New instalment in Not Not Fun's limited edition Bored Fortress singles club pairs UK destructo duo Birds Of Delay with the alien electronics of Dreamcatcher, featuring Blake Hargreaves of Cousins Of Reggae.

"For most of us, the doors of perception are triple-bolted shut and cast in bomb-proof iron. Only Supernatural shapeshifters (or career criminals) can slip through and seize the wisdom within. But, sweetly, there is a hidden entrance: musick-as-magick. Providence, RI patch-cable conjuror Mudboy is one such secret key-crafter and his unlocking labours on this long-player stand at the summit of his already awesome discography. Alchemizing stylized soundtrack spells, organ wizardry, melodic mind-reading and elegantly meditative harmonium hallucinations, Hungry Ghosts! lights an urn's worth of ritual powders and powers, filling the speakers with a sign language of smoke runes and ghost tones. Lie on the floor and be floored by Mudboy's primordial plainsongs. Record comes housed in a dizzyingly intricate laser die-cut fold-over cover with an acutely aligned flame-silkscreened inner sleeve. Limited to 500 copies." - NNF.

Edition of 330 copies from this mysterious one-man project with links to the whole shady Outer Limits Recordings cabal. Bermuda Telepaths is/was the fleeting pseudonym of a publicity shy American multi-instrumentalist - Sam Meringue -  with an umbilical connection to the soundworld of James Ferraro. Indeed, so close is their working relationship that Ferraro even passed off one of his releases as a James Ferraro album. The 90210 disc released on New Age and previously attributed to Ferraro himself was actually a collaboration with this guy who, like James, continually changes his identity from release to release. Explorers presents his first vinyl album and it’s a beauty. Whereas James’s creations are densely populated with the ghosts of hyper-real popular culture, complex loops and ascensions of cheap keyboards, Explorers’ vision of Hypnagogic Pop is much more lonesome and alienated. There’s an emotional distance to the music that is quite affecting. The murky, boombox fidelity is a major part of the sound, further degrading the whole Xerox-psych feel of The Skaters to the point that the keyboards are smeared into deep washes of celestial shortwave, broadcasting from just beyond the veil of memory. The sound is keyboard dominated, with loops of twilight effects bolstering the alien aspect of the music and the use of primitive tape-edits effecting jump-cuts from one soundworld to the next, all seeming to rise out of primordial electronic soup. But it’s the way the melodies are partially occluded by the fidelity, barely able to escape the gravity of recollection, that gives the set its powerful sense of poignancy. Bermuda Telepaths is always just one crucial step beyond full articulation, existing on the very cusp of consciousness, a dreamtime that is forever out of reach. Fantastic primitive Hypnagogic psych and one of the most haunting/haunted releases of the year. Highly recommended.

Deluxe vinyl edition of this classic solo album from Heather Leigh (Jailbreak/Scorces/Jandek et al) originally released in a tiny edition on cassette by Fag Tapes. Two fully-extended high metal masses for amplified pedal steel and vocals that blow all notions of form, fidelity and frilly fucking folk-picking fops to the kinda sweet metallic ribbons previously worn as crowns by Keiji Haino, Jojo Hiroshige and Teenage Jesus & The Jerks. Very different in tone and attack from the recent Jailbreak LP, Jailhouse Rock has a more amorphous sound, with muzzy smears of guitar caked in NZ-style fuzz and clouds of high string tone that conjure the miasmic electronics of Maurizio Bianchi. One of Heather’s most blasted sides with all-new nuts artwork by Heath Moreland. “Jailhouse Rock is in fact a wax reissue of a long OOP 2006 cassette classic on Michigan crud factory Fag Tapes. It was a fave of ours that year (and every year), so it feels extra celebratory to be able to offer up a freshly remastered (by Pete Swanson) LP edition of the album for global re-appreciation. Sprawling, long-form descents/ascents into mythic electric disorientation, powered by her trademark recipe of FX-soaked pedal steel and voice. Jailhouse feels loosely more aligned with a mid-aughts drone/noise aesthetic than the outsider dirt road Americana of her Devil If You Can Hear Me LP (also on NNF), but the distinction is a slight one. Side A swims in swooping sheets of vox and tempestuous wind tunnel dynamics before slowly dying away to wheezing disembodied harmonica. The B piece begins in a more overtly beautiful mode, a trinity of crystalline notes picked and stretched until they’re transformed into a rapturous sky of textural distortion. Sensual and vertigo-inducing in equal measure. Black vinyl LPs in jackets with brand new paint/collage artwork by Heath Moerland (of Sick Llama, Slither, Odd Clouds, etc). Edition of 400.” – NNF. Highly recommended!

