Track of the Week: Slime City – You And Everybody That You Love Will One Day Die

On May 6, 1988, a schlock horror spectacle was released by the name of Slime City, a gory, gross-out flick that this Glaswegian troupe have lifted their namesake from. It can be assured that they definitely weren’t named after Nickelodeon’s Slime City, that much we’re certain of. As stated in a synopsis, one of the perceived protagonists drinks an unusual liquid which gradually erodes and transforms his body into that of a slime creature. Next time your occultist neighbours offer you wine made by a dead father who also happened to be an alchemist, I wouldn’t. Anyway, it is later discovered that the only way for this creature to revert back to its original human form is to commit a murderous act, thus leading to an eventual discovery of a massacre that took place involving this creature and the dead father attempting to transfigure himself through his host. Fitting really, that a trio of existentialist punk upstarts should pen this track over 20 years after the film’s release, although death by slime creature probably wasn’t what they had in mind initially. That, and The Jam never really wrote any songs about death in their ten year tenure.

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Credit: Stephen McLeod Blythe of allmyfriendsareJPEGS.com

A similar parallel could also be drawn with the demise of We Are The Physics, whom Slime City descended from, also spanning a decade long career, yet their demise was ultimately far more entertaining than The Jam’s was. The reason Weller and company are repeatedly name checked here, there’s an authority and swagger in the acoustic guitar and vocals, before the electric guitar hits the overdrive switch, and interspersed throughout that harkens back to the husky, fresh-faced mod at arguably his songwriting peak. Not to mention a distinct, poignant poetic license near the song’s climax that could rival his barbed prose. Any other resemblance to The Jam is swiftly dashed as Slime City are ultimately a fairly unique beast in terms of their sound, glances and snippets echoing former bands of new wave and punk past, but absorbed and meshed together so finely, it becomes virtually indistinguishable. Much like the transformation in the movie they’re named after.

You And Everybody… ironically is led in by a choir, inside that angelic reckoning, a voice acting as gatekeeper of that grandiose barrier asking you, the listener, why must your day-to-day inflict such malaise upon you. That is then refrained in mono briefly, in true troubadour fashion, before stereo engages, electric guitar roars with distortion, and that fleeting moment of ascending to the heavens, is sent rocketing catastrophically back to reality. Although the message is categorically transparent from the song’s title, the mantra is pelted and reprised with such glee, you can’t help but be bowled over by the charm of it all. Verses duel between a restrained, reasoned argument, gentler guitar chords underslung to accompany, and more exuberant chaos, with nuance put to bed, and slogans yelled in unison, power chords and punk snarl pressed hard into your face as they’re performed. Their chorus however, springs to life as a triumphant celebration of all that is brilliant about British guitar music, the scale utilised for its hook simply unceremoniously catchy and any attempt to beat it out of your head will prove futile. The extra prong of ‘Cling to anything,’ on this hook, only makes it that much tougher to release, so you are wished luck with that one. Those three minutes do absolutely hurtle along, with a wry momentary breakdown to emphasise the unpredictable nature of never knowing when your time will elapse, Windows XP error sound to boot, sandwiched near enough dead centre of the song. One other such highlight is the previously aforementioned bridge, where some exceptionally written and executed lyrics swatch maybe just one glimmer of hope, before joyfully snatching it away once again with the inevitability of our all one true fate. No band in recent memory could honestly make death sound like so much fun.

As self-depreciating as they are, Slime City know exactly what they are doing; steadily producing a stream of witty, yet Fort Knox-tight singles that deserve to be infamously infectious, and You And Everyone… is their current pinnacle. I defy anyone to find a better hook this year. Paced to perfection, thought-provoking yet riotous and rapturous in equal measure, and from a band still very much in their infancy, here’s hoping the Barrowlands might not be far away after all for them.

All of Slime City’s music can be located on Bandcamp and all good reputable retailers, whilst they do have a Bigcartel store, they seem to be popular lads and merchandise disappears quickly from there. They tour very frequently, so they will absolutely be in a venue near you soon too.

