melody on this one is beautifully haunting

Any artist is welcome to send us a track via freshonthenet.co.uk anytime between Monday lunchtime and Thursday morning (or when we receive 200 submissions, whichever is sooner) - and all our moderators, including Tom Robinson, will listen to every track. This is our full inbox from the week beginning Mon 25th January: from Friday afternoon you'll be able to hear our shortlist and pick your favourites on this week's Listening Post which will appear at freshonthenet.co.uk/batch392

If a track you submitted does not appear in this list, it’s probably because another of your tracks appeared in our Fresh Faves or on the BBC Music Introducing Mixtape during the last three months — we ask that artists featured on either wait three months before resubmitting to give others a chance. We also don’t accept short previews or SoundCloud GO tracks that can only be heard as 30 second previews, and tracks made private after submission, which cannot be included in playlists. You will be able to resubmit the track in future. Tracks that have been previously submitted and tracks from banned artists will also be removed.

ENTIRE INBOX: Batch 392

2023-02-10

Earth Tone Heart Note

Maschine/ Meute/ FILMSTADT UNDERGROUND /COLLECTIVE

Maschinen Meute/atze187/Frid Mars/röbot

This is a live improvisation I did on the SOMA Lyra-8 with reverb and sound effects added later.

Changing Winds

cicada [ↄ]

September 3, 2023

Herbert Weisrock - Akai-Synthi
Thomas Sander - Guitar
Recorded in February 2008

WORM

Tiden - Filmstadt Underground

April 21st

¯̷̸̡̹͚̣̦̦̥͖͈̦̞̬ͣͬ̅̈ͪͣ́́̓̑̒͆ͮ͐̉̃̈́˝̧̞̙̟̯͓̖̃̈ͥ̂͟͠O̬̙͕̝̩̙ͧͫ̈͘


¯̷̸̡̹͚̣̦̦̥͖͈̦̞̬ͣͬ̅̈ͪͣ́́̓̑̒͆ͮ͐̉̃̈́˝̧̞̙̟̯͓̖̃̈ͥ̂͟͠Ø̬̙͕̝̩̙ͧͫ̈͘


¯ͣ҉ͬ̅҉̹̈҉̡͚҉̷ͪ҉̣ͣ҉̦́҉̦́҉̥̓҉͖̑҉̒͆҉͈ͮ҉̸͐҉̦̉҉̃̈҉̞́҉̬˝҉̞̃҉̙̈҉̟͠҉̧ͥ҉̯̂҉͓͟҉̖o҉̬̙҉͕ͧ҉̝ͫ҉̩͘҉̙̈҉


¯̸̴̪͔͎̎̓ͣ͒̕҉̶̶̴̛͉͚̙ͬ̑̓̅̚҉̸̵̴͙̘̹͚͓̤̩͒̏̒̈͛͠͠҉̸̴̷̡̛̞͚̞̘̗̏͐̉҉̷̷̵̵̧̲͎̤͒͒ͪ̇̿͜҉̴̴̸̮̝̣̮̹̌̄̎ͣ̐҉̸̸̷̧̱͇̦̬̪̟̉̓͋́̚͝҉̷̷̵̜̪̦͕͆́̎̐̐҉̶̵̵͓̥̗̃̓̓̾͜͝͝҉̷̴̷̛͚̳͖͙͈̉̈́̑̉̿͜҉̶̵̶̧̮̺̰̳̆̄̒̈́̿͆̎̏҉̷̵̷̬͈͎͖̤̭̈́̒ͮ̉͘͠҉̸̸̴̵̲̱͇̀͐͌͐͆͐͘͜҉̸̴̷̢̛͉̬̦̪̀͆̉̀҉̵̶̶̯̤͉̜̣̍̆̃͗̈̚͝҉̸̵̴̧̛͉̗̞͇̘͂́́̒҉̸̷̨̫͔̬͗̉˝̷̺̹̃̽҉̴̶̵̧̛̬̲̞̙͕̅̃̈́̕҉̸̶̵̙̻̙̝̼̳͒̽̆̈̏͗҉̸̸̶̱̟͚͖̦͆̽̍̒̚͠҉̸̵̵̧̬͚̝̮̥̓̀̈́ͥ́͘͝҉̸̷̷͙̯͖͈̱͋̄̿̂̀̈҉̷̴̵̨̧̠̲͓̦̜̒̈́͟͝҉̶̶̧̖͙̤̑̓͘͝o̸͈̊҉̸̶̶̛͖̬̬̙͕̆͋͘҉̸̵̵̳̥͕̥͐ͧ́̾̂͜҉̶̵̴̡̱̝̜̲̬̋͊ͫ̔̀҉̵̷̴̢̙̩͍̈̑̋͘ͅ҉̸̷̵̳̦̙̮̻̣̐͑͊̈̒҉̵̨͋

