Edition #134
This week, we recommend the new songs by The Cure, iuri, Obliecht, Sjöblom, and Flower Face.
My teenage angsty self rejoiced on Friday when The Cure finally dropped new music after more than a decade. But now, it deals with the inevitable progress of time and the impending decay.
But it's not only the legendary band that brought long-anticipated music. You'll find some beautiful finds: soothing, impressive, and unexpected.
The Cure – Endsong
16 long years, fans had to wait for new music by wave legends The Cure. Finally, Songs of a Lost World arrived—a heavy-hearted, dragging thing. Everything but an easy listen, the album's final track, a 10-minute-long epos of melancholic decay, appreciates and celebrates the long winding compositions to their fullest. Wow!
Sjöblom – Tomorrow
Dead of Night, the new album by Swedish duo Sjöblom, features an array of exquisite tracks meandering between indie and electro-pop—with a hint of post-punk and synth wave. Tomorrow is one of these groovy tracks that fuels the dancefloor for the sad. Heavy on the synths, poignant on the guitars.
Obliecht – Coastline
Rave-like composition meets the warmth of indie pop—flavoured by an unexpected instrument: the hammered dulcimer. Usually used in traditional music, the Swiss trio Obliecht showcases the angelic sound in a contemporary context. Coastline is a great taste for this forward-thinking band.
iuri – Colours
It's a heartfelt affair: Colours, the first teaser for iuri's debut album. Slow and playful, the composition allows instruments to twist and whirl. And the artist's voice comforts you with warmth and vulnerability, supported by a subtle choir that adds even more shades to this beautiful song.
Flower Face – Biblical Love
When Goth and folk music meet, it sounds like Flower Face. The Canadian artist just released the bittersweet album Girl Prometheus. And in Biblical Love, the worlds collide spectacularly. Soft and whispering, giving bedroom country, in the verses, the song erupts into a dark and dramatic anthem. Impressive!
The Scariest Song I Know
This track always lets an icy chill run down my spine.
I usually don’t care about the «spooky season» at all. I’m neither a fan of horror movies nor have I ever dressed up for a Halloween party.
However, I wondered: What’s the scariest song I know?
A song that really and utterly lets a chill run down my spine because it sounds so haunting.
So, I started to dig around in my library, going straight to the darkest stuff I could think of. I was convinced some black metal artist would have an answer ready. Behemoth’s Blow Your Trumpets Gabrial, maybe? Or Den Vrede Makt by Whoredome Rife?
Not really; black metal’s shock value is entirely performative, aimed at Christian conservatives. Something that’s obviously designed to be artificially scary and violent can’t be the answer. It’s like a slasher movie: The more blood, the funnier.
My next station—goth music—often has a similar problem. When it tries to be scary, it becomes obvious. And anyway, goth music is more melancholic, more sad than scary.
But then I remembered being at this goth party years ago. There was this song that first seemed out of place, sounding rather unsuspecting.
The October Playlist Updates
Our exclusive playlists got another round of updates. Here's the latest.
It feels like an eternity since the last update, and yet, it has only been a month. I have updated three of our (more or less) genre-focused playlist, and hope that you will find some fresh inspiration.
Edition #133
This week, we recommend the new songs by Sharon Van Etten & The Attachment Theory, Sarah Klang, Ezra Furman & Alex Walton, Guinevere, and Rhonda.
Driven by exceptional performances, today's selection is for the admirers of extraordinary vocals. The mighty clarity of Sharon Van Etten, the smooth vulnerability of Sarah Klang, or the snotty-punkish flair by Ezra Furman. We wish you an intriguing listen.
Sharon Van Etten & The Attachment Theory – Afterlife
Sharon Van Etten and her new band, The Attachment Theory, just released Afterlife, the first stunning teaser of the upcoming album. Van Etten lets others in on the creative process for the first time, and the result sounds brilliant: grand, dreamy, melancholic, but most of all, utterly beautiful.
