Back catalogue: All genres

Review: Stop us if you've heard this one before. Lee "Scratch" Perry walks into a Quasi Dub Development recording session somewhere in New York. He begins to freestyle in that surrealist, escapist, hallucinogenic kind of way we still love him for, and the results eventually make their way onto 2014's record, Little Twister. The rest, as they say, is history. Or maybe not quite. Four years after the world lost Perry's enigmatic poetry and pioneering contributions to dub, Pingipung, the label that carried that aforementioned LP, unearths the tape of one track from the collection the bosses clearly feel deserves more attention. 'Let's Communicate' is as intoxicating now as it was back then. Then contemporary UK dub don Elijah Minnelli steps up to deliver an alternative version that stands up on its own. No mean feat.

Review: Unusually adept, jazzdancey sonic handicraft from new Rekids signee, Quiet Village. If we at Juno could issue some kind of official rosette or emblem for 'wicked production skills'- on par with a master builder's sextant-engraved headstone - then we'd award Quiet Village with one such memento in a heartbeat. 'Reunion', pressed onto vinyl for the first time here, hears a loose yet effortlessly rhythmic drum break furl, dance about a smooth, nighttime jazz progression for sax and piano. It's giving visions of a down-and-out PI in an 80s neo-noir/romantic drama genre fusion, except this protagonist has just tuned into Rinse FM for the first time - and Rinse FM, in this alternate reality, exists in the 80s. The 'Reprise' version is equally as evocative, sans-ing the drums to allow space to listen to just the melodics, just the overarching ambiences. It's as if Quiet Village know that the true force of the tune, its essence, rests in the core mystique of the aforementioned instrumental combo; the ghost of the drums may continue to play back only in our minds, yet we continue to dance.

Review: Originally tucked away on a 2020 12", Quiroga's 'Snaporaz' EP gets the treatment it always deserved with this expanded, four-track edition from Balearic archivists Archeo. Based in Naples, Quiroga stretches his original into a languid, Rhodes-soaked jazz-house glide on the A1ifull of crackling percussion, soft-focus pads and a bubbling low end that carries the melodic line into increasingly heady territory. A loose hand drum finale seals it with flair. 'Escorpiao' on A2 is subtler but no less vibrant, a slick fusion jam where keytar and cowbell meet over a featherlight grooveibalancing restraint and virtuosity in equal measure. The B-side belongs to Rome's Francesco de Bellis, appearing under his L.U.C.A. alias. Known for his Edizioni Mondo material, he warps 'Snaporaz' into a dreamlike new age dancer, slowing the tempo and steeping it in hazy atmospheres and woozy melodies. His 'Quirky Beat' version strips it further, letting skeletal drum edits carry the mood alone. Bridging Neapolitan warmth and Roman oddball finesse, this is a limited edition reissue that more than earns its second life.

Review: Half a century young, the third album from America's genuinely iconic leather-clad glam queen Suzi Quatro was a bit of sidewinder, seeing her switch from the brash rock pop fusion of her first two LPs to take in a funk influence, still working under the winning production duo of Mike Chapman and Nicky Chinn. Check the title track and its echoes of Sly & The Family Stone or Steve Wonder, wonderfully twinned with Quatro's sassy vocal attitude, for evidence of the stylistic refresh, her distinctive and groove-heavy bass playing pushed further into the centre of the sound. 'Can't Trust Love', meanwhile, is a headnodding, blunted delight, too, while the futuristic synths of 'Strip Me' are closer to Herbie Hancock's Headhunters than The Sweet in vibe. Well ahead of its time, this is timeless stuff.

Review: Portland, Oregon's Graham Jonson urges our hurries once more with Heard That Noise, an anemological study in ascendant post-rock and psych. Jonson crafts intimate, zigzagging and west windy songs, ploughing the grey, sludgy boundaries of folk, pop, and noise. Following a subtle tangent from SoundCloud renown to 2021's The Long and Short Of It, he now follows that record up through a desultory reflection on breakups, memory, and creative rediscovery; Phil Elverum, Dijon and Nick Drake glance through the sonic cloud cover as ancestral muses, while the record blends warmth and discordance, where sweet ballads unravel into distortion; serene moments jolted by sonic "jump scares."