Buscar:human machine

‘You are behind the damn wheel every day and you don’t even know it’ , weightily remarks Powerplant’s band leader Theo Zhykharyev on the reading of his latest single. London-based project signals the return to signature formula of marching drum machines and wailing synthesisers, matured by life experiencing of prolonged touring. ’Car is life, brother. Sometimes you drive it, other times - the car drives you. And, statistically, we’ll all see the airbags go off sooner than later as consequence of choices made by us or onto us, consciously or not.’
Crashing Cars breaks out the gates to the heavy low end driven dance floor. ‘I was listening to a lot of Bladee when I wrote it and needed a similar thick kick to get you moving’, says Theo. Its an emotionally loaded cannon of a track that will keep you in its grip until it has run its course and told its story. Yearning from connection unfulfilled, rings out through the heartbroken and weeping synth and choir lines. The ever-morphing and dynamic bass works in tandem with razor sharp guitars. The instrumentation, through combined ‘no looking back’ forward charge and immediacy, conjure a manic and emotional forward momentum, which rings out in the song’s lyrics. The vocal performance ranges from the trademark Powerplant goblin squeaks, to more mature, tour-hardened singing. On a sonic aesthetic level, Crashing Cars vibrates in a familiar fashion to Powerplant’s biggest hit Dungen. However, this time far less playful and harder hitting. Described as the fallout of “avoiding, chasing and running away”, lyrically it paints a dead end in human relationships concluding it car-crash heading for the scrapyard. The song concludes with a loaded four line spoken word poetry segment, that hangs over the fleeting outro.
The B side of the single, Never Smile, rolls the speed back, but throws in jangly guitar hooks and bouncy bass lines. Zhykharyev’s vocals sit in a lower register, hence are more stoic and melancholic. If this track had to be a day of the week, it would be a calm, introspective Sunday. With lyrics about looking into evil omens, the sky and reading people as ‘not something different’, it paints an ambiguous, but heavy conclusion about the world and its people. It tells a story about circumstantially settling into an identity and playing the assigned part for the convenience of the external world. It’s easier to fit than to stand apart. It's a perfect balance of mid-tempo radio-rock that builds and changes, before exploding into a shaggy guitar solo, only to go into an unexpected ethereal outro and this 7”s crescendo.
‘Both of these songs are kinda old now, sitting at around 4 years old. And although I haven’t changed the lyrics since then, I somehow find new meaning in them as time goes on. Being Ukrainian and going into the fourth year of the full scale Russian invasion back home, the chorus “my death to you - a better price to pay” makes a lot of sense looking at how the world powers are trying to spin the devastation of my people for a quick profit and an easier life for themselves. This single coming out now at this very point in my life feels both profound and very ironic. Life never ends’, summarises Zhykharyev.

2025 Repress

A tale of paramount love for machines and the inextinguishable power of subjugation that lies in these button-studded boxes teeming with cabled bowels that feel so intimidating to the uninitiated, Italo Brutalo's longed-for debut album "Heartware" is a 12-track voyage across 25 years of intense synth collecting, fiddling,
composing and endless loving for audio synthesis and the art of how robots make human bodies jack.
Throughout the twelve cuts that compose "Heartware", a feeling of retro-gazing, candidly playful glee prevails. Looking right in the eye of the era when dazzling flipper visuals and static-filled VHS glitches
reigned supreme, Italo Brutalo invites us to witness first-hand his own textbook smorgasbord of fast-wheeling arpeggios and vocodized hoodoo ("Heartware", "Reach Horizon"), dystopian digital sunsets by the beach ("I Feel Lonely"), early hip-hop-informed whackin' n' thumpin' ("Analog Bars") and the slo but hard churn of a robot heist score ("Nobody Moves").
A lush tapestry of woozy exotic pads set in contrast with a deft and aggro drum programming ("As Above So Below"), followed by a new-beat oriented hammer-drop that shall leave no raver unscathed ("Heat of the Knight"), Italo Brutalo shifts the scope to radical effect whilst maintaining that cohesive headspace flush with the iconic 80s-to-90s-sourced assets. The hardware used in the making of "Heartware" is obviously the star here, and the inner sleeve pays tribute to that: the ideas behind the album have been there waiting to find their way out for over twenty years!
From adrenalin-boosting fractals of keyboard razzle-dazzle ("Chemical Element") to straight out pumping EBM primed for hi-octane mosh pits down the basement ("You Are Welcome"), via polyrhytmic percs-driven assaults and sizzling hot synth-smithery ("Into a Sampler"), the pressure levels never falter. Yet, Italo Brutalo sure knows how to weave further oneiric, softer narratives for your mind to frolic in unhindered ("Dream Machine") and rounds it all off with a total, space-opera'esque epic bound to have you spinning out of orbit into the great unknown ("Eternia").
"Heartware" is released in a neat double-vinyl gatefold package presenting the concept and machines involved in its making, including a twelve-page booklet featuring Italo Brutalo's key pieces of gear.

