FUGITIVE TRACES by THE YOUNG VISH is Out Now!

Today, on the occasion of Werner Herzog's 74th birthday, Punctum Records is thrilled to release Fugitive Traces by The Young Vish — a collection of 17 sound poems featuring the voice of Werner Herzog.

The album distills the sublime and absurd from Herzog's unique language to unveil the poetics that flow through the filmmaker's worldview. The 17 tracks make more intimate the musings of one of our most profound artists.

The Young Vish is a writer, academic, and musician whose works have been previously published in Quarterly WestSleepingfishThe Collagist, Queen Vic Knives, The RumpusHobartBoothDreginaldPassages North, and textsound.

To purchase and stream the album, as well as view the digital "lyrics" booklet and "Vapid Babble" video, head to http://punctumrecords.com/theyoungvish.

Out Today: 4E*, a solo performance of Lomelda's Forever

Six months following the release of Lomelda's boundless debut album, Forever, lead Hannah Read releases a solo performance of the record entitled 4E*. Music from 4E* premiered this week on Freeform Portland and Gold Flake Paint.

An excerpt from Gold Flake Paint:
"Indeed, such is the quiet, sweeping power of this recording that it feels like something strikingly, powerfully, new altogether. Read’s voice was always a stirring catalyst but here it rises to formidable new heights. Steeped in antiquity, fired by the very human heart at its core, it tells these stories with all the bluster of the great country that so informs them."

Download the album below or stream it on Soundcloud

More on Lomelda at lomelda.net

Lomelda - 4E*
8.99

4E*
by Lomelda
a solo rendition of Forever

Track Listing
1. Brazos River*
2. Spiritual Health*
3. Columbia River*
4. New Age Lines*
5. Miles*
6. Late Dawn*
7. The Fear*
8. Forever*
9. Universe*

release date: 4/22/16
PR037

See You Later See You There by Black Balsam is out on Punctum Records February 26th!

Announcing the forthcoming release of Black Balsam's debut album, See You Later See You There, on Punctum Records February 26, 2016. 

Black Balsam is the musical mouthpiece for Jesse Wooten, a North Carolina songwriter who has made Austin, TX his home. See You Later See You There is the project’s full-length debut.

The album was written and recorded over the span of four years in bedrooms, basements, and old houses across North Carolina and Austin, Texas, emerging as an audio collage of Wooten’s travels. The fifteen songs fuse contributions from the friends and musicians he crossed paths with during these years, as well as field recordings and found sounds gathered along the way. With its large timespan and the diverse origins for its songs, Wooten’s voice and production create a bridge guiding the listener through the narrative arc of the album.

Sonically, SYLSYT covers extensive territory during its hour run-time, ranging from the orchestral pop of “Days With Wings” and the Akron Family-esque wall of harmonies found on “Resignation” and “Unset,” to the punk rock stylings of “Great Big Heart” and the Bill Callahan-tinged folk of “Water.”  Themes of departure and return, both spatial and temporal, permeate the lyrics, so that the closing track, “Wait Now” flows seamlessly into the opener, “Reset,” completing the circuit of nostalgic indie rock feedback.

Black Balsam celebrates the release with a special performance at Cheer Up Charlie's on February 28th with Tapajenga and The Loblolly Boy. Click here for more information on the release party. 

Stream the first single, "Days With Wings," and preorder the album below:

On the One Year Anniversary of Groove Redundant by TAFT

Today marks the one year anniversary of the release of Groove Redundant by TAFT. Frontman Taft Mashburn reflects on the development of the record:

Groove Redundant was released in mid February of 2015, quite perfectly a year after initial tracking had begun on it in Brooklyn.  On the small occasion of its anniversary,  I reflect on the forces known and unknown that brought disparate elements and parties together to make an album.

