skip to main |
skip to sidebar
The Guyz' are paid a visit by the ghost of shamans' past during this sickening spirit dream of atmospheric wonk and loungey noise. Tone generator/feedback wrangler JB was out of action for close to a week after hot-boxing these infernal fumes, and string mangler EG swears he never played half the notes on this record. A spooky mix of lusty aimlessness and wrathful burn fit for adult contemporary radio in the first few circles of hell.
Get it here.
Two dudes take a giant piss into the abyss after a day of missed connections and endless fragmentation. First up, a womb re-entry primer of trancing pulses and embryonic drone with J.B. on guitar and E.G. on EQ knobs. Next, a fake jazz demolition hymn with E.G. on guitar and J.B. spinning skronk into gold. Guyz 1, Universe 0. To be continued …
Get it here.
In preparation of the transcendent freedom jazz experience of live
Flatlands Collective, the Guyz order a pie and invite reclusive
synth-smasher Oscilabot over for a pre-game of hot mozzarella and
cold-war tension soundscaping. Liberation guitar marches, electronic
missile commands and mixing console standoffs ripple through this
live-to-tape-deck sizzler. Says one hard-to-impress collaborator on
the playback en route to the main event, "This is actually pretty
good."
Get it here.
In the heat of the summer, two men did not forget what heat and oppression are all about. Summer has come and gone, and the dutiful execution of heat mongering, sweltering summer death and 10,000% humidity by our two prophets of sweat stands as a testament to those months now lost. As you stand in the death-piles of raked leaves, counting the dismal days until you are buried in ice and snow, hold vigil with our heroes, Guyz Nyte, for the taste of the Mississippi Delta that comes to Michigan every year.
Get it here.
The Guyz' are paid a visit by the ghost of shamans' past during this sickening spirit dream of atmospheric wonk and loungey noise. Tone generator/feedback wrangler JB was out of action for close to a week after hot-boxing these infernal fumes, and string mangler EG swears he never played half the notes on this record. A spooky mix of lusty aimlessness and wrathful burn fit for adult contemporary radio in the first few circles of hell.
Two dudes take a giant piss into the abyss after a day of missed connections and endless fragmentation. First up, a womb re-entry primer of trancing pulses and embryonic drone with J.B. on guitar and E.G. on EQ knobs. Next, a fake jazz demolition hymn with E.G. on guitar and J.B. spinning skronk into gold. Guyz 1, Universe 0. To be continued …
In preparation of the transcendent freedom jazz experience of live
In the heat of the summer, two men did not forget what heat and oppression are all about. Summer has come and gone, and the dutiful execution of heat mongering, sweltering summer death and 10,000% humidity by our two prophets of sweat stands as a testament to those months now lost. As you stand in the death-piles of raked leaves, counting the dismal days until you are buried in ice and snow, hold vigil with our heroes, Guyz Nyte, for the taste of the Mississippi Delta that comes to Michigan every year.
