{"title":"24% OFF 2024 RELEASES","description":"","products":[{"product_id":"amaro-freitas-yy-cd","title":"Amaro Freitas - Y'Y (CD)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eCompact Disc version.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eImages provided are mockups, and final product may vary slightly in appearance.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhat drives Amaro Freitas in life is experience. In 2020 the pianist, who hails from the Northeastern Brazilian coastal city of Recife, was drawn to Manaus, located in the Amazon basin, some 4600 kilometers to the west. His experience in that lush wilderness led him into a new realm of musical creation, one rooted in magic and possibility and tempered by a sense of stewardship for the earth’s bounties and a connection to the Sateré Mawé indigenous community. Crucial to the experience for Freitas was the maintenance of a true exchange of knowledge. According to Freitas, in the resulting album, Y’Y (pronounced: eey-eh, eey-eh), he pays “homage to the forest, especially the Amazon Forest, and the rivers of Northern Brazil: a call to live, feel, respect, and care for nature, recognizing it as our ancestor.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHe continues, “It is also a warning about the need to be aware of the impact we cause, based on the concepts of civilization and modernity that keep us away from this connection, and its importance for the balance of life on the planet.” In addition to serving as a call to nature, Y’Y expresses lessons Freitas learned in the Amazon about the incandescent power of enchanted spirits who intervene on behalf of the community in times of struggle.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTracks such as “Mapinguari (Encantado da Mata),” and “Uiara (Encantada da Agua) – Life and Cure” recount the legends of powerful spirits, including the tale of the Mapinguari, “a hungry, hairy giant with one eye and a huge mouth at his navel, [that] wanders through the forest in search of food” according to Freitas. The song incorporates the rumbling, ominous sound of the thunder drum. Meanwhile “Uiara” is described by Freitas as another name for the pink river dolphin. The word itself means “the lady of the waters” or “water mother” in Tupi-Guarani.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlthough building an album around an experience so far from his Recife home may seem out of character, in fact the work is fundamentally connected to his previous discography. “Trying to rescue things that came before coloniality”, he notes, is a theme that has been woven into Freitas’s work for years. By simply looking at the titles of his last three projects: Rasif (a colloquial spelling of Freitas’s hometown), Sankofa (a Ghanaian term which roughly translates to “using lessons from the past while moving forward”), and now Y’Y (a word from the Sateré Mawé dialect, an ancestral indigenous code that means water or river), you can see themes that are not spoken in Portuguese or English, but which are part of the construction of a much more connected social concept. It’s no wonder he chose to intwine ancestral knowledge into this project in such a meaningful way.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eOn the title track, “Y’Y”, which features Shabaka Hutchings on flute in a duo, they try to “translate the ancestral strength of the meeting of these waters into two opposing movements”, he notes, and in each, echo-laden vocalizations ring out like ancient chants.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMeanwhile, “Mar de Cirandeiras” is a tribute to the cirandeiras, “a living cultural heritage of his home state of Pernambuco”. The ciranda is a traditional dance featuring people who clasp hands and move in a circle. He calls the song an “impression of experiencing a ciranda on the beach, in Tamaracá, in Recife Antigo, but not necessarily playing the ciranda rhythm. And it pays homage to the sea and, in a way, brings a connection where everyone is equal in that ciranda. I also think that the harmony [bears] a connection with John Coltrane’s music,” while centering an unconventional harmonic structure. On this soulful track, joined by guitarist Jeff Parker, Freitas sings and plays a warm-toned Fender Rhodes piano, as well as an acoustic piano. The song simply glows like the sun on the sea.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eParker noted that he first heard Freitas “in Ireland at the Cork Jazz Festival in October of 2021, where we were both performing. He was playing with his trio and I was struck by the complex rhythms and harmonies that he was playing. He was playing in two different meters, a different one in each hand.” He went on to say, “I was flattered to be asked to record a track on his album. The melody for ‘Mar de Cirandeiras’ is so beautiful to play and it was easy to find a nice blend with his piano sounds. I really love the ethereal middle section with the major 7th chords moving in major thirds.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFor “Gloriosa” Freitas is joined by harpist Brandee Younger, and yet another enchantment is mined. On this recording, Freitas honors his mother, Rosilda, who has inspired him musically since childhood. “‘Encantados’ celebrates the African diaspora and reinforces how traditions are part of our DNA, whether in the way we play and connect with our roots, or how we understand sound as a powerful ancestor,” says the artist of the album’s final song. The track features the iconic drummer Hamid Drake, Hutchings on flute, and Aniel Someillan on acoustic bass. Referencing the idea of enchantment while invoking enchanted beings “was something very important in this process,” and rather than attaching any one specific meaning to the work as a whole, Freitas ultimately wants listeners “to feel touched by the spirits, the enchanted spirits of the forest.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhile Side A of Y’Y serves as an expression of connection to the earth and to the ancestors, Side B serves as proof of connections between the global Black avant-jazz community. Shabaka Hutchings hails from the rich scene in London, harpist Brandee Younger comes from the legendary New York City jazz scene, bassist Aniel Someillan is of Cuban descent, while guitarist Jeff Parker and drummer Hamid Drake come from the deep well of avant garde jazz in Chicago. This album is an artful conversation between those traditions, rooted in the unique sounds and rituals found in Afro-Brazilian and Indigenous cultures. With Y’Y, Freitas further codifies his fresh, “decolonized” interpretation of Brazilian jazz, one that may well shatter preconceived notions of what jazz can be.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47321750765877,"sku":"PSY037-CD","price":15.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/NEWCDMOCKUPv2.jpg?v=1720637488"},{"product_id":"amaro-freitas-yy-lp","title":"Amaro Freitas - Y'Y (LP)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eStandard black vinyl edition, with Stoughton Gatefold Tip-on Jacket.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhat drives Amaro Freitas in life is experience. In 2020 the pianist, who hails from the Northeastern Brazilian coastal city of Recife, was drawn to Manaus, located in the Amazon basin, some 4600 kilometers to the west. His experience in that lush wilderness led him into a new realm of musical creation, one rooted in magic and possibility and tempered by a sense of stewardship for the earth’s bounties and a connection to the Sateré Mawé indigenous community. Crucial to the experience for Freitas was the maintenance of a true exchange of knowledge. According to Freitas, in the resulting album, Y’Y (pronounced: eey-eh, eey-eh), he pays “homage to the forest, especially the Amazon Forest, and the rivers of Northern Brazil: a call to live, feel, respect, and care for nature, recognizing it as our ancestor.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHe continues, “It is also a warning about the need to be aware of the impact we cause, based on the concepts of civilization and modernity that keep us away from this connection, and its importance for the balance of life on the planet.” In addition to serving as a call to nature, Y’Y expresses lessons Freitas learned in the Amazon about the incandescent power of enchanted spirits who intervene on behalf of the community in times of struggle.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTracks such as “Mapinguari (Encantado da Mata),” and “Uiara (Encantada da Agua) – Life and Cure” recount the legends of powerful spirits, including the tale of the Mapinguari, “a hungry, hairy giant with one eye and a huge mouth at his navel, [that] wanders through the forest in search of food” according to Freitas. The song incorporates the rumbling, ominous sound of the thunder drum. Meanwhile “Uiara” is described by Freitas as another name for the pink river dolphin. The word itself means “the lady of the waters” or “water mother” in Tupi-Guarani.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlthough building an album around an experience so far from his Recife home may seem out of character, in fact the work is fundamentally connected to his previous discography. “Trying to rescue things that came before coloniality”, he notes, is a theme that has been woven into Freitas’s work for years. By simply looking at the titles of his last three projects: Rasif (a colloquial spelling of Freitas’s hometown), Sankofa (a Ghanaian term which roughly translates to “using lessons from the past while moving forward”), and now Y’Y (a word from the Sateré Mawé dialect, an ancestral indigenous code that means water or river), you can see themes that are not spoken in Portuguese or English, but which are part of the construction of a much more connected social concept. It’s no wonder he chose to intwine ancestral knowledge into this project in such a meaningful way.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eOn the title track, “Y’Y”, which features Shabaka Hutchings on flute in a duo, they try to “translate the ancestral strength of the meeting of these waters into two opposing movements”, he notes, and in each, echo-laden vocalizations ring out like ancient chants.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMeanwhile, “Mar de Cirandeiras” is a tribute to the cirandeiras, “a living cultural heritage of his home state of Pernambuco”. The ciranda is a traditional dance featuring people who clasp hands and move in a circle. He calls the song an “impression of experiencing a ciranda on the beach, in Tamaracá, in Recife Antigo, but not necessarily playing the ciranda rhythm. And it pays homage to the sea and, in a way, brings a connection where everyone is equal in that ciranda. I also think that the harmony [bears] a connection with John Coltrane’s music,” while centering an unconventional harmonic structure. On this soulful track, joined by guitarist Jeff Parker, Freitas sings and plays a warm-toned Fender Rhodes piano, as well as an acoustic piano. The song simply glows like the sun on the sea.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eParker noted that he first heard Freitas “in Ireland at the Cork Jazz Festival in October of 2021, where we were both performing. He was playing with his trio and I was struck by the complex rhythms and harmonies that he was playing. He was playing in two different meters, a different one in each hand.” He went on to say, “I was flattered to be asked to record a track on his album. The melody for ‘Mar de Cirandeiras’ is so beautiful to play and it was easy to find a nice blend with his piano sounds. I really love the ethereal middle section with the major 7th chords moving in major thirds.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFor “Gloriosa” Freitas is joined by harpist Brandee Younger, and yet another enchantment is mined. On this recording, Freitas honors his mother, Rosilda, who has inspired him musically since childhood. “‘Encantados’ celebrates the African diaspora and reinforces how traditions are part of our DNA, whether in the way we play and connect with our roots, or how we understand sound as a powerful ancestor,” says the artist of the album’s final song. The track features the iconic drummer Hamid Drake, Hutchings on flute, and Aniel Someillan on acoustic bass. Referencing the idea of enchantment while invoking enchanted beings “was something very important in this process,” and rather than attaching any one specific meaning to the work as a whole, Freitas ultimately wants listeners “to feel touched by the spirits, the enchanted spirits of the forest.