Tackhead

All these rugged sounds in discordant harmony, swirling like shadows in your mind, extraterrestrial raggabeats/trip hop broken down/post punk noise/machine soul riddims...

This is the sound of cloud-covered days and rain-slicked streets, half-lit street corners and errant rhythm boxes spooling out the Chiba City blues.

The legacy of Andrew Weatherall looms large over dance music's history. What follows is a semi-historical narrative woven around 30 of his records.

Material's Intonarumori is a sprawling double-album sourced in the seedy underbelly of hip hop. And it's as ugly and twisted as you could hope for.

Into the 90s, where the aftershocks of dubbed out post punk were continuing to live large. Right off the bat, Mark Stewart was the strange attractor.

Now we move to the back of the crate toward the voodoo records: the heaviest, most atmospheric music this side of krautrock. Things are gonna get weird.

The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel. The view stretches from Chicago to the cornfields of Iowa and beyond.

During what's turned out to be an exceptionally busy week, I've been vibing out practically non-stop to Woebot's latest mix: "Bands a make her dance."

Each of these records is a chapter in the story of music's dalliance with the cosmos, tracing a fascination with the stars through the 20th and beyond.

The spectre of post punk abstraction hangs heavy over everything here, gesturing back toward an era when Mark Stewart hooked up with Tackhead.