NAME

The name “Groove Redundant” doesn’t mean anything, but maybe the conditions of its inception do mean something.  On a mid-afternoon day in October in 2013, I was by myself in the middle of nowhere, in a living room, in a small cabin, in the middle of recording, in the Catskill Mountains.  This was exactly where I had intended to be, having taken refuge away from New York with my then partner as a vacation meets songwriting-workshop.  She left a few days before I did, leaving me to my small arsenal of instruments and recording apparatus.  This was exciting and quite scary at the same time; being around people 24/7 made the succeeding solitude stark and terrifying for a directly proportionate amount of time.  During the day, I would oscillate between reading the biography of Milarepa, an Indian saint, and recording music with no purpose in mind.  I might also eat, take a hike, or listen to Alec Baldwin’s podcast “Here’s The Thing”, which I found more calming than anything.  I really loved this particular trip: the location, the cabin, the newness of upstate New York.  However, it was also a period of profound solitude and fear thereof.  A period of very earnest frustration with the constraints on my creative practice.  It’s hard to find time in New York.  I worried about what I supposed was my languishing artistic focus the same way a pious person might worry about how much they enjoy a good whiskey.  I had brought all that baggage with me to this little cabin, and set out to record as much of whatever as I possibly could in the next few days.  So, as I said at the beginning, I was in the middle of quite a few different things.  Things were going alternately well and not well, or rather, my feelings about them alternated between two extremes.  I had decided to call everything that was recorded in this period of time “Cabin Fever”, and to assign it into a different family later if need be.  This relieved me of any qualitative responsibility; all I had to do was enter the field and record.  Yet, this was insanely hard.  As someone who has been writing songs for 10 years, I have remarkably little information on how they form.  I have a book’s worth of suspicions on songs.  I could (and should!) start a fortune cookie company and fill the cookies with vague songwriting directives that I have discovered in glorious hindsight.  Songs are mysterious and complex to me.  The best ones just appear in your life like a Kramer uninvited.  They require no effort in the moment, which is why I was so frustrated in that particular moment in my cabin studio.  I kept replaying a section of piano in a song, trying to hear what it was doing or not doing.  It was an awkward and clunky piano figure, kind of like how Bob Dylan might play.  It just clunked back and forth in this stupid yet hypnotizing way.  When I thought about this little piano figure, I thought the words “Groove Redundant”.  The construction of a noun followed by its adjective was enigmatic to me, and I felt that it would capture and collect multiple meanings, as if it were a wide, shallow bowl.  I feel that names are very important, but a name should not be a label, which the inverse construction may have suggested.  I don’t feel that provenance is especially an issue either, so long as the name ensares the collection of songs with some hitherto unforeseen web of relation.  “Groove Redundant” wandered out of a perfectly dark forest of frustrated creation and settled in my mind as the patriarch of what would be a large family.

PLACE

Motherbrain Brooklyn was a one-of-a-kind recording and mixing studio-cum-intellectual salon-cum very large apartment in Sunset Park, Brooklyn.  It was conceived, built, and operated by Brian Bender, a lovely genius of a man who also cooks exceedingly well.  Motherbrain has since relocated to Los Angeles, where it is now called Motherbrain Oeste.  Anyone who had the fortune to visit or work in Motherbrain BK will no doubt remember the specialness of the place for a long time.  As has been mentioned elsewhere, I assisted at this studio for 18 months before we recorded Groove Redundant.  It’s rhythms and moods had made their mark on me, so I felt simultaneously comfortable and honored to get to lay some music down there.  All available wall space had visual works hung salon-style on it, and the cavernous main room was overfull with instruments of every variety, oriental rugs, and an ancient woodfire stove.  I believe an antique cash register had even settled its immovable girth onto a patch of floor as well.  Large windows gathered light from the east, though some of it never reached the far corners due to the sheer volume of the space, which contrasted heavily with the control room.  There was considerable speculation that the original function of the control room was a vault of some sort.  Separated from the rest of the space by very heavy wooden doors, the control room could make one feel either creatively titillated or hopelessly confused, but it always awed in terms of design and mood.  Exposed brick, reclaimed pine, capital M mood lighting, and a very low ceiling with terraced soffits gave the feel of the Millennium Falcon cockpit meets the stuff of audiophile dreams.  The room felt cozy with 3 people and when a large ensemble was working, it felt like a war room.  It contained energy very well, and Bender never failed to keep track of errant mid-session urges to change creative direction that always creep in around 2 in the morning.  It had one small window, about 4 inches high and 2 feet wide.  It contained electronics from nearly every decade of recording, housed vertically in racks or housed in the singularly awesome console that was built from the minds of Bender and French designer Francois Chambard.  Much has been written about this console already, but I will say that it is very heavy.  It was not uncommon to exit the control room the same way you might exit a very hot dry-sauna.

