icedr0p at 2:52:
“omgggg this parrrrt”
the sample crumbles like nature valley on a napkin. paddleboat percussion, the purr of public transport underfoot.
“don’t lie to me”
is that what’s being said?
the beat walks with a peg-leg, knocking against empty hiss.
regurgitated guitars. this is sweet vomit or r.e.m. sleep punctuated by the digital marimba of your alarm, caught in the spin cycle.
i know we all used to dig that whole detached, chopped-and-slopped sound pioneered by macintosh plus and oneohtrix, but, like, this is something beyond that. philadelphia’s yakui is something tucked inside the aesthetic. like an egg yolk oozing from a geode.
it kisses you right beneath the jaw. its space heater breath oscillates and smells like the green walnuts you’d pick by the bent chainlink fence separating your yard from the neighbors. you’d bring them to your nose, and their scent would shiver in your chest like the kind of bodywash that’s marketed exclusively to men.
and you wouldn’t mind lathering the song into your hair, if you could. imagine how snug you’d feel in a towel, letting it evaporate as you watch little dust floaters dance in the bathroom air on a warm morning.
tchan at 1:07:
this is so emo but dancey i love it