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Mukatsuku returns with another superb little remastered package here on limited 12" hand-numbered to 400 copies. It features the Afro disco sounds of Fred Fisher Atalobhor And His Ogiza Dance Band .'wtfs' was originally released back in 1981 from the African Carnival album.
It's a booty-wiggling cut with myriad funky lines, squelchy synth motifs, lush chords and soul drenched vocals that bring the sunshine and party in equally playful measure. On the flip is 'Ebi Lolo' which is defined by its big brass section and loosey-goose guitar lines, bright chords and subtle funk and currently being championed by Charlie Dark on social media and his recent DJ sets….

1958, in the middle of the liberation war. While the rattle of machine guns could be heard in the maquis, in the city, the population listened at low volume to Algerian patriotic songs broadcast by the powerful Egyptian radio: “The Voice of the Arabs”. These artists all belonged to a troupe created by the self-proclaimed management of the National Liberation Front (FLN), based in Tunis and claiming to gather a “representative” sample of the Algerian musical movement of the time, among which Ahmed Wahby (who sang Wahran Wahran, a song popularized by Khaled) and Wafia from Oran, Farid Aly the Kabyle, and H’sissen, the champion of Algiers’ Chaâbi. The same year, singer Ben Achour was killed in conditions that have never been elucidated.
Algiers, by a summer evening in 1960. Cafe terraces were crowded and glasses of anisette kept coming with metronomic regularity, despite the alarming music of police sirens heard at intervals and the silhouettes of soldiers marching in the streets. The mood was good, united by a tune escaping from everywhere: balconies, where laundry was finishing drying, windows wide open from apartments or restaurants serving the famous Algiers shrimps along with copious rosé wine. Couples spontaneously joined the party upon hearing “Ya Mustafa“, punctuated by improvised choirs screaming “Chérie je t’aime, chérie je t’adore“. The song, as played by Sétif-born Alberto Staïffi, was a phenomenal success, to the point that even FLN fighters adopted it unanimously. Hence an unfortunate misunderstanding that would trick colonial authorities into believing Mustafa was an ode to the glory of Fellaghas. In 1961, Cheikh Raymond Leyris, a Jewish grand master of ma’luf (one of Algeria’s three Andalusian waves) who was Enrico Macias’ professor, was killed in Constantine, making him the first victim of a terrorist wave that would catch up with Algeria at the dawn of the 1990s by attacking anything that thought, wrote or sang.
Mohamed Mazouni, born January 4, 1940 in Blida – “The City of Roses” both known for its beautiful ‘Blueberry Square’ (saht ettout) in the middle of which a majestic bandstand took center stage, and its brothels – had just turned twenty. He was rather handsome and his memory dragged around a lot of catchy refrains by Rabah Driassa and Abderrahmane Aziz, also natives of Blida, or by ‘asri (modern music) masters Bentir or Lamari. He would make good use of all these influences and many others stemming from the Algerian heritage.
The young Mohamed was certainly aware of his vocal limits, as he used to underline them: “I had a small voice, I came to terms with it!“. But it didn’t lack charm nor authenticity, and it was to improve with age. He began his singing career in those years, chosing bedoui as a style (a Saharan genre popularized among others by the great Khelifi Ahmed).
July 1962. The last French soldiers were preparing their pack. A jubilant crowd was proclaiming its joy of an independent Algeria. Remembering the impact of popular music to galvanize the “working classes”, the new authorities in office rewarded the former members of the FLN troupe by appointing them at the head of national orchestras. In widespread euphoria, the government encouraged odes to the recovered independence, and refrains to the glory of “restored dignity” sprung from everywhere. Abderrahmane Aziz, a star of ‘asri (Algiers’ yé-yé) was a favorite with Mabrouk Alik (“Congratulations, Mohamed / Algeria came back to you“); Blaoui Houari, a precursor of Raï music, praised the courage of Zabana the hero; Kamel Hamadi recalled in Kabyle the experience of Amirouche the chahid (martyr), and even the venerable Remitti had her own song for the Children of Algeria. All this under the benevolent eye (and ear) of the regime led by Ahmed Ben Bella, the herald of the single party and vigilant guardian of the “Arab-Islamic values” established as a code of conduct. Singers were praised the Egyptian model, as well as Andalusian art intended for a nascent petty bourgeoisie and decreed a “national classic”; some did not hesitate to sell out. These Khobzists – an Algerian humorous term mocking those who put “putting-food-on-the-table” reasons forward to justify their allegiance to the system – were to monopolize all programs and stages, while on the fringes, popular music settled for animating wedding or circumcision celebrations. Its absence in the media further strengthened its regionalization: each genre (chaâbi, chaouï, Kabyle, Oranian…) stayed confined within its local boundaries, and its “national representatives” were those whose tunes didn’t bother anyone. The first criticisms would emanate from France, where many Algerian artists went to tackle other styles. During the Kabyle-expression time slot on Radio Paris, Slimane Azem – once accused of “collaboration” – sang, evoking animals, the first political lines denouncing the dictatorship and preconceived thinking prevailing in his country. The reaction was swift: under pressure from the Algerian government, the Kabyle minute was cancelled. Even in Algeria, Ahmed Baghdadi aka Saber, an idol for fans of Raï music (still called “Oranian folklore”), was imprisoned for denouncing the bureaucracy of El Khedma (work).
For his part, Mazouni was to be noticed through a very committed song: Rebtouh Fel Mechnak (“They tied him to the guillotine”). But above all, the general public discovered him through a performance at the Ibn Khaldoun Theater (formerly Pierre Bordes Theater, in the heart of Algiers), broadcast by the Algerian Radio Broadcasting, later renamed ENTV. This would enable him to integrate the Algerian National Theater’s artistic troupe. Then, to pay tribute to independence, he sang “Farewell France, Hello Algeria”.
June 19, 1965: Boumediene’s coup only made matters worse. Algeria adopted a Soviet-style profile where everything was planned, even music. Associations devoted to Arab-Andalusian music proliferated and some sycophantic music movement emerged, in charge of spreading the message about “fundamental options”. Not so far from the real-fake lyricism epitomized by Djamel Amrani, the poet who evoked a “woman as beautiful as a self-managed farm”. The power glorified itself through cultural weeks abroad or official events, summoning troubadours rallied to its cause. On the other hand, popular music kept surviving through wedding, banquets and 45s recorded for private companies, undergoing censorship and increased surveillance from the military.
As for Mazouni, he followed his path, recording a few popular tunes, but he also was in the mood for traveling beyond the Mediterranean: “In 1969 I left Algeria to settle in France. I wanted to get a change of air, to discover new artistic worlds“. He, then, had no idea that he was about to become an idolized star within the immigrant community.
France. During the 1950s and 1960s, when parents were hugging the walls, almost apologizing for existing, a few Maghrebi artists assumed Western names to hide their origins. This was the case of Laïd Hamani, an Algerian from Kabylia, better known as Victor Leed, a rocker from the Golf Drouot’s heyday, or of Moroccan Berber Abdelghafour Mociane, the self-proclaimed “Vigon”, a hack of a r&b voice. Others, far more numerous, made careers in the shadow of cafes run by their compatriots, performing on makeshift stages: a few chairs around a table with two or three microphones on it, with terrible feedback occasionally interfering. Their names were Ahmed Wahby or Dahmane El Harrachi. Between the Bastille, Nation, Saint-Michel, Belleville and Barbès districts, an exclusively communitarian, generally male audience previously informed by a few words written on a slate, came to applaud the announced singers. It happened on Friday and Saturday nights, plus on extra Sunday afternoons.
