Calling all blowhards, cosmic-jesters and techno-goons:Bintus is back at the juggernaut’s wheel, belching flames and generally causing a right old stink. After a five-year hiatus adrift in the fusion zone the angry behemoth returns to bring the pain. Grinding his gears hard on this toxic two-tracker, old man Bintus throws down a barbaric acid gauntlet; guaranteed to satiate the inner panel beater in even the most battle-hardened rave warrior.

In true Power Vac tradition Bintus bows out with a brace of scree-face electro grinds. "Rag It!" gets medieval on your ass then quits the scene in a wheel spin of cosmic dust; leaving your brain to cessate in rapturous turmoil. Millennium Speaker Stand slaps a gutsy acid line against a pock-marked 7/8 beat, while in the background the fabric of society breaks down - a not unwelcome aural distraction in these turbid times.

So, enjoy one last night ride thru babylon with Thee Prince of The Retail Park. As the tyre smoke recedes we are left in a haze of joy, sensory disorientation and the hope that visionary lunatics like Bintus will continue to rescue our souls from the stasis grip of consensus reality that threatens to consume us all. More

Parasols (Ali Renault) applies ABS to the bpm with the new beat friendly ‘Diaz’; a slasher disco stalker prowling the lower east side of somewhere deep in your residual nightmares. Red Corner thwacks hard and dusky like a dustbin full of grit. Now your as giddy as the time you had your first bucket. The mutated commentary that underpins this clash of pans melts woozily into ‘Sacrifice’, which comes on all Baldelli inspired like some Rimini horror fest where Benetton and Timberlands frug it out amongst shadows in the Mediterranean dusk. Bursting with energy the finalimente of this accomplished brace of toons is possibly the standout, ‘Cessana Learning’ leers and lurches with weird gut belches that are both melodic and disorienting at the same time; shifting gears midpoint into some glorious electro chimes that will strike a chord with fans of other post techno luminaries such Ed DMX. Get some of this, enjoy flagellate and try to stay conscious! More

For the record this modern trend of wiping is collective madness. I never apply any man-made materials to my anus. A permanent layer of fecal matter is perfectly natural and healthy!
Amish Boy follows-through with another payload of inventive, grinding techno. Indeed sat next to some high-profilers, his music brutally exposes rigid parameters that some never venture beyond. Still, simple functionality is a beloved corner-stone of dance music and rightly so. Pointless assertions aside, 'Nice Try Donnie' is another six tracker and part two of 'Laika Test Project' with the sleeves of both records combining to make the full artwork.
Amish Boy is a new artist in the sense that his first original release was in October last year, however he's been balls-deep in music and parties for twenty years but happens to be one of those rare talents that don't shout "look at me!". More

Amish Boy a.k.a. Sküge (not to be confused with Skudge) is Hugues Croibien, a thirty seven year old Belgian who has experimented with electronic music since his teens. With a diet of Seal Phüric, The Prodigy, Autechre and Unit Moebius stoking his primordial fire, Croibien began to align with the rage that exists in the Breakcore genre. Already an addict of reggae and dub at this time, Croibien decided to create some cut-up Raggacore with his brand new Ableton Live 3 software.
Meanwhile with friends, Croibien created 'Break n 'Brol', a non-lucrative association which tried to promote alternative electronic music in Liège where he lived. They premiered some Bassline stars "Kanji Kinetic" and "Squire of Gothos" on the Belgian scene, alongside other alternative electronic composers and musicians like Subjex, Ebola, Mustard Gunn and Herrmutt Lobby. The fellowship decided to create a free net label to release compilations with the BNB party artists.
The rough style techno resurgence over the last few years has precipitated a metamorphosis; Sküge became Amish Boy - more glitchy than techno, more offbeat than acid and more ambivalent than industrial. Although heavily invested for two decades now, 'Laika test Project' on Power Vacuum will be Croibien's first vinyl release, with a follow-up already in the pipeline. More

If you want to join the London Funk Collective the only caveat is that you play no original vinyl - only compilations or Cd's or downloads of the most well known funk tunes. Any diversions from these rules and you will be expelled from the London Funk Collective.
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Precise, brutal techno administered by Bosnia Herzegovina's Dragan Lakic. More

Forgotten Idols lie smashed and scattered across the floor. Dissonant undercurrents coerce a riptide of shattered beats as Duran Duran Duran speeds into sight and docks directly into your neurological pathways.
Tracks swarm into your mind effortlessly dismantling the techno mainframe. Refracted acid takes ‘Sexus’ to a place where famished ghosts leer at each other across a mist-infused steam room. Repeated listenings reveal new fissures, fresh layers emerge as we scrape away at the glacial enormity of this techno scree-face. Redemption is in sight as we take a final pasting on ‘Marathon Man’, a track so banging as to provoke a wry smile on the face of any seasoned raver. At its climax it screeches under the weight of its intensity, flinging its subjects into a feral transcendence.
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1991-2 revisited. More

On the this latest release from Power Vacuum, a motley selection of inmates gather once more to deliver a new seminar on the mechanics of meltdown. Beyond the zone of fruitless intensity lies ever more exhaustive trailer park visionaries blasting out wreck beats; a sound futuristic yet primitive like a turbo charged shire horse. Peering through the heavily worked over fug, we sift through the transphonic ashes of technos blast furnace to retrieve these molten ingots and sling them into a disenfranchised cassette player.
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Sonic fissures sizzle the bacon they ain't faking "Blow your zip code". A subterranean world of street wisdom and Cosmo-ghettology. Sensational spits grit over the grit, keep them swaying as they stagger from grey luminous fog coming in off the Atlantic. A cohesive nugget of rolling energy "My presidential Rolex". Kruton whips up jagged shards of rhythm into the air. Elaborate thought processes conveyed through instinctive vocal responses "Cake!". Weapons grade Prana, hooks and bass.