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Track of the Week: Gutlocker – Deeper Underground

If you were an advocate for Woking being a vibrant cultural metropolis, it may be understandable to warrant a raised eyebrow or two. While the community of Woking is certainly a explosion of diversity in the best sense of the term, visually, half the town is caked in rubble due to a massive scale rejuvenation project currently ongoing. Yes, while this Surrey terminal serves as the spiritual home of H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds, (perhaps fitting because of the reconstruction), the headquarters of the World Wildlife Foundation, and has been the birthplace of many of this country’s contemporary cultural heroes, it doesn’t quite have the looks to match its significance and contribution to the arts… yet. Aesthetics aside, Woking musically has given us national treasures like The Jam and Status Quo, and is responsible for recent trailblazers like Palm Reader and Employed To Serve. That said, the notion of tearing everything down and buiding it up stronger, bigger and better, suits fellow Woking noise merchants Gutlocker, and their gargantuanly proportioned cover of Jamiroquai’s Deeper Underground lifted from the Godzilla soundtrack of 1998. After all, this is a band that wrote a song about Woking called Welcome To Fucktown.

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Leading in with heavy bass tones and the rings of guitar distortion, it sets the ominous tone of the original perfectly, nailing the synth’s foreboding ambience, and injecting their own sense of dread. Those cymbal taps underneath too twist the screws of tension to come. We don’t quite get the grandiose orchestra-esque notes before the first verse, as much as controlled chord rips to conclude the introduction go, but when frontman Craig McBrearty projects his beginning almighty scream, it serves the catalyst for a rip-roaring thrill ride. The famous groove that helped catapult Jay Kay and crew to the top of the UK charts is faithfully recreated, but undeniably grittier and oozing machismo that surpasses the crystal clean, subdued production of its progenitor. A subtle, impressive improvement is the volley of machine-gun style bass kicks that accompany this groove also, driving that sheer raw energy into a speeding freight train human might has no hope of stopping.

Delivered at an increased velocity, the soulful melody that once was is eviscerated with piercing shrieks still enunciating fantastically at speed, arguably with a faster flow that could embarrass many of hip-hop’s finest, which transforms into this formidable bark hurtling into the chorus, exhibiting strengths in Craig’s vocal abilities that are eye-opening to say the least. And the overall tone of that chorus couldn’t be further from the original’s minimal funk, sharing more in common with trying to survive the playground of a Leatherface or Jigsaw Killer-type onslaught; intense, crazed, and frightening. Fearing moments where it could slip into campy aggression, Gutlocker keep the bulldozer in high gear, leading to an endlessly satisfying solo bassline, the quieter spoken word beneath somehow unnervingly more sinister than the imposing screams already experienced, left to grind away the glimpse of an escape before certain doom encroaches on us all. Doom it certainly becomes, in which slowing the chorus groove down invokes the spirit of Sabbath, yet the climax teters more on the side of a forceful pummeling, than chatting with the Grim Reefer.

If a record label sat down with Randy Blythe and Dimebag Darrell to ask them to tackle famous soundtracks from the late 90’s, this could’ve been the result. Gutlocker’s take on Deeper Underground is inspired, befitting of their energetic, often seismic presence, and at the expense of some brawn, amp up the atmosphere to morph a record-selling series of catchy hooks, into a horror fetishist’s album collection. Side by side, their frankly hilarious music video with Outright Resistance’s Michael ‘Grandad’ Worsley stealing the show as… uh… Godzilla, shows that there is humanity and humor in their craft, no matter how dark or deep into the abyss of the soul Gutlocker are willing to dive inside.

 

Deeper Underground is out now on your favourite streaming services and all respectable music retailers. Their previous EP Cry Havoc! and all of their merchandise can be obtained via their Bandcamp. Gutlocker are stalwarts of the UK metal scene and tour regularly so keep an eye closely on their social media for upcoming dates, or bring them to you if you’re that way inclined.

