Posts Tagged ‘Techno’

OMEN CODE reveal the pulsating and vibrant new SF-track ‘Tensor’ as the sinister final advance single taken from their forthcoming album Alpha State. The debut full-length has been announced to be released on December 5, 2025.

OMEN CODE comment on ‘Tensor’: “This was the second Omen Code track that I have recorded as a vocalist”, frontman Agi Taralas reveals. “Everything about it came very natural to me and exactly in the way that the vocals turned out in the end. As far as I am concerned, this track includes a few Nitzer Ebb tribute moments, which is hardly a surprise as they have largely shaped my personal preferences in electronic music.”

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With their debut album Alpha State, OMEN CODE deliver the sound of the future – and the future is grim and dark! Their future is also firmly built upon the remains of the past. Certainly constructed to fill the dance floor, the international duo channels the bleak, cold precision of mid-tempo FRONT LINE ASSEMBLY and the cinematic story-telling soundscapes of John Carpenter electronics into a thrilling sound that is both resurrecting a classic 80s vibe and also fresh at the same time.

OMEN CODE are the new rising star on the EBM firmament. Deep, dark, and gritty industrial sounds are channelled into captivating mid-tempo tracks that create the atmospheric feeling of a dystopian future ruled by technology and marked by social decline.

This grimdark science fiction approach is not meant to indicate that OMEN CODE embrace any political agenda or message. Rather the international duo took inspiration from the writings of Philip K. Dick and Alfred Bester as well as cinematic masterpieces by British director Ridley Scott such as Alien and Blade Runner among others. 
OMEN CODE were originally intended as a one-time project by Kevin Gould. The engineer, programmer, and lyricist was a member of the English Industrial EBM trio JOHNSON ENGINEERING CO. together with Sean Bailey and Ian Hicks, which released the album Unleash in 1988. He went on to found the electro-industrial act ELECTRO ASSASSIN with Ian Taylor. Following the release of Jamming the Voice of the Universe (1992), Taylor was replaced by Richard McKinlay with whom the next albums Bioculture (1993) and The Divine Invasion (1995) were recorded.

When vocalist and lyricist Agi Taralas was hand-picked from a stack of applications for the frontman position, the chemistry between the two artists proved so productive and strong that Gould and Taralas decided together to turn OMEN CODE into a permanent project that would also aim to perform live. The vocalist had already left his mark on the scene in a joint project with German electronic musician Stefan Böhm under the moniker OUR BANSHEE that released an album entitled 4200 in 2017.

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British industrial techno/gabba artist JUNKIE KUT is excited to reveal his new single ‘OutPSYders,’ available on the main digital streaming platforms.

Following the release of last year’s ekstasis album, JUNKIE KUT returns more fierce than ever with his blistering new anthem for the outcasts:

“So many of us struggle to live in mainstream culture, so I wanted to make a track of optimistic rage, dedicated to the people who don’t fit in; the goths, the ravers, the punks, the geeks, the freaks – its a battle-cry for individuality in a painfully homogenous world.”

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Junkie Kut fuses industrial, punk and metal with the sounds of speedcore, gabba, techno & trance. Fresh from opening the main stage at both Resistanz Festival and Infest this year, Junkie Kutis bringing a wake up call to our ‘culture of despair’ with his fierce energy, raw passion and psalms of freedom.

Destroying traditional genre boundaries, he is recognised for confrontational live shows in both the industrial / alternative world and the digital hardcore / speedcore network – performing at hardcore raves and cybergoth festivals worldwide. Playing on stages with the likes of Aesthetic Perfection, Zardonic, Deviant UK and Ayria, as well as countless iconic hardcore festivals such as Hardshock, Pokkie Herrie, Terrordrang and Berlin’s F*ckParade – it has built a loyal fan base in Germany, Netherlands, and the UK.

Inspired by radical counterculture and neo-shamanic visions of a future utopia, JUNKIE KUT brings a refreshingly optimistic battle-cry to our lost society and summons the magick of our collective emancipation. This is music for the outPSYders!

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Filmmaker Pavel Vishnevsky returns to collaborate again with Paradox Obscur, bringing a dynamic new visual interpretation to ‘Like A Freak’, an electrifying track from IKONA, the recently released new album by the Greek synth duo.