Ezra Furman & Alex Walton – Tie Me to The Train Tracks
Ezra Furman is back! Collaborating with Alex Walton, the US singer's Tie Me to The Train Track is a gritty, noisy rock song that bridges the gap between a past of distorted guitars and autotuned accents—it sounds just wild. But it's again Furman's raw authenticity making everything work and, frankly, excellent.
Sarah Klang – Other Girls
Swedish artist Sarah Klang's Other Girls is a heartbreaking, emotional piece about the desire to belong and the societal obsession over the female body. Delivered with her heartfelt, velvety voice, Sarah Klang transports vulnerability, yearning, and desperation to chilling perfection.
Guinevere – Generational Fear
Emotive and quiet initially, then erupting in a mighty plea. Italian artist Guinevere's Generational Fear is pushing the boundaries of folk music with its sparse yet powerful composition. A song that pleads for change, pushes against oppression, and seems griefing despite its defiance.
Rhonda – The More We Are Together
We often have debut or early singles, rarely a last song by a band. But The More We Are Together is the sonic farewell of the US-German band Rhonda. The soulful vocals meet a slow groove and make for a bittersweet but also warm atmosphere. The song is an invitation to explore Rhonda's past work.
Comprehending Nick Cave
Musical icons and rockstars are usually out of reach. Nick Cave, however, is close and intimate. And he defies simplicity. At his concert in Zurich, I begin to understand the fascination.
Nick Cave has always been an enigma to me. Ever-present in my subconsciousness, yet never fully in focus. A living legend, a phenomenon I knew was around but one I never found access to in a meaningful way. And I also know there are many who would consider all of this some sort of blasphemy.
But how does one, in 2024, start to understand the vast wealth of a creative career that has lasted over half a decade by now? It seems like a futile exercise to recapitulate without doing the 67-year-old Australian gross injustice.
There are the broad, well-known, and certainly tragic stages: a long Heroine addiction, the loss of two of his children. But it feels voyeuristic and wrong to reduce an artist to only these moments.
Multi-Dimensional
There are other intrigues about Nick Cave worth exploring. His long-standing obsession with the Old and New Testament, his relationship with religion or God, or the fact that he has opened up his mind since 2018 in «The Red Hand Files», a blog/newsletter where Cave personally answers fan’s questions. Or as he describes it:
«The Red Hand Files has burst the boundaries of its original concept to become a strange exercise in communal vulnerability and transparency.»
These files are a treasure trove of insight into a contemplative and complex man: Cave describes himself as a minor-c conservative, voiced disdain for organised religion and atheism, radical bi-partisan politics and woke culture and supported the Masha Amini protests in Iran, as well as trans rights.
Now, I know, even simply listing these keywords defies the purpose, stripping away the thoughts and arguments that led to those convictions, and are therefore pretty useless. Empty shells, meaningless, ready to be attributed by our own biases definitions.
But it ultimately raises the question of whether «The Red Hand Files» may even be Cave’s boldest artistic work today. An antidote to simple answers in populistic times—in defiance of one-dimensionality.
Stubborn Complexity
However, all of this fades away into the background on October 22nd. On this particular evening, all attention flows towards the most recognised art of the multi-disciplinarian: music.
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds are inviting to a show at Zurich’s «Hallenstadion»—in their bags not only decades worth of material but also Wild God, the 18th (sic!) album released in August. Ten new songs—universally acclaimed. Andrew Trendell summarised for the «NME» that «once the godfather of goth, now a freewheelin' preacher of joy, Cave elevates above the grief on this colourful 18th album.»
I don’t dare to make a profound statement about the album—too unfamiliar am I with the heavy-bearing catalogue.
Yet, one notion I can’t shake, what I always stumbled upon, is a stubborn complexity. The compositions demand full commitment and attention, yet the signature is always clearly audible: from Where The Wild Roses Grow, the popular duet with Kylie Minogue, to Red Right Hand, becoming widely popular as the theme song to the series Peaky Blinders, and even the sinister, rambling epos that is The Mercy Seat.
For what it‘s worth, the decision is simple: Either you like the slight detachment of Cave‘s often more spoken than sung lyrics from the instruments… or you don‘t.