Hailing from Naarm/Melbourne, punk trio CLAMM—comprising Jack Summers, Miles Harding, and Stella Rennex—delve into the tumultuous experience of youth striving to lead an authentic and principled life in an increasingly chaotic world. Their music confronts the challenges of navigating entrenched systems of power and oppression while striving to preserve mental well-being and a strong sense of self. Through their raw and visceral sound, CLAMM aspires to foster community, ignite creativity, and provide a channel for catharsis.



Serious Acts continues the band’s signature raw intensity, with frontman Summer’s commanding vocals and incisive lyricism delving deep into the highs and lows of human existence.

NOW is pleased to announce the next addition in the Millennium series NOW –the ultimate celebration of the finest pop hits from the 2000s . NOW – Millennium 2008-2009, bringing the first decade to a close – out September 27th! Available on STD 4CD set and a special edition 84-track 4CD set is housed in ‘hard-back-book’ packaging, including a 28-page booklet summary of the years and a track-by-track guide and 30 tracks across 2LP’s, pressed in a Gorgeous Gold and a White Vinyl, showcasing some of the most iconic sounds of the noughties!

Following his previous appearance on Kevin Saunderson’s KMS Records 11 years ago, Tomio Ueda returns with "nonbot EP" and the debut of his own vinyl imprint, bounce connection records.

Each of the four tracks question the boundary between human error and machine precision blending hypnotic basslines, pads reminiscent of 90's Detroit techno, hardgroove-style percussion, and plenty of mind-bending surprises.

Early support from Dax J, Richie Hawtin, Kangding Ray, A Thousand Details, Answer Code Request, Slam, Takaaki Itoh, Perc, Online Narcotics, and HAMY

Hand-stamped black vinyl in white jacket and polyline

Limited pressing of 100 available

Following the hyperactive “Blood Karaoke” (2022, Reading Group), “Performing Belief” builds rhythmic thickets from gathered sounds interwoven with synths, drum machines and other samples. Having built these rhythmic nests, Krivchenia then called on two contemporary mages of the low end: electric bassist and fellow Angeleno Sam Wilkes (Wilkes/Gendel) and double bassist/multi-instrumentalist from Krivchenia’s native Chicago, Joshua Abrams (Natural Information Society). Wilkes and Abrams bring the presence of a grounding human witness to the rhythmic undergrowth, providing a centering and even at times melodic voice to the gathering. This alchemy carries a profoundly fresh sense of time, blurring the edges of the quantized grid and the generic boundaries of electronic music.

The core of the album is a lush, opulent matrix of percussion ranging from the familiar—hand claps and drum machines—to the mysteriously verdant, sampled largely from Krivchenia’s own performed field recorded collection. For years, he would record any and all of his musical encounters with natural objects: performing on a particularly resonant log on a hike, throwing rocks into a pristine pond, tap dancing in the mud. This archive of “natural” sounds became the fertile soil out of which the tracks on “Performing Belief” grew. What is gained in the process is not just a novel set of sounds, but a new rhythmic language. The particular give, the anticipatory rustle, the extra breath of a hollow log when functioning as a kickdrum provides a greenness that overtakes the rhythmic grid, giving this music a peculiar kind of stickiness. This rhythmic language, set in Krivchenia’s long-fermenting electronic musical palate, feels like a revelation, even while it calls back not only to his wonderfully elastic timekeeping behind the kit with his beloved band Big Thief, but also to his prior work in computer music as well as his deep study and love of the vast human archive of drumming. “Performing Belief” is in good company in the rank and file of the legendary Planet Mu label. From the foundational early releases of the likes of Jega and Venetian Snares, to the contemporary envelope-warping work of Jlin and hundreds of brilliant releases in between, Planet Mu has been a beacon of forward-thinking rhythmic music for decades, informing Krivchenia’s own sense of the weird metaphysics of musical time since he was a kid. Krivchenia’s contribution to this history calls to mind the principle of organic danceability that subtends Mu’s whole catalogue, while bending our sense of rhythm in new and gracious dimensions. Krivchenia brings out the loamy complexity of natural rhythms, a clearing as generous as it is inviting. Let the drummer give you some.

