freely and houses are made of cake, that provided escapist fantasy for medieval peasants. As the space between our private worlds widens, this fantasy becomes alluring once more - a place where we feel free, with the people who allow us that freedom. With this in mind, Ziúr crafts a soundtrack that's fantastical and magical, hinged on the idea of closeness and connection at a time when distance is mandatory. Ghostly voices echo wordlessly over clattering beats and dubwise bass on opener `Alive, Unless?', while the album's title track sings a more epic fanfare, with a chorus of voices echoing into glittering synthesizer pearls and volcanic kicks. "Antifate" is almost even theatrical at times, something never more evident than on the Talk Talk-esque `Fringe Casual' with its dreamy piano and plucked bass and on closing track `The Carry', where flute is introduced into Ziúr's rapidly expanding narrative. It's tempting to say that this is the album Ziúr has been destined to make, but "Antifate" rejects this concept. Rather, this is the album that Ziúr needed to make now, surrounded by the people that have been able to offer her the place to do it. In mapping out her mythical paradise, Ziúr has produced an album that is deeply tender and inescapably human. It's an album about freedom, and she has never sounded so free. The album is mixed by James Ginzburg & mastered by Rashad Becker, featuring artwork by Stefan Fähler.

What would have happened if Michael Dudikoff had gone missing in action, say – in Poland in 1987 – during the harshest freezing spell of the century? Would he have coped under these conditions like John Rambo has in the town of Hope? We shall never find out, but the soundtrack is already there. Latarnik and Cancer G (members of EABS and Błoto) would call this film Zima Stulecia: Minus 30°C.

When Twin Peaks debuted on Polish National Television with its oneiric music by Angelo Badalamenti, Poland could feel as eerie as the series. Seemingly nothing quite matched, but on the other hand, no one was surprised. Growing up in the 1990s inevitably brings back memories of stalls selling a variety of products. You could buy there cleaning products from Germany, some underwear, Haribo jellies and Jacobs coffee, and have access to the "latest" cultural releases, which would be arriving late in Poland. This is where one could obtain pirated copies of cassette tapes and VHS, the labels of which had typewritten film titles that transported kids' fantasies to another world. With such content distribution, many of these kids got their first glimpse of Predator, Terminator, Robocop, as well as Van Damme's stunts in Bloodsport and a plethora of other B action movies, which to this day - like American Ninja - are rerun on TV over and over again. The afterimages of these soundtracks nestled in the heads of Marcin Rak and Marek Pędziwiatr for years and found expression on their debut album.

The music of Zima Stulecia is difficult to label in terms of genre. It oscillates towards melancholic electronic music. For some it will be techno, others will hear elements of house, all accompanied by improvised synth and percussion music.

Zima Stulecia is a duo that was not supposed to have any chance of success. Many years ago, back in 2006, when they were still budding musicians they met for the first time at a jazz workshop. When they found out where they both came from and that they were separated by almost 800 kilometers, despite having great chemistry in playing, they jokingly said goodbye with the sentence: "it was fun playing together!". They figured they would never meet again. At the time, none of them imagined that in a few years' time in Wrocław they will form one of the most interesting contemporary jazz bands in Poland: EABS and Błoto. On top of that, they were both born in January 1987. The last of the historic "winters of the century" (eng. for "zima stulecia") occurred at that time in Poland, which ultimately determined their name as a band. Minus 30°C album is a recording of the non-verbal workings of these soulmates, and a fruit of a musical collaboration that has lasted for 16 years.