Fairy Glen Appearances (20 Year Digital Edition)
Maximum crunch and displaced beats by Skam bot Tatamax, digitally regenerated for its 20th anniversary reflux
Tatamax is an alias of Luke Williams, who is also fondly remembered for his Quinoline Yellow mini-CD with its class BMW keyfob-type packaging by Bhatoptics. As Tatamax he would help mint Skam’s SMAK series in 2001 on a split with Posthuman, before committing, in 2003, ‘Fairy Glen Appearances’, his only other under this guise. It’s archetypal Skam tackle, sounding akin to an early AI trained on grainy footage of breakdancers and obscure electro, and going rogue with a blinding flux of fractalized data flashbacks ready to be parsed by future freaks. 20 years later, that appears to be us, you, anyone with a thing for post-‘LP5’ type of glitch sorcery and the sort of asymmetric intricacies pursued by likes of SDEM and Chris Douglas.
Of course, there’s a ghostly soul in the machine, with snippets of field recordings that keep it hopping in-and-out of the box, and haunting pads that hover over like dead, grey skies tuned to the colour of Manchester in its seemingly permanent autumnal state.
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Maximum crunch and displaced beats by Skam bot Tatamax, digitally regenerated for its 20th anniversary reflux
Tatamax is an alias of Luke Williams, who is also fondly remembered for his Quinoline Yellow mini-CD with its class BMW keyfob-type packaging by Bhatoptics. As Tatamax he would help mint Skam’s SMAK series in 2001 on a split with Posthuman, before committing, in 2003, ‘Fairy Glen Appearances’, his only other under this guise. It’s archetypal Skam tackle, sounding akin to an early AI trained on grainy footage of breakdancers and obscure electro, and going rogue with a blinding flux of fractalized data flashbacks ready to be parsed by future freaks. 20 years later, that appears to be us, you, anyone with a thing for post-‘LP5’ type of glitch sorcery and the sort of asymmetric intricacies pursued by likes of SDEM and Chris Douglas.
Of course, there’s a ghostly soul in the machine, with snippets of field recordings that keep it hopping in-and-out of the box, and haunting pads that hover over like dead, grey skies tuned to the colour of Manchester in its seemingly permanent autumnal state.
Maximum crunch and displaced beats by Skam bot Tatamax, digitally regenerated for its 20th anniversary reflux
Tatamax is an alias of Luke Williams, who is also fondly remembered for his Quinoline Yellow mini-CD with its class BMW keyfob-type packaging by Bhatoptics. As Tatamax he would help mint Skam’s SMAK series in 2001 on a split with Posthuman, before committing, in 2003, ‘Fairy Glen Appearances’, his only other under this guise. It’s archetypal Skam tackle, sounding akin to an early AI trained on grainy footage of breakdancers and obscure electro, and going rogue with a blinding flux of fractalized data flashbacks ready to be parsed by future freaks. 20 years later, that appears to be us, you, anyone with a thing for post-‘LP5’ type of glitch sorcery and the sort of asymmetric intricacies pursued by likes of SDEM and Chris Douglas.
Of course, there’s a ghostly soul in the machine, with snippets of field recordings that keep it hopping in-and-out of the box, and haunting pads that hover over like dead, grey skies tuned to the colour of Manchester in its seemingly permanent autumnal state.
Maximum crunch and displaced beats by Skam bot Tatamax, digitally regenerated for its 20th anniversary reflux
Tatamax is an alias of Luke Williams, who is also fondly remembered for his Quinoline Yellow mini-CD with its class BMW keyfob-type packaging by Bhatoptics. As Tatamax he would help mint Skam’s SMAK series in 2001 on a split with Posthuman, before committing, in 2003, ‘Fairy Glen Appearances’, his only other under this guise. It’s archetypal Skam tackle, sounding akin to an early AI trained on grainy footage of breakdancers and obscure electro, and going rogue with a blinding flux of fractalized data flashbacks ready to be parsed by future freaks. 20 years later, that appears to be us, you, anyone with a thing for post-‘LP5’ type of glitch sorcery and the sort of asymmetric intricacies pursued by likes of SDEM and Chris Douglas.
Of course, there’s a ghostly soul in the machine, with snippets of field recordings that keep it hopping in-and-out of the box, and haunting pads that hover over like dead, grey skies tuned to the colour of Manchester in its seemingly permanent autumnal state.