WW Records – WW 2.0

WW 2.0 Artwork

My oh my. Here we are again, we gave you the heads up on its arrival and we even gave you an exclusive free DL from one of the label’s co-owners, Mr Guy (Wampa). Now we’re giving you the whimsical journey, pace by pace, through the incredible compilation album, from the sublime heads at WW Records, that is, WW 2.0

So, just over two weeks ago, we gave you the VIP (the 10th & closing track of this album) of Sam Mumford’s Before the Love Goes: a drone-like roll that builds into an ear bursting explosion of studio recorded drums. Those of you familiar with the works of Sam Mumford will know that this addition of live-stage-feel-percussion was no deliverance of Guy Wampa (being Guy Wampa’s VIP), typically an electronically swung hypnotic terror station, no. You’d know that this was all sir Mumford. And oh did we want to give you the VIP… but oh how we needed you to hear the original; track 01 of 10, the start of a 40 minute dive into a ginormous slathering hole of WW madness.

Sam’s work has knocked me off my feet ever since I first bumped into his wild acoustic/folk-esque/drum & bass inspired Scatter EPAnd this time around was no lesser an experience, if anyone’s going to open a WW compilation, something that’s sure to be packed with beats stretching arms across a jostling table of broken garage, juke, techno and the completely bizare, it’s going to be the sultry strokes of Sam’s guitar that lull an unsuspecting fool completely over the edge, off kilter and confused. The soft vocals that break into that drum exploding burst, heard in the VIP, but instead, in their unadulterated form: disastrous and screaming of live rock bands in the midst of a kit smashing frenzy, sweaty hair whipping back and forth, faces set to stern-gurn.

I find myself with hairs on end, my new KRK’s pulsating wildly as if terrified of the prospect of music away from DAW coded rhythms, I close my eyes and sing along, wiggling my never-learned fingers about an invisible guitar, then launching in with wild waving arms and hands, once learned in basic drumming.

And then you’re in…

Old Man Diode: better known on the surface world as Jo, the man behind the 4th installment of our Mix the Belt series, and the second-half of titanic force behind this boundless world of WW. He swaths in to pick us up from Sam Mumfords body shattering intro, he surrounds us in a thick heavy blanket of sub frequencies, a cyborg-humanoid-robonaught-undead-bansheebot, a drowning muddle of oscillating layers consuming your frail soul. The Wash is the filthy cleansing after Before the Love Goes’ bucket of raucous. It prepares you for the next 8 tracks to come by slowly burying you in a timeless rhythm soon accompanied by the thud of distant drums.

I’d say ‘immersive’ and ‘terrifying’ in a sense of waiting, never knowing, ‘uncomfortable’ as you sway in the dark, unsure of the demons lurking in the unannounced future of the track at hand, let alone the album ahead of you.

In the settling Wash of Old Man D’s torment, we find ourselves picked up by the dreamlike bleeps & bloops of Seth Scott’s if (this > silence) {return this} else {return 0};. If a title like that doesn’t say it all then I’m afraid you’ll be walking blindfolded into a darkness, a darkness which will have you unsure of your return.

In the spirit of the prior rhythmic role, Seth’s 3rd track of the album picks up almost where we left off: the dance of a slow, head’y lull. But there’s a presence of a harder structure: sharper drums and crisp slices of high end. A sense of progression is the hearty soul in the center of the trance that makes you strong, delivers you hungry spirit, a love for the roll.

Itoa: certified nutcase and Footworky/Jukey grand-master of WW Records. We’ve credited him before for a disgusting little piece he did on a filthy Kebab-house tune called Peng. I was actually supposed to do a piece on his latest EP out on Bad Taste Records, French Colawell worth checking out! Sorry I never did it Alex mate, it’s a fucking banger, let me at least say that much.

So with the understanding that Itoa has a real knack for making dancefloor shaking riddims, we can burst into the brief light with track number 04, Spell City. 

She carries your zombed-out body from the lower 4×4 rhythms of the underreaches into full frontal 160/170 mayhem. A melodic culminated harvest of beautiful synths and pads soar into the prolific heavens as you escape the crawl, and are thrown, headfirst, into gun fingering, face screwing, leg jostling joy. One minute of rise before that ever-awaited drop. A breath of speed, last clutched in Sam’s opener, after ten minutes of technolicious dreaming. A hard slap in the face and painfully pleasing reminder of the sheer musical spread that a WW Records jar of jams has to offer.

