cømpiler makes his Deep Within debut delivering a halftime beat with stomping basses and catchy vocals! Go grab yourself a copy, it´s free!

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Pigeonhole

cømpiler - Pigeonhole (Free Download)

The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.            “It’s not like I’m using,” Case heard someone say, as he shouldered his way through the crowd around the door of the Chat. “It’s like my body’s developed this massive drug deficiency.” It was a Sprawl voice and a Sprawl joke. The Chatsubo was a bar for professional expatriates; you could drink there for a week and never hear two words in Japanese.            Ratz was tending bar, h is prosthetic arm jerking monotonously as he filled a tray of glasses with draft Kirin. He saw Case and smiled, his teeth a webwork of East European steel and brown decay. Case found a place at the bar, between the unlikely tan on one of Lonny Zone’s whores and the crisp naval uniform of a tall African whose cheekbones were ridged with precise rows of tribal scars. “Wage was in her early, with two joeboys,” Ratz said, shoving a draft across the bar with his good hand. “Maybe some business with you, Case?”            Case shrugged. The girl to his right giggled and nudged him.            The bartender’s smile widened. His ugliness was the stuff of legend. In an age of affordable beauty, there was something heraldic about his lack of it. The antique arm whined as he reached for another mug. It was a Russian military prosthesis, a seven-function force-feedback manipulator, cased in grubby pink plastic. “You are too much the artiste, Herr Case.” Ratz grunted; the sound served him as laughter. He scratched his overhang of white-shirted belly with the pink claw. “You are the artiste of the slightly funny deal.”            “Sure,” Case said, and sipped his beer. “Somebody’s gotta be funny around here. Sure the fuck isn’t you.”            The whore’s giggle went up an octave.            “Isn’t you either, sister. So you vanish, okay? Zone, he’s a close personal friend of mine.”            She looked Case in the eye and made the softest possible spitting sound, her lips barely moving. But she left.            “Jesus,” Case said, “what kinda creepjoint you running here? Man can’t have a drink?”            “Ha,” Ratz said, swabbing the scarred wood with a rag, “Zone shows a percentage. You I let work here for entertainment value.”            As Case was picking up his beer, one of those strange instants of silence descended, as though a hundred unrelated conversations had simultaneously arrived at the same pause. Then the whore’s giggle rang out, tinged with certain hysteria.            Ratz grunted. “An angel has passed.”            “The Chinese,” bellowed a drunken Australian, “Chinese bloody invented nerve-splicing. Give me the mainland for a nerve job any day. Fix you right, mate…;”            “Now that,” Case said to his glass, all his bitterness suddenly rising in him like bile, “that is so much bullshit.”             The Japanese had already forgotten more neurosurgery than the Chinese had ever known. The black clinics of Chiba were the cutting edge, whole bodies of technique supplanted monthly, and still they couldn’t repair the damage he’d suffered in that Memphis hotel.            A year here and he still dreamed of cyberspace, hope fading nightly. All the speed he took, all the turns he’d taken and the corners he’d cut in Night City, and still he’d see the matrix in his sleep, bright lattices of logic unfolding across that colorless void…;The Sprawl was a long strange way home over the Pacific now, and he was no console man, no cyberspace cowboy. Just another hustler, trying to make it through. But the dreams came on in the Japanese night like livewire voodoo, and he’d cry for it, cry in his sleep, and wake alone in the dark, curled in his capsule in some coffin hotel, his hands clawed into the bedslab, temperfoam bunched between his fingers, trying to reach the console that wasn’t there.             “I saw your girl last night,” Ratz said, passing Case his second Kirin.            “I don’t have one,” he said, and drank.            “Miss Linda Lee.”            Case shook his head.            “No girl? Nothing? Only biz, friend artiste? Dedication to commerce?” The bartender’s small brown eyes were nested deep in wrinkled flesh. “I think I liked you better, with her. You laughed more. Now, some night, you get maybe too artistic; you wind up in the clinic tanks, spare parts.”            “You’re breaking my heart, Ratz.” He finished his beer, paid and left, high narrow shoulders hunched beneath the rainstained khaki nylon of his windbreaker. Threading his way through the Ninsei crowds, he could smell his own stale sweat.             Case was twenty-four. At twenty-two, he’d been a cowboy, a rustler, one of the best in the Sprawl. He’d been trained by the best, by McCoy Pauley and Bobby Quine, legends in the biz. He’d operated on an almost permanent adrenaline high, a byproduct of youth and proficiency, jacked into a custom cyberspace deck hat projected his disembodied consciousness into the consensual hallucination that was the matrix. A their, he’d worked for other, wealthier thieves, employers who provided the exotic software required to penetrate the bright walls of corporate systems, opening windows into rich fields of data.            He’s made the classic mistake, the one he’s sworn he’d never make. He stole from his employers. He kept something for himself and tried to move it through a fence in Amsterdam. He still wasn’t sure how he’d been discovered, not that it mattered now. He’d expected to die, then but they only smiled. Of course he was welcome, they told him, welcome to the money. And he was going to need it. Because––still smiling––they were going to make sure he never worked again.            They damaged his nervous system with a wartime Russian mycotoxin.            Strapped to a bed in a Memphis hotel, his talent burning out micron by micron, he hallucinated for thirty hours.            The damage was minute, subtle, and utterly effective.            For Case, who’d lived for the bodiless exultation of cyberspace, it was the Fall. In the bars he’d frequented as a cowboy hotshot, the elite stance involved a certain relaxed contempt for the flesh. The body was meat. Case fell into the prison of his own flesh.             His total assets were quickly converted to New Yen, a fat sheaf of the old paper currency that circulated endlessly through the closed circuit of the world’s black markets like the seashells of the Trobriand islanders. It was difficult to transact legitimate business with cash in the Sprawl; in Japan, it was already illegal.            In Japan, he’d known with a clenched and absolute certainty, he’d find his cure. In Chiba. Either in a registered clinic or in the shadowland of black medicine. Synonymous with implants, nerve-splicing, and microbionics, Chiba was a magnet for the Sprawl’s techno-criminal subcultures.            In Chiba, he’d watched his New Yen vanish in a two-month round of examinations and consultations. The men in the black clinics, his last hope, had admired the expertise with which he’d been maimed, and then slowly shaken their heads.            Now he slept in the cheapest coffins, the ones nearest the port, beneath the quartz-halogen floods that lit the docks all night like vast stages; where you couldn’t see the lights of Tokyo for the glare of the television sky, not even the towering hologram logo of the Fuji Electric Company, and the Tokyo Bay was a black expanse where gulls wheeled above drifting shoals of white styrofoam. Behind the port lay the city, factory domes dominated by the vast cubes of corporate arcologies. Port and city were divided by a narrow borderland of older streets, an area with no official name. Night City, with Ninsei its heart. By day, the bars down Ninsei were shuttered and featureless, the neon dead, the holograms inert, waiting, under the poisoned silver sky. --Reprinted from Neuromancer by William Gibson by permission of Berkley, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc. Copyright © 1984, William Gibson. All rights reserved. This excerpt, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. 
Hooked on the rush from each time i play in front of magical people.
Deep minimalist.

