Here's a bright new banger from QTM. The picture above is his grandmother's beach house, which served as a source of influence for this groovy track.
MP3 :: QTM - Wooden Jetty
Our sordid pals Backwoods Baglady, Knot They're, eeeeeeee and Jah Bork (and an undulating mass of junk pop) visit a series of pretentiously cucurbitacious planetoids orbiting a Corpulent, Corporate Teenage Santa Klaus within the Swing Saw Solar System.
Behold! as the Dre' G'z discover the Ancients of Life, Opportunity, Sadness Molasses, Ineffable Intonations, Stagnant Flesh, Glad Vag, Videotape Slizz, Etc.
Gasp! in hushed tones at the mere experiences related in garishly 80's movie montage form: Jah Bork sneezes in revelry! Knot They're dispatches the Phantom Slownus with a vorpal blade! Baglady falls down a flight of nebulae, behind the stale guffaws of a failed sitcom's laugh track! and more!
Hey Friend, I'm sure by now you've heard of this cool new enigmatic underground indie-electro producer: Y2Kid. Born in the 80's, and raised in the 90's, this bold new musical, and cultural blessing keeps it totally 100%. Though technically alive for years beforehand, Y2Kid did not become universally conscious until the dawn of the new Willenium. Almost immediately, the overwhelming power and responsibility of conveying the mood of a generation fell into this young prophet's lap. With only mere months left before the apocalypse, this wise young artist is finally releasing, in small amounts so as not to overwhelm the public, the masterworks of his short tormented life. Please, when listening to Y2Kid, exercise responsibility and moderation to avoid a prolonged state of awe.
New Age Outlaws by Dylan Ettinger“Lights” he mumbled. The filthy fluorescent bulb overhead buzzed and failed to come to life. The dimmers on his windows were fried and the headlights of passing hovercars and mobile ads danced seductively across the walls and ceiling of his dreary room. The place smelled like dank cardboard; stale, synthetic cheese and skunked beer.He rustled through a pile of empty bottles and takeout boxes, pulled out his spare pad and plugged in his goggles as he collapsed into his old recliner. His newer, faster computer had been destroyed in the chase. He hadn't logged on all day and was getting anxious. On his first attempt to log in to the network, red letters burned against the back-lit projection screen, flashing between indecipherable Chinese characters and English. EMPLOYMENT TERMINATED. “Fuck me,” he groaned. Gordon smashed his pad against the table, cracking the display. A dull, red light still flickered from what remained of the shattered screen.