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhile Side A of Y’Y serves as an expression of connection to the earth and to the ancestors, Side B serves as proof of connections between the global Black avant-jazz community. Shabaka Hutchings hails from the rich scene in London, harpist Brandee Younger comes from the legendary New York City jazz scene, bassist Aniel Someillan is of Cuban descent, while guitarist Jeff Parker and drummer Hamid Drake come from the deep well of avant garde jazz in Chicago. This album is an artful conversation between those traditions, rooted in the unique sounds and rituals found in Afro-Brazilian and Indigenous cultures. With Y’Y, Freitas further codifies his fresh, “decolonized” interpretation of Brazilian jazz, one that may well shatter preconceived notions of what jazz can be.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47321753157941,"sku":"PSY037-LP","price":30.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/APD_AmaroFreitasY_Y17_Square.jpg?v=1745953992"},{"product_id":"reyna-tropical-malegria-lp","title":"Reyna Tropical - Malegría (LP)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eStandard black vinyl edition, with poster.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cspan class=\"lightweightBreak\"\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e, Reyna Tropical’s long-anticipated debut full-length album, is at once a vibrant arrival and an electrifying bridge. The portmanteau, born from a 1998 Manu Chao song by the same name, is akin to bittersweet and blends the Spanish “mal” which means “bad” and “alegría” which means “happiness.” It marks Reyna Tropical’s movement from a duo to a solo project. The album is a contemporary celebration and continuation of wide-reaching cultural traditions—from Congolese, Peruvian, and Colombian rhythms to revolutionary artists like lesbian guitarist-singer Chavela Vargas—these influences meld and are remixed through the distinctive lens of trailblazing guitarist and songwriter Fabi Reyna. Traversing themes including queer love, feminine sensuality, and the transformative power of intentional relations to the earth,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003espotlights narratives often pushed to the margins and offers them a sonic homeland.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFormed in 2016, Reyna Tropical began as an organic, unhurried exchange between Fabi Reyna and Nectali “Sumohair” Diaz who met during a workshop series for emerging musicians. “Our first EP was so spur of the moment,” Reyna recalled. “What we needed was to document, to just do something for our hearts. Not for money, not for our livelihood. Just for us.” The band formed when Reyna had been immersed in full-time work founding and building She Shreds, the world’s first magazine dedicated to women and nonbinary guitarists, and was itching for a creative release and return to her musical roots. By January 2018, the band’s self-titled EP,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eReyna Tropical\u003c\/em\u003e, dropped and the foundations of the band’s spellbinding and distinctive sound were documented and formed. Best known for their rhythmic, hip-swaying tropical feel, the first Reyna Tropical tracks featured Ableton-made beats produced by Diaz—featuring Afro Indigenous drum patterns and environmental samples—expertly mixed with dreamy guitar riffs and soft vocals by Reyna.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAfter the EP’s release, and the debut single, “Niña,” was featured on NPR Alt.Latino’s “Songs We Love” series, newfound fans and opportunities alike flocked. By year’s end the band was regularly selling out shows, joined as support on Bomba Estéreo’s US tour, and began booking gigs for major festivals and shows including SXSW, Cumbiatón, and Colombia’s Baile Sagrado. The band released another celebrated EP,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eSol y Lluvia\u003c\/em\u003e, in 2019, created and recorded during creatively enriching extended stay in Colombia.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Things kept coming—studio tours, gigs, and different opportunities,” Reyna said while reflecting on the changes the band went through during the transition. “We were like, ‘Whoa, this is so weird! It’s working,’ but we didn’t even know what it was working for.” In 2020, after eight non-stop years building a business without time off, Reyna withdrew to nature for a community retreat. It was during this moment of stillness that the purpose of her life’s work, beyond running She Shreds Magazine, crystallized. For the next two years, Diaz and Reyna immersed themselves in a tropical journey guided by the music—from Cartagena, Colombia to Fajardo, Puerto Rico and Cuaji (la costa chica de Guerrero)—along the way, invited into a harmonious relationship with local land, culture, and music wisdom keepers.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eis the culmination of self exploration fortified through an attunement to land—alongside Diaz and through his passing. From the interludes to the found sounds,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eoffers a home to diasporic beings de aquí y de allá, diasporic beings who are in the process of searching for and returning to ancestral roots.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eOn “Cartagena,” the bright, multi-layered rhythms and vocals sing of feeling caressed and energized by the elements, and, at the core, there is the sense of a mutual exchange of trust and care between her and the land. By contrast, “La Mamá,” which opens in a seemingly-serene rainforest, builds into a\u003cbr\u003edrumline-backed battle cry denouncing the commercialization of healing and the spiritual tourists who seek only to extract from the environment—medicinal, or otherwise.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe interludes, which weave between each musical track, unfold a narrative all their own. “Goosebumps” and the subsequent “Singing” each offer peeks into the beautiful, unexpected push-and-pull that can transpire amid symbiotic collaboration. We, as listeners, are invited into the creative exchange between Diaz and Reyna, and the growing sense of power Reyna has found and is now sharing with others through her music. Meanwhile “Mestizaje” and “Queer Love and Afro Mexico” work together to chronicle the unlearning of erasure under a flattened definition of unity and, instead, uplift the importance of naming and celebrating distinct multifaceted identities and histories.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThese sounds seamlessly blend into the final track, “Huitzilïn,” a tranquil, grounding ballad in which Reyna announces finally feeling her body, her spirit, her soul, and listening to all that surrounds her. “Huitzilïn,” the Nahuatl word for “hummingbird,” is a symbol of Indigenous strength in Mexico thought to guide those who are struggling to find their way home.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’ve always wanted to have a home—a place or a sound or a person to go to—because I think our people, who are severed from our lands and our histories and our stories and our communities, have for generations not really known where to go,” Reyna said. “There are times on stage where I can feel that my movement isn’t my movement. I can feel that I’m being moved by and I’m speaking for other people. I know in my body when my ancestors are there, when a decision is us.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhether enjoyed during listening parties or infectious live sets, the music will move listeners and irresistibly command a jump—into action in protection of the land, into the arms of a crush, into your own power and fearlessness, into steady body rolls along to the beat.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eoffers us all a chance to witness history in the making.\u003cbr\u003e—Emilly Prado\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47843113599285,"sku":"PSY040-LP","price":27.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/APD_ReynaTropical_Madegria03_Square.jpg?v=1705088927"},{"product_id":"reyna-tropical-malegria-cd","title":"Reyna Tropical - Malegría (CD)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eCD edition.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e, Reyna Tropical’s long-anticipated debut full-length album, is at once a vibrant arrival and an electrifying bridge. The portmanteau, born from a 1998 Manu Chao song by the same name, is akin to bittersweet and blends the Spanish “mal” which means “bad” and “alegría” which means “happiness.” It marks Reyna Tropical’s movement from a duo to a solo project. The album is a contemporary celebration and continuation of wide-reaching cultural traditions—from Congolese, Peruvian, and Colombian rhythms to revolutionary artists like lesbian guitarist-singer Chavela Vargas—these influences meld and are remixed through the distinctive lens of trailblazing guitarist and songwriter Fabi Reyna. Traversing themes including queer love, feminine sensuality, and the transformative power of intentional relations to the earth,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003espotlights narratives often pushed to the margins and offers them a sonic homeland.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFormed in 2016, Reyna Tropical began as an organic, unhurried exchange between Fabi Reyna and Nectali “Sumohair” Diaz who met during a workshop series for emerging musicians. “Our first EP was so spur of the moment,” Reyna recalled. “What we needed was to document, to just do something for our hearts. Not for money, not for our livelihood. Just for us.” The band formed when Reyna had been immersed in full-time work founding and building She Shreds, the world’s first magazine dedicated to women and nonbinary guitarists, and was itching for a creative release and return to her musical roots. By January 2018, the band’s self-titled EP,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eReyna Tropical\u003c\/em\u003e, dropped and the foundations of the band’s spellbinding and distinctive sound were documented and formed. Best known for their rhythmic, hip-swaying tropical feel, the first Reyna Tropical tracks featured Ableton-made beats produced by Diaz—featuring Afro Indigenous drum patterns and environmental samples—expertly mixed with dreamy guitar riffs and soft vocals by Reyna.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAfter the EP’s release, and the debut single, “Niña,” was featured on NPR Alt.Latino’s “Songs We Love” series, newfound fans and opportunities alike flocked. By year’s end the band was regularly selling out shows, joined as support on Bomba Estéreo’s US tour, and began booking gigs for major festivals and shows including SXSW, Cumbiatón, and Colombia’s Baile Sagrado. The band released another celebrated EP,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eSol y Lluvia\u003c\/em\u003e, in 2019, created and recorded during creatively enriching extended stay in Colombia.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Things kept coming—studio tours, gigs, and different opportunities,” Reyna said while reflecting on the changes the band went through during the transition. “We were like, ‘Whoa, this is so weird! It’s working,’ but we didn’t even know what it was working for.” In 2020, after eight non-stop years building a business without time off, Reyna withdrew to nature for a community retreat. It was during this moment of stillness that the purpose of her life’s work, beyond running She Shreds Magazine, crystallized. For the next two years, Diaz and Reyna immersed themselves in a tropical journey guided by the music—from Cartagena, Colombia to Fajardo, Puerto Rico and Cuaji (la costa chica de Guerrero)—along the way, invited into a harmonious relationship with local land, culture, and music wisdom keepers.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eis the culmination of self exploration fortified through an attunement to land—alongside Diaz and through his passing. From the interludes to the found sounds,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eoffers a home to diasporic beings de aquí y de allá, diasporic beings who are in the process of searching for and returning to ancestral roots.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eOn “Cartagena,” the bright, multi-layered rhythms and vocals sing of feeling caressed and energized by the elements, and, at the core, there is the sense of a mutual exchange of trust and care between her and the land. By contrast, “La Mamá,” which opens in a seemingly-serene rainforest, builds into a\u003cbr\u003edrumline-backed battle cry denouncing the commercialization of healing and the spiritual tourists who seek only to extract from the environment—medicinal, or otherwise.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe interludes, which weave between each musical track, unfold a narrative all their own. “Goosebumps” and the subsequent “Singing” each offer peeks into the beautiful, unexpected push-and-pull that can transpire amid symbiotic collaboration. We, as listeners, are invited into the creative exchange between Diaz and Reyna, and the growing sense of power Reyna has found and is now sharing with others through her music. Meanwhile “Mestizaje” and “Queer Love and Afro Mexico” work together to chronicle the unlearning of erasure under a flattened definition of unity and, instead, uplift the importance of naming and celebrating distinct multifaceted identities and histories.