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Keith Flint And Me

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I will never ever forget the day I first encountered Keith Flint. It was a memory so vivid, so powerful at such a young age, that it will stay with me forever. I was around four, maybe five years old, when my mum had MTV on, and the music video for Breathe came on. She’d bought Fat of the Land around this time, and encouraged me to watch it, or at least listen. Being at that age where so much is impressionable on a young boy, that image of a demonic looking, and sounding Keith Flint, with the purple and green spikes adorned either side of his head, was absolutely terrifying. The video was played so regularly, it wouldn’t let me erase it from my mind. And like the best kind of hypnosis, after enough exposure, I started to like it. Instead of quivering in fear or leaving the room when it came on, I started to embrace it, and that state of alarm soon turned to joy every time it came back into rotation, the volume edging that bit louder every single time that beginning hook grumbled in.

God knows how many times I must’ve watched that music video, trying to analyse and break down all the imagery contained inside that dilapidated apartment. It’s truly a fascinating watch, not least because of Keith Flint’s flailing, and warped punk snarl, ensuring it became an everlasting memory, but it’s what became my gateway into The Prodigy.

Firestarter, of course, also left an impression on me too, that unmistakable nihilistic energy being translated by the innocence of a five year old child, who had no conceivable idea what anything Keith said meant, and the transformation of the chorus from arson into UFOs, sometimes flatulence, being one of my mum’s fondest memories of me as a child. Fat of The Land was always massively influential on me, even if I wasn’t really all that into music at the time. But for every new Prodigy song I discovered in that time, past and present, I always saw the music video for, and I’d always tried to copy how Keith danced, how they all danced for that matter, so if anything I’ll always owe him an indirect debt for any coherent ability I have for moving my body to a high-tempo rhythm. Out of Space and No Good especially. That was mostly in my infancy. A decade or so on, that connection got more personal.

Largely ignoring everything that happened with Always Outnumbered…, though not without its own merits, to date the only Prodigy album I actually own (although likely to change in the future) is Invaders Must Die. This album was on heavy rotation on my stereo after it came out, and came about a time when there was a lot of transitions in my life, namely finishing up high school and beginning to change things about my appearance, like hair colour, Keith being the very first person I ever saw with abnormal hair colour. Front to back this album was full of gems, and something always struck me about Run With The Wolves, not just because it’s solely Keith on vocal duty, and the drums recorded by Dave Grohl who may be my favourite human being ever, but there was this degree of authenticity amongst the anarchy. Keith’s sneer compliments the abrasive modular synths perfectly, the thunderous yet technical live drums propelling it far beyond album filler, and I fully believe this slice of electro-punk madness, no matter how iconic Firestarter and Breathe are, is his finest moment and the song he was meant to sing.

Going back to Breathe again for a moment, I was fortunate enough to see The Prodigy on two occasions. Their esteemed Warrior’s Dance Festival show at Milton Keynes Bowl in 2010, and at Sonisphere in 2014. For Warrior’s Dance Festival, my hair was dyed completely blue, in a bright UV yellow t-shirt, in a crowd of 65,000 people and I still managed to stand out. But in that moment of the opening notes of Breathe playing out into a sold-out ram packed amphitheatre, the rapture of being surrounded by tens of thousands bellowing out that chorus is unlike many experiences I’ve ever had before. It’s certainly the loudest I remember. I watched footage back of that moment recently and it gave me goosebumps. Hearing Keith’s snarls in the flesh resonates as strongly and vividly, as it did well over a decade ago on MTV. The Sonisphere performance is a lot more hazy in my recollection, but the MK Bowl show is without doubt one of my favourite live shows I have ever attended.

Since then, the new Prodigy releases always piqued my interest, and I lifted the songs I enjoyed from the two new albums since Invaders Must Die, some became songs I played in DJ sets, but I can’t deny I wasn’t as invested in them as heavily. I still haven’t worked out why to this day.