You pace around the room at speed, slap a few hands, pound a few fists, revel in the hype and after the second drop, as the last layer of drums pound out in an empty-space-notion of an imminent end, you prepare for the beating heart of the album; its centerpiece, a bridge extending over unknown liquid rivers, track number 05.

I’m not quite sure how many Mondryaan tracks I’ve come across before. I’m pretty sure it’s a few and I’m sure they’re all obscure, fuzzy, loud and weighty as fuck. Another thing I know is that the haunting and beautiful vocals of Teresa Campos, normally, follow close suit. Seed is no exception: difficult off-key melodies merge in, what I imagine to be, the frenzied crawl of an 8-bit monster, as the enchanting call of Teresa Campos’ Snow-Ghosts-style vocals (an incredible Houndstooth project from producers; Throwing Snow & EXES and vocalist, Augustus Ghost, A.K.A Hannah Cartwright), juxtapose Seed‘s relent in a perfectly balanced ballad of harmonies.

It’s filled with glitched-out techy drums that click about the crescendo of noise, heading, all the while, into the ‘Mondryaan finale’ of gargantuan sub-frequencies, levels tearing at the peripheries.

Dexplicit enters into the fray. To carry you. To strap you in and reel up into the stratosphere, with dancing pads, glistening in the skies. Pace greets us gladly with shaking breaks and the 6th installment takes a backwards plunge into the upper reaches; mesosphere behind us, troposphere around us, a glittering void ahead. We enter the realms of Time & Space. 

Stretched ‘wobbing’ bass cuddles us close, like an old friend from a not-too-distant past, un-diddled and delicious. We drift on the cackling broken rhythms, soaring through the stars at supersonic pace, Marty McFly and the Doc hurtling along at our side. Some kind of old-school raver-logic propelling our WW rocket through the uncharted solar system, only to come hurtling back into our layered bubble of life-giving: clouds burst apart with the sonic force of reentry. Enter the 7th phase…

“Open the splitter shafts!” cries Captain Wampa, known to close crew and friends as Guy Wampa, “Master control: enter ‘WW.007 Sequence”. And the ship creaks under the stresses of metals bending, where we were falling we are now drifting, sailing towards the landing destination. Where broken breaks once lead us into the stars, a rolling return to the steaming clank of Technolectro brings us home.

The other-half of WW’s solid foundations, Guy Wampa, swallows us whole. Imagine Old Man Diode’s 2nd spill that consumed us, the Wash, and then imagine Seth Scott’s piece and 3rd step in the WWalk we’ve been crashing through. Combine them, break them, enlighten them and apply the distant, soft calls of Emily Bakosi. She entices you through the ever-growing, instrumental swell. Words Say It.

Sunlight pours through the shutters. An orange fall cascades into the gold and yellow pool. Clouds the mother of joy. We are no longer plugged in. We are no longer a machine. No devices and no motive. The ship’s dissipated, replaced with the idea of an end. Floating voices and rhythms collapse in a circadian impulse.

Spring Snow Dub, do the pipes and horns call your kindred spirit home?

Rene Van Munster rubs the soulful sex of horizon into our hearts. The 8th track breathes a sigh, lifting doubts from the crevices, they vaporize in the sunlight, warm touches in their wake.

Feeling confused? Just hit the play button and you’ll understand exactly what I’m talking about…

Spring Snow Dub set the heart to closure and relief, to relax. The end in sight, we are content. And to progress into the final close, what better than the 9th: Prelude in F Sharp Minor. 

Here we are at the last lines, Llywelyn Ap Myrddin & Aisa Ijiri take to the ivories in the singular instrumented curtain draw. What part of us that was bathed in the warm light of the last track is now laid back on the bed-sheets, eyes closed, emotionally disentangled though tightly wound around the beautiful fingers that do traverses the black and white keys of what can only be a grand old piano.

And then we’re right back where we started…

We close on the track we began with, the track we gave you for free DL in preparation of this album, the track that started it all, 01 now 10 but VIP’d by the incredible Guy Wampa. A blizzard of beats, the tune we knew, reWWorked, rebuilt, breathed new electronic life.

A haunting rendition of the beginning, the perfect place to end.

I offer huge heaps of Kudos to both Jo Wills & Guy Wood for the existence of WW Records, a single home of incredible diversity standing sturdy and unbending in the wake of a monolithic industry, towering above us. WW 2.0 blows whistles in the gale-force wind, sirens of change. Beautiful. Big ups to WW Records and all involved, incredible album, incredible label, incredible people.


Buy your copy of the full album here.

Listen to Old Man Diode’s Mix the Belt entry here




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