Omar-S
Simply (Fuck Resident Advisor)

Panoram long awaited return, Anova, is an hymn to the vacant mind. Digital vocalisms and fragmented musical thoughts push the listening to the edge of the brain dancefloor.car commercials are blown on repeat by the wind of conscience.

Reymour packed their bags in the pre-Alps of Switzerland and left to start a new life in Bruxelles. This debut album finds originates in this transition, again in a bilingual environment, by now a Knekelhuis theme. Leviosa documents the emergence of a kind of dance built from chansons, synthpop and cute minimal wave. Luc Bersier’s wide musical spectrum reaches great heights while staying small. He creates the musical bedrock on which Reymour’s cabinet of musical curiosities rests, allowing us to drift away on the unctuous fumes of Lou’s vocals. On these tracks she covers a wide array of feelings, of doubt, sexual orientation, play and melancholia. And it all comes together in the reflection of life. Close friend and family guy Low Bat contributes vocals and gameplay on 2 of the album’s tracks.

An echo through the ages, channelled and tuned by Young Marco. Feelings of tactile, loved-up naivety, transferred to musical waves of colour, rhythmic energy, and hallucinatory aural visions. This is ‘I’m Still Mellow’ and the psychedelic yin to its’ yang, reverse alternative version ‘Wollem Lits M’I’.Both are imaginative 21st century takes on ‘Mellow’, a long-forgotten Amsterdam-born sub-genre of dance music that took the house template and re-imagined it for Dutch dancefloors in the early ‘90s.

PPU's first long-play LP highlights some of the early beginnings of one of the label's favorite producers, UKku Kuut. Written and recorded at Uku's home studio in Los Angeles and Stockholm between 1982 & 1989.Some tracks co-written with Maryn E. Coote, famous jazz vocalist who had her beginnings in 1960s Soviet Union. "That's my MOM" recalls UKU, "I remember when I was little, sitting under the mixing board at her sessions". Growing up in studios, Uku's love of music production began early, and over the years he has amassed a vast collection of domestic and soviet electronic gear. In true PPU style this LP is a mix of Uku Kuut's raw cassette demos, forgotten masters and unreleased magic.

Like trudging through viscous air, I Lost All My Data is a blissed-out barrage of sub-bass that nods to a long-lasting passion for sound system culture.Uploading turbo-charged wubs with molten glass melodies, the debut EP of Giovanni Bonelli (aka Notte Infinita) is a welcomed update for UK style broken-techno conventions. Booting-up with its title track, the record quadrisects the fabric of digital music, each cut a sonic reprogramming of its predecessor. ‘Slippery Tuff’ references off-kilter club, while on the flip, ‘Ecstatic Dub (Roller Mix)’ climaxes in an ultra-sensory faux-organic whorl. Unplugging the whole thang, ‘Oxygen’ manipulates post-dubstep textures, into a data-roused jungle tunnel.Deciphering glitched-out signal processing and harmonic warps, I Lost All My Data is the software upgrade that every system needs – do not choose Later; Install Now.This record has been played out/supported by...Bambounou, Madam X, Special Guest DJ, Opium Hum/Michail Stangl (Boiler Room), Lurka, Bruce, orson (version)

250 copies only. Antwerp’s Stadspark: a once-thriving triangular cruising ground, and still an occasional recreation site. These days, however, the only flash you are likely to get is that of a police badge. Linger on a bench too long and brave the consequences; to fester at home is best. But the animals just proliferate. Unwanted domestic pets – gerbils, rabbits, mice – dumped in the night in Logan’s Run; no one knows how and when this unsavoury practice was begun. To his astonishment, The Administrator once reported seeing a raven swoop clean from the trees and scoop up a guinea pig in its claws. The guinea pig was not heard from again. Reborn real estate: in the bushes, militant structures don sportswear shades, and a club scuppered by arson emerges as a generic phoenix –the Grand Café Capital. That chip on the shoulder of second cities. Not to deny the park its stately airs: fin-de-siècle street lamps, precious steel suspension bridge and the whole beguilinglyprehistoric as seagulls soar and light irradiates the lake. Desiccated one summer, pumped artificially after protest, sans the resident black swans. A former fortress now offering fourteenhectares of jogging excellence. The playground is cordoned off with crime tape.