Goth-Trad
New Epoch

Takeaki Maruyama is sitting across from a huge window. The place is a hotel in Shinjuku, Tokyo. In front of him is a MIDI keyboard connected to an illuminated Mac, homemade synthesizers, drum machines programmed just before, active kaosspad and kaossillator. A deep breath before immersion.

The window bursts behind his eyes.

The language spoken by the neon is the dubstep language, a language that stays underground as long as possible before emerging and bubbling under the fingers of Goth-Trad, the silence shaping into synthetic strings on "Man In The Maze" is the panting of a neurotic race, the temples capture the emergence of minimal percussion and dub snares that explode under synthetic droplets and metallic hiccups that set to music the sparkle of taxi headlights. The closed eyes ranging among the shop windows illuminated by tungsten rays create dissonant reverberations that croak in slightly ample noise breaths, where the dubstep vein receives a not even too lethal dose of sounds from the greenwoodian and yorkeian school, repetitions that contaminate synapses, synthetisms that hover amid the noise of "Departure". "Strangers" is the antechamber of a nightclub, where the faces of strangers abound and shine with sweat under fixed lights to decompress the stroboscopic violence of the dancefloor, with tides of reverbs, percussive minimalisms walk slowly under pads like drones of the new millennium whose "pitch" goes up and down until it disappears. Until entering the floor where "Babylon Fall" explodes, with its black vocal echoes landing on noise hiccups directly from Jamaica of Max Romeo, the bass pushes hard on the stomach while the lights pierce the eyes. The return journey, among rain-slicked streets and devoured by people's feet, is driven by the nervous drum machine of the electronic-drugged dub verb soaked in acids that bears the name "New Epoch".

The glass does not reassemble, the eyes do not reopen, we are still on the dubfloor.