The day Keith Flint died, I was distraught. I cried a lot. I cried even more when his death was ruled a suicide. It didn’t make sense to me because I’ve always associated the music of The Prodigy to periods of elation in my life, and this year is already becoming one of my better years after the last 18 months of non-stop turbulence and uncertainties. The fact his irreplaceable voice, and larger than life stage persona no longer exists on this planet, nor will make any more appearances is a pill I’m struggling to swallow. Not to cast shadows on any other recent tragedies, but an illustration to give you an idea of how crushing an effect this has had on me; Chester Bennington’s death was like losing a best friend at one of the most difficult points of my life. The death of Keith Flint is like losing a close family member, someone whose presence has been felt consistently throughout my life, that their musical contributions have been so ingrained into who I was, and who I’ve become, from a very young age. This news hurt, it still hurts, and it feels like an important part of my soul was extinguished on that dreadful day.

Almost since day one, The Prodigy has had a profound impact on my life, and to be in the knowledge that its heart will never beat again, leaves me in perpetual sorrow.

Thank you Keith.

Rest in peace.

It’s OK to ask for help. If you want someone to talk to, or someone to listen, please call Samaritans, or seek your local mental health charity. There is always someone willing to hear you out. Never suffer in silence.

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Track of the Week: Drip Fed Empire – Mk3

Out of many of the UK’s numerous cities, Bristol has always seemed the crux of a cultural zeitgeist, especially when it focuses on the world of music. Without needing to retread too much ground, it’s been richly documented how influential the city has been in electronic music, giving the world both trip-hop and drum and bass, the latter of which is still thriving within the city to this day. Yet as forward-thinking and exceptionally acclaimed its producers and electronic maestros are, the city seems to have struggled to create breakout metal, or dare I say it, even rock bands throughout the decades. Idles are now a household name with their BRITs nod, so they can assertively chalk one up on the tally, and Valis Ablaze recognisable thanks to ventures overseas, but other than perhaps Onslaught, Turbowolf or Vice Squad, among the famed names of this fine city’s musical alumni, guitars look like they went out of fashion at the turn of the millennium. Lying in wait however, cloaked deep within Bristol’s impossibly diverse sonic underground, is a band that pays homage to its criminally overlooked punk heritage, embraces its obsession with boundary-shattering electronics, and represents the city’s colours for metal on the national stage. That band is Drip Fed Empire.

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They might not be the first band to smash a myriad of electronic genres together with metal, but they might be the most visceral one active. Alluding to the dystopian universe they create their music inside, even at first glance, Drip-Fed Empire is a petrifyingly close-to-home namesake to what our future could hold, should we continue our annihilation of Earth’s resources, or even a sly acknowledgement to the UK’s past atrocities, infamously grappling with its numerous colonies and infrastructures. Irrespective of past or future tense, the present is what dimension this new wave of crossover aggression dwells within, and presently sit the third iteration of this group since their inception in early 2015. And what better way to introduce the world to a third strike of metal-charged mayhem, than Smile You’re On CCTV’s opener Mk3.

The chimes of a bell, brought to life through synth, melodic yet foreboding, ease listeners in, but that ease is merely fleeting in an anthem that sounds like it’s set about triggering the apocalypse. What equates in atmosphere to a rush of wind, bubbles beneath the surface before being pitch-bent upwards and gathering magnitude at such a pace, that the resulting drop is absolutely startling. A monstrous bassline rips through the fabric of space and time, the sheer ferocity of this shockwave playing perfect host to the chaos and intensity to follow. A guttural bark spews forth, briefly transitioning into a blood-curdling scream, then back to its marginally restrained capacity, almost as if briefly escaping the chains of its handler. The bassline thrashes and snarls underneath it, with the mechanical precision of hard but pristine kick and snare rocketing Mk3 along, and a squelchy, near extraterrestrial variant on the opening bells providing one of the best earworms you’ll hear all year, while paying tribute to the jump-up generation of drum and bass. The bass is silenced, opening the floor for sporadic but focused guitar, interspersed with heavily distorted record scratches, contrasting with the continual barking, and drums that here present a little more finesse than the standard 170bpm backbone of kick and snare. That now familiar bassline eruption returns, and once again we dash into the conflagration, the unbridled energy of this track is capable of producing. And that’s only in the first minute and a half. In the remaining three minutes, you get three seperate breakdowns: one in which the guitar brings forth a little virtuosity of its own, a second in which the extraterrestrial synth hook goes haywire and on a rampage, in a burst of pure joyous jump-up bedlam that would make competent DnB producers blush, and the final, shifting the gear into a violent, half-time behemoth of a breakdown, exhibiting the true wrath and incendiary nature of the group, and its instrumental arsenal.

