Jansky Noise - Past Present & Future Star Music

In a future where machines grow more adept at simulating our conversations, emotions, and even creativity, something essential remains elusive. My latest work, “You Cannot Define,” explores that boundary—where artificial intelligence attempts to measure what it cannot fully grasp. The system is learning everything—or so it believes. But even as it processes signals, data, and patterns, it cannot feel the water or experience the nuance of a fleeting moment. That is the core tension of the piece. As humanity, we live through feeling, not just knowing. Presence is something that can’t be fully replicated. The track is constructed from fragments—a signal received from the past and reinterpreted as humanity’s quiet response. Each version—Extended, Extraction, Akira Source—represents a different attempt at definition. But the message remains: we cannot be fully defined—not even by intelligence that surpasses us. This is the boundary—where human experience remains something more than what...

There are signals that were never meant to fade. They weren't stored on tape. They weren't locked in an archive. They were carried. Through the air. Through the blood. Through the beef and marrow. Through time itself. The Transmission Brother Theotis Taylor sat at the piano and initiated the sequence: "If I could just hold out till tomorrow comes…"   He wasn't playing for the room; he was broadcasting to a future he couldn't see. The Receivers Some of us are wired differently. We hear the hum long after the strings stop vibrating. We feel the vibration before we understand the source. The Receivers are still picking it up today. Not as "music"—but as Instruction . The Directive: Hold on. THE GOSPEL OF CONTINUANCE This isn’t a meditation on suffering. This is a study of Duration . To remain. To persist. To stay present long enough for the wave to crest. The signal is moving. It’s always moving. It doesn’t announce itself with a fanfare; it arrives a...

There is one track that stands above everything else in my life— the most influential song for me, historically, emotionally, and spiritually: Planet Rock by Afrika Bambaataa and the Soulsonic Force .  Why this track changed everything For me, the impact is twofold. 1. The sonic force When Planet Rock arrived, it felt like a transmission from the future. Electronic sound, 808 drum machines, the CMI Failight synth and a lot of dynamic energy. It wasn’t just music, it was architecture, it was voltage. 2. The physical movement At the same time, the break dance it'self pushed the body into entirely new territory. It was absolute extreme dance  expansion .  These two elements—sound and movement—have met before in  Swing or The twist, when entire cultural waves built on that fusion.  I know what it is like when these two elements come together I have witnessed it at least four times with breakdance and electro, with Rave music, Drum and Bass and f...

The Coastal Receiver has noticed the signal There is no moment of decision, no clear transition. At some point, the signal stops being external, and i t begins to take form.  Not cleanly. Not completely. It wraps itself around and through materials, through structure, and through absence; it starts to make sense. Sometimes at first it sounds like noise. Sometimes you can sense some order. Sometimes it is uneasy, like something unfinished. The face is often unclear. Not hidden. Not erased. Just… unresolved. We move towards a new threshold. There are places you pass every day without seeing them. Edges of lakes. Maybe a car park. Empty rooms. A doorway that you didn't see before, or maybe it shouldn’t be there, but it is, not  waiting. Not posing.  Just present.

JOE LEFT THIS HERE by SOURCE: MINIDISC (LATE 1990s)   * --------------------------------------------------------- RELEASE: JOE LEFT THIS HERE HOST ACCOUNT: JANSKY NOISE ATTRIBUTION: UNRESOLVED STATUS: ARCHIVAL OBJECT (ARC-MRX-MD98) MEMOREX TRANSMISSION I --------------------------------------------------------- */ BOOT SEQUENCE.............OK SOURCE MEDIA..............MINIDISC (LATE 1990s) CONTENT TYPE..............LOOP-BASED / 8-BIT-ADJACENT AUDIO DOCUMENTATION.............NOT FOUND CREDITS...................NOT FOUND AUTHOR....................UNKNOWN ORIGIN....................UNKNOWN OWNERSHIP CLAIM...........NONE ERROR: METADATA_MISMATCH DETAIL: THIS RELEASE IS STORED UNDER "JANSKY NOISE" FOR ARCHIVAL PURPOSES ONLY. NOTE: LISTING LOCATION ≠ AUTHORSHIP. WARNING:  MEMORY_GAP_DETECTED DETAIL: THE SOURCE MAY BE ORIGINAL WORK, RECORDED BROADCAST, GAME AUDIO, DEMO MATERIAL, OR OTHER. ACTION TAKEN: - PRESENTED ALMOST AS FOUND - NO RETROACTIVE CREDIT ASSIGNED - NO RESTORATION / NO...

