T​.​B​.​O. | the beat obsessive | volume one | ku65

by various artists

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THE BEAT OBSESSIVE
various artists

track list:

01. JAN-I: flute du coeur 05:42*
02. BENJAMIN SILVA-PEREIRA: mar cego(blind sea) (instrumental remix) 13:58 **
03. DEMOS FOR JANUS: READY MADE 03:48*
04. EPHEGENIA: gorbatchov doesn't live here anymore 12:52
05. A. D. AMAR: incense (super dub bass & percussion) 08:24**
06. 2³: schisms (3) [part 2] 09:03**
07. LOST SONS OF DIONYSIUS: an enormous phallacy [odd] 13:06
08. EEROHZ: T - tinker (nothing happens mix) 16:20**
09. PROTOBATTLE: battle [das minimalizz re-re-foreplay-eerohz-never-to-be-release-mix] CIRCA 1995 15:27**
010. ZENJUNGLE & EEROHZ: little funky number (ephegenia remix)22:13***
011. TERRA LIBERA ENSEMBLE: vox terrarum (battuta ellectronica) 08:24***

* previously unreleased
** version previously unreleased
*** only available on this compilation

(C)+(P) 2015 catalogue of wonders (arts),london.

this is a voyage. this is not a tourist trip. this is a traveller's voyage. in sound. hold your arms against the chest. fasten your seatbelts. a deep immersive work. it is only a soundscape? oh, it is only dance music. your foot is tapping on the floor, suddenly. unexpectedly a dog barks (take these dogs away from me...) - why are the streets full of actors? the sequencers, the loops. nitzer ebb and die krupps. a bit of a train trip with kraftwerk induced melodramas. a beep and a boom. there is a cowboy selling his looks and genitalia for the paying ladies. is this a cowboy compilation of dance music? maybe it is a dog's paradise for barking. william s. burroughs makes an appearance? no, he does not. but it should be a sound film by him if he was still alive. there are ghost trains in the mix (last night a dj saved my life...) the drums and the percussions, an alien atmosphere with bangs and electronic miasmas. repetition. repeated loop, loops of trance, dance loops, trance loops. telephones. barks. laughter. what else on this voyage? bass. basses. filmic. cinematographic snippets, old seventies' films. be radical, a voice says amongst the drums and electronic effects, nothing special, see? electrons of pleasure. nothing else. close your eyes, feel like an artist. do not be afraid of the beat. the multiplied beats. abstract sound. diffused beats, extreme loneliness and that ghost train again. after all this is not a dance compilation, is it? or is it? dance music is archaic. dance music is lethal. dance music is shit. sampling is so eighties... sinclavier. vocoder. poing. cut and paste. autechre. aphex twin? nah! symbiosis of sweat and brain cells. one hour and a half, a film. congas and tam tams. the end of the television programme. french soundtrack, be radical as you can. morricone strings. this could be a dream, only it is not. sweeps of languor and sweat. snippets. why does my heart misses a beat?
ladies and gentlemen: the rhythm! you can smoke if you wish. grace jones could be around here, but she is a diva, not a surface of things to come, passed ghost. latin america? yes, certainly, the subcontinent of rhythm. the train moves inexorably through the night. the bass announces the next station. the african drums another delight. rhythm is life. if you do not like to dance you do not exist, someone says. indian tablas. jamaican tin drums. all here, just listen. the bass throbs, it is a heart. syncopation. repetition. steve reich would have a ball here. the list. nana vasconcelos. tribes, vanished tribes. re-emerging tribes, urban tribes of naked men and women, dancing. feel your mind. your ass will follow. everyone has a tribal heart. let the rhythm guide you. djembe ahoy! the best part is yet to come. put your hands in the air, just like you do not care! oh, gods, protect me from what i want. the scratches are there, here. move. the sound of the atom splitting. this is the beat obsessive. the volume one and all the others yet to come. images of dancing tribes in the night. zazou, what you gonna do? a knock in the night. the boy who couldn't keep his clothes on. discoteca, hay una discoteca por aqui? no hablo castillan. chica! the androgynous invade your mind and your body, there are voices you feel and yet to come, the rapture of a melody and that rhythm. the wave. the smile. a dream, a beat. the beat is the heart. feel it. there is no time to feel, time is you. hypnotic. drum and bass. that voice chanting behind the drums. the vicious beat. the break.
who told you, you couldn't feel the colours? jean cocteau debuts with beats, a debt you sea!? all happens inside your head, as nothing happens, just sound, and you. tinker sailor sabre wailer, the truth is there inside for you to discover, courtesy of the beat. the heroes of the sea, the passion and the love, all around the world, just take a seat and travel. there is some noise, but it goes when you concentrate on the... beat, a wet symptom of movement, a track list of emotions undulating, the voice echoes, the memories physical pleasurable waves through your body. do not think. a heart, a beat, a repetition, a scale of wonder. beach pebbles, the sun shinning. travelling without moving. an exercise of the mind, the body, and the so called soul. the rhythm, ladies and gentlemen. flashes of neon nights, kraftwerk on a highway to heaven, under the arches in london by the gordon's wine bar. dtpm of mr.C in nights of dance devotion. gods, the beat. girls dancing with feathers on their hands, japanese boys wondering in shades and shadows of artificial paradises. the underground sound of lisbon archangel of the future sound of london. engineers laughing with the bricklayers, shop assistants hugging princesses with silk white wings. irish boys scanning the stars in their own eyes, analysing the fruits of passions and hands in the air, maps to those same stars, that's the rhythm, ladies and gentlemen. the arpeggios and sequences of notes in our bellies, fruits to eat. a voyage on a space ship, the led shinning and blinking, the basses growling in your throats, the cymbals marking the rhythm of the night, what time is love? the stereo, gods, launching your senses from one side to the other. the french kisses, montego bays of desires. if only the beat lasted all days and nights. pirates and cinderellas. heaven on earth. a smell of ozone and incense. sweat pearls flying into the clouds of dried ice. the disco balls projecting psychedelic labyrinths in the ceiling and on the skins. the tattooed tanned boys, the glittering girls angels revolving in spirals. a fair of beauty and laughter. the rhythm a contagion of happiness. african voices and chorus from distant planets. here we are, in the station to other stars: the beat.
and in the beginning there was the BEAT. nothing outside the beat, all in the beat. the sex of angels, the court of hedonism and happiness, the beat. the loops. the stabs. the pan gods. the stars exploding in the chimes of the club. gold, cinnamon. the clapping of hands segueing the beat. the break. the vinyl cracks. the modulation of a song penetrating the other, a copulation of sounds, melodies and trance delights. and god created the beat, friday, saturday, sunday. dancing under the stars. the tribal percussion from afar approaching and diverting worries to other days when we don't have to live, but to survive: tonight the beat is queen and king. drum and bass. intelligent dance music. electronic body music. electro. body electric. techno. syncopation of bodies. all is body on the beat. control, we are here. blue monday on the hands of gods. electric flashes down your spine. a trojan horse disguised in the pattern of flash lights. kiki smiles. a fountain in the garden of delights. candles of inebriant g fragrances. a pad of languor serpent in your belly. dance, dance, dance, or we will die. to dance is needed, to live is not needed. minimal repetitive einstein theoretic movements without thinking. all in the beat. the scent of algae on the skins. perfumes lost evanescent to the moons and the melodies, the poems in the lips, the company of strangers that are angels. close your eyes. a jingle of stars. the voices of medusa and pythia, socrates the python. from moscow ephegenia remembers gorbatchov and the maps to other realms, one beat at the time. there's no time, just space. a stolen beat sample, a chord, a malleable sense of belonging. the origins of greek myths is here, in the cells shinning. metal on metal. trance europe express. the recycling of memories evaporating in the ballet of hands. white swans' lake. all the Z's loving each other. the fairies and nightingales, snow queens, bells of wooden clocks - the beat goes on. the surrender of wills, and peace on earth to all men. let the children come to us, and dance. horses galloping in the steppes. shooting stars. beat box, electric boogaloo, break dance. the steps can can, tcha tcha tcha. bolero of synthesisers and waltzes of hoots and shouts, electronic blessing: ra ta ta. granular porous glances: the night of beaten writers and hearts. a symphonic poem deconstructed by maniac stems, the gnomes of helium and ectoplasms vibrating on the back of the neck. clepsydras and fossils tattooed on the perspiring skin of other galaxies, this is the beat. the x of y. pump up the volume.