booking : jakubxbooking@gmail.com

IG : https://www.instagram.com/jakubpaksi/

member of Organic Beatz crew 

IG : https://www.instagram.com/organic.beatz/

"Niemand ist mehr Sklave, als der sich für frei hält, ohne es zu sein."

J.W. Goethe

//
May light of the moon show you the right path
//
Retired emo kid bass shenanigans
//
https://linktr.ee/tsukuyomidnb
//

Dnb Dj/ Producer. Get ready to vibe with the one and only Gentleman Dread! Originally hailing from Portsmouth, south of England, Gentleman Dread has been making waves on his recent travels to Canada. Calling  his home for the past 4 years  Whistler, Canada, His passion for mixing has brought heavy-hitting, up-and-coming producers from all over the world to the forefront. Specializing in DNB, Gentleman Dread is now back in his home town or Portsmouth England he knows how to get the crowd moving with natural rollers and filthy cosmic basslines. Catch him live and experience the electrifying energy he brings to every set. also creating Hip hop from his early days. listen out for this years DNB releases coming soon 
supported
2022 -Whistler Junglist - Kytami & Phonik Ops
Squamish 2022 - a Midnight Circus - Perkulator
 

2023 -Whistler Junglist 
Born on Road &
Bad Company Uk  
2023- Solaris 3
2023-@synesthesia.bc
Whistler Junglist 2023-Brukout  