In a vivid performance, Nicola Di Pierro defies cliché and convention, embodying the song’s spirit of freedom and self-expression – because everyone, regardless of age, has the right to dance. The result is a cinematic celebration of exuberance and individuality, amplifying the pulse of Paradox Obscur’s kinetic sound.

‘Like A Freak’ opens side 2 of IKONA with a wild jolt, pulsing with the edge of the Hexagon house music label’s rebellious spirit. Powered by the Behringer Crave synthesiser, it spits out raw analog grit – the bass growls, the synths snarl – creating a feral, ecstatic soundscape that is as visceral as it is infectious.

Lyrically, ‘Like A Freak’ explores the duality of ego; the composed persona we present to the world versus the wild, unfiltered self that thrives in secret. It is a song for those sweaty, sunrise hours when inhibition fades, judgement dissolves, and you move only for yourself as you ask: Does it make you click? / Now it’s time to go deep. / Way deep. Like a freak. / Taste my analog kick!

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Nocturnal Rainbow Recordings – 5th September 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

One significant downside to digital music formats is that is reduces the dimensions of the experience. With a record, and even a CD, there is a physicality which is in many ways integral to the experience. I’m not here to sell the whole multi-sensory experience and tactility of vinyl line: yes, I grew up with vinyl, and in the 90s, a new LP was maybe £7.50 while a CD was £11, so I would often buy vinyl simply because I could get more music for my money. And records do scratch, sleeves get bent, and generally, vinyl requires more care than a CD, so I’m as much a fan of 5” silver discs as I am 12” black ones. And now, vinyl has become something of a fetishised luxury item: as much as there’s still pleasure to be had from sliding a thick chunk of wax cast in whatever hues from a glossy, heavy card sleeve, there’s sometimes a sense that they’re all trying too hard, and the £30 price tag takes some of the shine off the experience. There are a few exceptions – recent Swans releases have been works of art in every sense, and the physical formats have added essential dimensions to music which is something more than just some songs, recorded.

Had Ran Slavin’s latest offering been given a vinyl release, it would have been a triple LP, containing as it does thirty tracks, with a running time of almost two hours. It would have been epic. But despite having released previous albums on esteemed labels including Mille Plateaux, Cronica, and Sub Rosa, it’s unlikely that Ran Slavin has the kind of fan base that could justify, from a label perspective, a triple-vinyl release. But what Nocturnal Rainbow Recordings have done here is interesting, and utilises the digital format in a novel way, by offering alternative artwork in recognition of the album’s multi-faceted nature. Yes, it’s been done by major artists who’ve released physical albums with variant covers, with a view to enticing hardcore fans to buy multiple copies and thus increase sales and enhance the chart position (The Rolling Stones’ Hackney Diamonds probably wins the award for the pinnacle of pisstake on this score), but the idea of buying an alternative digital cover for a nominal price isn’t something I’ve seen before.

As the notes on the Bandcamp page explain, ‘Just as the music migrates across genres, the visuals migrate across states of being, extending the album into a network of parallel identities. Together, they construct a fragmented yet coherent cosmos, where each image is both an entrance and a deviation, multiplying the ways Neon Swans can be seen, heard, and inhabited.’

Appropriately, Neon Swan doesn’t quite sound like anything I’ve heard before, either. To unpack that, it contains many elements which are common and familiar. There’s sparse techno, minimal dance cuts with sped-up vocals and swathes of space between low-key beats and glitchy grooves, as represented by single release and album opener ‘tell///me///now’ – one of many titles which reflect the sense of fragmentation and juxtaposition which define the album (‘s4dert1ac’ and ‘d3xr3rity’ provide other examples, but then there are the likes of which also disrupt the conventions of language in the same way Slavin disrupts the language of genre tropes).

‘audio ease my pain’ plunges into darker territory, while introducing rap vocals atop heavy hip-hop beats (although there’s an instrumental version as well further on, which offers a different perspective again on the same material). Elsewhere, ‘c-r-i-m-s-o-n-schema’ brings spacey, spaced-out bleeps, heavy percussion that has a late 90s feel, a blend of The Judgement Night soundtrack’s melding of rap and rock, and the Wu-Tang Clan.

For all of the space, the reverb, the minimalism, something about tracks like ‘searching_heart’ is quite claustrophobic: the intense repetition and synthetic feel, paired with crackling fizz, brain-melting glitches and some grinding bass tones. It may be constructed using the fundamental elements of dance music, but this is not dance music. Electronic music to induce uncontrolled spasms and twitches isn’t a genre, but if it was, Ran Slavin would be a leading exponent.