PEOPLE

My process is, for the most part, a solitary one.  It was not until very recently that I began to feel comfortable engaging others in my writing process at the time of writing.  I have typically been a homework-giver: writing and fine tuning a song and then showing someone in advance of their coming in to record on it.  It’s a very thorough, diligent and boring way to work.  Boring compared to the opposite method of entering a session with the smallest notion of what the song or piece of music will be.  As I look on it, it takes guts to work this way, and a certain amount of bravado.  Suffice to say, I have historically had to be über comfortable with my collaborators in order to collaborate at all.  When I booked time to record Groove Redundant, there was little doubt in my mind that I would only do it if Andrew, Josh and Max flew from their digs in Austin to New York.  Of course, other suggestions were made, but I just couldn’t warm up to those ideas because I have had a continuous relationship with these musicians since starting to play in bands all the way back in 2010.  We had succeeded at small things together, and we had also failed miserably at much together.  I knew them all more than I had ever bargained for.  So my thinking was, in an environment where risk taking was going to be important, I trusted these guys to be fluid and help me achieve what I had in mind for these songs.  Or, I trusted them to help make art.  Logistically speaking, they were going to have a lot of leeway because in very few cases did I have decisions made about rhythm section ideas.  The rhythm section hitherto had been this sort of neighboring state with its own laws and customs.  My little state also had its own laws and customs, yet we both were subject to some larger governmental umbrella.  In some cases on songs, I had unknowingly crossed state lines and made choices that would influence what they did, but it only worked out for the better.  By the way, Josh and Andrew both play drums, and Max plays bass.  Anyway, it turned out to be an easy sell, and everyone showed up a couple days before we started tracking.  It gave me a lot of pleasure to show them the gem that was Motherbrain.  I remember leading them down the dingy industrial street towards the warehouse, which also shared space with a halal butcher, by the way.  On some days, the smell of animal piss was overwhelming.  It added a morbid sort of charm when you knew that your ultimate destination was a studio.  We walked up a few flights of stairs and down a hallway to a completely nondescript door that opened upon what could a scene from some Rolling Stones tracking session.  Instruments just casually everywhere, and cigarette smoke and coffee smells.  And the tour just kept unveiling more delights in terms of the control room, and how not precious everything was.  I think that was the real clincher: nothing was very precious, yet everything was quite musical and showed signs of having a deep history.  I was happy to show my friends this, and I believe that it set a good tone for our work that would span the next five days.  There aren’t any anecdotes that don’t already exist in every retelling of an album’s creation: we hit roadblocks, we had magical, inexplicable moments that were all captured, and a lot of hilariously inappropriate jokes; which I believe blossom in studio settings everywhere because everyone communicates via microphones and headphones, so no one gets the benefit of reading your facial expression.  To me, the process was very collaborative, which is what I was really hoping for.  The greatest cuts in my mind were taken as live as possible, with everyone on their toes, not knowing where the music was going.  This, I have discovered thanks to hindsight and reflection, is my favorite way of working now, and I am grateful to have had these times as lessons in that regard.  We were really shown the best time; nothing ever malfunctioned and there was as much coffee as you could handle, though I do think after a certain point there are diminishing returns on coffee and one’s creative process.  Too much and suddenly I can’t hear anymore.  After tracking, everybody flew back to Austin with their stories to tell, and I stayed behind and recorded overdubs for a couple months.  This was fun yet painstaking work, and I hadn’t acclimated to the level of stamina it takes in order to focus for hours on vocal takes, for instance.  Nonetheless, hours on vocal takes we spent, and all of this was then mixed in several days by Jon, who hitherto has not been mentioned, but worked for Bender as well for several years.  Jon and I have had a rapport from working together, and he played on the record as well.  Jon is very sharp, has the kind of humor that very sharp New Yorkers have, which is that palm to face kind of humor that you use like medicine when you live in New York, and he is also very tall.  As I said, mixing happened very quickly.  I suppose the most notable thing about this whole process was just how quickly the project came together.  That is quite special I think: it requires some stars lining up and a lot of goodwill from everyone involved to make time.  I still look back and feel very fortunate about this time.  