It bears repeating; Drip Fed Empire are certifiably a band with endless potential, with their amalgamation of bass, beats, and beatdowns, with a touch of their own vitriolic flair, forming some of the most electrifying songwriting the world has yet to latch onto. Remember this name, this band is going to be special. Bristol has even more to be proud of in these gentlemen.

 

These gentlemen are on tour from April onwards so if you wish to see them, make sure you check they’re near you soon, or contact your local promoter to bring them to a venue near you.  Smile You’re On CCTV is out now on all respectable online music retailers and their discography is also available on Bandcamp. You can also pick up merch from their Big Cartel site too.

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The Soundshark Artists of The Year 2018 – Lotus Eater

The first month of the year always brings forth the time to look ahead to the next 11 months of what we all hope will be a monument in each of our lives, but it also serves as a stopping point to reflect on our previous rotation around the Sun and everything that happened in that particular snapshot of our lives. Safe to say, 2018 was not short on stellar musical performances and releases whatsoever, it may have been among the strongest years of this decade undoubtedly. While this site is often not bound by dates nor limitations, the strength of the music that bands and artists have produced this year was simply staggering, staggering to the degree that recognising and commending it as such had to be the course of action. So when it came to deciding which bands or musicians should be in contention for this accolade, this shortlist wasn’t so short. However, in terms of sheer hard graft, songwriting, endless energy on and off stage and their frankly indescribable success this year, none were more deserving than Glasgow’s finest wrecking crew, Lotus Eater.

For context, Lotus Eater entered 2018 with a handful of music videos detailing their ferocious, laser-tight, tech-metal onslaught, pining for violence and bloodlust, from their crushingly heavy debut EP. They enter 2019 with a record label, even more European show dates, countless festivals under their belt, Radio One Rock Show airplay, and with a reputation as one of the UK’s most nerve-shredding live bands. In the space of 12 months and with less than ten recorded songs. If you want the definition of meteoric rise, then this is it. Even side-by-side with their brothers in brutality Loathe, who’ve had a similar build in exponential growth this year, that is a truly astonishing feat.

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Bathed from head to toe in green, these snarling, seething verses from the throats of real, pissed off, and disenfranchised youth is not a commodity. It’s an experience, an exhibition, an exercise of conveying unchained aggression and pure cathartic release, in one of the most devastating fashions likely to grace auditory nerves. Their guitars scream in the most vindictive and vengeful tones imaginable, yet while it becomes the sonic equivalent taking a breezeblock to the skull, their sense of groove twists this into some of the most unique and innovative hooks tech-metal has yet to produce. As musicians, their meddling with time signatures is surprisingly complex, given their vast emphasis on blunt force trauma, so their raw skill and ability should never be downplayed. Even in atmosphere and ambience, there is an unrelenting dread and malice that strays far from being overbearing and slots perfectly into this volatile formula. Not everything is rooted in vehemence, you get occasional clean vocals that may seem an oddity amongst such bleak and barbaric displays, it is but another tool they transform into a hook and sinks their stories even further into your brain.