In a nostalgia-clouded atmosphere heated by draft beers, customers – from this isolated population, a part of the French people nevertheless – hung on the words of these musicians who resembled them so much. Like many of them, they worked hard all week, impatiently waiting for the weekend to get intoxicated with some tunes from the village. Sometimes, they spent Saturday afternoons at movie theaters such as the Delta or the Louxor, with extra mini-concerts during intermissions, dreaming, eyes open, to the sound of Abdel Halim Hafez’ voice whispering melancholic songs or Indian laments made in Bombay on full screen. And the radio or records were also there for people to be touched to the rhythm of Oum Kalsoum’s songs, and scopitones as well to watch one’s favorite star’s videos again and again.
Dumbfounded, Mohamed received this atmosphere of culture of exile and much more in the face. Fully immersed in it, he soaked up the songs of Dahmane El Harrachi (the creator of Ya Rayah), Slimane Azem, Akli Yahiaten or Cheikh El Hasnaoui, but also those from the crazy years of twist and rock’n’roll as embodied by Johnny Hallyday, Les Chaussettes Noires or Les Chats Sauvages, not to mention Elvis Presley and the triumphant beginnings of Anglo-Saxon pop music. Between 1970 and 1990, he had a series of hits such bearing such titles as “Miniskirt”, “Darling Lady”, “20 years in France”, “Faded Blue”, Clichy, Daag Dagui, “Comrade”, “Tell me it’s not true” or “I’m the Chaoui”, some kind of unifying anthem for all regions of Algeria, as he explained: “I sang for people who, like me, experienced exile. I was and have always remained very attached to my country, Algeria. To me, it’s not about people from Constantine, Oran or Algiers, it’s just about Algerians. I sing in classical or dialectal Arabic as much as in French and Kabyle”.
Mazouni, a dandy shattered by his century and always all spruced up who barely performed on stage, had greatly benefited from the impact of scopitones, the ancestors of music videos – those image and sound machines inevitably found in many bars held by immigrants. His strength lay in Arabic lyrics all his compatriots could understand, and catchy melodies accompanied by violin, goblet drum, qanun, tar (a small tambourine with jingles), lute, and sometimes electric guitar on yé-yé compositions. Like a politician, Mazouni drew on all themes knowing that he would nail it each time. This earned him the nickname “Polaroid singer” – let’s add “kaleidoscope” to it. Both a conformist (his lectures on infidelity or mixed-race marriage) and disturbing singer (his lyrics about the agitation upon seeing a mini-skirt or being on the make in high school…), Mohamed Mazouni crossed the 1960s and 1970s with his dark humor and unifying mix of local styles. Besides his trivial topics, he also denounced racism and the appalling condition of immigrant workers. However, his way of telling of high school girls, cars and pleasure places earned him the favors of France’s young migrant zazous.
But by casting his net too wide, he made a mistake in 1991, during the interactive Gulf War, supporting Saddam Hussein’s position through his provocative title Zadam Ya Saddam (“Go Saddam”). He was banned from residing in France for five years, only returning in 2013 for a concert at the Arab World Institute where he appeared dressed as the Bedouin of his beginnings.
At the end of the 1990s, the very wide distribution of Michèle Collery and Anaïs Prosaïc’s documentary on Arabic and Berber scopitones (first on Canal+, then in many theaters with debates following about singing exile), highlighted Mazouni’s important role, giving new impetus to his career. Rachid Taha, who covered Ecoute-moi camarade, Zebda’s Mouss and Hakim with Adieu la France, Bonjour l’Algérie, as well as the Orchestre National de Barbès who played Tu n’es plus comme avant (Les roses), also contributed to the recognition of Mazouni by a new generation.
Living in Algeria, Mohamed Mazouni did not stop singing and even had a few local hits, always driven by a “wide targeting” ambition. This compilation, the first one dedicated to him, includes all of his never-reissued “hits” with, as a bonus, unobtainable songs such as L’amour Maâk, Bleu Délavé or Daag Dagui.1958, in the middle of the liberation war. While the rattle of machine guns could be heard in the maquis, in the city, the population listened at low volume to Algerian patriotic songs broadcast by the powerful Egyptian radio: “The Voice of the Arabs”. These artists all belonged to a troupe created by the self-proclaimed management of the National Liberation Front (FLN), based in Tunis and claiming to gather a “representative” sample of the Algerian musical movement of the time, among which Ahmed Wahby (who sang Wahran Wahran, a song popularized by Khaled) and Wafia from Oran, Farid Aly the Kabyle, and H’sissen, the champion of Algiers’ Chaâbi. The same year, singer Ben Achour was killed in conditions that have never been elucidated.
Algiers, by a summer evening in 1960. Cafe terraces were crowded and glasses of anisette kept coming with metronomic regularity, despite the alarming music of police sirens heard at intervals and the silhouettes of soldiers marching in the streets. The mood was good, united by a tune escaping from everywhere: balconies, where laundry was finishing drying, windows wide open from apartments or restaurants serving the famous Algiers shrimps along with copious rosé wine. Couples spontaneously joined the party upon hearing “Ya Mustafa“, punctuated by improvised choirs screaming “Chérie je t’aime, chérie je t’adore“. The song, as played by Sétif-born Alberto Staïffi, was a phenomenal success, to the point that even FLN fighters adopted it unanimously. Hence an unfortunate misunderstanding that would trick colonial authorities into believing Mustafa was an ode to the glory of Fellaghas. In 1961, Cheikh Raymond Leyris, a Jewish grand master of ma’luf (one of Algeria’s three Andalusian waves) who was Enrico Macias’ professor, was killed in Constantine, making him the first victim of a terrorist wave that would catch up with Algeria at the dawn of the 1990s by attacking anything that thought, wrote or sang.
Mohamed Mazouni, born January 4, 1940 in Blida – “The City of Roses” both known for its beautiful ‘Blueberry Square’ (saht ettout) in the middle of which a majestic bandstand took center stage, and its brothels – had just turned twenty. He was rather handsome and his memory dragged around a lot of catchy refrains by Rabah Driassa and Abderrahmane Aziz, also natives of Blida, or by ‘asri (modern music) masters Bentir or Lamari. He would make good use of all these influences and many others stemming from the Algerian heritage.
The young Mohamed was certainly aware of his vocal limits, as he used to underline them: “I had a small voice, I came to terms with it!“. But it didn’t lack charm nor authenticity, and it was to improve with age. He began his singing career in those years, chosing bedoui as a style (a Saharan genre popularized among others by the great Khelifi Ahmed).
