The RHCP bassist spends his debut solo album on trumpet, not bass, working through jazz standards and originals with Thom Yorke, Nick Cave, and John Frusciante in the credits. 'Willow Weep for Me' is the quietest, strangest thing on it — and the one that stays.
A two-track live record built from just two long improvisations, recorded eight months after the Eaton fire displaced Jeff Parker's family. It found me the same week as Flea's Honora — where half this band was quietly sitting in the credits too.
A bedroom record made by one of the biggest guitarists on Earth, while his stadium band was selling out arenas. Going Inside anchors it, the miniatures around it hold it together — and the credits list is almost embarrassingly short.
One woman, one Roland groovebox, and a thesis: the aesthetic is the art. Framed against the 2002 electroclash explosion — Miss Kittin, Fischerspooner, Felix da Housecat — and the ways Peaches outlasted the entire scene she came in with.
Two nights at the 42nd Jazz em Agosto, five days apart, that couldn't have sounded more different — a French cello quartet chasing a Mexico trip, and an LA quintet chasing a groove that never quite lands. Somehow they're the same festival.
Found through the Glass Beams similar artists radio. A song about orbiting someone who has no idea of their own magnitude.
A Melbourne project that fuses Indian classical scales with 70s cosmic funk and desert psychedelia. Music that creates an angine de poitrine — a beautiful tightening of the chest.