Bromide Dub

For a time, I was chasing the ghost of Daft Punk with my best mate, Clayton, as ‘The Filterbrats’. The common thread that brought us together was a mutual, fanatical obsession with The Prodigy. From there, we graduated to French filters and armed ourselves with more side-chain compression than was strictly healthy, convinced we were their less-talented cousins. These days, I mostly lurk in the sonic Mariana Trench, making deep, echo-drenched Dub Techno as ‘Bromide Dub’. The problem is, my brain is a traitor. After being hardwired by everything above, it constantly tries to sneak in a big, dumb, four-to-the-floor kick drum. I am caught in a perpetual struggle between making music for abandoned warehouses and tunes for a dancefloor I have no intention of ever visiting. I don’t expect people to play them, but I can’t seem to stop writing them. If you’re looking for the deep and meaningful ‘why’ behind it all, it stems from an early fascination with shamanism, psychedelics, and the function of tribal dance in shifting the consciousness of a community. This culminated in what I still consider my greatest DJ achievement: taking a group of people through a full sleep cycle with music, and then gently bringing them back. Not many DJs would claim their fame was literally putting a room of people to sleep, but it left the participants genuinely trying to understand out what had just happened (I believe some seriously strange dreams were to be had), and that feels more profound (to me) than a thousand hands in the air. So there you have it – a long, weird trip. Listen to my music. Or don’t. I’ll still be here, arguing with a reverb tail and bathing in the bass.