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThese sounds seamlessly blend into the final track, “Huitzilïn,” a tranquil, grounding ballad in which Reyna announces finally feeling her body, her spirit, her soul, and listening to all that surrounds her. “Huitzilïn,” the Nahuatl word for “hummingbird,” is a symbol of Indigenous strength in Mexico thought to guide those who are struggling to find their way home.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’ve always wanted to have a home—a place or a sound or a person to go to—because I think our people, who are severed from our lands and our histories and our stories and our communities, have for generations not really known where to go,” Reyna said. “There are times on stage where I can feel that my movement isn’t my movement. I can feel that I’m being moved by and I’m speaking for other people. I know in my body when my ancestors are there, when a decision is us.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhether enjoyed during listening parties or infectious live sets, the music will move listeners and irresistibly command a jump—into action in protection of the land, into the arms of a crush, into your own power and fearlessness, into steady body rolls along to the beat.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eoffers us all a chance to witness history in the making.\u003cbr\u003e—Emilly Prado\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47843168878901,"sku":"PSY040-CD","price":14.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/CDwBG_Square_WEB.jpg?v=1705089454"},{"product_id":"bruno-berle-no-reino-dos-afetos-2-white-lp","title":"Bruno Berle - No Reino Dos Afetos 2 (White LP)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eLimited edition white vinyl. Limited to 600 copies worldwide.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBruno Berle, the young songwriter and poet originally hailing from Maceió, the capital of Brazil’s Alagoas state, crafts songs that are simple, direct, and full of tender nuance. With his first album\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eNo Reino Dos Afetos\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e(which translates to “In the Realm of Affections” and was released in 2022), Berle firmly established himself as a unique and important voice in the burgeoning scene of new Brazilian artists making a global impact, including peers like Ana Frango Elétrico, Tim Bernardes, Bala Desejo, Sessa and more. Now back with his second album,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eNo Reino Dos Afetos 2,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/i\u003ehe stretches that further.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBruno Berle’s music lives between two worlds – a traditional Brazilian folk talent steeped in history, and a contemporary, dreamy electronic pop; the result is songwriting that’s genre-bending, intentional, iconoclastic and consuming, spacious and sinewy and singular, a striking reflection of its composer while leaving space for the listener to settle in. The album follows Bruno’s relocation to São Paulo, and the songs are a reflection of his past and present. A rebuke of former categorizations of his work in Brazilian music scenes, and an idea of where his music can move, unfettered.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBerle’s music is purposeful in being a true portrait of himself, and a reflection of the music, art, and fashion scenes he personally moves through. Berle aims to provide an entrypoint for Black queer joy in his music, in his storytelling, in his presence and vision as a creative. For him, it feels subversive to be playing MPB laced with dubstep and lo-fi, a sort of intentional sacrilege, capturing a dialogue of modernity in traditional music.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBerle wrote most of the arrangements and co-produced his new album,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eReino Dos Afetos 2\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/i\u003ewith longtime friend and musical partner Batata Boy, who is also from Maceió; the album was recorded in Rio de Janeiro, Maceió, and São Paulo, his new home, and picks up the conversation begun in 2022 on Berle’s debut album\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eNo Reino dos Afetos\u003c\/i\u003e. Both records are the result of a nonlinear but coherent seven-year music creation process culminating in these albums, holding hands across space and time.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Tirolirole,” the first single from the record, was released at the end of 2023; sun-soaked rhythms and soft voice coat the song, the lilting refrain of “Tirolirole” throughout – hushed, gentle, but somehow almost tactile, a golden-hour moment unlocked in the mind. “Tirolirole” is a triumphant future classic about the temporality of a blossoming love, with Bruno’s stunning vocal soaring over melodies which ebb and flow like the waters on the Atlantic shore. Of the track, Berle explains: “Despite ‘Tirolirole’ being an expression that evokes my childhood, just like the light words about nature, the harmony, and the poetry are epic, carrying a great hope for love.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eIn fact, the guiding theme of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eNo Reino dos Afetos 2\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eis a relationship, unfolding in the arc of a weekend. It traverses the innocence of an early young love, how that can be formative, can stretch on to take new shapes, or shape you. The album happens at the genesis of meeting someone and falling for them, before the relationship is thrown into overdrive – set in a big city, against a backdrop of major life changes, rising energy, the sound of São Paulo.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSomething transcendental emerges in “Dizer Adeus,” with an arrangement that echoes a gospel atmosphere (evangelical and Catholic environments were pivotal to Berle’s upbringing). On “É Só Você Chegar,” piano and flute gracefully intertwine, a dance, while “Quando Penso” skews sparser, the voice-and-guitar minimalism somehow cultivating an entirely different shape – somehow both cozy and melancholy, with the background sound of a rainy day.  Coupled with the lo-fi aspects that shape much of the album’s personality in the vocals and the production,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eNo Reino Dos Afetos 2\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eis meticulously elaborated by Berle’s sonic alchemy, like on the mid-album instrumental “Sonho,” which feels like floating. “It’s the apex. It’s when lovers are sleeping together,” Berle explains of the feeling he wanted to encapsulate in the song.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eOn “Love Comes Back” Berle interprets Arthur Russell, the late Iowa musician who only reached greater visibility after he died in 1992. “His way of making music is similar to mine,” Berle explains. “He sings in a more fragile way, has more of an experimental way of recording, letting ‘chance’ appear in the final work.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eEven so, Berle doesn’t want his music to be buried in sentimentality – and the purposefulness of his craft serves as a sort of north star. The production, the arrangements, his restraint and intentionality in crafting his songs feel just as vital as their emotional cores. His songwriting is amorphous, fluid, an encompassing genre-bending movement in-and-of-itself, quietly daring. The songs are often in conversation with other works – drinking in fountains as diverse as the filmmaking of Ingmar Bergman, the poetry of Walt Whitman, the rhythm of Djavan, and the painting of Maxwell Alexandre. Musically he weaves together a rich tapestry of Brazilian folk, UK 2-step garage\/dub, trip hop and sun soaked west coast songwriters; something akin to the worlds of Milton Nascimento, Arthur Russell, James Blake, Feist, and Sade colliding into one. But even then\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eNo Reino Dos Afetos 2\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003efloats separately, a romanticism driven by a simplicity and intimacy, an open-ended possibility, Berle’s singularity as an artist at the helm of the ship.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48227109699893,"sku":"PSY039-LP-WHITE","price":33.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/APD_BrunoBerle_NoRenoDosAfetos2_03_Square_241c083b-5ad4-4fce-aea0-1664c2514ea4.jpg?v=1714748513"},{"product_id":"nathaniel-russell-songs-of-olive-green-lp","title":"Nathaniel Russell - Songs Of (Olive Green LP)","description":"\u003cp\u003eLimited edition olive green vinyl. Hand-numbered and stamped edition of 300. Includes 12-page art and lyric booklet and 2-sided fold-out poster.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48294266110261,"sku":"PSY041-LP-GREEN","price":28.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/APD_NathanielRussell_SongsOf18_Square.jpg?v=1715269122"},{"product_id":"nathaniel-russell-songs-of-lp","title":"Nathaniel Russell - Songs Of (LP)","description":"\u003cp\u003eLimited edition black vinyl. Hand-numbered and stamped edition of 450. Includes 12-page art and lyric booklet and 2-sided fold-out poster.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48294272926005,"sku":"PSY041-LP","price":26.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/APD_NathanielRussell_SongsOf19_Square.jpg?v=1715269188"},{"product_id":"nathaniel-russell-songs-of-cassette","title":"Nathaniel Russell - Songs Of (Cassette)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c!----\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48294286721333,"sku":"PSY041-CS","price":12.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/APD_NathanielRussell_SongsOf17_Square.jpg?v=1715269257"},{"product_id":"reyna-tropical-malegria-naranja-lp","title":"Reyna Tropical - Malegría (Naranja LP)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eNaranja vinyl edition, with poster. Only available online and limited to 500 copies. This variant will not be re-pressed.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cspan class=\"lightweightBreak\"\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e, Reyna Tropical’s long-anticipated debut full-length album, is at once a vibrant arrival and an electrifying bridge. The portmanteau, born from a 1998 Manu Chao song by the same name, is akin to bittersweet and blends the Spanish “mal” which means “bad” and “alegría” which means “happiness.” It marks Reyna Tropical’s movement from a duo to a solo project. The album is a contemporary celebration and continuation of wide-reaching cultural traditions—from Congolese, Peruvian, and Colombian rhythms to revolutionary artists like lesbian guitarist-singer Chavela Vargas—these influences meld and are remixed through the distinctive lens of trailblazing guitarist and songwriter Fabi Reyna. Traversing themes including queer love, feminine sensuality, and the transformative power of intentional relations to the earth,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003espotlights narratives often pushed to the margins and offers them a sonic homeland.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFormed in 2016, Reyna Tropical began as an organic, unhurried exchange between Fabi Reyna and Nectali “Sumohair” Diaz who met during a workshop series for emerging musicians. “Our first EP was so spur of the moment,” Reyna recalled. “What we needed was to document, to just do something for our hearts. Not for money, not for our livelihood. Just for us.” The band formed when Reyna had been immersed in full-time work founding and building She Shreds, the world’s first magazine dedicated to women and nonbinary guitarists, and was itching for a creative release and return to her musical roots. By January 2018, the band’s self-titled EP,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eReyna Tropical\u003c\/em\u003e, dropped and the foundations of the band’s spellbinding and distinctive sound were documented and formed. Best known for their rhythmic, hip-swaying tropical feel, the first Reyna Tropical tracks featured Ableton-made beats produced by Diaz—featuring Afro Indigenous drum patterns and environmental samples—expertly mixed with dreamy guitar riffs and soft vocals by Reyna.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAfter the EP’s release, and the debut single, “Niña,” was featured on NPR Alt.Latino’s “Songs We Love” series, newfound fans and opportunities alike flocked. By year’s end the band was regularly selling out shows, joined as support on Bomba Estéreo’s US tour, and began booking gigs for major festivals and shows including SXSW, Cumbiatón, and Colombia’s Baile Sagrado. The band released another celebrated EP,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eSol y Lluvia\u003c\/em\u003e, in 2019, created and recorded during creatively enriching extended stay in Colombia.