Isabelline curator and label head Practitioner reveals a stunning selection of his own archival productions with 'Portobello Innocent', the third release on the mysterious and acclaimed Berlin-based imprint. Recorded between 2016 - 2024, these «ve selected works offer a broad look into Practitioner’s sonic sphere. Introspective club re¬ections that cover a grand scope of machine-translated human emotions. The EP feels like a dug-up lost tape, timeless tracks untouched by current modes or trends, each composition progressively digging deeper into unknown chasms of the enigmatic producers' distinct sound.

Raisina - A hypnotic club track featuring sharp drum machine rhythms and a prominent vocal sample from a 1960s North African love song, creating an alluring and surreally beautiful opener. Well-Behaved Boys - Pulsating, shu®ing techno drums take front and centre, as warped frequencies from raves of a bygone era tune in and out, ¬ickering between past and present with frenetic rhythms and spoken fragments. Form & Emblem - An effervescent ambient interlude, its shimmering textures and layered atmospheres provide a meditative pause amidst the EP’s harder edges. Kala - Hazy and dreamlike, this track layers a wandering dub bassline under a steady house beat, glimmering jazz chords and ethereal textures surround the sonic sphere, evoking ¬ickering memories and lingering mystery. Council - A relentless, bassheavy techno groover with sharp vocal cuts and infectious energy. Council feels like a culmination of all that camebefore, resulting in a hypnotic and kinetic underground offering that feels in«nite. With 'Portobello Innocent', Practitioner offers a rare glimpse into his abstract realm, crafting magnetic spaces between memory and rhythm, the ancient and the future, the human and machine.

(10x12" box set, limited to 1000 copies, with premium finishing, uniquely numbered, incl. 10 records in individually printed sleeves, a booklet detailing the club's history & exclusive stickers) Boccaccio has secured its place among legendary venueslike Paradise Garage in New York and The Hacçinda in Manchester. Its bold fusion of emerging electronic genres such as New Beat, Acid, House, and Techno was way ahead of its time, drawing music lovers and clubbers from across Belgium and beyond.



Belgian label Music Man Records presents Boccaccio Life 1987-1993, a new compilation offering a fresh perspective on the legacy of the iconic Belgian club Boccaccio - often associated with the short-lived New Beat movement. The 40-track compilation highlights the raw and futuristic early house and techno sounds that were heard in the pioneering club.

Located in rural Destelbergen (Belgium), just a stone's throw from Ghent, Boccaccio has secured its place among legendary venues like Paradise Garage in New York and The Hacçinda in Manchester. Its bold fusion of emerging electronic genres such as New Beat, Acid, House, and Techno was way ahead of its time, drawing music lovers and clubbers from across Belgium and beyond. Sundays at Boccaccio were unlike anywhere else-offering sounds you couldn't hear anywhere else.

Boccaccio Life 1987-1993 is carefully curated by resident DJ Olivier Pieters and club regular Stefaan Vandenberghe, standing as the ultimate testament to a club that was more than just a venue. For those who experienced it, it was a community - a way of life. Hence the club's full name: Boccaccio Life.

This compilation stands as a testament to an innovative time in electronic music, capturing the raw, futuristic sounds of early house and techno. It sheds light on another side of Boccaccio, one that goes far beyond the short-lived New Beat scene. A carefully curated selection of 40 tracks, resonating with those who were there by offering familiar classics, while also reaching a new generation-those who never experienced it firsthand.