It’s a long album, with a lot to digest, and as it thumps and wobbles and glitches away, snippets and fragments collaged across one another, there are times it all feels a but much, a bit bewildering. At times it’s draining, exhausting, at times you simply zone out, and often, I find myself questioning the wisdom of persisting with it. The vibe is that of the kind of underground clubs I never got on with in the 90s and early 00s, and I’m particularly reminded of the time Whitehouse played an Optimo night in Glasgow in 2003: I was there for Whitehouse, who played for forty minutes starting around midnight, and the music being played was rather in the vein of the more groove-centric cuts on here. The people there for the DJs weren’t happy for the low-key electro pulsations to be paused for the noise and antics of Bennett and Best, but for my part, I struggled to get into the low-key electro pulsations. But the other reason I recount this experience, challenging in its incongruousness, is that in places, Neon Swans feels incongruous with itself, an album riven with unreconciled contradictions.

The execution of Neon Swans is hard to fault, and it does cover considerable ground, with range, over its expansive duration. But it is sprawling in its scope, its focus is variable, and it is very long. And it’s maybe better with drugs.

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29th August 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

When I was a child, I used to suffer anxiety – often when I was unable to sleep (my complex relationship with insomnia began at the age of five) – that my memories were stored in the vast eighteen-volume encyclopaedia my family owned, and I would be unable to access them because I couldn’t remember which volume they were stored in. Not that it was recognised as anxiety at the time: my parents would tell me to stop padding downstairs and bothering them, and to go to sleep. There’s a (sort of) valid reason for this (the anxiety, not the parental dismissal, but that’s an essay for another time): said encyclopaedia was made up from weekly magazines string-bound in identical hardback covers – a precursor to those infinite volume magazines devoted to knitting or whatever, or where you would build a Death Star in 300 instalments, that would likely cease publication before the collection was complete – and there were issues missing, including segments of the index, and topics were not arranged alphabetically like a conventional encyclopaedia. I couldn’t even find my favourite illustrations of dinosaurs fighting a lot of the time.

Things have only become more difficult since the advent of the Internet, and while spent my youth and even my early twenties in a pre-Internet world, there are many now who have never known anything else. Kids have existed online even pre-cognisance thanks to parents posting endless pics of them growing up on social media, and YouTube and Netflix have replaced conventional TV for anyone born in the last twenty years now.

Memory, identity, and their changing nature of both under the conditions of lives lived permanently online, are primary subjects of exploration for solo artist Will N, songwriter, performer, engineer, admin, and the man behind industrial / darkwave act Solid State Sunlight. These topics provided the focus of the ExoAnthro EP last year, and ‘Failsafe’ continues that trajectory, ‘address[ing] the realization that the more we develop our own identity, the less memory remains for experiencing life moving forward. Does it delete previous memory to make space for ongoing growth? What memories are disposable? What are the consequences if it fails?’

I hadn’t considered this, or the idea of what he refers to as ‘data-poisoning’ before, having come to view the mind as a recording device, which captured and archived every single experience, every thought, e very book read, movie seen, but stored them in such a way that it accessing those archives was often a random process – Random Access Memory in the most literal sense.

But we scroll, and we scroll, and we troll, and we troll, and personalities become fragmented, real-life and online personas and experiences partitioned off from one another. Who are you? As AI takes over, the lines are becoming increasingly blurred.

‘FailSafe’ is a gnarly, glitchy technoindustrial stomp through melting circuitry that collides Depeche Mode and Nine Inch Nails with Twitch-era Ministry, with crunching beats dominating jolting electronics and raspy vocals. The intro is a grating bass throb, emerging from an abstract crackle – and then the beat kicks in. And it kicks hard.

If the autotune / robotix breakdown in the middle sounds a shade retro or corny, it works in context, reminding us of how the visions of the future portrayed not so long ago have been replaced by a truly dystopian present. The future was exciting. Computers would make life easier, give us more leisure time and infinite knowledge: that was the promise. Now look where we are. The corporate takeover of the Internet was where it all started to sour, and it was inevitable, but still somehow came as a surprise.