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Things kept coming—studio tours, gigs, and different opportunities,” Reyna said while reflecting on the changes the band went through during the transition. “We were like, ‘Whoa, this is so weird! It’s working,’ but we didn’t even know what it was working for.” In 2020, after eight non-stop years building a business without time off, Reyna withdrew to nature for a community retreat. It was during this moment of stillness that the purpose of her life’s work, beyond running She Shreds Magazine, crystallized. For the next two years, Diaz and Reyna immersed themselves in a tropical journey guided by the music—from Cartagena, Colombia to Fajardo, Puerto Rico and Cuaji (la costa chica de Guerrero)—along the way, invited into a harmonious relationship with local land, culture, and music wisdom keepers.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eis the culmination of self exploration fortified through an attunement to land—alongside Diaz and through his passing. From the interludes to the found sounds,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eoffers a home to diasporic beings de aquí y de allá, diasporic beings who are in the process of searching for and returning to ancestral roots.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eOn “Cartagena,” the bright, multi-layered rhythms and vocals sing of feeling caressed and energized by the elements, and, at the core, there is the sense of a mutual exchange of trust and care between her and the land. By contrast, “La Mamá,” which opens in a seemingly-serene rainforest, builds into a\u003cbr\u003edrumline-backed battle cry denouncing the commercialization of healing and the spiritual tourists who seek only to extract from the environment—medicinal, or otherwise.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe interludes, which weave between each musical track, unfold a narrative all their own. “Goosebumps” and the subsequent “Singing” each offer peeks into the beautiful, unexpected push-and-pull that can transpire amid symbiotic collaboration. We, as listeners, are invited into the creative exchange between Diaz and Reyna, and the growing sense of power Reyna has found and is now sharing with others through her music. Meanwhile “Mestizaje” and “Queer Love and Afro Mexico” work together to chronicle the unlearning of erasure under a flattened definition of unity and, instead, uplift the importance of naming and celebrating distinct multifaceted identities and histories.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThese sounds seamlessly blend into the final track, “Huitzilïn,” a tranquil, grounding ballad in which Reyna announces finally feeling her body, her spirit, her soul, and listening to all that surrounds her. “Huitzilïn,” the Nahuatl word for “hummingbird,” is a symbol of Indigenous strength in Mexico thought to guide those who are struggling to find their way home.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’ve always wanted to have a home—a place or a sound or a person to go to—because I think our people, who are severed from our lands and our histories and our stories and our communities, have for generations not really known where to go,” Reyna said. “There are times on stage where I can feel that my movement isn’t my movement. I can feel that I’m being moved by and I’m speaking for other people. I know in my body when my ancestors are there, when a decision is us.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhether enjoyed during listening parties or infectious live sets, the music will move listeners and irresistibly command a jump—into action in protection of the land, into the arms of a crush, into your own power and fearlessness, into steady body rolls along to the beat.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMalegría\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eoffers us all a chance to witness history in the making.\u003cbr\u003e—Emilly Prado\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48814501855541,"sku":"PSY040-LP-ORANGE","price":28.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/OrangeVinylMockSquare.jpg?v=1712932786"},{"product_id":"the-dead-tongues-body-of-light-i-am-a-cloud-daylily-2lp","title":"The Dead Tongues - Body of Light \/ I Am A Cloud (Daylily 2LP)","description":"\u003cp\u003eDaylily vinyl edition, with both albums housed in a single wide-spine jacket, and embossed flower cover. Only available online and limited to 500 copies. This variant will not be re-pressed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll items in your cart will ship on or around August 9, 2024. This date is subject to change due to reasons beyond our control, and you may receive this product after its official release date. If you would like to receive other items sooner, please place two separate orders.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAcross the last 15 years, Ryan Gustafson of The Dead Tongues has emerged as one of modern folk’s most distinct voices. As idiosyncratic and spectral as the songs have sometimes been, Gustafson has always tied his visions and verses to the kinds of hooks you tuck away like talismans, pulled out in case of emergency. Dust, Unsung Passage, Desert: The Dead Tongues’ albums remain some of the more compelling and curious works in their field on this side of a century. The latest edition to The Dead Tongues’ catalog, the song-centric and magnetic Body of Light and the discursive and wonderfully elliptical I Am a Cloud, is 16 complete tunes split across interweaving and disparate albums.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBefore heading to Betty’s, Gustafson spent a month at “the Shack,” a primitive and private structure in rural western North Carolina, working on new material and sorting through piles of poems, sticky notes scattered across the windows, and stacks of free writing streams of thought. Most of the songs were written during this time – the exquisite “Daylily,” a warm little gift for his partner, or “I’m a Cloud Now,” a fever dream of song and spoken-word about the toggle between identity and ephemerality.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe creative energy was free flowing, deep and explorative, songs somehow coming together in a manner both freakishly fast and patient. In this energy and specific space the groundwork for the album was rooted, springing forth from the thick of the elemental and natural beauty these songs reference. The daylily on the cover of the album was picked from the land the shack is built upon – there’s a connection between the physical natural setting and the creative work itself, intertwined and natural bloom.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eGustafson wanted to continue with that explorative energy once he got into the formal studio, allowing it to lead the group of players assembled – the albums feature performances by Jenn Wasner (Wye Oak, Bon Iver), Mat Davidson (Twain), Matt Douglas (The Mountain Goats), Joe Westerlund (Califone, Megafaun), Jeff Ratner (Bing and Ruth), and more. Gustafson wanted to dedicate the studio time to not just recording songs but also making something new, with new improvisations.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe results feel at once casual and tremendous, the camaraderie and conversation between the players resulting in pieces that are lived-in but new. “Baby there ain’t no rules here\/We can just slide,” Gustafson sings at the start of Body of Light’s opening title track, establishing a collective credo inside this gorgeous anthem about finding sanctuary with someone else. Notice how it seems to nod to flamenco before lifting into electronic abstraction, or how Wasner’s harmonies summon the deepest Southern soul over electric phosphorescence.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAnd then there’s “Dirt for a Dying Sun,” where freight-train harmonica and spectral guitar frame a romantic dust-to-dust realism, where the best we can do is live wildly before we die. The characters on Body of Light are restless, damaged, and beautiful, whether clinging to an underground amid gentrification’s high rises during “Wolves” or holding on to the most intoxicating wisps of love during “Moon Shadow.” The band plays as if they’re just meeting these people for the first time, responding with an admixture of recognition and astonishment.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe collected crew takes that approach to the next plane on I Am a Cloud, an intersection of Gustafson’s tone poems and top-tier improvisation. “Formations” is an exquisite instrumental, a soul-jazz dream of horns and bells, bejeweled drones and broken rhythms. Remembering the birthday night he spent alone on an Irish cliff as the Summer solstice neared several years ago, Gustafson narrates “A Bridge” as if he’s peering into his own mind with wonder and surprise. The finale, “Even Here, Even Now,” is a spiral galaxy, with the songs of crickets, the hums of a Shruti box, and the touch of percussion lifting Gustafson’s mantric statement of purpose—to keep moving, to keep singing, no matter what may come. It is a wondrous piece of devotional music that seems to praise sound itself—the gift that can open us up, when we’re no longer sure that can even happen anymore.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Sometimes it’s hard to be anyone anywhere it seems,” Gustafson, his voice as understanding as empathy, sings to start the second verse of “Hard Times, Sore Eyes,” the farewell for Body of Light. That may read like a bummer, a concise and crippling encapsulation of our struggles to make meaning that’s as right as rain. But, really, it’s a permission slip to elide expectation, to try something different. Maybe in the past, Gustafson was seen as the singer-songwriter in a folk-rock band called The Dead Tongues. But when he started to let that go, he found something fascinating, new, and absorbing. Body of Light and I Am A Cloud are brilliant chapters written after Gustafson wondered if he’d closed the book, and they are, in turn, hard to put down.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48996563484981,"sku":"PSY044-LP-DAYLILY","price":37.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/TheDeadTongues_BodyofLight_IAmACloud_APD_TheDeadTongues_BOLIAAC06_Square.jpg?v=1723130256"},{"product_id":"the-dead-tongues-body-of-light-i-am-a-cloud-2lp","title":"The Dead Tongues - Body of Light \/ I Am A Cloud (2LP)","description":"\u003cp\u003eStandard black vinyl edition, with both albums housed in a single wide-spine jacket, and embossed flower cover.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll items in your cart will ship on or around August 9, 2024. This date is subject to change due to reasons beyond our control, and you may receive this product after its official release date. If you would like to receive other items sooner, please place two separate orders.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAcross the last 15 years, Ryan Gustafson of The Dead Tongues has emerged as one of modern folk’s most distinct voices. As idiosyncratic and spectral as the songs have sometimes been, Gustafson has always tied his visions and verses to the kinds of hooks you tuck away like talismans, pulled out in case of emergency. Dust, Unsung Passage, Desert: The Dead Tongues’ albums remain some of the more compelling and curious works in their field on this side of a century. The latest edition to The Dead Tongues’ catalog, the song-centric and magnetic Body of Light and the discursive and wonderfully elliptical I Am a Cloud, is 16 complete tunes split across interweaving and disparate albums.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBefore heading to Betty’s, Gustafson spent a month at “the Shack,” a primitive and private structure in rural western North Carolina, working on new material and sorting through piles of poems, sticky notes scattered across the windows, and stacks of free writing streams of thought. Most of the songs were written during this time – the exquisite “Daylily,” a warm little gift for his partner, or “I’m a Cloud Now,” a fever dream of song and spoken-word about the toggle between identity and ephemerality.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe creative energy was free flowing, deep and explorative, songs somehow coming together in a manner both freakishly fast and patient. In this energy and specific space the groundwork for the album was rooted, springing forth from the thick of the elemental and natural beauty these songs reference. The daylily on the cover of the album was picked from the land the shack is built upon – there’s a connection between the physical natural setting and the creative work itself, intertwined and natural bloom.