With tracks from Blake Baxter, Virgo, Frankie Knuckles, Tyree, and A Guy Called Gerald, the unmistakable influence of black American pioneers is clear-the originators of the firstanalog house and techno sounds. On the other hand, UK sound innovators such as The Orb and LFO bring both sharp textures and rough breakbeats to the table.

Club staple tracks include dreamy excursions from Roger Sanchez under his Egotrip moniker, the relentless basement house of Circus Bells by Robert Armani on Dance Mania, an uplifting take on a hip-house cut from The D.O.C. (Portrait of A Masterpiece in the CJ Ed-Did-It Mix), a timeless remix of UK Formation's Age of Chance from 1994, and an alternate take on The Tape by Boccaccio club regular and Belgian producer Frank De Wulf, taken from his B-Sides project.

While not always the obvious hits, these tracks have gracefully withstood the test of time, and were exclusive to Sundays at Boccaccio. Now, they are finally available to experience together in one collection, offering a timeless snapshot of a unique era.

Doomed Utility is the debut album by Alex Wang, a bass-heavy, noisy, and abstract work that blends industrial and club music into an unsettling soundscape.

Sound existed before there were human ears to hear it—ancient and eternal, as silence itself. In the first few hundred thousand years after our cosmos was born, a deep hum traveled through a plasma of hot particles, eventually finding its way into our machines. Now, computers weave a web of sound around us, abstracting from meaning, pleasure, or melody, crafting disharmonies that dig into us raw.

In Doomed Utility, that primordial hum resurfaces—fractured, raw, and discordant—pulling us into rhythms of exhaustion, exhilaration, and annihilation.

This is a sound that doesn’t merely enter us; it claims us. It lingers, waits—hungry. It tears through cognition and rips through bodies. We may have no obvious use for it, but it has a use for us.

Computer sound perpetuates itself through our ears, our thoughts, and our human culture. It recalls all things, binds all things, moves all things. We are its resources, its vessels for messages not yet decoded, and for purposes yet unknown.

Roll up Roll up! We have a very tasty package for APPIAN019 and have reverted to a Various Artist format for this one. Here we share 4 sets of artists that have been on our radar for some time - some new joiners to Appian and some old friends : ) We think each track stands out from their past discographies and offers something special.

Timeless cuts to suit all intimate dance floors.

12" Release. Artwork By Philip Mitton.

Hope you enjoy : )

Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.

It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.

Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.

In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.

No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.

For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.

“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy."

"“We can still hold the line of beauty, form, and beat. No small accomplishment in a world as challenging as this one... hard times require furious dancing. Each of us is proof” Alice Walker, Hard Times Require Furious Dancing

Snapped Ankles have given up trying to make sense of it all. The forest only offers so much protection. Feeding on a diet of fractured narratives, meme culture, viral moments and the very worst of human impulses weighs heavy. The woodwose hold up a mirror to the absurdity of modern life once again. The only sane response is to dance. Make your way to the clearing, gather around the megalith of speakers, drum machines, amps and synthesisers and dance like there’s no tomorrow.

Hard Times Furious Dancing is an invitation to all those lost in the unrelenting noise of the present, to leave it all behind and come together in the forest. Driven by the primitive thrust of their single-oscillator ‘log’ synths, high and low culture collide in a surreal, free flowing narrative - but the rhythm is universal. This is easily the closest Snapped Ankles have come to capturing their rapturous live energy in the studio.

The sound of Hard Times Furious Dancing evolved at Snapped Ankles’ South London ‘Forest Rayve’ club nights in 2024 in response to that age-old primal urge to bring people together and make them move. It’s the first time the woodwose have road tested new material to this extent before committing it to tape since debut album Come Play The Trees, and in doing so have harnessed that feral energy once again. This surreal human/woodwose connection is the very best release from an algorithm that knows you better than you know yourself. Dance it all loose."

GU are very proud to present a brand new City Series from Montreal. Joseph Capriati is one of the scene’s most in demand headliners and he delivers a masterclass in music with this journey through house and techno. Featuring tracks & remixes from Louie Vega, Solomun, Âme, Carl Cox, Deetron, Marc Romboy & Oliver Huntemann, Len Faki & more. "If you close your eyes you might find yourself in a loft party in ‘90s Montreal dancing while the sun rises" (ALICE AUSTIN)

An imperial phase Actress commits a lushly amorphous installation piece made for the Berliner Festspiele to vinyl, rendering a post-industrial symphony full of iridescent shifts in gyring, OOBE-like spatial coordinates landing somewhere between nutopian ambient, kankyō ongaku and sawn-off bass science.