July 1962. The last French soldiers were preparing their pack. A jubilant crowd was proclaiming its joy of an independent Algeria. Remembering the impact of popular music to galvanize the “working classes”, the new authorities in office rewarded the former members of the FLN troupe by appointing them at the head of national orchestras. In widespread euphoria, the government encouraged odes to the recovered independence, and refrains to the glory of “restored dignity” sprung from everywhere. Abderrahmane Aziz, a star of ‘asri (Algiers’ yé-yé) was a favorite with Mabrouk Alik (“Congratulations, Mohamed / Algeria came back to you“); Blaoui Houari, a precursor of Raï music, praised the courage of Zabana the hero; Kamel Hamadi recalled in Kabyle the experience of Amirouche the chahid (martyr), and even the venerable Remitti had her own song for the Children of Algeria. All this under the benevolent eye (and ear) of the regime led by Ahmed Ben Bella, the herald of the single party and vigilant guardian of the “Arab-Islamic values” established as a code of conduct. Singers were praised the Egyptian model, as well as Andalusian art intended for a nascent petty bourgeoisie and decreed a “national classic”; some did not hesitate to sell out. These Khobzists – an Algerian humorous term mocking those who put “putting-food-on-the-table” reasons forward to justify their allegiance to the system – were to monopolize all programs and stages, while on the fringes, popular music settled for animating wedding or circumcision celebrations. Its absence in the media further strengthened its regionalization: each genre (chaâbi, chaouï, Kabyle, Oranian…) stayed confined within its local boundaries, and its “national representatives” were those whose tunes didn’t bother anyone. The first criticisms would emanate from France, where many Algerian artists went to tackle other styles. During the Kabyle-expression time slot on Radio Paris, Slimane Azem – once accused of “collaboration” – sang, evoking animals, the first political lines denouncing the dictatorship and preconceived thinking prevailing in his country. The reaction was swift: under pressure from the Algerian government, the Kabyle minute was cancelled. Even in Algeria, Ahmed Baghdadi aka Saber, an idol for fans of Raï music (still called “Oranian folklore”), was imprisoned for denouncing the bureaucracy of El Khedma (work).
For his part, Mazouni was to be noticed through a very committed song: Rebtouh Fel Mechnak (“They tied him to the guillotine”). But above all, the general public discovered him through a performance at the Ibn Khaldoun Theater (formerly Pierre Bordes Theater, in the heart of Algiers), broadcast by the Algerian Radio Broadcasting, later renamed ENTV. This would enable him to integrate the Algerian National Theater’s artistic troupe. Then, to pay tribute to independence, he sang “Farewell France, Hello Algeria”.
June 19, 1965: Boumediene’s coup only made matters worse. Algeria adopted a Soviet-style profile where everything was planned, even music. Associations devoted to Arab-Andalusian music proliferated and some sycophantic music movement emerged, in charge of spreading the message about “fundamental options”. Not so far from the real-fake lyricism epitomized by Djamel Amrani, the poet who evoked a “woman as beautiful as a self-managed farm”. The power glorified itself through cultural weeks abroad or official events, summoning troubadours rallied to its cause. On the other hand, popular music kept surviving through wedding, banquets and 45s recorded for private companies, undergoing censorship and increased surveillance from the military.
As for Mazouni, he followed his path, recording a few popular tunes, but he also was in the mood for traveling beyond the Mediterranean: “In 1969 I left Algeria to settle in France. I wanted to get a change of air, to discover new artistic worlds“. He, then, had no idea that he was about to become an idolized star within the immigrant community.
France. During the 1950s and 1960s, when parents were hugging the walls, almost apologizing for existing, a few Maghrebi artists assumed Western names to hide their origins. This was the case of Laïd Hamani, an Algerian from Kabylia, better known as Victor Leed, a rocker from the Golf Drouot’s heyday, or of Moroccan Berber Abdelghafour Mociane, the self-proclaimed “Vigon”, a hack of a r&b voice. Others, far more numerous, made careers in the shadow of cafes run by their compatriots, performing on makeshift stages: a few chairs around a table with two or three microphones on it, with terrible feedback occasionally interfering. Their names were Ahmed Wahby or Dahmane El Harrachi. Between the Bastille, Nation, Saint-Michel, Belleville and Barbès districts, an exclusively communitarian, generally male audience previously informed by a few words written on a slate, came to applaud the announced singers. It happened on Friday and Saturday nights, plus on extra Sunday afternoons.
In a nostalgia-clouded atmosphere heated by draft beers, customers – from this isolated population, a part of the French people nevertheless – hung on the words of these musicians who resembled them so much. Like many of them, they worked hard all week, impatiently waiting for the weekend to get intoxicated with some tunes from the village. Sometimes, they spent Saturday afternoons at movie theaters such as the Delta or the Louxor, with extra mini-concerts during intermissions, dreaming, eyes open, to the sound of Abdel Halim Hafez’ voice whispering melancholic songs or Indian laments made in Bombay on full screen. And the radio or records were also there for people to be touched to the rhythm of Oum Kalsoum’s songs, and scopitones as well to watch one’s favorite star’s videos again and again.
Dumbfounded, Mohamed received this atmosphere of culture of exile and much more in the face. Fully immersed in it, he soaked up the songs of Dahmane El Harrachi (the creator of Ya Rayah), Slimane Azem, Akli Yahiaten or Cheikh El Hasnaoui, but also those from the crazy years of twist and rock’n’roll as embodied by Johnny Hallyday, Les Chaussettes Noires or Les Chats Sauvages, not to mention Elvis Presley and the triumphant beginnings of Anglo-Saxon pop music. Between 1970 and 1990, he had a series of hits such bearing such titles as “Miniskirt”, “Darling Lady”, “20 years in France”, “Faded Blue”, Clichy, Daag Dagui, “Comrade”, “Tell me it’s not true” or “I’m the Chaoui”, some kind of unifying anthem for all regions of Algeria, as he explained: “I sang for people who, like me, experienced exile. I was and have always remained very attached to my country, Algeria. To me, it’s not about people from Constantine, Oran or Algiers, it’s just about Algerians. I sing in classical or dialectal Arabic as much as in French and Kabyle”.
Mazouni, a dandy shattered by his century and always all spruced up who barely performed on stage, had greatly benefited from the impact of scopitones, the ancestors of music videos – those image and sound machines inevitably found in many bars held by immigrants. His strength lay in Arabic lyrics all his compatriots could understand, and catchy melodies accompanied by violin, goblet drum, qanun, tar (a small tambourine with jingles), lute, and sometimes electric guitar on yé-yé compositions. Like a politician, Mazouni drew on all themes knowing that he would nail it each time. This earned him the nickname “Polaroid singer” – let’s add “kaleidoscope” to it. Both a conformist (his lectures on infidelity or mixed-race marriage) and disturbing singer (his lyrics about the agitation upon seeing a mini-skirt or being on the make in high school…), Mohamed Mazouni crossed the 1960s and 1970s with his dark humor and unifying mix of local styles. Besides his trivial topics, he also denounced racism and the appalling condition of immigrant workers. However, his way of telling of high school girls, cars and pleasure places earned him the favors of France’s young migrant zazous.
But by casting his net too wide, he made a mistake in 1991, during the interactive Gulf War, supporting Saddam Hussein’s position through his provocative title Zadam Ya Saddam (“Go Saddam”). He was banned from residing in France for five years, only returning in 2013 for a concert at the Arab World Institute where he appeared dressed as the Bedouin of his beginnings.
At the end of the 1990s, the very wide distribution of Michèle Collery and Anaïs Prosaïc’s documentary on Arabic and Berber scopitones (first on Canal+, then in many theaters with debates following about singing exile), highlighted Mazouni’s important role, giving new impetus to his career. Rachid Taha, who covered Ecoute-moi camarade, Zebda’s Mouss and Hakim with Adieu la France, Bonjour l’Algérie, as well as the Orchestre National de Barbès who played Tu n’es plus comme avant (Les roses), also contributed to the recognition of Mazouni by a new generation.
Living in Algeria, Mohamed Mazouni did not stop singing and even had a few local hits, always driven by a “wide targeting” ambition. This compilation, the first one dedicated to him, includes all of his never-reissued “hits” with, as a bonus, unobtainable songs such as L’amour Maâk, Bleu Délavé or Daag Dagui.