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eGustafson wanted to continue with that explorative energy once he got into the formal studio, allowing it to lead the group of players assembled – the albums feature performances by Jenn Wasner (Wye Oak, Bon Iver), Mat Davidson (Twain), Matt Douglas (The Mountain Goats), Joe Westerlund (Califone, Megafaun), Jeff Ratner (Bing and Ruth), and more. Gustafson wanted to dedicate the studio time to not just recording songs but also making something new, with new improvisations.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe results feel at once casual and tremendous, the camaraderie and conversation between the players resulting in pieces that are lived-in but new. “Baby there ain’t no rules here\/We can just slide,” Gustafson sings at the start of Body of Light’s opening title track, establishing a collective credo inside this gorgeous anthem about finding sanctuary with someone else. Notice how it seems to nod to flamenco before lifting into electronic abstraction, or how Wasner’s harmonies summon the deepest Southern soul over electric phosphorescence.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAnd then there’s “Dirt for a Dying Sun,” where freight-train harmonica and spectral guitar frame a romantic dust-to-dust realism, where the best we can do is live wildly before we die. The characters on Body of Light are restless, damaged, and beautiful, whether clinging to an underground amid gentrification’s high rises during “Wolves” or holding on to the most intoxicating wisps of love during “Moon Shadow.” The band plays as if they’re just meeting these people for the first time, responding with an admixture of recognition and astonishment.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe collected crew takes that approach to the next plane on I Am a Cloud, an intersection of Gustafson’s tone poems and top-tier improvisation. “Formations” is an exquisite instrumental, a soul-jazz dream of horns and bells, bejeweled drones and broken rhythms. Remembering the birthday night he spent alone on an Irish cliff as the Summer solstice neared several years ago, Gustafson narrates “A Bridge” as if he’s peering into his own mind with wonder and surprise. The finale, “Even Here, Even Now,” is a spiral galaxy, with the songs of crickets, the hums of a Shruti box, and the touch of percussion lifting Gustafson’s mantric statement of purpose—to keep moving, to keep singing, no matter what may come. It is a wondrous piece of devotional music that seems to praise sound itself—the gift that can open us up, when we’re no longer sure that can even happen anymore.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Sometimes it’s hard to be anyone anywhere it seems,” Gustafson, his voice as understanding as empathy, sings to start the second verse of “Hard Times, Sore Eyes,” the farewell for Body of Light. That may read like a bummer, a concise and crippling encapsulation of our struggles to make meaning that’s as right as rain. But, really, it’s a permission slip to elide expectation, to try something different. Maybe in the past, Gustafson was seen as the singer-songwriter in a folk-rock band called The Dead Tongues. But when he started to let that go, he found something fascinating, new, and absorbing. Body of Light and I Am A Cloud are brilliant chapters written after Gustafson wondered if he’d closed the book, and they are, in turn, hard to put down.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48996575838517,"sku":"PSY044-LP","price":35.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/TheDeadTongues_BodyofLight_IAmACloud_APD_TheDeadTongues_BOLIAAC08_Square.jpg?v=1723130092"},{"product_id":"the-dead-tongues-body-of-light-i-am-a-cloud-2cd","title":"The Dead Tongues - Body of Light \/ I Am A Cloud (2CD)","description":"\u003cp\u003eCD edition, with both albums housed in a single CD wallet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll items in your cart will ship on or around August 9, 2024. This date is subject to change due to reasons beyond our control, and you may receive this product after its official release date. If you would like to receive other items sooner, please place two separate orders.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAcross the last 15 years, Ryan Gustafson of The Dead Tongues has emerged as one of modern folk’s most distinct voices. As idiosyncratic and spectral as the songs have sometimes been, Gustafson has always tied his visions and verses to the kinds of hooks you tuck away like talismans, pulled out in case of emergency. Dust, Unsung Passage, Desert: The Dead Tongues’ albums remain some of the more compelling and curious works in their field on this side of a century. The latest edition to The Dead Tongues’ catalog, the song-centric and magnetic Body of Light and the discursive and wonderfully elliptical I Am a Cloud, is 16 complete tunes split across interweaving and disparate albums.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBefore heading to Betty’s, Gustafson spent a month at “the Shack,” a primitive and private structure in rural western North Carolina, working on new material and sorting through piles of poems, sticky notes scattered across the windows, and stacks of free writing streams of thought. Most of the songs were written during this time – the exquisite “Daylily,” a warm little gift for his partner, or “I’m a Cloud Now,” a fever dream of song and spoken-word about the toggle between identity and ephemerality.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe creative energy was free flowing, deep and explorative, songs somehow coming together in a manner both freakishly fast and patient. In this energy and specific space the groundwork for the album was rooted, springing forth from the thick of the elemental and natural beauty these songs reference. The daylily on the cover of the album was picked from the land the shack is built upon – there’s a connection between the physical natural setting and the creative work itself, intertwined and natural bloom.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eGustafson wanted to continue with that explorative energy once he got into the formal studio, allowing it to lead the group of players assembled – the albums feature performances by Jenn Wasner (Wye Oak, Bon Iver), Mat Davidson (Twain), Matt Douglas (The Mountain Goats), Joe Westerlund (Califone, Megafaun), Jeff Ratner (Bing and Ruth), and more. Gustafson wanted to dedicate the studio time to not just recording songs but also making something new, with new improvisations.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe results feel at once casual and tremendous, the camaraderie and conversation between the players resulting in pieces that are lived-in but new. “Baby there ain’t no rules here\/We can just slide,” Gustafson sings at the start of Body of Light’s opening title track, establishing a collective credo inside this gorgeous anthem about finding sanctuary with someone else. Notice how it seems to nod to flamenco before lifting into electronic abstraction, or how Wasner’s harmonies summon the deepest Southern soul over electric phosphorescence.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAnd then there’s “Dirt for a Dying Sun,” where freight-train harmonica and spectral guitar frame a romantic dust-to-dust realism, where the best we can do is live wildly before we die. The characters on Body of Light are restless, damaged, and beautiful, whether clinging to an underground amid gentrification’s high rises during “Wolves” or holding on to the most intoxicating wisps of love during “Moon Shadow.” The band plays as if they’re just meeting these people for the first time, responding with an admixture of recognition and astonishment.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe collected crew takes that approach to the next plane on I Am a Cloud, an intersection of Gustafson’s tone poems and top-tier improvisation. “Formations” is an exquisite instrumental, a soul-jazz dream of horns and bells, bejeweled drones and broken rhythms. Remembering the birthday night he spent alone on an Irish cliff as the Summer solstice neared several years ago, Gustafson narrates “A Bridge” as if he’s peering into his own mind with wonder and surprise. The finale, “Even Here, Even Now,” is a spiral galaxy, with the songs of crickets, the hums of a Shruti box, and the touch of percussion lifting Gustafson’s mantric statement of purpose—to keep moving, to keep singing, no matter what may come. It is a wondrous piece of devotional music that seems to praise sound itself—the gift that can open us up, when we’re no longer sure that can even happen anymore.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Sometimes it’s hard to be anyone anywhere it seems,” Gustafson, his voice as understanding as empathy, sings to start the second verse of “Hard Times, Sore Eyes,” the farewell for Body of Light. That may read like a bummer, a concise and crippling encapsulation of our struggles to make meaning that’s as right as rain. But, really, it’s a permission slip to elide expectation, to try something different. Maybe in the past, Gustafson was seen as the singer-songwriter in a folk-rock band called The Dead Tongues. But when he started to let that go, he found something fascinating, new, and absorbing. Body of Light and I Am A Cloud are brilliant chapters written after Gustafson wondered if he’d closed the book, and they are, in turn, hard to put down.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48996601790773,"sku":"PSY044-CD","price":15.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/TheDeadTongues_BodyofLight_IAmACloud_APD_TheDeadTongues_BOLIAAC24_Square.jpg?v=1723130011"},{"product_id":"the-dead-tongues-body-of-light-i-am-a-cloud-2cassette","title":"The Dead Tongues - Body of Light \/ I Am A Cloud (2Cassette)","description":"\u003cp\u003eCassette edition, with both albums housed in a double Norelco case.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll items in your cart will ship on or around August 9, 2024. This date is subject to change due to reasons beyond our control, and you may receive this product after its official release date. If you would like to receive other items sooner, please place two separate orders.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAcross the last 15 years, Ryan Gustafson of The Dead Tongues has emerged as one of modern folk’s most distinct voices. As idiosyncratic and spectral as the songs have sometimes been, Gustafson has always tied his visions and verses to the kinds of hooks you tuck away like talismans, pulled out in case of emergency. Dust, Unsung Passage, Desert: The Dead Tongues’ albums remain some of the more compelling and curious works in their field on this side of a century. The latest edition to The Dead Tongues’ catalog, the song-centric and magnetic Body of Light and the discursive and wonderfully elliptical I Am a Cloud, is 16 complete tunes split across interweaving and disparate albums.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBefore heading to Betty’s, Gustafson spent a month at “the Shack,” a primitive and private structure in rural western North Carolina, working on new material and sorting through piles of poems, sticky notes scattered across the windows, and stacks of free writing streams of thought. Most of the songs were written during this time – the exquisite “Daylily,” a warm little gift for his partner, or “I’m a Cloud Now,” a fever dream of song and spoken-word about the toggle between identity and ephemerality.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe creative energy was free flowing, deep and explorative, songs somehow coming together in a manner both freakishly fast and patient. In this energy and specific space the groundwork for the album was rooted, springing forth from the thick of the elemental and natural beauty these songs reference. The daylily on the cover of the album was picked from the land the shack is built upon – there’s a connection between the physical natural setting and the creative work itself, intertwined and natural bloom.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eGustafson wanted to continue with that explorative energy once he got into the formal studio, allowing it to lead the group of players assembled – the albums feature performances by Jenn Wasner (Wye Oak, Bon Iver), Mat Davidson (Twain), Matt Douglas (The Mountain Goats), Joe Westerlund (Califone, Megafaun), Jeff Ratner (Bing and Ruth), and more. Gustafson wanted to dedicate the studio time to not just recording songs but also making something new, with new improvisations.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe results feel at once casual and tremendous, the camaraderie and conversation between the players resulting in pieces that are lived-in but new. “Baby there ain’t no rules here\/We can just slide,” Gustafson sings at the start of Body of Light’s opening title track, establishing a collective credo inside this gorgeous anthem about finding sanctuary with someone else. Notice how it seems to nod to flamenco before lifting into electronic abstraction, or how Wasner’s harmonies summon the deepest Southern soul over electric phosphorescence.