Tracklist:
01. Sote - Bolide [Morphine Records / Germany / 2014]
02. Parrish Smith - ???? ?? ?????? ???? ?? [Unreleased]
03. Herpes-Z - Panico [Mannequin / Germany / 2015]
04. Toulouse Low Trax - Kadiz [KUNSTKOPF / Germany / 2015]
05. Sige Bythos - Untitled [Nation / Chicago / Forthcoming]
06. Maoupa Mazzochetti - Untitled [Unreleased]
07. Deecoy - (U Know) The Truth [International Deejay Gigolo Records / Germany / 2004]
08. Trenton Chase - Haloperidol Decanoate [June / Germany / Forthcoming]
09. Kill Memory Crash - The O (Kill Memory Crash Rmx)[Ghostly International / US / 2005]
10. Mark Lane - Das Nicht (Factory) [Idiosyncratics / US / 1984]
11. //TENSE// - Disconnect Myself (Beau Wanzer Adjustment) [Complete Control Productions / Sweden / 2013]
12. Fallbeil - Brutal Ignorant [Contort Yourself / UK / Forthcoming]
13. Pankow - Das Wodkachaos [KinderGarten Records / Italy / 1984]
14. Die Form - Fear Of The Bloody Night [Contort Yourself / UK / Forthcoming]
15. Die Form - F.O.T.B.N (I.B.M. Industrial Strength Dub Edit] [Contort Yourself / UK / Forthcoming]
16. Parrish Smith - L'Importance De Doute [???? / ?????? / Forthcoming]
17. Unknown Artist - Untitled [Light Sounds Dark / UK / 2014]
18. Unknown Artist - Untitled (short version) [Light Sounds Dark / UK / 2014]
Sitting in your apartment in your underwear and work shirt three buttons open from the top, you sit nonchalant and in absolute boredom on your side-of-the-road-found chair looking out over the beige 0200 blanket of city. Sleep doesnt care about you, so youre stuck staring with dead force out over the ugly industrial side of this city, allowing your mind to fill up with nothing and to become the city itself (hopefully). The chiaroscuro of lights bubbling everywhere like a Pollock painting, the ant-like movement of people and cars and lights and air vehicles, noises of the city become robotic responses from something beyond time and space.
These confused yet explicitly mechanical tracks offer the all-or-nothing attitude you fill yourself with in a bar dwelling in liquid comfort, in a park with nobody in abandoned spaces, , at a club where everything moves with loud yet coherent flow. The tracks are the chemical cocktail we fill our modern bodies with to experience a oneness with stuff, dropping to our knees and begging for truth to hit us like a baseball bat on the temple. Parrish Smith offers the truth in dry, mechanical frequencies.