Flammer Dance Band back with two new hip-shaking garage funk tunes! 2023 Repress edition in different sleeve artwork colourway Another essential from Lyskestrekk Records.

Two classic cuts from Jorge Ben and Miriam Makeba take either side of this Mr Bongo Brazil 45 reissue.

’Xica Da Silva’ is one of Jorge Ben’s most well-known and well-loved cuts, housed on the legendary Africa Brazil LP that deserves a place in every collection. A magical MPB cut, it instantly transports you to the shores of Rio de Janeiro. With a low-slung funky samba flavour, Ben’s absorbing vocal recounts the legend of one of Brazil's oldest black icons.

On the flip side, Miriam Makeba serves up an entrancing, slowed-down, grooved-out version of ‘Xica da Silva’. A highly influential singer, songwriter, and civil rights activist from South Africa, this low and slow interpretation is doused in strutting guitar, off-beat piano stabs and hypnotic drums providing the perfect platform to let Miriam’s vocal shine through.

Remastered with refreshed artwork.

ATA Records are proud to announce the follow up to the critically acclaimed debut album fromThe Sorcerers. Conceived as a soundtrack to an imagined lost European exploitation film,'In Searchof The Lost City ofThe Monkey God'covers a wide range of influences: Ethiopiques Ethio-Jazz rubs up against European library music of the 60s and 70s. The Sorcerers seamlessly blend these disparate elements into one cohesive sound.

Based in ATA Records' home of Leeds, The Sorcerers form the backbone of the ATA Records house band including drummer Joost Hendrickx (Kefaya, Shatner's Bassoon, Abstract Orchestra) and ATA label heads Neil Innes (Bass & Guitar) and Pete Williams (Woodwinds & Percussion). Bass clarinets, flutes, and esoteric percussion that sit alongside bass, guitar and drums are essential to The Sorcerers sound providing cinematic textures on top of a solid rhythmic foundation.

The Sorcerers began working on the new album during the winter of 2018 and it was during the writing sessions for this album that the concept for the LP began to take shape. The name for the album was taken from the title of a National Geographic article read by Bassist Neil Innes and was used as the starting point for the entire concept. The library music scene of the 60s and 70s has always been an intrinsic part of the sound of ATA Records and so it made perfect sense to envisage the album as a soundtrack, given the cinematic quality of The Sorcerers music.

Each track was written with a particular scene in mind and the music was then shaped in the studio to best reflect the essence of that scene. Drums, Bass and Percussion provide the solid foundation onto which Flutes, Bass Clarinets, Xylophones and Vibraphones add the atmospheric and melodic counterpoint, deftly weaving between one another to conjure up images of the unforgiving environment of the dense jungle, unknown eyes watching the protagonists of the imagined film as they make their way towards their ultimate goal, their pursuit by unseen assailants, the arcane mysticism of undiscovered cargo cultists and the ancient ruins of long passed civilisations.

Bukaroo Bank is actually Mauskovic’s second album. There, the band reinvents both their approach and their sound, while maintaining the rhythm-forward euphoria heard on their debut album and surrounding singles. It is one of those albums that sounds brashly live, like you’re in the room while the jams are being kicked out, but in fact uses the studio very shrewdly.

Recorded in 2020, during one of the Netherlands’ intermittent lockdown bouts, for this one the MDB wanted to step up from their previous homebase, Garage Noord – an ad hoc Amsterdam space for recording, practise and after-hours parties. They chose Electric Monkey, operated by engineer Kasper Frenkel. His stacks of what Nicola calls “very strange equipment”, and ability to sprinkle magic dub dust over everything, suited the vibe perfectly. The results glow and shiver with assembled synth sounds, rhythms spliced and echoed in a way that hails late Jamaican dub great Lee Perry – maybe the band’s biggest influence.

Some sections might remind you of Afro-disco or slightly older highlife, others industrial prototypes like early Cabaret Voltaire, or 1980s On-U Sound mainstays like African Head Charge, or NYC groovers such as Liquid Liquid... there are outbreaks of saxophone, congas, echo units, wah-wah disco guitars, beats that sound programmed but aren’t (a nod to MDB’s industrial side). If that sounds fun to you, be assured that Bukaroo Bank is an irrepressibly fun album – but one that contains multitudes.

The career of Patience Africa Spanned over 40 years. After almost a decade of success on a major label with her Zulu Disco sound, and a few years in the early 80s experimenting with a more soulful sound, the funky synths of the 80's would force her to stay relevant in the quick changing times. It would be in 1987 that she would sign to the independent Ream Music which with the help of their tight knit in house production team had released hits for upcoming disco artists Makwerhu, Ntombi Ndaba, Sunset, Athena, Percy Kay and more. The label's success in the traditional market made Patience a perfect fit and could have been their first crossover artist.
With the help of owner's Danny Antill and Clive Risko they would cut a 4 track EP that like many others of the time ended up being lost in to the hyper saturated market of the emerging Bubblegum demand. Two tracks would be written by Patience, including the title "Wozani La" Musically these were more aligned with her sound of the 70's accompanied by a purely digital production, but it's the two songs written by label boss Danny Antill that appear on this release. These two songs are unlike anything heard at the time. Embracing full commitment to the digital studio and some extensive and risky experimenting the trio managed to slide heavy house bordering electro pop and a haunting swing beat groove alongside the compositions of Patience to complete this EP for both markets. Although the album had great potential, poor promotion and low sales led Patience to feel cheated and after not earning a cent for the record left the label and took her first break from music since the early 70's. She would later return to her original sound recording up to til 2006 when she released what would be her final album before her death the following year. Still loved by her fans and those who knew her, she is remembered through the Patience Africa Foundation. Founded by her son Mangaliso in 2017 to help create a better South Africa in our lifetime.

Leaning against a wall, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel and cradling a tumbler of something strong and sophisticated, Tony Igiettemo looks every bit the smooth talking 80s gent. When you put Hot Like Fire on the turntable and drop the needle, however, it is immediately clear that Smooth Tony is also a little bit freaky. Sirens, slap bass, squelchy synths and a titchy high hat that just won't give up, Hot Like Fire is a cosmic call from a dance floor on the far side of the universe. Produced by John Malife – the go-to man in Nigeria when you wanted your funk freaky – it's driven by a heavy low end that compels you to move. 'Baby You Can Do It' is Boney M's 'Daddy Cool' via a sweaty Nigerian dance floor. 'I Feel So Good' has a Kool & The Gang vibe, albeit with a freaky, warbling synth. And 'Hot Like Fire' is a strange reggae/funk fusion, fuelled by the righteous herb. 'We Are One' and 'Africa Must Unite', meanwhile, are post-disco, reggae-tinged calls for African Unity. 'Rock Your Baby' is the album's most relentless dance floor banger and sums up its ethos best. Clap your hands everybody and get down on it. Tony Igiettomo is here to make your body move. - Peter Moore

