DJ NJ DRONE
Alluding to the title, “Blood Kakao,” one can only imagine DJ NJ DRONE is trying to audibly convey the feeling of translating a text written in blood. Trying to figure out who’s blood it is, feeling the revenge upon finding out, and what he’ll do when he gets there. With the club-mind mentality, DJ NJ DRONE draws from live and recorded samples that work both digitally effected and naturally timbre’d, dropping in and out of a bass dropped and snare-sifting beat, eventually becoming that beat, completely switching around the mentality of each listener at the end. It’s all at first perplexing, so you do a bit of a dance, but by the time that beat sets in, your body will not be able to handle itself, and they might kick you out the club. As I said, “Blood Kakao” is akin to receiving a text messaged written in blood.
Although, “Blood Kakao” doesn’t get out as out of control musically as one would think. At the end, when he flips the from pounding bass and sizzle-snare beat to the vocal rhythm drawing the core-beat is exactly where DJ NJ DRONE snaps, but carefully and intentionally. It’s a composure of pure live-club aesthetics that can only be found in future producers. So just give it six more days, and the Bootleg Tape of DJ NJ DRONE’S ESPRESSO SYN will drop the hardest any reel has ever been released on April 20. And if you ain’t conin’ to DJ NJ DRONin’ at Bassa Nova Civic Club during the night of his release (billed with LAMPGOD), then you’d better be on your way!
frivolous luv nightcore ep
Who the fuuuuuuuck is ready for this summer? I woke up this morning and it wasn’t chilly out, for the first time. All my plants lasted the night. Ima grow everything. Mostly, I’ma blare frivolous luv nightcore ep by luv2 until it’s actually warm. Oh, what? You never heard of warm-wave? Like, remember that Wendy’s commercial where the person dreams of their new spicy sandwich while stuck in their car and freezing to death, but the thought keeps them warm, only really you’re like [Jack Nicolas’ death in The Shining]. That is warm-wave. This is what is being brought HARD in frivolous luv nightcore ep. There’s a lot of pleasing and clubby and viby sounds bubbling y’all ears, but what’s being said can be taken much darker and devastating to one or just a handful or people. Imagine the someone crying while “if u left him 4 me” is blaring in the background. They’d probably also be eating an ice cream cone for the full-effect “WTF?” But smile. I’ll buy you more ice cream cones and watch ‘em melt to frivolous luv nightcore ep. Dig:
It’s that time of night when all you hear is the radiating beat of some club a mile away, nobody saying anything echoing in this room makes sense, and there’s a lounger laying on their patio two or three houses down-hill, listening to light string music. The air is crisper outside anyway, on the porch, watching the full moonlight, squinting if it’s even real. That white lit circle meshing with the “Phosphene” scattering your vision, as if you just rubbed your eyes, or took a hard blow to the head. A siren syncs with the rest of your audibly tunneled realm, and the dynamic becomes surreal. Cars drifting in and out, accelerating a scream; “Am I screaming? Am are you screaming?” It’s all bugged at this point, but stabilizing it all in your cranium, contending your visual of the moon delivers a zone to your cones.
Severed+Said is taking you on a run through their mind-set. It’s practically visual. Sounds just barely of timbre. Calculated crossroads of syncopation. Whirlings and whistles dropped whenever the time feels right. Like how leather gloves strap into the person, and not the other way around, Severed+Said will know you so hard in the ear, “Phosphene” may actually occur.
New Severed+Said tape out on Not Not Fun May 5. Sure to bring you beyond. Listen to the “Phosphene” single below, and keep a look out for a video not too long from now.
o . o துஈசிதிசி திஇல்டூ
Life leads all of us to make no expectation. Faith is something fabricated in levels of all of us. Then you look at your phone for weather. Or distances from distances via GPS. You believe whatever is put in front of you as culture. I mean, it’s an instinctive belief. Like knowing you’ve a parachute jumping from an airplane. So take the vast expansion “soulseed_cracker_koil_dunity” briefly doles you out. And just download the new o . o துஈசிதிசி திஇல்டூ release The Ballad Of Jankmaster Flexington And Queen Larptifah on Quantum Natives ASAP.
“Spark Faun and Tiger Born”
Rob Mazurek, setting aside the hard material, springs surprise jolts to the shocker like an uninvited brat popping the party balloons. The jolts bounce on the inflatable moon, a moon as red as Michael Oliver. They protrude out of the sputter and the crunch. Up and down. Forward and backward… in the lowland explosions of Hollywood 3-D, a blow-out: of circuitous circuitry that can’t shrug away the gravity; of intercourse and resolution between the revolutions of the needle and the balloon. It’s a red-themed party… red everything. Tongues dyed red. Teeth dyed red. Red lips and fingernails.