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAnd then there’s “Dirt for a Dying Sun,” where freight-train harmonica and spectral guitar frame a romantic dust-to-dust realism, where the best we can do is live wildly before we die. The characters on Body of Light are restless, damaged, and beautiful, whether clinging to an underground amid gentrification’s high rises during “Wolves” or holding on to the most intoxicating wisps of love during “Moon Shadow.” The band plays as if they’re just meeting these people for the first time, responding with an admixture of recognition and astonishment.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe collected crew takes that approach to the next plane on I Am a Cloud, an intersection of Gustafson’s tone poems and top-tier improvisation. “Formations” is an exquisite instrumental, a soul-jazz dream of horns and bells, bejeweled drones and broken rhythms. Remembering the birthday night he spent alone on an Irish cliff as the Summer solstice neared several years ago, Gustafson narrates “A Bridge” as if he’s peering into his own mind with wonder and surprise. The finale, “Even Here, Even Now,” is a spiral galaxy, with the songs of crickets, the hums of a Shruti box, and the touch of percussion lifting Gustafson’s mantric statement of purpose—to keep moving, to keep singing, no matter what may come. It is a wondrous piece of devotional music that seems to praise sound itself—the gift that can open us up, when we’re no longer sure that can even happen anymore.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Sometimes it’s hard to be anyone anywhere it seems,” Gustafson, his voice as understanding as empathy, sings to start the second verse of “Hard Times, Sore Eyes,” the farewell for Body of Light. That may read like a bummer, a concise and crippling encapsulation of our struggles to make meaning that’s as right as rain. But, really, it’s a permission slip to elide expectation, to try something different. Maybe in the past, Gustafson was seen as the singer-songwriter in a folk-rock band called The Dead Tongues. But when he started to let that go, he found something fascinating, new, and absorbing. Body of Light and I Am A Cloud are brilliant chapters written after Gustafson wondered if he’d closed the book, and they are, in turn, hard to put down.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48996609950005,"sku":"PSY044-CS","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/TheDeadTongues_BodyofLight_IAmACloud_APD_TheDeadTongues_BOLIAAC28_Square.jpg?v=1723129966"},{"product_id":"hippo-campus-flood-spotify-fans-first-2lp","title":"Hippo Campus - Flood (Spotify Fans First 2LP)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eLimited to 1000 copies on Spraypaint Yellow 2LP.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHippo Campus were sitting in the green room of a sold-out amphitheater show at the start of the Summer of 2023 when they realized they had a major problem. Their fourth LP simply wasn’t good enough. Singer Jake Luppen had been listening to the band’s work as they rolled around the country, trying to tease out how much work remained. All of it, he soon decided. The soul wasn’t there, obfuscated by the need to sound sophisticated and the overwhelming ambition to make the best Hippo Campus LP ever, a deeper and more profound record that reflected how their lives were changing.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey’d committed to that vow with longtime producer and collaborator Caleb Wright a little more than a year earlier, soon after a party where they celebrated the release of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLP3\u003c\/i\u003e. That very night, the call came that a longtime friend had unexpectedly died. They started this band as kids and enjoyed quick momentum, their thrill-a-minute live shows and charismatically experimental pop albums creating almost-instant, avid attention. But this was Hippo Campus’ first close brush with death; as adulthood encroached, the actual call of mortality reminded them of the stakes of art, friendship, and life.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSo they committed to doing something major, even if it meant taking five years to do it. They took the task seriously, too: getting sober for an entirely improvisational session at North Carolina’s Drop of Sun months later, regularly attending therapy as a full band, writing more than 100 songs in only a year. That was all well and good, until Luppen and, really, all of Hippo Campus decided they didn’t actually\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003elike\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ewhat they were making. Life and work had been dark in their orbit for a second—death and dejection, addiction and anxiety. This uneasy epiphany wasn’t helping.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSo that night, in the dressing room, they called an audible. They were going to start over. Three months later, the four-member core of Hippo Campus rendezvoused with Wright and producer Brad Cook at Sonic Ranch, a playground-like studio complex on the Texas border. They gave themselves 10 days to cut the tracks they liked best, to make something to which they could commit at last. And Cook, in turn, gave them an edict of no second guessing or listening back, only forward momentum. Less than two weeks later, they emerged with what they’d given themselves half a decade to make—\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e, or the best album Hippo Campus has ever made.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eYou can immediately hear as much in a pair of wondrous songs toward the end, when the love-lost-and-found sing-along “Forget It” fades into the bittersweet and beautiful ache of “Closer,” a gem about trying and maybe failing to surrender your trust to someone else. This is a band that has learned to grow up by learning to let go. When Hippo Campus finally stopped trying to force the issue of making a masterpiece, they tapped intersecting veins of vulnerability and urgency, walking away with 13 tracks that reckon with their uncanny lives through at least that many totally absorbing hooks.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eDuring the last several years, Hippo Campus has had to navigate the tougher wages of success. They are, of course, grateful that a pop band they named on the lark of some psychology lesson blew up, but it certainly eliminated the segue from adolescence to adulthood that most of us enjoy in relative privacy. How could they survive inside and alongside this thing they had created and had outgrown them? And what’s more, how could they endure the vagaries of the music industry, so that they didn’t let a disappointing tour or disspiriting release demoralize them? Or, to ask the cumulative question, how do four people connected so intimately for so long grow as individuals while preserving the bond that makes what they do so special? Or is that actually too much to ask?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFor a minute there, the answer seemed possibly like yes. But soon after that improvisational session, the band returned to its own Minneapolis studio and dug in. They stumbled upon “Everything at Once,” with Nathan Stocker’s tricky little guitar lope becoming the basis for the slowly rising rhythm of drummer Whistler Allen and bassist Zach Sutton. Stepping outside for some space, Luppen quickly penned a thesis of self-criticism and self-forgiveness. Being less than the expectations of an industry, a family, or a faith are totally normal, he suggests in an anthem of empowerment that is almost casual. He gives himself the grace of being human: “You gotta lay down sometimes, be patient sometimes,” Luppen sings, layers of lean vocals crisscrossing one another like light beams. “And feel everything at once.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThat is precisely what Hippo Campus do best on\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e—feel everything and transmute it all into songs that are inescapable. Take “Brand New,” three minutes of brilliantly coiled pop, its spring-loaded rhythm lifting a guitar line built from pin pricks skyward. It’s about being ruined by the letdown of a failed relationship and then finding a way forward, toward something so good you haven’t even imagined it yet. It sounds that way, too. There’s the completely compulsive “Tooth Fairy,” a quick-moving meditation on the confusion of interpersonal dynamics. Hippo Campus smear bits of gentle psychedelia around a rhythm, riff, and hook that have the sleek lines of a sports car; the result is a dynamic wonder, a song that feels emphatic at the start but reaches full triumph by the end. Inspired by staring down cycles of addiction too long without taking steps to break them, “Corduroy” finds the space between a bummer country blues and a sweetly devotional waltz. Its vows of love, trust, and doubt are buoyed and also undercut by its slow rises and falls, a musical portrait of trying to take that difficult next step.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe sentiments on\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eare raw, real, and unguarded, a testament to Hippo Campus dropping preconceptions of how they\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003ehad\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eto sound after so many failed attempts to re-record these songs. They wiped the slate clean, starting over without beliefs about what Hippo Campus or this record needed to be. Still, sophistication lurks in subtle key and tempo changes, in the almost innate shifts that a band of longtime best friends can tap after so much time spent helping to shape one another’s musical language.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003edoesn’t need to tell you it’s important or interesting; it simply is, just by virtue of how it’s written, built, and rendered, a map of what it’s like to feel everything at once. This rebirth is accompanied by a crucial career shift for Hippo Campus, too, as they exit the traditional label system to issue\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLP4\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003evia Psychic Hotline, a truly independent imprint run by peers and pals. If you’re working to let go of expectations, why not jettison them all? There’s a bravery to that, and you can hear its revivifying spirit in every second of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLP4\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eEarly into the endlessly propulsive “Paranoid,” where stunted acoustic strums undergird an inescapable jangle, Luppen asks an existential question: “Is there something waiting out there for us at the finish line?” For the next three minutes, the band cycles with him through his woes, from the title’s overwhelming worry to notions of dislocation and loneliness. (Also, is there any other refrain ever that manages to make the phrase “so god-damned fucking” sound so catchy and natural?) But in the final verse, with his voice breaking through a scrim of distortion, he stumbles upon a new credo: “Wait, I wanna give this life all that I have in me.” That is precisely what Hippo Campus have done with\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eafter realizing it doesn’t take a lifetime—or, well, five years—to do just that.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c!----\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":49635100262709,"sku":"PSY051-LP-SPOTIFY","price":33.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/APD_HippoCampus_Flood17_Square.jpg?v=1722023532"},{"product_id":"hippo-campus-flood-2lp","title":"Hippo Campus - Flood (2LP)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eStandard edition double-LP.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHippo Campus were sitting in the green room of a sold-out amphitheater show at the start of the Summer of 2023 when they realized they had a major problem. Their fourth LP simply wasn’t good enough. Singer Jake Luppen had been listening to the band’s work as they rolled around the country, trying to tease out how much work remained. All of it, he soon decided. The soul wasn’t there, obfuscated by the need to sound sophisticated and the overwhelming ambition to make the best Hippo Campus LP ever, a deeper and more profound record that reflected how their lives were changing.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey’d committed to that vow with longtime producer and collaborator Caleb Wright a little more than a year earlier, soon after a party where they celebrated the release of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLP3\u003c\/i\u003e. That very night, the call came that a longtime friend had unexpectedly died. They started this band as kids and enjoyed quick momentum, their thrill-a-minute live shows and charismatically experimental pop albums creating almost-instant, avid attention. But this was Hippo Campus’ first close brush with death; as adulthood encroached, the actual call of mortality reminded them of the stakes of art, friendship, and life.