Heavy South African cut, unearthed by Dene from LCT, All about the massive title track ''Got My Magic Working''... Phat bassline, machinegun claps dipped in acid! The origins of Amajika is a tale of two worlds colliding at the perfect moment and begin in KwaMushu Township outside Durban. Here would be where a young Tu Nokwe would set up a school to help teach other aspiring youngsters like herself in music, dance and acting. This would become known as the Amajika Youth and Children’s Art Project and would be run from the Nokwe home, a common hangout for artists at the time. Some boast 2000+ pupils going through this program while others claim it wasn’t more than a backyard dance group, but for the lucky group of kids that were members in the mid 80s it would be their chance at stardom. It was during these years that a young aspiring playwright and musician Mbongeni Ngema had come across Tu and her group of gifted youngsters at the Nokwe family home. Although he was touring extensively at the time with the plays Woza Albert and Asinamali, the latter which eventually ended up on broadway, he would spend any time off from the tour with Tu and her dance troop. After being inspired by the American group New Edition, Mbongeni envisioned Amajika as the South African answer and decided to bankroll a studio session. The session would take place in a private studio in Durban.The release of the first single would follow very shortly. The lead track, Tomati-So is a fun swinging groove over some basic programmed drums. The song is dedicated to Tu Nokwe sings of her unique style and kind heart. On his next tour Mbongeni would take the remaining masters with him to the US and had the track remixed. Although it never materialized in a release States side he did return with the remixed tape and release it in South Africa the following year. Much like Tomato So the song was an ode and would be dedicated to the man who was making all their dreams come true. Got My Magic Working sings of going overseas and being a star on Broadway and TV and the man who is making it all happen. All these true predictions are sung on top of a groovy acid bass by a clearly matured troop of artists. During these years of working with Amajika, Mbongeni became very impressed with the exceeding talent of one of the members and decided to cast her in his upcoming musical Sarafina. The other children also wanted to be a part of the Broadway show but not everyone would get a role. This would be the end of Amajika as the next years would be dedicated to creating success on the musical stage. The growing kids that formed Amajika became young adults and pursued their own careers after the fact. Tu Nokwe would leave the country to return years later as the wife of Shaka Zulu on the big screen. To this day she is still very active both on stage and screen while Mbongeni is still writing and adding to the South African Musical Theatre catalog. Fast forward 30 years from the original release to a smokey club where ESA hears Got My Magic Working played by Rush Hours Store’s own Bonnefooi. Instantly he inquires about the track from his homeland and feels it a perfect addition the repertoire of the Afro Synth band he is quietly cooking up. The band’s instrumental take ended up as the B side on a mysterious and limited white label released by Rush Hour in early 2020 but quickly sold out. Here you have compiled the two title tracks from original Amajika singles along with the instrumental version by ESA’s Afro Synth Band for The complete Amajika experience, past to present.

Soundway Records presents the debut EP from The Mauskovic Dance Band – a heady, tropical blend of cumbia, Afro-Caribbean rhythms and space disco, resulting in a vibrant hypnotic groove destined for bustling dancefloors.
The Mauskovic Dance Band is the brainchild of the Amsterdam-based producer and musician, Nicola Mauskovic. A seasoned drummer, he finds himself constantly in demand – as part of Turkish psychedelic outfit Altin Gün, a recent tour with the revival of Zambian legends W.I.T.C.H., and a worldwide tour with psych-pop artist Jacco Gardner, with whom he then went on to form the dance-oriented duo Bruxas (released on Dekmantel). Throughout this hectic schedule Nic still found time to begin studio experiments that would eventually lead to several 7” singles, released on Swiss label Bongo Joe Records in 2017 under the name “The Mauskovic Dance Band”.
Following this, he tapped long-time collaborators Donnie Mauskovic (vocals, keys, effects), Em Nix Mauskovic (guitar, synth, percussion), and Mano Mauskovic (bass) to make the jump from record to stage. Soon they caught the ear of fabled underground Cumbia producer Juan Hundred, who left his home on a Caribbean island to join the band on drums.
With each band member of varying heritage, the group draws inspiration from diverse genres: primarily Afro-Colombian styles such as champeta, palenque, cumbia and the picó soundsystem culture, as well as the Afro-Disco and No-Wave scenes in their current base of Amsterdam. The city’s hotbed of underground producers has also brought an electronic edge to the band, with vintage drum machines and synthesisers effortlessly melding with Afro-Latin rhythms and slick guitar riffs to create a contemporary sound rich with cultural influence.
Having toured extensively through Europe in 2017 as a staple of festival stages and clubs, The Mauskovic Dance Band continues to build exciting momentum – with appearances at Eurosonic Noorderslag 2018 and an extensive tour of the Netherlands coinciding with the launch of the EP.

In many ways, DJ Black Low's debut album, Uwami, shows the signs of an artist's first offering in any musical genre. Showcasing fluency in a broad range of styles and stuffing a number of ideas to the record's brim is the 20 year-old producer's attempt to both introduce himself to a wide listenership and stamp a recognizable sound in their minds. In other ways, somewhat out of the young South African producer's control, Uwami goes against the grain. The album comes at a time when South African electronic music is being fundamentally disrupted. Amapiano, the electronic music movement which first gained popularity with a small, core group of followers, now dominates the mainstream. Well-known and pervasive, amapiano borrows from a diverse palette of musical styles which are popular in South Africa's largely Black townshipsjazz, kwaito, dibacardi, deep and afro house among them. Instead of pandering to the seemingly insatiable local appetite and growing global penchant for amapiano though, on Uwami DJ Black Low seeks out the limits of the sound du jour and tries to stretch them. On his solo productions, he uses the samples and compositional norms that make amapiano hits the bedrock on which to experiment and improvise. With collaborators, DJ Black Low improvises within the boundaries of listener-friendly grooves. The sound he creates has foundations of what could easily have progressed into captivating amapiano songs on their own. But he uses improvised but structured electronic percussion and distortion sounds to drive the tracks in a particular direction. What remains is something like a deconstructed amapiano. For a young producer living in the townships of the greater Pitori area of South Africa's Gauteng province, there were few avenues available for Radebe to pursue a career in music. His trajectory shows the vulnerability of this pursuit. "I had started producing in 2013 and it so happened that I lost my equipment in 2014. I couldn't afford to buy equipment. In 2017, a friend of mine who had been making music found a job and decided to quit music. He gave me his equipment and I was able to start producing again. That's when I started getting back to it. I tried to pick up where I had left off, with hip hop and commercial house but I found that amapiano was the popular music. I liked it, so I started producing it."

Analog Africa are proud to present the 27th release of their Analog Africa Series. A fantastic, hypnotic and funky compilation from the Dur-Dur Band of Somalia that comes out on a Triple LP.

When Analog Africa founder Samy Ben Redjeb arrived in Mogadishu in November of 2016, he was informed by his host that he would have to be accompanied at all times by an armed escort while in the country. The next morning, a neighbour and former security guard put on a military uniform, borrowed an AK-47 from somewhere and escorted him to Via Roma, an historical street in the heart of Hamar-Weyne, the city’s oldest district. Although previous Analog Africa releases have demonstrated a willingness to go more than the extra air-mile to track down the stories behind the music, the trip to Mogadishu was a musical journey of a different kind. It was the culmination of an odyssey that had started many years earlier.

In 2007 John Beadle, a Milwaukee-based musicologist and owner of the much loved Likembe blog, uploaded a cassette he had been handed twenty years earlier by a Somalian student. The post was titled ‘Mystery Somali Funk’ and it was, in Samy’s own words, “some of the deepest funk ever recorded.” The cassette seemed to credit these dense, sonorous tunes to the legendary Iftin Band. But initial contact with Iftin’s lead singer suggested that the ‘mystery funk’ may have actually been the work of their chief rival, Dur-Dur, a young band from the 80s.

