Untitled 12”

Produced somewhere between a basement in Brussels and an attic in the outskirts of Paris, back when tape reel to reels, primitive rhythm boxes and analogue synths still carried a vague promise of the future, this music translated a certain atomic paranoia fuelled by the cold war industry. Lo-fi music, abrasive, high pressure, dense, clipped to the max, like it was intended to punish any woofer that gets between it and the air.