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSo they committed to doing something major, even if it meant taking five years to do it. They took the task seriously, too: getting sober for an entirely improvisational session at North Carolina’s Drop of Sun months later, regularly attending therapy as a full band, writing more than 100 songs in only a year. That was all well and good, until Luppen and, really, all of Hippo Campus decided they didn’t actually\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003elike\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ewhat they were making. Life and work had been dark in their orbit for a second—death and dejection, addiction and anxiety. This uneasy epiphany wasn’t helping.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSo that night, in the dressing room, they called an audible. They were going to start over. Three months later, the four-member core of Hippo Campus rendezvoused with Wright and producer Brad Cook at Sonic Ranch, a playground-like studio complex on the Texas border. They gave themselves 10 days to cut the tracks they liked best, to make something to which they could commit at last. And Cook, in turn, gave them an edict of no second guessing or listening back, only forward momentum. Less than two weeks later, they emerged with what they’d given themselves half a decade to make—\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e, or the best album Hippo Campus has ever made.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eYou can immediately hear as much in a pair of wondrous songs toward the end, when the love-lost-and-found sing-along “Forget It” fades into the bittersweet and beautiful ache of “Closer,” a gem about trying and maybe failing to surrender your trust to someone else. This is a band that has learned to grow up by learning to let go. When Hippo Campus finally stopped trying to force the issue of making a masterpiece, they tapped intersecting veins of vulnerability and urgency, walking away with 13 tracks that reckon with their uncanny lives through at least that many totally absorbing hooks.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eDuring the last several years, Hippo Campus has had to navigate the tougher wages of success. They are, of course, grateful that a pop band they named on the lark of some psychology lesson blew up, but it certainly eliminated the segue from adolescence to adulthood that most of us enjoy in relative privacy. How could they survive inside and alongside this thing they had created and had outgrown them? And what’s more, how could they endure the vagaries of the music industry, so that they didn’t let a disappointing tour or disspiriting release demoralize them? Or, to ask the cumulative question, how do four people connected so intimately for so long grow as individuals while preserving the bond that makes what they do so special? Or is that actually too much to ask?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFor a minute there, the answer seemed possibly like yes. But soon after that improvisational session, the band returned to its own Minneapolis studio and dug in. They stumbled upon “Everything at Once,” with Nathan Stocker’s tricky little guitar lope becoming the basis for the slowly rising rhythm of drummer Whistler Allen and bassist Zach Sutton. Stepping outside for some space, Luppen quickly penned a thesis of self-criticism and self-forgiveness. Being less than the expectations of an industry, a family, or a faith are totally normal, he suggests in an anthem of empowerment that is almost casual. He gives himself the grace of being human: “You gotta lay down sometimes, be patient sometimes,” Luppen sings, layers of lean vocals crisscrossing one another like light beams. “And feel everything at once.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThat is precisely what Hippo Campus do best on\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e—feel everything and transmute it all into songs that are inescapable. Take “Brand New,” three minutes of brilliantly coiled pop, its spring-loaded rhythm lifting a guitar line built from pin pricks skyward. It’s about being ruined by the letdown of a failed relationship and then finding a way forward, toward something so good you haven’t even imagined it yet. It sounds that way, too. There’s the completely compulsive “Tooth Fairy,” a quick-moving meditation on the confusion of interpersonal dynamics. Hippo Campus smear bits of gentle psychedelia around a rhythm, riff, and hook that have the sleek lines of a sports car; the result is a dynamic wonder, a song that feels emphatic at the start but reaches full triumph by the end. Inspired by staring down cycles of addiction too long without taking steps to break them, “Corduroy” finds the space between a bummer country blues and a sweetly devotional waltz. Its vows of love, trust, and doubt are buoyed and also undercut by its slow rises and falls, a musical portrait of trying to take that difficult next step.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe sentiments on\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eare raw, real, and unguarded, a testament to Hippo Campus dropping preconceptions of how they\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003ehad\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eto sound after so many failed attempts to re-record these songs. They wiped the slate clean, starting over without beliefs about what Hippo Campus or this record needed to be. Still, sophistication lurks in subtle key and tempo changes, in the almost innate shifts that a band of longtime best friends can tap after so much time spent helping to shape one another’s musical language.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003edoesn’t need to tell you it’s important or interesting; it simply is, just by virtue of how it’s written, built, and rendered, a map of what it’s like to feel everything at once. This rebirth is accompanied by a crucial career shift for Hippo Campus, too, as they exit the traditional label system to issue\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLP4\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003evia Psychic Hotline, a truly independent imprint run by peers and pals. If you’re working to let go of expectations, why not jettison them all? There’s a bravery to that, and you can hear its revivifying spirit in every second of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLP4\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eEarly into the endlessly propulsive “Paranoid,” where stunted acoustic strums undergird an inescapable jangle, Luppen asks an existential question: “Is there something waiting out there for us at the finish line?” For the next three minutes, the band cycles with him through his woes, from the title’s overwhelming worry to notions of dislocation and loneliness. (Also, is there any other refrain ever that manages to make the phrase “so god-damned fucking” sound so catchy and natural?) But in the final verse, with his voice breaking through a scrim of distortion, he stumbles upon a new credo: “Wait, I wanna give this life all that I have in me.” That is precisely what Hippo Campus have done with\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eafter realizing it doesn’t take a lifetime—or, well, five years—to do just that.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":49736785232181,"sku":"PSY051-LP","price":32.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/APD_HippoCampus_Flood21_Square.jpg?v=1745957205"},{"product_id":"hippo-campus-flood-cd","title":"Hippo Campus - Flood (CD)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eCompact disc edition with trifold wallet and folded lyric insert.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHippo Campus were sitting in the green room of a sold-out amphitheater show at the start of the Summer of 2023 when they realized they had a major problem. Their fourth LP simply wasn’t good enough. Singer Jake Luppen had been listening to the band’s work as they rolled around the country, trying to tease out how much work remained. All of it, he soon decided. The soul wasn’t there, obfuscated by the need to sound sophisticated and the overwhelming ambition to make the best Hippo Campus LP ever, a deeper and more profound record that reflected how their lives were changing.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey’d committed to that vow with longtime producer and collaborator Caleb Wright a little more than a year earlier, soon after a party where they celebrated the release of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLP3\u003c\/i\u003e. That very night, the call came that a longtime friend had unexpectedly died. They started this band as kids and enjoyed quick momentum, their thrill-a-minute live shows and charismatically experimental pop albums creating almost-instant, avid attention. But this was Hippo Campus’ first close brush with death; as adulthood encroached, the actual call of mortality reminded them of the stakes of art, friendship, and life.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSo they committed to doing something major, even if it meant taking five years to do it. They took the task seriously, too: getting sober for an entirely improvisational session at North Carolina’s Drop of Sun months later, regularly attending therapy as a full band, writing more than 100 songs in only a year. That was all well and good, until Luppen and, really, all of Hippo Campus decided they didn’t actually\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003elike\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ewhat they were making. Life and work had been dark in their orbit for a second—death and dejection, addiction and anxiety. This uneasy epiphany wasn’t helping.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSo that night, in the dressing room, they called an audible. They were going to start over. Three months later, the four-member core of Hippo Campus rendezvoused with Wright and producer Brad Cook at Sonic Ranch, a playground-like studio complex on the Texas border. They gave themselves 10 days to cut the tracks they liked best, to make something to which they could commit at last. And Cook, in turn, gave them an edict of no second guessing or listening back, only forward momentum. Less than two weeks later, they emerged with what they’d given themselves half a decade to make—\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e, or the best album Hippo Campus has ever made.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eYou can immediately hear as much in a pair of wondrous songs toward the end, when the love-lost-and-found sing-along “Forget It” fades into the bittersweet and beautiful ache of “Closer,” a gem about trying and maybe failing to surrender your trust to someone else. This is a band that has learned to grow up by learning to let go. When Hippo Campus finally stopped trying to force the issue of making a masterpiece, they tapped intersecting veins of vulnerability and urgency, walking away with 13 tracks that reckon with their uncanny lives through at least that many totally absorbing hooks.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eDuring the last several years, Hippo Campus has had to navigate the tougher wages of success. They are, of course, grateful that a pop band they named on the lark of some psychology lesson blew up, but it certainly eliminated the segue from adolescence to adulthood that most of us enjoy in relative privacy. How could they survive inside and alongside this thing they had created and had outgrown them? And what’s more, how could they endure the vagaries of the music industry, so that they didn’t let a disappointing tour or disspiriting release demoralize them? Or, to ask the cumulative question, how do four people connected so intimately for so long grow as individuals while preserving the bond that makes what they do so special? Or is that actually too much to ask?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFor a minute there, the answer seemed possibly like yes. But soon after that improvisational session, the band returned to its own Minneapolis studio and dug in. They stumbled upon “Everything at Once,” with Nathan Stocker’s tricky little guitar lope becoming the basis for the slowly rising rhythm of drummer Whistler Allen and bassist Zach Sutton. Stepping outside for some space, Luppen quickly penned a thesis of self-criticism and self-forgiveness. Being less than the expectations of an industry, a family, or a faith are totally normal, he suggests in an anthem of empowerment that is almost casual. He gives himself the grace of being human: “You gotta lay down sometimes, be patient sometimes,” Luppen sings, layers of lean vocals crisscrossing one another like light beams. “And feel everything at once.