Back then, Mogadishu had been a very different place. On the bustling Via Roma, people from all corners of society would gather at the Bar Novecento and Cafe Cappucino, watch movies at the famous Supercinema, and eat at the numerous pasta hang-outs or the traditional restaurants that served Bariis Maraq, a somali Beef Stew mixed with delicious spiced rice. The same street was also home to Iftinphone and Shankarphone, two of the city’s best known music shop. Located opposite each other, they were the centre of Somalia’s burgeoning cassette distribution network. Both shops, run by members of the legendary Iftin Band, would become first-hand witnesses to the meteoric rise of Dur- Dur, a rise that climaxed in April of 1987 with the release of Volume 2, their second album.

The first single ‘Diinleya’ had taken Somalian airwaves by storm in a way rarely seen before or since. The next single, ‘Dab,’ had an even greater impact, and the two hits had turned them into the hottest band in town. In addition to their main gig as house band at the legendary Jubba Hotel, Dur-Dur had also been asked to perform the music for the play “Jascyl Laba Ruux Mid Ha Too Rido” (May one of us fall in love) at Mogadishu’s national theatre. The play was so successful that the management had been forced to extend the run by a month, throwing the theatre’s already packed schedule into complete disarray, and each night, as soon as the play had finished, Dur-Dur had to pack their instruments into a Volkswagen T1 tour bus that would shuttle them across town in time for their hotel performance.

The secrets to Dur-Dur’s rapid success is inextricably linked to the vision of Isse Dahir, founder and keyboard player of the band. Isse´s plan was to locate some of the most forward-thinking musicians of Mogadishu´s buzzing scene and lure them into Dur-Dur. Ujeeri, the band’s mercurial bass player was recruited from Somali Jazz and drummer extraordinaire Handal previously played in Bakaka Band. These two formed the backbone of Dur-Dur and would become one of Somalia’s most extraordinary rhythm sections.

Isse also added his two younger brothers to the line-up: Abukar Dahir Qassin was brought in to play lead guitar, and Ahmed Dahir Qassin was hired as a permanent sound engineer, a first in Somalia and one of the reasons that Dur-Dur became known as the best-sounding band in the country.

On their first two albums, Volume 1 and Volume 2, three different singers traded lead-vocal duties back and forth. Shimaali, formerly of Bakaka Band, handled the Daantho songs, a Somalian rhythm from the northern part of the country that bears a striking resemblance to reggae, Sahra Dawo, a young female singer, had been recruited from Somalia’s national orchestra, the Waaberi Band. Their third singer, the legendary Baastow, whose nickname came from the italian word ‘pasta’ due to the spaghetti-like shape of his body, had also been a vocalist with the Waaberi Band, and had been brought into Dur-Dur due to his deep knowledge of traditional Somali music, particularly Saar, a type of music intended to summon the spirits during religious rituals. These traditional elements of Dur-Dur’s repertoire sometimes put them at odds with the manager of the Jubba Hotel who once told Baastow “I am not going to risk having Italian tourists possessed by Somali spirits. Stick to disco and reggae.”

Yet from the very beginning, Dur-Dur’s doctrine was the fusion of traditional Somali music with whatever rhythms would make people dance: Funk, Reggae, Soul, Disco and New Wave were mixed effortlessly with Banaadiri beats, Daantho and spiritual Saar music. The concoction was explosive and when they stormed the Mogadishu music scene in 1986 with their very first hit single, ‘Yabaal,’ featuring vocals from Sahra Dawo, it was clear that a new meteorite had crash-landed in Somalia. As Abdulahi Ahmed, author of Somali Folk Dances explains: “Yabaal is a traditional song, but the way it was played and recorded was like nothing else we had heard before, it was new to us.” ‘Yabaal’ was one of the songs that resurfaced on the Likembe blog, and it became the symbolic starting point of this project.

It initially seemed that Dur-Dur’s music had only been preserved as a series of murky tape dubs and YouTube videos, but after Samy arrived in Mogadishu he eventually got to the heart of Mogadishu’s tape-copying network – an analogue forerunner of the internet file-sharing that helped to keep the flame of this music alive through the darkest days of Somalia’s civil strife – and ended up finding some of the band’s fabled master tapes, long thought to have disappeared.

This triple LP / double CD reissue of the band’s first two albums – the first installment in a three-part series dedicated to Dur-Dur Band – represents the first fruit of Analog Africa’s long labours to bring this extraordinary music to the wider world. Remastered from the best available audio sources, these songs have never sounded better. Some thirty years after they first made such a splash in the Mogadishu scene, they have been freed from the wobble and tape-hiss of second and third generation cassette dubs, to reveal a glorious mix of polychromatic organs, nightclub-ready rhythms and hauntingly soulful vocals.

In addition to two previously unreleased tracks, the music is accompanied by extensive liner notes, featuring interviews with original band members, documenting a forgotten chapter of Somalia’s cultural history. Before the upheaval in the 1990s that turned Somalia into a war-zone, Mogadishu, the white pearl of the Indian Ocean, had been one of the jewels of eastern Africa, a modern paradise of culture and commerce. In the music of the Dur-Dur band – now widely available outside of Somalia – we can still catch a fleeting glimpse of that golden age.
Listen & Enjoy!

Before becoming an international musical phenomenon, raï was first and foremost the expression of a social behaviour, of a way of being. It bothers, excites, seduces, but leaves no one indifferent! Delving into the deepest recesses of raï, this compilation serves as a tribute to its roaring years, but also as a rejuvenation of the genre in its sulphurous, subterranean version. It seemed like a good idea to dig into nearly untraceable cassettes, thus confirming it's in the oldest of Oranese pots that the very best of raï is to be found. Just 50 years ago, no one would have believed even a bit in a genre seemingly bound to forever turn round and round in its native Oran, laying low in one of its many coastal road clubs. In these underground venues, singers - backed up by a minimalist orchestration for lack of space - would move their audience to laughs and tears, sobbing in a beer or chuckling down (dry) whisky. Either way, the public would unfailingly be moved by their defying tunes, sounding like a challenge to the established, self-righteous order of things - complete with trumpets, electric guitars, accordions and an array of percussions. Through the pre and post-independence years, from 1950 to 1970, raï urbanised itself, with a generation growing up between asphalt and concrete to the sound of traditional flute, but also and mostly listening to twist, French variété and rock music. Their names were Boutaïba S'ghir, Messaoud Bellemou, Groupe El Azhar, Younès Benfissa or Zergui, and they passed on their collection of songs to the incoming "Chebs" -breathing a second youth into them. Oran, the capital of West-Algeria, will be at the heart of this rejuvenation. Raï's success was overwhelming, so much so that in 1985 - when it appeared at the Youth Festival in Alger and when Oran held its first raï festival - the Algerian authorities hastened to nationalise the genre, all the while calling for its "normalisation" (that is, the "purification" of its lyrics), and to declare it "an integral part...

"A Bangin South African bubblegum tune, with house club mix on the flip!"