Vancouver 2024 -@synesthesia.bc 
Vancouver 2024- Deep Resonance -Brukout 
2024 - Whistler Junglist -Matrix & FutureBound, Circadian
2024 - Whistler Junglist -Phibes,Refracta
2024 -Whistler, Apre Apres 360 - Volume 8 (Closing Set)
2024- MRMR Festival 
2024- Lost in Neon Jungle 
2024- Electric Love Festival
2024- Altitude Festival 
2024 -Agro & Jmulla ( TMM)
2024- Eternity - Sub Zero, DJ SS, Ray Keith, Ragga Twins, MC Tempo, Gen Z, Azpect.
2025 - Outlaw (TMM)

Buy Indukt - Sinners EP here: https://cygnusmusic.link/a46rkym

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Founded in 2020 by @division-official, Deep Within Recordings has swiftly emerged as a driving force within the underground music scene. With an impressive discography boasting over 10 releases, including notable placements in the prestigious Beatport Top 10, the label has solidified its position as a tastemaker in the electronic music industry.

In 2022, Deep Within Recordings was honored with a nomination for the Best Newcomer Label at the renowned Drum and Bass Arena Awards, further affirming their rising prominence. The label serves as a magnet for well-known names from the scene, attracting established artists who recognize the label's commitment to quality and innovation.

Deep Within Recordings has garnered a reputation as a talent factory, consistently unearthing and nurturing emerging artists who possess a unique artistic vision. By providing a platform for these talented individuals, the label fuels the evolution of electronic music, pushing boundaries and shaping the future of the genre.

- New Zealand Based -
- DJ - Producer - 
- Titan Radio Days Host @ TitanRadioNz - 
https://onlineradiobox.com/nz/titan/
Website: https://sites.google.com/view/titanradio/home?authuser=0

Ear plugs for safe ears at music events anywhere loud :) 
https://experiencezound.com/
10% Off at checkout if you use the code HIGHRISE 

- Social accounts - 
- @A53-RECORDS  -
- https://www.instagram.com/a53_records

- @HIGHRISE-OFFICIAL-
-Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/highrise.official.nz/ 

-Enquires: -
-highrise.official.mgmt@gmail.com -

- HIGHRISE Links: -
- https://linktr.ee/highrise.official -

- HIGHRISE.OFFICIAL NFT COLLECTABLES - 
- HIGHRISE Artist NFT Collectables -
- Holders Exclusive: Discord channel -
- Member only utilities -
- Exclusive events -
- Supply 1,000 -

- BLACK MARBLE VYNL NFT -  

- HIGHRISE - DEM DEM - MINT
- https://app.manifold.xyz/c/highrise-official-mint -

- Medium - https://medium.com/@highrise.official.mgmt/highrise-official-818fdb3c9d44 -

- OPENSEA LINK -
- https://opensea.io/collection/highrise-official -


Highrise is an emerging electronic music artist from New Zealand, known for his atmospheric and experimental approach to sound. His underground style music tends to explore various genres, such as ambient, downtempo, and electronic, bass with a focus on creating immersive and emotive listening experiences. Highrise’s style often incorporates smooth, textured beats, soothing synths, and layered melodies, which transport listeners to a calm, introspective space taking you on a journey with each set.

Though his music may evoke a sense of tranquility, it often carries an underlying complexity, with intricate sound design and evolving compositions. His approach reflects a deeper exploration of sound and emotion, making his work appealing to listeners who enjoy music that resonates on a personal, reflective level.

The music he creates is tuned specifically to heal others listening made from certain frequencies known to heal the human body, mind & spirit

In addition to his music, Highrise is involved in the music industry through his new own record label, A53 Records. The label appears to be a platform where he can release his work and foster new talent in the experimental electronic space globally. However, more specific details on the label's overall direction are still yet to be established to the world as its new and starting out.

While Highrise may still be building his presence in the global music scene from the age of 13, his style and the growth of A53 Records could place him in a prominent position within the independent and underground music circles in the coming years. If you're into chill, not so chill, thought-provoking beats, Highrise’s work is worth checking out & some big projects lines up as he tours the world this year 2025.

Re:gen Records

Bookings & enquiries  - shippdnb@outlook.com 