‘Grey Interiors’ was made in collaboration with Actual Objects and is an absorbing animation and navigation of those post-human ideals that have prompted Darren J. Cunningham to his best work across the preceding two decades. In its hypnagogic symphony of the elements, he short-circuits distinctions of classical music’s metric freedoms and the hyperspatial sensuality of concrète/electro-acoustic and ambient musics with an artistic license that has come to distinguish his work in the contemporary field, and arguably identified him as this generation’s most vital electronic abstractionist.

The first half of the album is bewitchingly airless, materialised in a twinkling vacuum. Naturalistic environmental recordings and a half-heard piano swirl around nauseous airlock whooshes and eerie bass drones. It's all pulverised to a powdery, shimmering residue; if Actress's music is defined by its character and texture - that sweet spot between the bedroom and the soundsystem - then this one advances the narrative without losing its backbone. And like a lot of his best work, it comes into its own on the back of zonked eyelids, conjuring a play of shifting geometric patterns within its imaginary physics and nuanced narration of ephemeral melodic phrasing and vaporous textures.

At about the halfway point, that dissociated piano finds its groove, coalescing into a jerky drum machine rhythm popping like bubbles in the stifling atmosphere. We can draw some intersecting lines here thru electronic music lore - traces of vintage AE, Push Button Objects, UR - but Actress always leaves an indelible fingerprint on anything he touches. Even when he's rubbing against the gallery-industrial complex, he manages to fill a stagnant space with electricity and wit; look at the title itself: is it a reference to the "landscape beyond man" as the installation's press release might have us believe, or the institutions themselves?

Repressed LP on Neon Orange Vinyl, includes download card. It feels like someone left the light on in the studio and it all just ran itself, there had been a funky human input earlier in the day but, by a Darwinian machine-led kind of osmosis, the tracks recorded spent the wee small hours self-reducing and simplifying themselves. Marinated in music. “I believe more in the scissors than I do in the pencil,” said Truman Capote. ”Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication,” opined Leonardo da Vinci much earlier in proceedings. Yes, it’s the space around the object, what you leave out that makes what you leave in so important. ESG know this. Sure they can play the game but it’s the swagger of the groove and the minimal topping – like an anti-cup cake – that makes this unique New York sisterhood so appealing on ‘Keep On Moving’. Sampled on TV ads, lauded by critics and swooned over on the dancefloor, ESG’s post-punk took out the grunge and polished the basics. Cut them open and “less is more” is written all the way through. ‘Keep On Moving’ was released over ten years ago to much praise (Q said it was “even better” than 2002’s much loved ‘Step Off’). ESG had been sparring partners for PiL and early hip hop and four years after the ‘Off’, they were onto something new – rhythm as core, reflective storylines about relationship management, sensuality and insanity gather around the bass fix but they’re much blurrier than the incessant beats. Inadvertently they unmask techno and glitch and leave out any kind of superfluous fluff. It’s hard and temple throbbing. Turn it up. And keep moving. “If there's one tune which sums up ESG's enduring lust for life, it's the beautifully-judged Black Flag/early techno crossover of the closing 'Gimme A Blast'.” The Guardian 5/5 // “This album's every percussive aspect has been honed to impart the maximum amount of pleasure.” The Observer // “Despite their influence on younger bands (you can hear LCD Soundsystem's knobbly grooves on ‘Insane’), ESG still sound like nothing else.” The Guardian

"At the end of the day, a new one begins. Sometimes dust covers the wounded human spirits, nebulizing their ambitious world with melancholy from some far place. Today we met and melded our emotions. Improvisation is the art of becoming sound. Loose lyrics on Hollywood dreams, galaxy economy, and algorithm poetry, banned and warped in drama industrial, synth-journey-music, ghost pop, anger electronics, and analogue deserts. Improvised recording sessions for epochs where head liquefies the concrete. It’s all about fashion, now, that we have recession. Dressed to kill with murder fabrics. The anger of the machines. The happiness in their language. Inkasso & ML asked themselves"