The start of the 90's brought the final wave of House music that would cement it as the future of South Africa’s music scene. In the years leading up to the new decade, Disco had already naturally evolved into the very early stages of what would become South Africa’s signature House sound, with Instrumentals and Dub Mixes earning themselves spots on the Pantsula records leading the charts of the late 80s, it would be an influx of remixes appearing on import singles that would make the “House mix” the premier b side sound for those bubblegum artists trying to stay relevant in the 90’s. The House remixes coming from Chicago and New York dominated the airwaves at first, eventually gaining genre status by the later part of the decade as International House or just International for short. At the time this would have been synonymous with House music everywhere else in the world. After a years of these tracks getting remixed by the touch of the local talent, International no longer fit the description of what the music was and Kwaito became the sound of the streets. In the studio, Kwaito was the sound of the next generation of producers that was coming up under the Disco legends of 80s. In total it took less than 5 years total for the sound to evolve. It would be in this transition period between International and Kwaito, with the help of the new wave of studio talent, that we find the ingredients that gave birth to a short lived yet unique African House sound. After a long career with the soul group The Savers, Morgan Kwele cut two solo records under his own name in the late 80’s. Without much success and after being dropped by EMI, Morgan was picked up by Peter Snyman and independent Sounds of Soweto. At the time it was becoming a premier label for the emerging house sounds. M’du and Joe Nina would both end up working at Snyman’s studio, and it would be their collaborating project LA Beat that would launch their respective careers further. For his new album Morgan would team up with legendary producer and long time friend from the 70s Koloi Lebona. They would work together once more and record what most likely became Morgan’s final Album. The title track Vakonwana became the lead single, with the original bubblegum version on the A side for the old timers and the Club Version on the flip for the late nite parties.

In the early years of Fela Kuti's career, well before he would define the genre of afrobeat, and leave an indelible mark on the musical landscape, he was a struggling trumpet player, seeking to redefine the sound of his current group, the art-jazz ensemble Fela Ransome-Kuti Quintet. As he moved his group towards the then-popular genre of highlife in 1963, he lost his bassist in the move towards commercial success, but gained the company of Ojo Okeji, who had a sterling reputation both as a bassist and
percussionist in groups like Lagos Cool Cats, Rex Williams' Nigerian Artistes, and Western Toppers Highlife Band, a favorite of Kuti's. Okeji impressed Kuti with his deft jazziness on the bass, so he was in on the spot, and the Fela Ransome-Kuti Quintet became Koola Lobitos. It was Okeji that introduced Kuti to the famed percussionist Tony Allen, (Who would subsequently join Kuti into his greatest years as an artist) as well as conguero Abayomi "Easy" Adio. During his time in Koola Lobitos, Okeji not only contributed deeply melodic, and adeptly rhythmic baselines, but brought his own influence from emerging US soul artists like James Brown & The Famous Flames and Wilson Pickett, heavily pushing Koola Lobitos towards a more soulful direction. This push was often resisted by Kuti, who frequently clashed with Okeji. 1968 proved to be a turning point for the group, as the Nigerian Civil War broke out, and many starving musicians turned to the military for work. Okeji and Adio would leave for the army, while Kuti and Allen kept Koola Lobitos going, where it evolved through different names and iterations and grew into the worldwide afrobeat force that made Kuti an icon during the 70s and 80s. But as Kuti and Allen rose to global recognition, Okeji and Adio would form a new band within the ranks of the 6th Infantry Brigade of the Nigerian Army. Their emblazoned blue jackets earned them the nickname "The Blues”, but Okeji preferred the name “Shango” after the Yoruba thunder god. Shango took the fundamentals of Kuti's famous afrobeat and brought new layers of guitar and horn arrangements, while often invoking supernatural aesthetics, and maintaining a love for the US soul artists that influenced Okeji so much. Because Shango was an army band however, their records were not readily available to anyone outside of the military so their music, including their eponymous 1974 LP, remained relatively unknown even amongst the people of Nigeria. Decades later Comb & Razor is thrilled to present this long-lost Nigerian gem for the first time to a world-wide audience.

8 page vinyl size booklet & mp3 download coupon! Habibi Funk is back with another album from Casablanca. Completely unreleased album which was recorded in Morocco in 1973 by three generation family band. A unique blend of Gnawa, Funk and Rock. Traditional Moroccan music meets electronic guitars and dense layers of percussion by a band that used to run in the same circles as Fadoul (And actually wrote one of his songs).

A great mix of Zouk, Afro-Funk and Boogie from the Ivory Coast, 1983. Cool synths, electric guitar, Afro-Caribbean rhythms...
Four long tracks, including the massive afro-disco-boogie “Africa Mawa” plus two cool afro/Zouk tracks and a deep ballad with psych guitar.
Featuring Congolese musician Denis Bibi Den’s Thsibayi and his band The Best, “Sensible” was recorded at Abidjan, Ivory Coast, after Denis Tshibayi was requested to play live there. M. Sacko helped with the production / edition and the album was originally released first as a tiny private pressing in the Ivory Coast and later in France on the Tangent label. During that time, Denis Thsibayi also recorded for Earthworks/Rough Trade and in the following decades he recorded with Adrian Sherwood (On-U Sound Records), Alpha Blondy, etc.

Titi Bakorta almost didn't make it. Born in and raised in: Kinshasa, the Congolese multi instrumentalist was on his way to Uganda when he fell of the boat as it traversed the Format: mighty Congo River. Unable to swim, Bakorta was saved by a friend who dragged him to the closest city Kisangani, where he was unexpectedly acquainted with local singer Dancer Papalas. Soon they were performing in bands together, traveling across the continents and settling in Tanzania, South Sudan and Dubai o they even appeared in front of General Defao, the beloved Congolese vocalist who fronted legendary soukous bands Grand Zaiko Wawa, Choc Stars and Big Stars. Now based in Kampala, Bakorta offers his own unique take on Congolese pop and folk sounds, weaving traditional elements through a psychedelic lattice of guitar loops, mangled voices and eccentric beatbox rhythms on his debut full-length. He bends woodblock snaps on 'Kop' into stuttered blurs, wailing emotionally over twanging riffs and bizarre, theatrical xylophone twinkles. It's still pop music on some level, but curved around Bakorta's unwieldy personal narrative - there's a sense that everything could unravel at any time but it all hangs together, strengthened by Bakorta's confident, contemporary production smarts. 'Elles Vais' is more airy, with celestial soukous vocals that float above tight, electronic drums. Tangled guitar echoes overlap each other like dense, weaved tapestries, contrasting perfectly with Bakorta's urgent, driving pulse. Occasionally, he transcends completely, like on 'Molende' where his chants and phrases neatly flutter between praise music and contemporary R8B. "Hustling, hustling, hustling, everyday I'm hustling," an angelic voice coos over phased electric guitar plucks and looped, AutoTuned chorals.It makes perfect sense that Bakorta should team up with 7 Metal Preyers' Jesse Hackett on the album's final track, the aptly-titled 'Titis Haunted House'. The two artists share a similar obsession with moonlit, carnivalesque soundscapes, and...

Soundway Records presents the eponymous debut LP from in-demand Amsterdam five piece The Mauskovic Dance Band – fusing no-wave dance punk, Afro-Caribbean rhythms and space disco in a “controlled explosion” (The Quietus).
Entirely self-produced, the band has reiterated their favourite elements of the 70s and 80s legacy of the Afro-Latin psychedelic music of Colombia and Peru, interpreting it through the context of modern day Amsterdam. The output is a lo-fi No Wave groove all its own - rooted in a deep love of champeta, Palenque, psychedelic cumbia, chichi, classic afrobeat and picó soundsystem culture.
Since the release of their “Down In The Basement” EP on Soundway Records in early 2018, the band have found themselves on a hectic European touring schedule – not to mention being involved in other side projects. Following stints with Turkish psychedelic folk rock group Altin Gün, and touring with the re-formed 70s Zamrock outfit W.I.T.C.H., Nic Mauskovic also teamed up with Dutch neo-psychedelic artist Jacco Gardner to form the “cinematic Balearic disco” duo of Bruxas (released by Dutch institution Dekmantel) – and together, they mixed The Mauskovic Dance Band debut album in Lisbon.
Lead single Space Drum Machine encapsulates the band’s prototypical brand of busy rhythmic patterns interwoven with insistent synth stabs and vibrant disco toms, layered with an elastic guitar riff drawing inspiration from Kenyan kikuyu and benga styles. High-pitched vocals describe being on a flight together and inciting each other to press a button of unknown consequence with “push it, push it” - and push it they do, at breakneck pace. And of course, the undeniable influence of Amsterdam’s hotbed of underground dance producers shines through as it does on all tracks - with the vintage psychedelic swirl of synthesiser, lo-fi drum machines and tape recording.