The Intimate Icon
Now I‘m sitting in Hallenstadion‘s sector G1, where the media has their spots, sitting left seen from the stage, with small tables to put down laptops, pens and paper. It‘s been years since I‘ve last sat here.
As I sip on my beer, glad I‘ll be (almost) comfortably seated for the following hours, I watch the stadium fill with people and a sliver of anticipation. But the gratitude wouldn’t last that long.
Into this still-settling scene drop The Murder Capital, a young post-punk band from Dublin, Ireland. Sometimes sad but often loud, raw, and angry, they fought an uphill battle against an ageing audience. Polite applause but few excited shouts.
At this point, you might be wondering: Where are the photos?
Unfortunately, our photographer, Evelyn Kutschera, came down with the flu, and we couldn‘t find a substitute on such short notice. But here‘s a visual break from the last concert in Zurich in 2017:
Coming back from grabbing another drink, my seat was taken by an elderly gentleman. We started talking, and he—like me—never had seen Nick Cave live before. He was convinced by a fan to come. We debated the downfall of journalism, especially in culture reporting, and about Thomas Wydler, the Swiss drummer of The Bad Seeds.
And then, for the next two and a half hours, I wished I didn‘t have a seat at all. I watched with envy down onto the crowd in front of the stage—closer to this explosion of energy and presence.
With nonchalance and verve, Cave moves up and down the stage, getting close to his fans while pleading and shouting and crying and screaming and singing. His music demands attention, undivided, and it gets it—one way or another. Throwing himself into some action poses for photos, Cave then said: «Now, put these fucking things away.»
The hall exploded with Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. They played through every phase of their oeuvre, from the archaic, brutal post-punk beginnings like 1984‘s From Her to Eternity or the hellish performance of Tupelo to the more experimental, genre-bending songs like Conversation, which morphs from brooding spoken-word to this almighty gospel.
And when Cave and his Bad Seeds got quiet, as in Bright Horses, the thousands of people became so silent one could hear a needle drop. Such deep was the emotion.
It‘s hard to do it all justice, and it‘s harder to make sense of it all. There is this rockstar somehow out of reach on that stage but at the same time as intimate and raw as a friend. A musical icon that isn‘t beyond us mere mortals but suffers and celebrates publicly.
Experiencing the absolute wildness of this show, I begin to understand people‘s fascination for Nick Cave. And that the «Red Hand Files» aren‘t some performative stunt but results from an inevitable need for connection. A need for authenticity, a desire to let things be complicated and hard and painful, and without an easy answer or cure.
But also a need to be seen, to be recognised as a human with all our difficulties and struggles. And a need for love. Nick Cave ended the concert alone at the piano, serenaded by the audience, with an Into My Arms.
But I believe in love
And I know that you do too
And I believe in some kind of path
That we can walk down, me and you
Edition #132
This week, we recommend the new songs by MRCY, Bon Iver, Sampha, Mel D, and Porridge Radio.
Swinging between warm, progressive, and soulful sounds, artistic self-doubt, liberation, and emotional anger. In today’s Weekly5, you find the soundtrack for a reflective, introspective autumn. (And every song is available to get on Bandcamp, which you should do if you like one of them. Here’s why.)
MRCY – Angels
MRCY is the child of the unlikely duo producer Barney Lister and vocalist Kojo Degraft-Johnson, a place of belonging and coming together. The captivating warmth of their contemporary soul radiates from Angels. What a stunning song!
Bon Iver – THINGS BEHIND THINGS BEHIND THINGS
Bon Iver released SABLE, a hauntingly beautiful little EP. Dealing with self-doubt about himself as an artist, THINGS BEHIND THINGS BEHIND THINGS is a touching piece of modern songwriter art, blending folk, country, and poetry.
Sampha – Dancing Circles 2.0
To celebrate the anniversary of the lauded album Lahai, London’s Sampha released a deluxe version with new tracks like Dancing Circles 2.0. Exquisitely mixing soul vibes with pop-esque rhythms and rap, the track is electrifying.
