Now, with corona, more than ever, musicians don’t have to leave the privacy of their homes to cut an album. They hook up over Facebook or Fiverr and trade samples over Reason, while tracks are recorded in the comfort of one’s own four walls. The result: no really compelling backstory and essentially boring copy. The story behind the genesis of club-wise Kalipè (a kind of prayer made by  Himalaya climbers for a propitious journey) by North Italian percussionist Roberto Orde Casetta, the force behind Lee Fry Music, is eminently forgettable.  Not so the music on his debut LP. Baring the first track with its gloomy female vocals and uninspired English lyrics layered over sparse doom-laden beats, the nine tracks pack a dub-heavy punch. Musically they are all-over-the-place – from Jamaica to India to Balkans and Turkey and North Africa – and while this kind of eclecticism may pose a pitfall for some, it is a boon for Lee Fry. One of the best tracks is “Sorun Degil” (“no worries” in Turkish) which sees a punchy clarinet looped on repeat, sounding like something from a tarantella number, but which is actually of Turkish provenance, juxtaposed with a heavy bass and a ruthless keyboard line, congas and  Indian vocals to boot, all underpinned by subtle dub reggae which is Lee Fry’s real métier.