Out Today: Bedroom Tapes, Volume One by Julia Lucille

Julia Lucille - Bedroom Tapes, Volume One
10.00

At every new moon over the course of the year, Julia Lucille wrote and for what would be come the first volume of her Bedroom Tapes project. The songs include some field recordings from Julia's home at the time, a remote ranch in Dripping Springs, Texas, chronicling cicadas in the trees and other sounds of the wilderness.

Julia Lucille - Bedroom Tapes, Vol. 1
1. Indian Orchards
2. Darkening
3. The Corn
4. Night
5. Sunrise
6. Moonrise
7. Devotion
8. A Little Jolt
9. Buying Incesnse and Tea
10. Talk
11. Pretty, Nameless
12. Wine Blue Ocean

Special edition cassette, limited run of 50
Release Date: February 5, 2015
PR033

All songs written and recorded by Julia Lucille
Artwork by Garrett DeRossett
 

“You have to decide to matter…If you want life to feel meaningful, you have to do those things that provoke that experience. And if for you one of those things is writing or painting or singing or what have you, then you are doing it not just to make a thing, not just to have a performance, you are doing it so that you can have the experience of meaning.” --Eric Maisel
 

Add To Cart

Announcing the Reissue of Homing by Julia Lucille

Punctum Records is thrilled to announce the reissue of Homing by Julia Lucille!

About the album by the artist:

"I wrote the songs on Homing during a really quiet year I spent living in California. I had gone to school in Portland, and when I graduated I was dealing with intense depression that kept me, for the most part, in bed. I finally decided to move in the hopes of jump starting myself out of it. In California, I continued to live in a very insular way, emotionally and socially. I spent most of my time alone and would only see one close friend. But what happened that year was really interesting. I spent lots of time in the California hills, which have these giant views of the coastline, golden, sweet smelling grasses and low, green bushes. And in the late afternoon, the sun pours across it all, you cannot help but feel enlivened and feel a great big sense of perspective and thankfulness. The landscape taught me vital lessons—that I was complete, that I didn’t have to become someone else, someone more impressive, that other people’s opinions didn't matter with regards to my art, only my own conscience. I started to see that my depression had been linked to feeling artistically paralyzed. Once I had spent long stretches of time being quiet in my own life, I began to make art in a much more peaceful and self-loving way. Those first songs that I wrote after this very personal revolution are the songs on Homing. 

While writing these songs, I had the distinct feeling that I had come into contact with this inner compass and was able to slowly turn it and point it, and because of that, to begin to build something real for the very first time. It was powerful! For me this album is really the seed of my own unique musical world. I see it as the bare bones of my personal musicality. The stripped down beginning of where I am going to."

Homing was originally released in December of 2012. This reissue immediately precedes the release, later this January, of Julia Lucille's Bedroom Tapes Volume One, a collection of songs written over several months during each new moon. Look for more information on the new release soon.

Homing track listing:

1. Orchards
2. Loyal
3. Homing
4. No Questions Asked
5. Interlude No. 1
6. California
7. Tell Me How it Feels
8. Validation
9. Miss Those Parties
10. Interlude No. 2
11. V. Woolf
12. Happiness

OUT TODAY! Forever by Lomelda

The long anticipated boundless debut album by Lomelda is out today in vinyl, digital, and compact disc formats where ever fine music is sold!

Forever renders a moment without limit, veering between the personal and universal, equating the rise and fall of human relationships to the creation and dissolution of worlds.

Listen to the third single from the album, a halloween-appropriate track entitled "The Fear," below and order the limited first printing of the 12" vinyl now.

Lomelda - Forever
Format:
Add To Cart