”First had the perverse pleasure of tapping into Mr. Trance’s bizarro soundworld courtesy of archeologist housesitter Dylan Ettinger, who issued TT’s golden classic – The American Heartbeat – on his astute El Tule imprint last year. Fires were stoked so we tracked down Tracey/Tyler and he replied with a small mountain of lunatic live documents tracing the contours of his wacked stream-of-consciousness keyboard/organ abracadabra. Following a Herculean spring ‘10 U.S. tour with fellow fringe Americana guru-drifter Charles Taterbug, a solid tape on Night People, and an even weirder self-released opus (Hangtown U.S.A.), we are jazzed to present T Trance’s latest acid circus, Mummy Fingers. Recorded on a 4-track in a cabin in rural Washington, this sparkling C30 slipslides through all his manic dual-keys modes (one hand mans the organ, the other dances up and down a wah-fucked Casio), accented with the occasional mushroom starchild sing-songing vocals. It’s reminiscent of nothing else, and that’s obviously a rad/rare compliment. Hopefully more synthetic ivory tickling by this weirdo master will surface on NNF in the future. Pro-dubbed/imprinted orange tapes in j-cards with bootlegged Mozart art. Edition of 120.” – NNF.

Two sides of heavy jazz gravities from this Pocahaunted offshoot who apply electricity and late-night atmospherics to torch song structures and Japanese underground aesthetics. “West Coast ghost squad Topaz Rags stalk back into the deadlights with a fresh vinyl single, their first new material since the Capricorn Born Again LP. Recorded in the heart of winter in a room with one blue light bulb, “The Crown Center” is pure nightprowler music: quaking bass, grime-jazz keys, dusty drums, witch choirs floating through the smog and into sleeping homes with the power lines cut. The sound of crime to come. The flip (“You Go On”) slips deeper into the psych-psycho psyche, a bleached-brain riff-rhythm grinding away endlessly while voices and electric piano stabs arc across the stereo field, raining ash. A grimmer twist on the Topaz formula, the dreamer’s dream turned dark. 33 RPM 7 inches of variously colored vinyl in hand-silkscreened cardstock sleeves. Edition of 345.” – NNF. 

Limited copies of this split single only available as part of Not Not Fun’s Bored Fortress subscription series: “Ridgewood, New Jersey’s patron saint of palm tree listening takes a break from the real estate market to strum out a couple summer sunset polaroid instrumentals. Rangers serves up a similarly faded slice of TV bumper music, “The Bride Of Marin,” that surfs down from the clouds on a rainbow-trailed wave of phasered guitar licks. Sleeve art by Spencer Longo.” – NNF. 

“Being lifelong fans of contextless cassette curveballs, Buried Goods appealed to us instantly. The sole extant document (unreleased till now) of ambiguous mid-2000s Irvine, CA basement raga project Gypsy Treasures, BG sounds like a lost Sublime Frequencies demo as played by a bunch of So-Cal teens obsessed with German Oak. Blown-out faux-modal guitar lines snake and coil under a cavernous reverb chamber while bizarre bunker electronics whirr and oscillate in an opiated haze on a bed of zoned tambo & hand percussion. All four tracks were 4-tracked at home at various times across the mid-2000s (the exception being “Four Horsemen,” which was recorded live back in ’04) with various guest personnel and inner-chemical agendas. Completely awesome and wholly apart from whatever else is/was going on, scene-wise. Pro-dubbed tapes in cases with pitch-shifted regal furniture art/design by video-maker du jour, Megazord. Edition of 100.” – NNF.

“Wet Hair heads Shawn Reed and Ryan Garbes have been jamming sideways strains of long-lensed electricity music for years now, but their trajectories as visual artists arc back even farther. So after a small infinity of J-cards and zines and LP sleeves designs, it’s a real pleasure to finally be able to present a preferential suite of some of their finest (and, till now, unseen) compositions in a glossy, full-color, pro-printed 22-panel art volume, bookended by a brand new black vinyl 33 RPM single of joyously multi-hued keys/drums merry-go-rounding. “Radiant Lines,” a longtime live favorite. spirals a fuzzy circus organ riff around a splashy-crashy kit pummeling till it dissolves into burbling kaleidoscopic come-down bliss. The B, “Decay,” is more like their songs from the Naked On The Vague split 12”, a slow-motion Suicide-style sweetheart blues trance, buried vocals crooning in a gentle sea of woozy keyboard grooves. A nice warm-up for their upcoming De Stijl full-length and U.S. summer tour with Rene Hell. One-time pressing/printing of 500 copies.” – NNF.