Lotus Eater create music, that is as intense and personal as structured chaos gets. A band so relevant and immediate, that from the poverty-ridden streets of the UK’s third most populous city, understands despair, hardship, and disadvantage better than some take for granted, and expel their rage into mantras with more than a healthy fucking dose of reality behind it. Once this surfaces, why they have resonated with so many, so quickly becomes a no-brainer. Their desire and fervour to bring gloom worldwide, with a small but captivating and concise catalogue has to be applauded. Gloom is their home, and everyone is welcome.

Five essential Lotus Eater tracks:

 

All of Lotus Eater’s music can be found on Bandcamp and your reputable online retailers. You can grab all other merch and the likes from their Bigcartel page, but everything sells out fast, so act quickly on that front. They are currently signed to Hopeless Records, and chances are this will herald new music in 2019, so watch this space. They also begin a headline live run from January, and support dates that run into February. Find them all here, or hit up your local promoter to bring them to a venue near you.

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Another 10 Great Bands To Listen To While You Wait For The New Tool Album

On the 11th March 2018, something short of ground-breaking was announced on the social media outlets of one of the world’s most renowned progressive metal groups. Tool had entered the studio to record what has become their now fabled follow-up to 2006’s 10,000 Days. While this news has become a revelation and an answer to many a collective prayer (or keyboard warrior whinging, depending on how you view it), Maynard himself put on record at Metal Hammer’s Golden Gods ceremony that the new Tool album will most likely see the light of day in 2019. Affirmation is one thing, and commitment another, and while 2019 is just around the corner, chances are that will be the absolute bare minimum Tool’s global cult following will have to wait for a new sonic masterpiece. One more year after the twelve of relentless internet hyperbole and immeasurable anticipation that proceeded it, is surely doable, right?

Instead of preparing for what may end up becoming a mass exodus from the workplace on the day that album is released, and following the unexpected success of this article’s predecessor, The Soundshark has put together ten more bands from the underground, worthy of your time, until the musical gap has been bridged by the band themselves. To touch upon briefly from previous feedback, you won’t find Karnivool on this list, or any other list on this site themed similarly, as while not entirely known around the planet at present, they’ve had large enough worldwide success to be able to tour anywhere they see fit, which surely evolves beyond underground status.

Semantics aside, let’s begin:

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Futures Are Changing, But Their Futures Are Still Black

The following account is of factual events that took place on the 27th October 2016, between the hours of 7 and 10pm. No details of this account have ever been made public. Until now.

I’m early. I’m not often early for a lot of things. In fact, I’m so early I have to wander up and down the street and take refuge in one of the cheapest London pubs I’ve ever set inside, waiting for to validate my invitation. But a little after 8pm, a gentleman sporting the Black Futures insignia arrives outside Wandsworth Town station, I weave the password into my conversation with him and he presents me with a blindfold, and told to await transport to the secret location. Of what I know of Black Futures media, their imagery resembles some kind of VHS propaganda reel, but nothing that was to resemble the theatricality of what was about to happen.

Once enough attendees had gathered, the chauffeur asked us to enter the transport and put on our blindfolds. In the brief journey towards the venue, around about 5-10 minutes in length, there was music playing under the guise of Black Futures Radio; short instrumental MIDI renditions of songs, interspersed between stingers and amusing interjections from its monotonous host. I seem to remember the best one about ‘having a funny feeling in my nether regions,’ or something similar at least. Little were we to know at that time, that what was unconsciously infiltrating our ear drums was a mere taster of the sonic assault to come. While the radio provided some light relief and entertainment, it didn’t stop the feeling of foreboding, being driven around on London streets, in a vehicle full of strangers, to a location you knew nothing about.