With ‘FailSafe’, Solid State Sunlight draw together a host of references and points of discussion, directly or otherwise, through the savvy hybrid formulation of the composition. It’s hard, and it hits with some attack. This is the vibe of the late eighties and early nineties updated to poke the paranoia of the now. We live in troublesome – by which I mean hellish, fucked-up – times, and with ‘FailSafe’, Solid State Sunlight poke that nerve.

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Sister 9 Recordings – 9th May 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Since showcasing single cut ‘Discretion’ last month, I’ve been totally gripped by this new EP by Italian post-punk electro duo Kill Your Boyfriend.

There’s something about the consistent use of one-word titles that adds punch. The complete catalogue of Foetus albums is a strong case in point: Hole, Nail, Gash Blow… Four letters, forming a single syllable, prove to be powerfully evocative, even when there is no context – or perhaps more so because there is no context.

The titles of the six songs on here are rather less abstract, more descriptive, but still strong and evocative in isolation: ‘Ego’, ‘Obsession’, ‘Apathy’… words with emotional connotations, words which plug straight into the beating heart of the human condition. And, just as ‘Discretion’ threatened, Disco Kills is a full-on sonic kicking that registers blows from every direction.

It’s all about that throbbing, hard-hitting rhythm section, and once again, I feel compelled to sing in praise of the drum machine. Much-maligned and still contentious when used in a ‘rock’ context, the relentless thud and crash of programmed percussion can be so compelling – hypnotic, yes, but also in the way it registers in a purely physical way, the toppy snare explosion sending shockwaves through the nervous system while setting eardrums quivering. From Suicide to Uniform via Metal Urbain, The Sisters of Mercy and Big Black, there’s a rich lineage of bands for whom a drum machine used well – and at an appropriate level in the mix – absolutely defines the sound. It doesn’t work for a lot of rock acts because they’re more about having a certain flexibility, but for absolutely smashing the senses with precision timekeeping, drum machines really come into their own, especially when solid, four-square basslines which follow the beats with equal precision are involved.

And so it is that for all the mesh of treble and distortion, Kill Your Boyfriend structure these songs around a punishing rhythm section. No fancy fills or extravagant bass runs – just hammering, solid grooves, which underscore all the rest. I say ‘all the rest’ as if it’s somehow lesser. It isn’t, not by a long shot. ‘Obsession’ would be dancefloor-friendly – to the point you could imagine people turning and clapping in time with the crispy snap of the vintage Akai snare sound, were it not for its dark, distorted vocal. ‘Apathy’ a bubbling dance banger that’s twisted by some dissonant chord changes and an echo-soaked shouty vocal, the end result sounding like The Prodigy remixing Alien Sex Fiend. Apathetic it is not: a Hi-NRG banger with a dark, serrated edge, it is.

They do trancey / shoegaze / synthwavey lightness on ‘Illusion’, which offers an unexpected – and unexpectedly welcome – pause for breath. But although it pulls back on the breakneck pace and abrasion of the tracks which both precede and succeed it, ‘Illusion’ is still dense, richly textured, and overtly beat-driven, with a thick, churning bass lurking beneath. It just doesn’t drive as hard or as aggressively, with an altogether gentler vocal delivery, and it builds tension with twisty guitars with strong echoes of the sound of 1984. Yes, it’s a bit gothy, and it sits well, and all of this means that the thick, buzzy, echoey electrogoth stomp of ‘Discretion’ hits even harder after the lull, highlighting just what an absolute beast it is. And make no mistake: it’s a pumping, pulverising dark disco monster. It’s brashy, it’s trashy, not so much a car crash as a flaming, petrol-tank-exploding pileup with Sheep on Drugs, Selfish Cunt, KMFDM, and Sigue Sigue Sputnik. It’s an instant adrenaline spike, a rush of pure exhilaration.

‘Youth’ begins darkly but offer something more buoyant as a bookend to the EP, like an electro Sex Pistols, it echoes and bounced its way in a rush to the end. It does feel like a rather flimsy add-on, but works in terms of bringing things down again to wrap it up.

Disco Kills is solid and fierce from beginning to end – and while it’s predominantly electronic in its instrumentation, it’s also very much rock, and it’s pure punk all the way.