“After last year’s New Age Outlaws LP, Bloomington Korg king Dylan Ettinger claimed he was gonna take a break from the robot sleaze/soundtrack-y sprawl style he had been mining for a while and pivot into a new zone. Lion Of Judah is the proof. A cool distillation of old modes and fresh focus, “Lion” slow-rides a deeply low-end syrup throb under a melancholic gauze of melodic synth leads and dubby melodica warblings (courtesy of Drekka), spiked with reverbed echo FX and echo MC vox. A total killer, easy to let roll on repeat. The flip, “Baptism,” stomps with a more brainfried new wave approach, like some rejected Mute Records synth demo from ’81, splatterpainted with outer space oscillations and garbled spoken tongues. Radical alien radio for aliens and radicals. Black vinyl big-hole 45 RPM 7 inches in stark silkscreened recycled sleeves with minimalist faux-Factory design/lettering by Manda Brown, plus a photocopied insert. Edition of 360.” – NNF. 

“French haze aesthete Vincent Caylet has been active on the marginal music frontlines in various capacities for several years at this point but Jaguar Danceis his debut outing under the Cankun parasol, and it’s a even brighter-lit hideaway of mirages to pass out in. Choppy, chiming guitars balance-beam above looping heatwaved keyboards while skittery beats glitter like a glare on the skin of the sea. A few songs fixate on a more entrancing/sun-stupor tonal agenda (“Coral Sands,” “O Mountains O”) but the majority of the album’s nine multi-movement instrumentals revel in freshly flowing metronomic locomotions, from propulsive island-kraut (“Congo Mobile Disco”) to cool club bootlegs (“Lichens Beat,” “Kids House”) to sweaty wah-funk (“Striking Bicycles”) and beyond. Escapist, joyous, and psychedelically sunburned in equal measure, Jaguar Dance is a totally promising first statement and we’re already pumped for the sequel. Pro-dubbed tapes in cases with surreal smoking lips j-card art by Valerian Marguery. Edition of 175.” – NNF. 

Devotional keyboard beamed straight from the mystery zone with padding rhythms and an eerie electro High Mass atmosphere from Jonas Reinhardt who transposes Nosferatu-era Popol Vuh to abandoned 3am expressways and illuminated backlots to birth a particularly eerie form of urban American kosmische: “The hermetic kosmische lexicon of San Fran-based synth synthesist/composer Jesse Reiner (Jonas Reinhardt’s founder and principal architect) has been simmering and swelling at a steady clip the past few years (2010’s Powers Of Audition was def a highlight), but the added talents of drummer Damon Palermo (Mi Ami), bassist Diego Gonzalez (Citay, 3 Leafs), and guitarist Phil Manley (Trans Am, more) has levitated the JR Experience to a whole new head-music hall o’ fame. Recorded in Berlin, mixed in SF, then mastered/cut back in Berlin at Dubplates, Music For The Tactile Dome is easily the most deep-trip micro-focus Jonas odyssey to date, nine technicolor fractals of glittering synthesizer skyways and master-crafted pulsing kraut terrariums. A handful of tracks (“Smokey Jotus,” “Hander Zader,” etc) invoke more of the classic live JR vibe, with propulsive cold-grooved rhythm sectioning, but by and large Dome is designed for heavy headphone communion, an expanding magic eye tapestry of brainwave activity constellations. Those who caught their Euro tour last year with Rene Hell know how expert this crew reigns in the live environment so go see them if/when they pass through your area code; on tour with Cloudland Canyon currently. Black vinyl LPs in jackets with beautiful spectrum-assemblage cover art by Sean Patrick. Edition of 650.” – NNF. 

Nicely done reissue of what was originally a cassette on Fuck It Tapes, this time around with a cardstock outer case, double-sided silkscreened J-card and a gold ink insert: duo guitar/tapes and harmonica/piano jams from Lea Cho and Russ Waterhouse that generate celestial, watery progressive/psych stuns and beautiful puffs of minimal melody while drums churn like flinty boulders wrestling in a deep bucket. Some of the piano sounds a little like Michael Rother's Neu work, and there's a nice lost/teutonic feel to much of this muzzy beauty. Edition of 175 copies, already sold out at source.