Mel D – Not Crazy
Taken from the same named EP, Mel D’s song Not Crazy is a frantic, fizzing piece of indie-pop made in Switzerland. Despite its general breathlessness, the Zurich-based artist cleverly carves out spaces for calmer, floating moments.
Porridge Radio – God Of Everything Else
Porridge Radio have a new album out, filled with eclectic alt-rock songs—God Of Everything Else being one of them. It is dark, dramatic, and slowly building to its ultimate, overwhelming crescendo. Loud and pissed off.
Ethereal Folk with an Avant-garde Twist
Jessie Monk premieres her new single, «Gold Flowers», with Negative White. It is a whimsical avant-garde folk tune—full of wonders and mystique.
What happens if one takes the tradition-heavy folk music, adds avant-garde and mystical flavours, and just runs with it? It might very well sound like Gold Flowers by Jessie Monk.
The song, releasing tomorrow, celebrates its premiere today with Negative White.—alongside a stunning video directed by Christy Chudosnik and choreographed by Lily Harding.
Although born in Canada, Jessie Monk grew up on the other side of the planet: in Australia‘s southeast, the land of the indigenous Gunaikurnai people. There, Monk discovered her passion for music and dance. In 2020, she then moved again and settled in Berlin.
Both, the very foundational, rural, even primordial, and the cosmopolitan, global, and progressive meet in Gold Flowers. However, there is no brutal collision, no stark contrast, but a symbiotic nurturing.
Death, Dream, and Trauma
Inspired by Gabriel García Márquez‘s 100 Years of Solitude, Monk tells the story of the Celtic goddess Mis, who‘s trying to bring back her dead father‘s soul but is ultimately overwhelmed by the terminal nature of death.
Evoked by the ethereal avant-garde folk composition, Gold Flowers creates a dream-like atmosphere, yet the lyrics infuse mighty metaphors that hint at the trauma of loss and grief.
Despite the song‘s heavy imagery, the lyrics remain cryptic and mysterious enough to facilitate a personal relationship uninterrupted by specificities.
And that is a testament to Monk‘s songwriting prowess; both in sound and story, Gold Flowers feels unquestionably human, grounded deeply in our emotions.
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The Story Behind «Pool Song»
A song embodying Lea Porcelain’s strive for eternal sound and how it came to life.
All of a sudden, there is this unexpected drumbeat, soon merging with the bass into a rhythm and reverberating in the void. At the same time, the synthesiser emerges from the shadows, two alternating tones like a drawn-out siren. The sound swells, humming, a flood that sweeps you away and drowns you.
Pool Song is infinity cast in music. It is the crowning achievement of the German duo Lea Porcelain’s previous—if not already completed—work. In this piece, their search for eternity manifests itself and is perhaps the moment they come closest to this goal.
They were an unlikely pairing: Markus Nikolaus, an indie musician and singer-songwriter, and Julien Bracht, an up-and-coming techno producer. Two straying planets that unexpectedly found themselves in the same orbit.
In 2016, they released the first singles as Lea Porcelain, including Warsaw Street. There was this post-punk sound, the almost depressive mood of a Joy Division song, combined with the fading synthesiser pads.
Lea Porcelain created two albums: Hymns To The Night (2017) and Choirs to Heave* (2021). Both offered outstanding songs. In between, they released the EP Love Is Not An Empire, which featured I Am OK, a surprisingly light, ukulele-driven song that became their biggest hit.
After a crowning tour finale at the Funkhaus Berlin, the creative headquarters of Lea Porcelain, the band went silent. Markus Nikolaus pursues his label «Porzellan Bar» and various other projects, and Julien Bracht is working as EMPIRICAL towards his goal of performing at «Coachella».
For the time being, centrifugal force seems to have overcome gravity; the future of Lea Porcelain is written in the stars.
Exhaustion in Rio de Janeiro
Pool Song was created on the other side of the globe, far from Lea Porcelain’s home, in Rio de Janeiro. In a villa in the hills, owned by Uwe Fabich, the ex-banker and owner of Funkhaus. Their stay there was his way of saying thank you for their work in the artist community.