Limited to 1000 copies worldwide, only available with GUTS and HHV.

In 2022, Guts brought together his musical family for his ‘Estrellas’ album. An ambitious project that brought together musicians from: Franc, Cuba and various African countries. For a journey that was as rich artistically as it was humanly. The list of superlatives was almost endless, "Formidable", "incredible", "unforgettable" and "magical" all thrown into the pot, during these magical moments in the Dakar studio. From the seventeen tracks heard on the original album, three have been entrusted to the expert and inventive hands of four producers, who have come up with new interpretations bringing Africa and the Caribbean together for a modern dancefloor.

‘Por Que Ou Ka Fe Sa’ (Poirier Remix)

From his studio in Montreal, Canadian Poirier has opted for a strong groove and relentless bass drum to keep out intruders, putting vocalists David Walters and Brenda Navarrete in a rhythmic cocoon. Accompanied in a slightly moody bassline that adds some driving muscle to the track. The hooky guitar line eventually gives way to the saxophone that emerges from the mix to parade around the front line. The original electric piano is replaced by a synth pad that loops and spins driving the track to its conclusion.

‘Por Que Ou Ka Fe Sa’ (David Walters Remix)

Before recording this track, David Walters and Brenda Navarette didn't even know each other. So in the magic of the moment that brought them together is a genuine and sincere artistic bond. It is no longer Guts but David who is at the musical helm, and before they too can savour the connection between the two artists, the dancers will have to pass through an overheated corridor where a Caribbean rhythm resonates with percussion. Digital and woodwind swirl and clash until the vocal encounter with the artists. It's a moment of respite that's as suspended as it is life-saving, because the exit is also via the famous corridor.

‘San Lazaro’ (Bosq Remix)

On Bosq’s mix, he’s opted to maintain things focused on the dancefloor, keeping the percussion persistent for the unleashed bodies of the dancers to smile. It's once again the walking bass line rises to the forefront of the groove, softening the shocks of the relentless kick drum. Roberto Valdes's timeless piano has disappeared, while guitars float and add to the atmosphere. The track is no longer awash in cigar smoke. Under Akemis's powerful vocals the low ceiling has disappeared, and the open roof is more a brass-lit spectacle. That doesn't make things any less overheated though, this one is sweaty until the end.

‘Medewui’ (Captain Planet Remix)

Captain Planet brings the dancer’s attention to the Afrobeat flavored jam that rocked the original, highlighting the Pat Kalla & Assane Mboup duet. Despite the track remaining mid tempo, laying back is no longer the order of the day as this mix really develops. The drums are more present jolting along with the organ in the first half. Once all the storytellers have taken their microphones, the rhythmic beats are doubled and the track is carried towards a frenzy of Afro-Latin dancing. Fired up by the brass and percussion, it’s this almost switch up that takes hold of the second part of the tune, with some righteous authority and relentless piano and trumpet.

Reissue of the 80s 12” single from Trinidadian musician Oluko Imo (Black Truth Rhythm Band), featuring Fela Kuti and Femi Kuti. Recorded between Lagos and New York in 1988, the tracks sit at the fault line of the Trinidad-Yoruba connection, blending calypso heritage with the Afrobeat and jazz of Nigeria. On the A-side, title track ‘Oduduwa’ is a brooding slice of peak-era Transatlantic Afrobeat, blending a heartfelt plea for social justice and equality with a haunting piano line, shuffling drums and ethereal sax solo. The song takes its name from Oduduwa, the founder of the Ife Empire, who is also seen as a divine Orisha (deity) in Yoruba culture, one that is often evoked by musicians and activists in Trinidad as a signifier of Yoruba heritage on the island. On the flip, ‘Eyes Are Getting Red (Were Oju Le)’ is a long-lost slice of low slung Afrobeat featuring both Fela and Femi Kuti. Classic Nigerian horns and keys combine with Oluko Imo’s Caribbean-influenced guitar and Fela’s virtuoso sax solo, bridging the musical gap between Lagos and Port of Spain.

Band Leader Alex Puddu is behind the project the Moonfires. The Album is released on 300 copies limited edition on Alex Puddu's own label Al Dente. The Album Black sugar is written, Arranged and Produced By Alex Puddu Recorded during the summer 2014 in Copenhagen Recorded at Redrum Studio Mixed and Masterd in N.Y.C Astoria Queens Soundworks recording by Kamilo Kratc Album photo by Maiken Kildegaard Artwork by Leo Scherfig

Band Leader Alex Puddu is behind the project the Moonfires. The Album is released on 300 copies limited edition on Alex Puddu's own label Al Dente. The Album Black sugar is written, Arranged and Produced By Alex Puddu Recorded during the summer 2014 in Copenhagen Recorded at Redrum Studio Mixed and Masterd in N.Y.C Astoria Queens Soundworks recording by Kamilo Kratc Album photo by Maiken Kildegaard Artwork by Leo Scherfig

For fans of Fela Kuti, Ofege, Assagai, The Funkees, Mixed Grill, Bob Marley
Reissue of a long lost afro beat and Nigerian funk classic from 1978
A massive collection of captivating grooves and haunting melodies.

Who said that all Nigerian afrobeat from the 70s was dark and though provoking with a melancholic edge despite the ongoing powerful grooves and a more or less political message denouncing the the methods of the country’s leaders to increase their own wealth and power while the simple people suffer. Well, this 1978 album by bandleader Thony Shorby Nyenwi proves this idea wrong. What we have here is a sacredly rare gem, fetching 300 € for a copy in playable condition. A crown jewel of Nigerian afrobeat and funk music that is an utter joy listening to.

Thony Nyenwi's music is a monument of the genre carved in rock. His vocal melodies are more at the lighter and happier side of life, somehow hypnotizing with reduced note progressions on repetitive rhythm figures that rush through your whole body to make you groove along. A fine funky wah wah guitar sound and a mind blowing keyboard sound including electric piano, farfisa organ and others hook up to add colour to the stoic rhythms. The atmosphere literally cooks. This is certainly more modern with a slightly more polished feel than the political music of Fela Kuti or Segun Bucknor, but still bears an unparalleled intensity that makes this album a dance floor sweeper at each club. Coloured lights are flashing into the white haze from the fogging machines when people in glittering bell bottom trousers and twinkling shirts happily get into the groove. 70s galore. Well, the folks can also shift down a gear and rock out a sweet reggae tune that later on turns into a smooth funk, to add more variety to this black wax jewel.

No matter what Thony and his mates do here, they do it with passion and divine talent.
The arrangements are a dense network of sounds, beats, melodies, voices and it goes on and on throughout the whole record. You as a fan of 1970s black music, funk, reggae, soul, all mixed up in a typical Nigerian way, will be enchanted and become swallowed by the holy cloud emerging from the speakers. A beautiful discovery after such a long time that will bring more joy to a new generation of black music aficionadoes.