Captivated by grime and goop, ears are cleansed of filth only to be replaced with the sludgiest of all beats. High wizard JFM not only delivers the muck of sound sacrifice in his temple of fuck-drip, but also sweats this vibe through excreting samples and grainy textures of any kind, really. Casting down upon the unconverted, JFM becomes their mind’s eye and morphs into what their body needs to move. Gripping everything, including souls and mental health, JFM will stop at nothing to bring your feet to a maddening degradation of psyche.
But lemme keep this brief: I was trolling a typical music source of mine today and stumbled upon JFM. Digitally stumbled upon. Like, I’m fucking trapped in this machine, and it’s at my full-time job. I NEED OUT. HELP. THIS IS REAL. JFM HAS ABSORBED ME INTO MY WORK COMPUTER. And my only way out is if you buy up his Self Titled LP album on Divorce Records!