the flutes of the art, the heart of the beat. a jazz spur, an ambience of palm trees and hidden loves on the dunes, church bells of other idioms and religions. this is the beat. schisms of the mind. the obsession with the sensuality of pheromones, the butterflies of eternity in one night. what could poets write better? a beat is a beat's a beat. the news concern diaphanous exercises, sorcerers of the auroras. and the beat goes on and on. thus some cherubs are shy. they stay on the corner hiding from themselves, but the heart beats better that way. the secrets they could tell only if they danced, curated by dreams and hopes. perilous skin skies. maya comes and screams, the echoes prickle the funky of a thousand nights, the heartbeat is a bass line. abstract work of paint, silky breasts feeding the baby universe. no labels, please, she says. beat dis. orchestral manoeuvres in the dark. sample this. sample that. miles davis time after time. stop making sense drukqs - electrostatic soundfields through electronic meditations, ambient works - opera strabismus, dejá vu: you must be certain of the beat. dodecaphonic melodies in a thimble of e. the rimes of the ancient dancers. dolphins and whales, sea surf, an uncommon understanding, blasphemous rumours, a bronski beat. the return of the space train awaits you on the platform, strings enveloping you in pads of warmth, deep immersive emotional work. collage of past memories into the future. the beat is here to stay in kaleidoscopic holywood thunderscope screens, may the beat be with you! the lost sons of dionysius are back to teach the eurhythmics of love. extended version of the souls at a midnight ball. overgrown paradises in the inner city, james brown, i feel you! the last escape, the only escape. euphoric solid 808 state human empire, listen to the voice of the child buddha. instrumental summer. the cabaret voltaire in a new order spin. dada for you and me. the cut up of nights, a funk of extreme sweetness. turangalila of the senses, collapse of fears. nothing is true, everything is permitted.
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released September 21, 2015

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various artists London, UK

catalogue of wonders ~ ARTS ON THE VERGE OF AN ATTACK OF GENIUS ~ analogue & digital music & noises & sounds for the delectable connoisseur ~

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