Jansky Noise - Past Present & Future Star Music

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...

“Did I say 16 of me? I'm sorry, we're only one.” – Frank Zappa’s Mind-Bending Moment on Dick Cavett In a world where identity is fragmented, leave it to Frank Zappa to deliver a one-liner that blows apart the illusion of multiplicity—live, in his usual dry style, on national television. On The Dick Cavett Show (clip here , jump to 4:50), Zappa quips: “Did I say 16 of me? I’m sorry, we’re only one.” It’s quick. Offhand. Easily missed. But like much of Zappa’s wordplay, it drips with layered meaning. On the surface, it's just a joke—a reference to the musical concept of overdubbing or performing multiple roles. But underneath, it pulses with something deeper: a challenge to how we perceive the self. Zappa was always ahead of his time, whether musically, politically, or philosophically. This tiny phrase seems to echo something profound about the human condition, especially in an era of social media avatars, curated personas, and digital doubles. We present fragments of ...

This new song, Rise (featuring the voice of Orion Vox), is a step in a different direction—one born out of reflection, compassion, and quiet strength. The world feels heavy these days. You can feel it in the air, in people’s words, in the collective silence. And yet, even in that silence… there is growth. There is grass —under our feet, resilient and unbending. Rise is my homage to that: to the people who get stepped on, who get flattened by life, and still find the courage to keep going. Like blades of grass after a storm, this EP comes on the back of a breeze—light and filled with hope. It’s for anyone who's tired. Anyone who's trying. Anyone who's quietly standing back up. Orion Vox’s vocals—recorded via space-time continuum machine loop (y—echo a kind of nostalgic peace. They remind me of the sounds you might hear at the end of the night in a '90s club, when the crowd thins and the lights dim, and there’s just you , and the music plays forever, and it's gonna ...

Whisky-soaked ritual blues smokin in a haze  In an era of algorithm-fed mediocrity, The Jonny Halifax Invocation steps on stage like a ghost preacher with a bone to pick. What unfolded at The Underground in Bradford was an mini epic, a dense  trance, a sermon a rewinding of time, I feel like by listeing to this I am watching the soundtrack to smoke, blood and tears that have been in the earth, and encrusted into the heart of this deep sound for a long, long time. A performance so rich, textured, and spiritually ragged it left the walls shaking with something older than rock and roll, and wiser than any streaming trend. This set was pure distilled soul — like listening to peated whisky blowing in on the wind , ancient and unmistakably potent. And yet, here we are: a world where something this outstanding sits quietly with just 452 views and little traction. That says more about the dullness of the mainstream musical palate than it does about the band. If today’s listene...

Thanks to DJ Butho The Warrior in Glasgow , I was reminded of this track today: Messages from the Stars by The RAH Band. Originally released in 1985, this cosmic synth-funk gem still shines, beaming bright spaced-out, and totally ahead of its time. It’s the kind of track that makes you wonder how the past can sound more futuristic than half of today’s playlists. With its shimmering electronic textures, Messages from the Stars  is clearly a massive hit with it's 47Million plays currently on Facebook.  There's something beautifully haunting and optimistic about it, like receiving a transmission from a distant galaxy that says, "We’re still out here. Keep dancing." If you've never heard it: float back in time and tune in.