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThat is precisely what Hippo Campus do best on\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e—feel everything and transmute it all into songs that are inescapable. Take “Brand New,” three minutes of brilliantly coiled pop, its spring-loaded rhythm lifting a guitar line built from pin pricks skyward. It’s about being ruined by the letdown of a failed relationship and then finding a way forward, toward something so good you haven’t even imagined it yet. It sounds that way, too. There’s the completely compulsive “Tooth Fairy,” a quick-moving meditation on the confusion of interpersonal dynamics. Hippo Campus smear bits of gentle psychedelia around a rhythm, riff, and hook that have the sleek lines of a sports car; the result is a dynamic wonder, a song that feels emphatic at the start but reaches full triumph by the end. Inspired by staring down cycles of addiction too long without taking steps to break them, “Corduroy” finds the space between a bummer country blues and a sweetly devotional waltz. Its vows of love, trust, and doubt are buoyed and also undercut by its slow rises and falls, a musical portrait of trying to take that difficult next step.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe sentiments on\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eare raw, real, and unguarded, a testament to Hippo Campus dropping preconceptions of how they\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003ehad\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eto sound after so many failed attempts to re-record these songs. They wiped the slate clean, starting over without beliefs about what Hippo Campus or this record needed to be. Still, sophistication lurks in subtle key and tempo changes, in the almost innate shifts that a band of longtime best friends can tap after so much time spent helping to shape one another’s musical language.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003edoesn’t need to tell you it’s important or interesting; it simply is, just by virtue of how it’s written, built, and rendered, a map of what it’s like to feel everything at once. This rebirth is accompanied by a crucial career shift for Hippo Campus, too, as they exit the traditional label system to issue\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLP4\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003evia Psychic Hotline, a truly independent imprint run by peers and pals. If you’re working to let go of expectations, why not jettison them all? There’s a bravery to that, and you can hear its revivifying spirit in every second of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLP4\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eEarly into the endlessly propulsive “Paranoid,” where stunted acoustic strums undergird an inescapable jangle, Luppen asks an existential question: “Is there something waiting out there for us at the finish line?” For the next three minutes, the band cycles with him through his woes, from the title’s overwhelming worry to notions of dislocation and loneliness. (Also, is there any other refrain ever that manages to make the phrase “so god-damned fucking” sound so catchy and natural?) But in the final verse, with his voice breaking through a scrim of distortion, he stumbles upon a new credo: “Wait, I wanna give this life all that I have in me.” That is precisely what Hippo Campus have done with\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eafter realizing it doesn’t take a lifetime—or, well, five years—to do just that.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":49736798568757,"sku":"PSY051-CD","price":13.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/APD_HippoCampus_Flood34_Square.jpg?v=1722023450"},{"product_id":"hippo-campus-flood-cassette","title":"Hippo Campus - Flood (Cassette)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eCassette tape edition with 5-panel J-card.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHippo Campus were sitting in the green room of a sold-out amphitheater show at the start of the Summer of 2023 when they realized they had a major problem. Their fourth LP simply wasn’t good enough. Singer Jake Luppen had been listening to the band’s work as they rolled around the country, trying to tease out how much work remained. All of it, he soon decided. The soul wasn’t there, obfuscated by the need to sound sophisticated and the overwhelming ambition to make the best Hippo Campus LP ever, a deeper and more profound record that reflected how their lives were changing.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey’d committed to that vow with longtime producer and collaborator Caleb Wright a little more than a year earlier, soon after a party where they celebrated the release of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLP3\u003c\/i\u003e. That very night, the call came that a longtime friend had unexpectedly died. They started this band as kids and enjoyed quick momentum, their thrill-a-minute live shows and charismatically experimental pop albums creating almost-instant, avid attention. But this was Hippo Campus’ first close brush with death; as adulthood encroached, the actual call of mortality reminded them of the stakes of art, friendship, and life.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSo they committed to doing something major, even if it meant taking five years to do it. They took the task seriously, too: getting sober for an entirely improvisational session at North Carolina’s Drop of Sun months later, regularly attending therapy as a full band, writing more than 100 songs in only a year. That was all well and good, until Luppen and, really, all of Hippo Campus decided they didn’t actually\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003elike\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ewhat they were making. Life and work had been dark in their orbit for a second—death and dejection, addiction and anxiety. This uneasy epiphany wasn’t helping.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSo that night, in the dressing room, they called an audible. They were going to start over. Three months later, the four-member core of Hippo Campus rendezvoused with Wright and producer Brad Cook at Sonic Ranch, a playground-like studio complex on the Texas border. They gave themselves 10 days to cut the tracks they liked best, to make something to which they could commit at last. And Cook, in turn, gave them an edict of no second guessing or listening back, only forward momentum. Less than two weeks later, they emerged with what they’d given themselves half a decade to make—\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e, or the best album Hippo Campus has ever made.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eYou can immediately hear as much in a pair of wondrous songs toward the end, when the love-lost-and-found sing-along “Forget It” fades into the bittersweet and beautiful ache of “Closer,” a gem about trying and maybe failing to surrender your trust to someone else. This is a band that has learned to grow up by learning to let go. When Hippo Campus finally stopped trying to force the issue of making a masterpiece, they tapped intersecting veins of vulnerability and urgency, walking away with 13 tracks that reckon with their uncanny lives through at least that many totally absorbing hooks.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eDuring the last several years, Hippo Campus has had to navigate the tougher wages of success. They are, of course, grateful that a pop band they named on the lark of some psychology lesson blew up, but it certainly eliminated the segue from adolescence to adulthood that most of us enjoy in relative privacy. How could they survive inside and alongside this thing they had created and had outgrown them? And what’s more, how could they endure the vagaries of the music industry, so that they didn’t let a disappointing tour or disspiriting release demoralize them? Or, to ask the cumulative question, how do four people connected so intimately for so long grow as individuals while preserving the bond that makes what they do so special? Or is that actually too much to ask?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFor a minute there, the answer seemed possibly like yes. But soon after that improvisational session, the band returned to its own Minneapolis studio and dug in. They stumbled upon “Everything at Once,” with Nathan Stocker’s tricky little guitar lope becoming the basis for the slowly rising rhythm of drummer Whistler Allen and bassist Zach Sutton. Stepping outside for some space, Luppen quickly penned a thesis of self-criticism and self-forgiveness. Being less than the expectations of an industry, a family, or a faith are totally normal, he suggests in an anthem of empowerment that is almost casual. He gives himself the grace of being human: “You gotta lay down sometimes, be patient sometimes,” Luppen sings, layers of lean vocals crisscrossing one another like light beams. “And feel everything at once.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThat is precisely what Hippo Campus do best on\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e—feel everything and transmute it all into songs that are inescapable. Take “Brand New,” three minutes of brilliantly coiled pop, its spring-loaded rhythm lifting a guitar line built from pin pricks skyward. It’s about being ruined by the letdown of a failed relationship and then finding a way forward, toward something so good you haven’t even imagined it yet. It sounds that way, too. There’s the completely compulsive “Tooth Fairy,” a quick-moving meditation on the confusion of interpersonal dynamics. Hippo Campus smear bits of gentle psychedelia around a rhythm, riff, and hook that have the sleek lines of a sports car; the result is a dynamic wonder, a song that feels emphatic at the start but reaches full triumph by the end. Inspired by staring down cycles of addiction too long without taking steps to break them, “Corduroy” finds the space between a bummer country blues and a sweetly devotional waltz. Its vows of love, trust, and doubt are buoyed and also undercut by its slow rises and falls, a musical portrait of trying to take that difficult next step.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe sentiments on\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eare raw, real, and unguarded, a testament to Hippo Campus dropping preconceptions of how they\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003ehad\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eto sound after so many failed attempts to re-record these songs. They wiped the slate clean, starting over without beliefs about what Hippo Campus or this record needed to be. Still, sophistication lurks in subtle key and tempo changes, in the almost innate shifts that a band of longtime best friends can tap after so much time spent helping to shape one another’s musical language.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003edoesn’t need to tell you it’s important or interesting; it simply is, just by virtue of how it’s written, built, and rendered, a map of what it’s like to feel everything at once. This rebirth is accompanied by a crucial career shift for Hippo Campus, too, as they exit the traditional label system to issue\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLP4\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003evia Psychic Hotline, a truly independent imprint run by peers and pals. If you’re working to let go of expectations, why not jettison them all? There’s a bravery to that, and you can hear its revivifying spirit in every second of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLP4\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eEarly into the endlessly propulsive “Paranoid,” where stunted acoustic strums undergird an inescapable jangle, Luppen asks an existential question: “Is there something waiting out there for us at the finish line?” For the next three minutes, the band cycles with him through his woes, from the title’s overwhelming worry to notions of dislocation and loneliness. (Also, is there any other refrain ever that manages to make the phrase “so god-damned fucking” sound so catchy and natural?) But in the final verse, with his voice breaking through a scrim of distortion, he stumbles upon a new credo: “Wait, I wanna give this life all that I have in me.” That is precisely what Hippo Campus have done with\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eFlood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eafter realizing it doesn’t take a lifetime—or, well, five years—to do just that.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Psychic Hotline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":49736804368693,"sku":"PSY051-CS","price":12.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0811\/2514\/6933\/files\/HippoCampus_Flood_APD_HippoCampus_Flood053_Square.jpg?v=1723129908"}],"url":"https:\/\/psychic-hotline.myshopify.com\/collections\/24-off-2024-releases.oembed","provider":"Psychic Hotline","version":"1.0","type":"link"}