A deluxe custom designed book bound gatefold sleeve and 220 gram vinyl. Color version sold out. The first 300 copies are on colored vinyl. Bonus picture disc LP available to subscribers of Records are not for Baking. Tears for spheres. Be warned: the sounds you are hearing are NOT marmots eating your tweeters, though you are best advised to apply volume lightly at first. Stapleton’s astral weeks have been spent distilling sounds into sipping moonshine. LITERAL moonshine. After a viscerally present launch cycle, the Voyager Nurse Module is designed to be piloted by the out-of-body listener. With Lilith-like subtlety, the concrete powered craft makes its way ever closer to the edge of the galaxy. Which one? Who knows? Whichever it is, Vaclav Helhybel (Outer Space: Music) and Frank Perry (Deep Peace) are there, waiting to celebrate the space escapade with chilled cocktails and green friends.

Available! Edition of 200 copies on 220 gram vinyl and BlRR will have only 60 available for sale as the other copies are reserved for Records are not for Baking subscribers with bonus 12" picture disk. Terra Firma flags. Sky burns electric. Fauna flee for fear. The second coming of Christus is here. 8 new stations of the cross oscillate wildly between bristling electronic noise pyres and sizzling, solemn song-forms. “From Atop This Hill” is a study in the transcendental possibilities of synthesis couched in the form of a mystery play. The jilted narratives just glisten, rich with pulsating electrocycles that alternately coil into instrumental pythons. Form and function fuse in a flux of devotional experimentalism paired with a sort of weird pop.

Edition of 300 numbered copies. Colin Potter is sitting in a room, different than the one you are in now, and he is piloting that room to the crushing depths of inner space with fellow sound artist Phil Mouldycliff. The wizard will see you now. There methods seems so innocent at the outset with the simple layering of a street scene over the sounds of intermission spill-off (or whatever), but the quiet, ambient din of crowd soon becomes a decaying continuo beneath a soft filigree of high-lonesome guitar (?). Then bells and all sorts of micro manipulations follow, building to gelatinous crescendo and subsequent diminuendo. There is a sort of oceanic, Sinking of the Titanic texture coughing up from the underneath, and a deliciously Nursey dynamic in the way tiny rings of feedback propagate out form sonic pebbles thrown in the drink. And, of course, fantastic little discoveries are made with each new pass. This may be what it sounds like when noise goes through the digestive tract. Who knew it would be so damn beautiful?