Planetary People
One of Berghainâs longest-serving residents, Luke Slater has been defining bleepy, polyrhythmic, industrial-strength techno as Planetary Assault Systems since the mid-nineties. P.A.S albums tend to come together in their own time:
âExternal signals and signs combine until the recipe feels right, both musically and from being âout thereâ,â Slater adds. â10 years since I released Arc Angel on Ostgut Ton, and itâs a fitting pleasure to combine live show ideas and studio work for the new album, served up with raw energyâ That patience runs through his whole Ostgut catalogue; since Temporary Suspension brought its machine-tooled weight and alien feeling to the label in 2009, each P.A.S. release on Ostgut Ton has been its own quest for discovery, from The Messengerâs search for sounds not yet present in club music to Arc Angelâs focus on melody to the deep hypnosis of Plantae.
His new album, Planetary People has the deliberate imagination and depth of a record that took its time, shaped as much by live rooms and crowds as by the studio.
âInto The Nightâ creates a haunting, dystopic environment of corroded acid saturated in echo, absorbing from the first second. âLabyrinthâ breaks into buoyant tribal percussion, modulated chirps trading off over propulsive drums. âQuadrant 10â is clean, delay-drenched techno, buzzing with noise splatters over saturated thuds. âSermon Of The Light Tidesâ scrambles metallic bell sequences that distort and evolve throughout, reminiscent of a dial-up modem crossed with a game of Frogger, squelching between percussive bursts and stripped-back kicks. âBrave Cosmoâ is tormentingly menacing, eerie synths panning around buried vocal fragments over frantic percussion. âRetina Burnâ rolls on fierce, cement-mixer 909 cycles, rave stabs over a ride that locks you in, the whole track stuttering and repeating before stripping back to a bare echoing kick and building itself again. âThunder Majorâ barrels on open hats and reverb-drenched claps ricocheting through twisting wreaths of delay, mesmeric and relentless. âBeton Brutâ marches juggernaut percussion stamping through hall reverb so vast you can visualise the room, the darkest and most unrelenting track on the record. âNo Ninjaâ crunches in metallic and immediate, a wiry plucked lead threading through glitch with the bass held low and deep, mixed so precisely you can see every layer stacked in your mindâs eye. âHa Jamâ is danceable techno with plenty of funk and a sophisticated looseness, a vocal laugh bouncing off clanging metal blocks and rave stabs. âLynxâ lowpasses its rave stabs and crystalline beeps, chirpy hats ticking, cold metal repeats, old school and mesmeric. âGeneration Slipâ closes everything out, ominous and churning, skittering percussion and electrical sparks rattling through steel, a freight train barrelling on into oblivion.
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One of Berghainâs longest-serving residents, Luke Slater has been defining bleepy, polyrhythmic, industrial-strength techno as Planetary Assault Systems since the mid-nineties. P.A.S albums tend to come together in their own time:
âExternal signals and signs combine until the recipe feels right, both musically and from being âout thereâ,â Slater adds. â10 years since I released Arc Angel on Ostgut Ton, and itâs a fitting pleasure to combine live show ideas and studio work for the new album, served up with raw energyâ That patience runs through his whole Ostgut catalogue; since Temporary Suspension brought its machine-tooled weight and alien feeling to the label in 2009, each P.A.S. release on Ostgut Ton has been its own quest for discovery, from The Messengerâs search for sounds not yet present in club music to Arc Angelâs focus on melody to the deep hypnosis of Plantae.
His new album, Planetary People has the deliberate imagination and depth of a record that took its time, shaped as much by live rooms and crowds as by the studio.
âInto The Nightâ creates a haunting, dystopic environment of corroded acid saturated in echo, absorbing from the first second. âLabyrinthâ breaks into buoyant tribal percussion, modulated chirps trading off over propulsive drums. âQuadrant 10â is clean, delay-drenched techno, buzzing with noise splatters over saturated thuds. âSermon Of The Light Tidesâ scrambles metallic bell sequences that distort and evolve throughout, reminiscent of a dial-up modem crossed with a game of Frogger, squelching between percussive bursts and stripped-back kicks. âBrave Cosmoâ is tormentingly menacing, eerie synths panning around buried vocal fragments over frantic percussion. âRetina Burnâ rolls on fierce, cement-mixer 909 cycles, rave stabs over a ride that locks you in, the whole track stuttering and repeating before stripping back to a bare echoing kick and building itself again. âThunder Majorâ barrels on open hats and reverb-drenched claps ricocheting through twisting wreaths of delay, mesmeric and relentless. âBeton Brutâ marches juggernaut percussion stamping through hall reverb so vast you can visualise the room, the darkest and most unrelenting track on the record. âNo Ninjaâ crunches in metallic and immediate, a wiry plucked lead threading through glitch with the bass held low and deep, mixed so precisely you can see every layer stacked in your mindâs eye. âHa Jamâ is danceable techno with plenty of funk and a sophisticated looseness, a vocal laugh bouncing off clanging metal blocks and rave stabs. âLynxâ lowpasses its rave stabs and crystalline beeps, chirpy hats ticking, cold metal repeats, old school and mesmeric. âGeneration Slipâ closes everything out, ominous and churning, skittering percussion and electrical sparks rattling through steel, a freight train barrelling on into oblivion.