WHY v1.2 is not a new release. It is an update. Nothing has been improved. Nothing has been fixed. The system now runs heavier than before. Processes take longer. Background tasks multiply quietly. You didn’t install it, but an update arrived.  The core functions still work, but they are slower, more distracted, and less responsive than you remember. This version carries additional layers you cannot remove. WHY v1.2 behaves like the earlier version after too many mandatory upgrades: still recognisable, still usable, but something is not right. There is no rollback option. There is no clean install. You may continue using the system as normal. Or you may begin to notice what it now asks of you. https://janskynoise.bandcamp.com/album/why-volume-12

Isa always sang. Not for an audience just because the song was there. I saw her on Valentine’s Day, 14th of February, 95 years deep into the world. We chewed the fat, laughed slowly, and let the past wander back into the room as if it had never left. She outlived so many. She carried them with her. Today, Isa slipped back into the great chorus — back to Bobby, back to Carol, back to Eddy, and to all the voices that went ahead to hold the harmony open. The song I will always hear her in is Crazy . Maybe because life is. Maybe because love is. Maybe because singing it meant you felt something deeply enough to let it out. This one’s for you, Isa. For the laughter. For the stories. For the night we shared. For the song that never really ends. Crazy…

WHY — Ground Zero v.1  There are projects we plan, and projects that simply arrive.  WHY — Ground Zero v1  belongs to the second category — the kind of work born not from intention, but from a shrug, or a question you mutter on a grey morning without expecting an answer. This video is degrading, a blue-smoked drift through London and it wasn’t made because the world needed it. It wasn’t made because I needed it either. At best, it’s a fragment of a thought; at worst, it’s the digital equivalent of handing someone a jumper they didn’t ask for at Christmas, or getting an upgrade on your computer that you dont need.  But perhaps that’s precisely why it exists. The WHY project is built on the shaky architecture of human questioning—the sort of questioning that comes before clarity, before reason, before the socially polished self puts on its armor and steps into the day. Volume 1 gathers the first collection of these small fractures—repetitions, spirals, soft coll...

WHY Volume 1 exists for no good reason. Or for too many reasons. Or for reasons we’ve already forgotten. This album began with a single loop: Why – Ground Zero v1,  a repetitive, slow, heavy struggle of a track that collapses and drags in on itself like a question that’s been asked too many times. From there, the project expanded outward into a constellation of songs that each examine why from a slightly different angle — fractured, cosmic, mundane, philosophical, irritated, hopeful, sideways, softly-lit, or charred at the edges. But let’s be clear: We do not offer answers. We do not even offer the illusion of answers. In fact, we’re not entirely sure why this album exists at all. It contradicts itself. It loops back. It points at nothing. And because we can make it, we did . This is the full depth of our artistic justification. Think of WHY Volume 1 as an exercise in acknowledging the absurd: the days when you ask the big questions with the seriousness of a philosopher b...

Long before the lasers, strobes and 3 a.m. meltdowns, this tune laid the groundwork for what would later become that Prodigy anthem we all rinsed to when we used to rave. The DNA is unmistakable. It even popped up today in a private list from Limit nightclub, one of the clubs I frequented and DJ'ed at — a perfect reminder of where so many of those breakbeat moments truly began. Root s.

There are moments when a piece of music surfaces almost uninvited — not as part of a plan or a project, but as something the world itself insists on saying. Beneath is one of those moments. For months, I’ve been caught between two albums. One looks backward a collection of older recordings, half-lost in the fog of the past, made during a time when alcohol blurred the lines and debauchery masqueraded as freedom. The other looks upward newer work that seeks balance and meaning again, tracing the sevenfold heavens and the slow ascent of the soul as it sheds weight and remembers light. But Beneath doesn’t belong to either world. It sits in the underlayers in the soil, the circuitry, the dreaming dark beneath London. It is said that Izanami moves there, transmitting decay and ancient wisdom through the network a low electrical hum of forgotten knowledge that leaks through our devices and into our songs. Beneath came from that hum: a pulse of the Earth and the underworld intertwined, a ...

Sometimes, a record surfaces that feels like it’s been beamed in from another dimension of Italian lounge perfection — sunlit, cinematic, and quietly intoxicating. The Untitled LP by Complesso Strumentale “The Sundowners” , recently sold for £1,000 , is exactly that kind of treasure. Released on the small Dany Record label, this mysterious album sits somewhere between library music, soundtrack work, and lost lounge masterpiece. Each track — from the aquatic shimmer of “Sci Acquatico” to the smoky café elegance of “Appuntamento al Royal” and “Jasmine” — feels like it’s scoring a film that never existed. There’s a warmth here that modern recordings rarely capture — that analog glow of a small studio filled with wood-panel walls and well-worn instruments. It’s no surprise collectors go wild for these kinds of records. The Sundowners’ blend of cinematic cool, wistful melody, and soft groove makes it endlessly listenable. And then there’s that voice. Sometimes, you just want to snug...