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Cruel Nature Records – 25th April 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Limited to 30 cassette copies worldwide, which sold out in advance of the release date, anyone wanting this now will have to satisfy themselves with a stream or download. Tapes really have become cult cool again of late. Raised on vinyl, the cassette was my format of choice in the mid- to late-eighties, until I got a CD player for Christmas in 1991, although I continued to buy vinyl through the 90s because an LP cost about £8 whereas a CD cost around £12. I loved tapes, and I especially loved being able to copy stuff to tape, and do it so cheaply. It was a long time before the advent of the technology to rip and burn CDs.

But for a time, I would buy albums on tape, often in Woolworths or WH Smiths and sometimes from Britannia Music when my parents had made enough purchases to earn a free album – because a tape was about eight quid and you could stuff it in your Walkman and sometimes, perhaps, get it played in the car when going on holiday. Although I recall purchasing Children by The Mission in 1988 on the same trip my parents took me to buy a snake, and my mother moaned and asked if we could have ‘the nice man’ back on (meaning the Bruce Springsteen album I’d been listening to before discovering The Sisters of Mercy and The Mission.

So, the status of the cassette release has certainly changed – again, and one can’t help but wonder if it’s only a matter of time before the cassette single makes a comeback.

Before the Skeletal Dance Of Our Festering Jesters is… bassy. And with good reason for certain. As the Bandcamp blurbage details, ‘Blind Johnny Smoke was born severely deaf in both ears, and started to lose his vision as a teenager with only a few degrees of central vision remaining and still decreasing. Then at the end of 2023 he experienced a sudden loss of his remaining hearing on his left side leaving him profoundly deaf. This posed huge questions for him, what life will be like going forward, how this would change how he felt about the nefarious shit going on in the world around him, and whether he was still equipped to be able to express himself through music. With the aid of The Juddaman, the answer lies within the tapestry of Before the Dance of our Festering Jesters.

Musically, the album is almost obscenely focused on bass frequencies, which coincidentally are the only sounds Blind Johnny can detect without hearing aids. There is a dub sensibility that the band have always dabbled with, but here it weighs in heavily alongside trademark percussive programming and unmusical cut up noise. The accompanying words are as angry as ever and, after a few years of Blind Johnny performing on the spoken word circuit, the lyrics have depth and trickery sitting alongside blunt vitriol.’

‘Sensory Denudation’ presents a groaning mass of distortion, and the spoken word vocals offer up comparisons to Pound Land and Sleaford Mods, and nothing about this is easy on the ear as ambience and trudging industrial noise grind away. It’s the Mods and Benefits who come to mind during the stark electronic grind of ‘Safety First’ and ‘Words Without Echo’, which also introduces a Public Image kind of slant, and Before the Skeletal Dance Of Our Festering Jesters brings together post punk and ranty rap with hip-hop and industrial and spoken word. It’s hard going if you’re wanting tunes, but ‘Ghouls’ is perfectly representative of the low-tempo, thudding noise approach the band have taken to the creation of Skeletal Dance.

‘This is All I Hear Now’ is pure rant, raw and aggressive, the ‘blah, blah, blah’ refrain snarled over a thick, woozy bass, before the six-minute ‘Party On’ turns its focus on the UK government’s COVID lockdown ‘partygate’ shenanigans and dubious contracts for PPE as dense, industrial percussion builds, and I’m reminded of Test Dept’s The Unacceptable Face of Freedom. It’s pretty potent stuff.

Running beyond seven minutes, ‘Crooked’ is the album’s centrepiece, a murky postindindustrial wasteland of a soundscape dense in distortion, crashing beats trudging hard through an unusually melodic chorus which provides the album’s lightest moment at the point it was least expected. Sorry for the spoiler there. It’s back to seething and sparse, throbbing techno bass and thumping beats on ‘Behind Closed Doors’, a bleak slice of dark dance that wouldn’t have been entirely out of place on a Wax Trax! release in the late 80s or early 90s.

‘Laughter’ offers a sliver of illumination in this overall dark offering, although it’s very much relative and it’s a cold, mirthless cackle than an uproarious belly-shaker: a piano-led piece of Numanesque electropop, it’s stark but structured.

Everything builds perfectly for the monster finale, the twelve-minute ‘Satellites, a low, rippling drone crawling and billowing from the speakers in the most lugubrious and ominous fashion. A chorus of voices rises up, dissonant but united, before fading out in a waft of reverb, to be replaced by slow-smouldering synths and a sparse but insistent beat that strolls its way to an almost tranquil horizon.