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Hulks of heavy industry lay strewn around, primitive yet shot through with a cracked futurist vision. Red rusting mother loads could have lain there for years, a henge to post industrialism. Time to open the sluice gate and slide the fetid bulk into the bloated brine of the next high tide. Surfing out across the broth its bow breaks the water, sending a long lazy wave like treacle slapping the side of the wharf. Slaughter-phonic noises pulsate from within the lead encased carburettor. On the blistered deck great knotted balls of chain lie rusting for ever, atrophied by age and despair.

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I've been over and over track running orders, while taking into account the limitations of vinyl. It needs to be a loud cut as anything increasing the chances of this music being played in clubs is a priority. The major development is, I'd really like the A side at 45rpm - as before. As well as the extra volume, 'Granular Psychosis' is an exciting prospect to be able to play at both speeds as it's so fast. With this track list below, we're exceeding the time slightly for what I've been advised is the best 45rpm quality. However, as Zattrday has such a limited frequency range, that can be cut to take a very small part of the vinyl. I will talk to ****** about all this, and ultimately go with his advice of the best way to do this on the day. But I can say it will almost definitely happen like one of the two options below:
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Vectors 2 introduces another five new artists to the Power Vacuum roster: Side one erupts with Vacated, flinging heavyweight techno ingot 'Quadrat' neatly into one's medulla oblongata. A road tested club shredder, crashing straight in and out while unequivocally touching the sides. One of UK dance music's true mammoths Jerome Hill promptly receives the baton and lays down atypical workout 'Plastic Jam', an overbearingly energetic percussion / vocal rinse. On the other side, cosmic event Cylob weighs in with 'Spyworld'. Libidinal bass patterns, irresistible melodies and not a wasted note from one of electro's most powerful minds. Breakaway civilization of one: Anklepants follows with 'Y.H.I.Y.P.' after receiving a free Bintus makeover - electro style. Finally Cornwallis' spoken word effluvium 'At the Disco', a charmingly rancid personal account to which the prancing oaf in each of us can surely relate.
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Step into Broom's Dojo and be met with a sausage Apocalypse, as the UK techno Magus flays alive your wildest dreams using his brace of bangers. With snake-like precision this chimera of the shadow realms pounds techno oblivion from his production line. Sparks fly as gleaming loaves of acid-soaked brilliance fly out the bakehouse door, the master bakers eyes spinning like electronic roulette wheels - out of control under delirious bass weight. Enshrouded in the blue haze of the shamans gourd pipe, Mr Mark Broom is again set to blow the back doors off any club this side of Basildon. More

Like a web of technoidal spaghetti thrown in the face of a non-believer, Invincible Scum (Andy Blake / Milo Smee) lay down a pulsating analog power jam. Bintus stitch's together remaining scraps from the cutting room floor, then makes several passes over his philosophers anvil to forge Side B.
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The purple and chrome dune buggy lies abandoned like an upturned beetle. As if guided by an invisible beacon, Bintus treks through dense jungle and across cloud-capped mountains before he comes upon a ruined temple. Young women, their forearms covered with red parrot feathers and faces brightly coloured with vermilion dye, greet him warmly by placing garlands of roasted maize around his neck. Drawn on a hallucinatory wave, Bintus finds himself facing a high priest sat resplendent upon an azure throne, who gestures to the corner where a solid crystal harpsichord sits. While raising a chalice above his head he drones some dusty incantation before placing it on its ceremonial perch atop the instrument. Bintus sits down to play, his hands drawn across the glimmering keys guided by the unknowable force of the ancients. A phosphorescent mist pours over the brim of the black onyx chalice and rolls over the keyboard. Multi coloured light flows from the hall through cracks in the temple walls, strafing out across the moonlit jungle. Exotic birds of all colours and hues cut across the beams as they shoot into the star filled night, steered into the cosmos by his demented music, driving his captive revellers into the blackest beyond. Early DJ support: Mark Broom, Truss, Surgeon, Edmx, Paul Woolford, Objekt, Dark Sky, Randomer, Ben UFO, Dj Glow, Fabrizio Mammarella, Locked Groove.

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Bintus with 'Corrosion Control' wades into an especially grizzled realm of Acid House and Electro and is the first artist to be released on Power Vacuum- a new label from Milo Smee. Tracking an irregular path since '95 from Techno to Prog Rock and back again; Kruton, Binary Chaffinch, Chrome Hoof, 5 Mic Cluster, Booze and Invincible Scum have been some of the vehicles involved. Side A – “Corrosion Control” - Jacking into sight from deep within the aqua-zone, Congolese acid warlord Bintus gets all up in your face with this analog grinder thats sure to set any dance floor burning with 303 dezire. The low frequency groans of the old ones can be heard moaning from the depths of the acid canyons, their phosphorescent purple hearts glow stronger as Bintus takes control of the low end and pushes it further into the inky blacknuss." Side B – “Advanced Fuel” - Bintus on the run for crimes against bass beckons us aboard his armoured dune buggy for a night ride thru Babylon;
The streets rush by all airbrushed neon with the reflection of chrome wheels in petrochemical puddles. Neck snap beats haze against crystalline fragments, tripping off the aqueous undertow pulling you further out. As we ride through this apocalyptic bacchanal, Bintus has his foot down hard on the bass accelerator, finally obliterating all with a sub-sonic jet blast that flattens a forest for miles around."

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