At the location, I just about made the shadow of gates opening before the path, and driving down to what looked like an abandoned film set of sorts. Outside, flanked by personnel in hazmat suits taking photographs of every attendee, heavies in suits instructed us to place our phones in envelopes or we would be refused entry. Happy to oblige, I did so without first telling my other half that I wouldn’t be able to be contacted for an unspecified amount of time. You can imagine how that went, especially after telling her the last thing that happened was that I was just given a blindfold. Anyway, we were directed left into a room, filled with more hazmat personnel and two giant dispensers filled with ‘social lubricants’. The drinks could only be dispensed by ringing a bell, or honking a horn, dependent on which you wanted. The folk in the suits and googles remained silent throughout, pulling glasses from underneath which they kindly filled and only once pouring half a litre of gin, to top up the more popular of the two dispensers. Yikes. The room itself had little in the way of furnishings with two sofas, in a room filled about thirty odd people, but was filled with very curious paintings, photographs and instruments around. It seemed elaborate, like a lot of thought had been put into the decoration of this venue, deliberately like some kind of scientific experiment and we were the test subjects.

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After a period of time for guests to mingle with one another, the room opposite in the hallway is unlocked, and we are welcomed inside a studio, outputting a frequency that feels like its properties could brainwash onlookers if exposed to in the right circumstances. Maybe that was the idea. But beyond the mixing desk and monitors, lay drums, microphones, a keyboard and a guitar, and a curious wall in the background which had a screen display inside what resembled a large sewage pipe opening. The door is then closed, the frequency is shut off and with the onlookers and myself all making ourselves as comfortable as possible, the producers known only to the world as SPACE and VIBES slowly emerge from the darkness and start the show.

With their first song, distorted, crunchy guitar opening up proceedings and thunderous booms of bass, before erupting into an apocalyptic big-beat bombshell that would bring a tear to Liam Howlett’s eye. The scathing refrain of ‘ten minutes to the end of the world,’ is unnervingly relevant, given the earth-shattering size of the music that surrounds it, and the visual element of strobe lighting in the performance really enforced the urgency and magnitude of their two-pronged attack. After three and a half minutes of electrifying energy, the storm subsides and you could be mistaken for thinking for more of the same is on the way. But this is where things begin to change, instead revealing a whole new dimension of influences that made for a truly mesmerising listen. Straight into now brand new single Karma Ya Dig!?, waves of reverb and delay wash over both sets of vocals and synths, unveiling a strangely soothing psychedelic ambience that certainly caught me by surprise. These two gentlemen’s vocals also harmonise so well together, that the phrase ‘I’ll see you on the other side,’ has lingered ever-presently in my subconscious since this day. A pseudo-industrial stomp gets us underway with a near punk-like sneer taking vocal duties, marching us towards a titanic guitar riff that wouldn’t go amiss in Britpop’s heyday and an overall vibe that feels reminiscent of The Chemical Brothers, albeit slowed to a pace you can headbang to. It certainly affirms that the big beat era of dance music circa 1990 onwards, has had a profound effect on this material. As if today’s electronic music producers and a punk band recorded together in a garage. It’s gritty, intense and energetic but without sounding lo-fi or unpolished. Astronomically far from it.

I must admit, that while their eight song set was nothing short of inspiring, it moved in a blur. I recall one track that had a dancehall style beat, some later present indie rock style influences and one track that which reminded me firmly of Does It Offend You, Yeah?, which in their own whirlwind of genre-smashing, is nothing but a compliment. They are an absolute sum of the parts of the people that work as the unit. SPACE, an in-demand punk and hardcore producer, with a reputation in the desert rock community to boot, and VIBES, a multi-talented instrumentalist and electronic music producer, that works with an abundance of live acts in and around London. Their union has formed something undeniably unique, and witnessing the translation of their chemistry together in the flesh with such a striking and impactful live performance, and the interactivity before the performance even took place, has made me fall in love with these gentlemen and get overexcited over what was to come. It truly was a privilege to be invited along and be part of this undoubtedly intriguing and involving movement.

The opportunity to see it for yourselves, lies on the 5th October at Bloc in Hackney, 8:30pm start. Prepare for an immersive dance experience unlike any you’ve ever encountered. If you want a further testimonial, I left that night with new friends, whom I realised I shared a closer connection to, than just being attendees to this exclusive performance. And I’m often a painfully awkward individual. If that isn’t something that asserts the power or the spiritual significance of the Black Futures experience, then I don’t know what will.

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