Before the Skeletal Dance Of Our Festering Jesters covers a lot of ground, and while much of it is pretty desolate, it is not an album entirely bereft of hope.

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28th March 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Ahead of a new album release, Protokoll 19 have given us the single ‘When Will It End’. It’s a question I ask myself almost daily. Because fucking hell. Life. The world. Both seem to be an endless hell. You wake up, lug yourself to work, trudge home, you’re wiped, and it’s as much as you can do to eat food, maybe do some chores and get ready for bed again. You scan the news and it’s Armageddon, especially this last couple of months: the world is at war and the fascist agenda of the US ‘government’ sends tsunami-force reverberations around the globe daily. And it just goes on and on and on, forever the same. Here in the UK, our government has decided that mental health issues which [prevent people from working are being ‘overdiagnosed’. We’re all being spectacularly gaslit here. This isn’t a question of overdiagnosis: it’s a matter of how terrible, terrible times – we’re still not really over the effects of the pandemic, and everything since then has felt like the realisation of every dystopian fiction and the worst aspects of history recurring – affect people and send them into states of mental distress. When will it end?

This single, they tell us, ‘sets the tone of what can be expected from the album as a whole. When we find ourselves in a dark place, it often feels like there is no way out. The longer it goes on the more difficult it becomes to engage in anything. We isolate ourselves and see these thoughts as a burden. We’re haunted by these thoughts because they’re always lurking in the shadows.’

With this single, Protokoll 19 deliver a full-throttle stomping technoindustrial blast of skin-prickling tension. The vocals are mangled and gnarly and are more toward the black metal end of the spectrum, a demonic rasp that splutters gasoline and broken glass over the clean surface of hi-NRG synths and a pumping beat. Intense is the word. There is no snoozing through this.

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1st March 2025

Christopher Nosniboir

Richard Rouska is something of a cult legend in his own lifetime: back in the 80s he was pivotal in the Leeds zine scene, documenting the emerging post-punk movement Leeds remains so renowned for, in real-time, subsequently writing a number of books. Along the way, he’s made some music of his own, recently making Well Martin This is Different his primary focus, with some prolific results. Finding The Ai G-Spot is WMTID’s fifth since their inception in the mid-late eighties, and serves up a set of remixes, with proceeds from any donations going to the Throat Cancer Fund.

And yes, it certainly is different, and that’s clear from the get-go. WMTID’s music is essentially electronica, but draws on a host of elements which have their origins in different decades and different scenes. I will admit that I misread the title as Finding The Ali G-Spot initially. Ai-iit! But while this album draws on a huge array of influences, you won’t find any naff cultural appropriations.

‘The Prince is Dead (Again)’ is a twisted hybrid of lo-fi post-punk, 80s electronic industrial (think Wax Trax! stuff in the late 80s / early 90s), space rock, and Krautrock, a motorik groove stricken through with some wild orchestral strikes and multi-layered vocals – and this is to an extent the template: ‘03:33 Time’s Up’ is exactly the same duration as the original version (‘333’) which appeared on I Know What You Are But Who Am I? in the Autumn of 2024, tweaked to optimise the hypnotic rhythm and detached-sounding vocals. The result is somewhere between DAF and early Human League. ‘Deep Down Low II’ – again reworking a track from I Know What You Are goes full-on techno / cybergoth stomper, with industrial-strength beats pounding away relentlessly. It works so well because it doesn’t take from the original, instead simply rendering it… more. More. MORE! And I want MORE!

There are hints of both KMFDM and very early New Order about ‘It’s (Another) Lovely Day’, but then, it’s as much a work of buoyant lo-fo indie and bedroom pop, while ‘Little Bombshells’ comes on a bit Prodigy, but again, a bit technoindustrial, and a bit kinda oddball, bleepy, bloopy, twitchy, stuttery, the vocals quavering in a wash of reverb as crashes of distortion detonate unexpectedly. Elsewhere, ‘Waiting For The End…’ goes dark and low and robotic, and ‘Three O’Clock Killer’ is hyperactive and warped, and brings menacing lyrics atop a baggy 90s beat.

It really is all going on here, and the end result feels like a wonderfully eclectic celebration of music, articulated through some quite simple compositions, all of which have solid grooves providing the backbone of each.