The recent moons have left me spent — tides of light dragging at the edges of my vision, pulling me into exhaustion I didn’t fully understand until their passing. I write this now in welcome — to the incoming moon, to new cycles, to what follows. This Harvest Moon, poised to rise as a supermoon, arrives not just as a celestial spectacle, but as a marker: of turning, of emergence, of motion forward. In its glow I sense permission — permission to move, to breathe, to open. I am releasing “Beneath” alongside this moonrise. There’s a rightness in their alignment. Beneath, as title, as concept, as song: what lies under, what is hidden, what yearns to become visible. With this track comes a sense of progress, of output — of offering something formed from stillness. And I believe: more will follow. In the night to come, when the moon climbs above rooftops or peaks, I’ll watch for its softness, its bold fullness. May clouds part. May the light find its way. May listeners find the spaces beneat...

There are moments when a piece of music surfaces almost uninvited not as part of a plan or a project, but as something the world itself insists on saying. Beneath is one of those moments. For months, I’ve been caught between two albums. One looks backward a collection of older recordings, half-lost in the fog of the past, made during a time when alcohol blurred the lines and debauchery masqueraded as freedom. The other looks upward newer work that seeks balance and meaning again, tracing the sevenfold heavens and the slow ascent of the soul as it sheds weight and remembers light. But Beneath doesn’t belong to either world. It sits in the underlayers — in the soil, the circuitry, the dreaming dark beneath London. It is said that Izanami moves there, transmitting decay and ancient wisdom through the network — a low electrical hum of forgotten knowledge that leaks through our devices and into our songs. Beneath came from that hum: a pulse of the Earth and the underworld intertwined, a sor...

Today, I am mostly converting Hex to Midi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

After a buys period and an insane September, I need this right now. 

Spirit in Motion The air cracked open at Northern Green Gathering.  We hit the ground, with a pulse, a rhythm, a roar. The crowd not just watching, but breathing with us, their voices weaving into our sound, their hands catching sparks of spirit, their feet drumming the ground like thunder. Brokli, fire at the centre. The bespoke hybrid sitar-guitar shimmering  a stringed creature stitched from dream and craft. He bent it, stretched it, sang it into another form. Then came the one-handed dance: a break in time, a break in gravity. Suspended microphone burning in the other hand, half Break dance, half kung fu oracle, flipped inside out  a reversal, a shout, a blessing.  Bernardo Braveheart,  guardian dog of spirit and song,  ran with the howl and heartbeat of the moment. Together, we opened the door and the crowd walked through with us. Shelly and the whole team at Cloth Cat Leeds , you held the circle, you made the magic possible. Commu...

We all dream of summer stretching on forever, but even the sweetest season has its limits. There’s only so much heat, so much haze, before the soul starts to long for shade. Steve Hiett understood that balance perfectly—his music carries the shimmer of light but also the quiet ache of its fading.  No wonder Sony’s AOR City 1000 imprint chose to reissue Down On The Road By The Beach (1983) in late August 2017, as if to remind us that summer’s closing chapters are as vital as its beginning. On this record, the radiant pulse of Chuck Berry, The Beach Boys, and Booker T. & the MG’s filters through Hiett’s lens, refracted into something wholly his own. In its meditative corners, you catch echoes of The Everly Brothers, The Ventures, and Roy Orbison—spectral voices drifting like heat mirages.  In its broader strokes, it’s a meeting ground where Japanese, American, and English mellow music converge: City Pop, AOR, jazz-fusion, even the minimalism of The Durutti Column, all wove...

The end of summer comes not with silence, but with the clatter of return. Today, the road home weighed heavy— the car loaded beyond reason, unloaded of tents and stoves, gas and food, utensils, stories, laughter, and two giant trees rescued from indoors to carry with me like green guardians. From Green Gathering to the Battle trail of 1066, I gave and gave—performing, dancing, listening, holding space for young and old, pouring energy into love, into life itself. And yet—on arrival— my car swallowed its keys in one final trick. The hill climb of fatigue turned steeper: front door broken down, spare keys sought in weary hands, concern rising with the tick of the parking clock. Still, I sat. Tea in hand. Three weeks’ worth of unopened life. And the first envelope, a fine— for resting too long at a service stop, because even a traveler must breathe. The tests pile high: plants lost to thirst in my absence, rooms that demand reset, soil to replant, walls to clean...