My general opinion of remix albums is widely documented and not entirely enthusiastic, but Finding The Ai G-Spot is a rare exception, mostly because it doesn’t feel like a remix album an doesn’t offer three or four unnecessary and unrecognisable versions of each song, boring the arse off all but the most obsessive fan. In fact, if you’re not up to speed on WMTID’s output – and there’s a fair chance you may not be, to be fair – Finding The Ai G-Spot offers a neat entry point and summarises the last couple of albums nicely, too.

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Metropolis Records – 7th March 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

As Metropolis continue with their run of PIG reissues, the arrival of the remastered Wrecked reminds us of the run they had in the 90s. Having hardened up the sound showcased on debut album A Poke in the Eye… and follow-up Praise the Lard, and having toured with Nine Inch Nails in the Downward Spiral tour, PIG found themselves signed to Trent Reznor’s Nothing label for the release of Sinsation (1995), which melded the more experimental aspects of The Swining and Red Raw & Sore from a couple of years previous and cranked up the guitars – and the sleaze and depravity – to eleven. And after Sinsation came Wrecked, and having returned to Wax Trax!, in the US at least, the album was released first in Japan in ’96 and the US a year later with a substantially different tracklisting – and was an absolute bastard to get here in the UK in either form.

This version brings together the tracks which featured on both the original Japanese edition – which was criminally missing ‘No One Gets Out of Her Alive’ and ‘Contempt’ – and the American edition, which brought ‘The Book of Tequila’ and ‘Fuck Me I’m Sick’ in their place.

Wrecked very much represented PIG at their wildest, most wide-ranging, and arguably their heaviest. The title track drifts in on some mellow steel guitar country vibes and ambient chilling… and then gets gnarly with gritty industrial rigging and snarly vocals that are quintessential PIG. Raymond Watts may not have been in the best place during this period, but creatively… the music he was making was something else, and Wrecked stands up just as well now as it did on release. I’ve mentioned previously that PIG stand apart from their contemporaries, and while Watts was a touring member of Foetus in the late 80s and worked with JG Thirlwell when PIG was born, as well as being a member of KMFDM for a time, as much as those elements of aggrotech and industrial metal are core to the sound, Watts took it somewhere else entirely. Where? It’s hard to say: PIG’s work simply doesn’t conform to any genre forms or models – PIG just are PIG. While a couple of tracks had been previously released in different forms – the original versions of ‘Find It, Fuck It, Forget It’ and ‘Blades’ appeared on The Swining, released only in Japan in 1993 (prior to a 1999 US reissue) – it would be wrong to suggest that their inclusion on Wrecked suggested a lack of material, given just how radically different these versions are. The same is true of the reworked version of ‘My Sanctuary’, which appeared on Praise the Lard: expanded, more grandiose, more everything, the ‘Spent Sperm Mix’ taking the track to preposterous heights while audaciously combining industrial, techno, and gospel with orchestral strikes galore.

Since the US and Japanese editions included various alternative mixes, it would have been nice to see this version feature all sixteen tracks featured on the 2017 tour edition, which is arguably the definitive edition. But what we learn here is that you can’t have everything, and this edition at least has the majority of the prime cuts. Sequentially, it follows the Japanese edition, with the tracks which featured on the US release at the end.

The drumming on this album is brutal, choppy, the guitars cutty, stuttering, heavily distorted, but with a bright, clear, digital crispness that really slice hard. Watts growls, snarls and sneers, dark and salacious, and everything about Wrecked is harsh and ugly. ‘Find It, Fuck It, Forget It’ is a full-throttle beast of a track, with a sample-laden breakdown in the mid-section, with snippets of reports on American obesity and the like (in place of the sped-up snippet of ‘The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’ on the original), and it’s pretty dark and unforgiving.

‘Blades’ is one of the greatest tracks ever recorded by PIG or anyone – it’s one of those songs that just does something to you. The ‘Slash Mix’ on here may not be the best version – for my money, I prefer the more orchestral original, but this rendition is dense and girthy, and fits with the sound of Wrecked. Then there’s ‘Save Me’, the album’s slowie, and so, so powerful. It takes ‘anthemic’ in a whole new direction.

Watts has always made music with a boldly theatrical approach to the industrial template – and Wrecked really turns up the dial on everything – density, volume, aggression, intensity, and this expanded reissue is an essential document in the broader industrial oeuvre. It’s also an outstanding album in its own right.

AA

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