¯̶̸ͣ҉̶̸̴ͬ̅҉̶̴̸̹̈҉̶̵̵̡͚҉̶̷̸̵ͪ҉̶̸̶̣ͣ҉̵̷̴̦́҉̶̶̵̦́҉̸̸̸̥̓҉̵̷̴͖̑҉̶̵̴̒͆҉̷̸̷͈ͮ҉̸̸̸̸͐҉̶̷̴̦̉҉̶̶̵̃̈҉̷̴̴̞́҉̵̴̬˝̵҉̴̶̶̞̃҉̶̵̶̙̈҉̶̵̴̟͠҉̸̸̵̧ͥ҉̸̶̵̯̂҉̵̵̴͓͟҉̵̴̖o̸҉̶̸̸̬̙҉̸̸̵͕ͧ҉̴̴̷̝ͫ҉̸̷̸̩͘҉̶̵̵̙̈҉̸







Sansculottely scuttle, the slithering airs of seamy sensation swallow the sparkle of sinuousness. Fleeting surreptitiousness swish through the noise-laced ¯̶̸ͣ҉̶̸̴ͬ̅҉̶̴̸̹̈҉̶̵̵̡͚҉̶̷̸̵ͪ҉̶̸̶̣ͣ҉̵̷̴̦́҉̶̶̵̦́҉̸̸̸̥̓҉̵̷̴͖̑҉̶̵̴̒͆҉̷̸̷͈ͮ҉̸̸̸̸͐҉̶̷̴̦̉҉̶̶̵̃̈҉̷̴̴̞́҉̵̴̬˝̵҉̴̶̶̞̃҉̶̵̶̙̈҉̶̵̴̟͠҉̸̸̵̧ͥ҉̸̶̵̯̂҉̵̵̴͓͟҉̵̴̖o̸҉̶̸̸̬̙҉̸̸̵͕ͧ҉̴̴̷̝ͫ҉̸̷̸̩͘҉̶̵̵̙̈҉̸, a flurry of freighted feeling howling in ¯ͣ҉ͬ̅҉̹̈҉̡͚҉̷ͪ҉̣ͣ҉̦́҉̦́҉̥̓҉͖̑҉̒͆҉͈ͮ҉̸͐҉̦̉҉̃̈҉̞́҉̬˝҉̞̃҉̙̈҉̟͠҉̧ͥ҉̯̂҉͓͟҉̖o҉̬̙҉͕ͧ҉̝ͫ҉̩͘҉̙̈҉. Adrift in the tug of twofold turmoil, lugubriously lilting and tremulously tinkling kisses clash between contours of ¯̸̴̪͔͎̎̓ͣ͒̕҉̶̶̴̛͉͚̙ͬ̑̓̅̚҉̸̵̴͙̘̹͚͓̤̩͒̏̒̈͛͠͠҉̸̴̷̡̛̞͚̞̘̗̏͐̉҉̷̷̵̵̧̲͎̤͒͒ͪ̇̿͜҉̴̴̸̮̝̣̮̹̌̄̎ͣ̐҉̸̸̷̧̱͇̦̬̪̟̉̓͋́̚͝҉̷̷̵̜̪̦͕͆́̎̐̐҉̶̵̵͓̥̗̃̓̓̾͜͝͝҉̷̴̷̛͚̳͖͙͈̉̈́̑̉̿͜҉̶̵̶̧̮̺̰̳̆̄̒̈́̿͆̎̏҉̷̵̷̬͈͎͖̤̭̈́̒ͮ̉͘͠҉̸̸̴̵̲̱͇̀͐͌͐͆͐͘͜҉̸̴̷̢̛͉̬̦̪̀͆̉̀҉̵̶̶̯̤͉̜̣̍̆̃͗̈̚͝҉̸̵̴̧̛͉̗̞͇̘͂́́̒҉̸̷̨̫͔̬͗̉˝̷̺̹̃̽҉̴̶̵̧̛̬̲̞̙͕̅̃̈́̕҉̸̶̵̙̻̙̝̼̳͒̽̆̈̏͗҉̸̸̶̱̟͚͖̦͆̽̍̒̚͠҉̸̵̵̧̬͚̝̮̥̓̀̈́ͥ́͘͝҉̸̷̷͙̯͖͈̱͋̄̿̂̀̈҉̷̴̵̨̧̠̲͓̦̜̒̈́͟͝҉̶̶̧̖͙̤̑̓͘͝o̸͈̊҉̸̶̶̛͖̬̬̙͕̆͋͘҉̸̵̵̳̥͕̥͐ͧ́̾̂͜҉̶̵̴̡̱̝̜̲̬̋͊ͫ̔̀҉̵̷̴̢̙̩͍̈̑̋͘ͅ҉̸̷̵̳̦̙̮̻̣̐͑͊̈̒҉̵̨͋ constellations. Bouncing betwixt curious curiosities and lyrically lit lanterns, a mirage of marvelous maladroitness meanders, jostled hither and thither by tangled syllabic shelves. Tantalizing tidbits trill through misty ˝̵҉̴̶̶̞̃҉̶̵̶̙̈҉̶̵̴̟͠҉̸̸̵̧ͥ҉̸̶̵̯̂҉̵̵̴͓͟҉̵̴̖, , drawing abreast with wise whispers warbled beneath wan willows. Shimmering shadows shimmy towards senses spectralized; broken brushstroked backlighting biscuits begging bewitchment. A querying quodlibet whorls and weaves as intoxication intoxicates each intricate inaction; inviting iridescent inclusions to careen across canvas-like cadavers. Quelling qualms dappled with emotive essences emerge ethereally from the ¯̸̴̪͔͎̎̓ͣ͒̕҉̶̶̴̛͉͚̙ͬ̑̓̅̚҉̸̵̴͙̘̹͚͓̤̩͒̏̒̈͛͠͠҉̸̴̷̡̛̞͚̞̘̗̏͐̉҉̷̷̵̵̧̲͎̤͒͒ͪ̇̿͜҉̴̴̸̮̝̣̮̹̌̄̎ͣ̐҉̸̸̷̧̱͇̦̬̪̟̉̓͋́̚͝҉̷̷̵̜̪̦͕͆́̎̐̐҉̶̵̵͓̥̗̃̓̓̾͜͝͝҉̷̴̷̛͚̳͖͙͈̉̈́̑̉̿͜҉̶̵̶̧̮̺̰̳̆̄̒̈́̿͆̎̏҉̷̵̷̬͈͎͖̤̭̈́̒ͮ̉͘͠҉̸̸̴̵̲̱͇̀͐͌͐͆͐͘͜҉̸̴̷̢̛͉̬̦̪̀͆̉̀҉̵̶̶̯̤͉̜̣̍̆̃͗̈̚͝҉̸̵̴̧̛͉̗̞͇̘͂́́̒҉̸̷̨̫͔̬͗̉˝̷̺̹̃̽҉̴̶̵̧̛̬̲̞̙͕̅̃̈́̕҉̸̶̵̙̻̙̝̼̳͒̽̆̈̏͗҉̸̸̶̱̟͚͖̦͆̽̍̒̚͠҉̸̵̵̧̬͚̝̮̥̓̀̈́ͥ́͘͝҉̸̷̷͙̯͖͈̱͋̄̿̂̀̈҉̷̴̵̨̧̠̲͓̦̜̒̈́͟͝҉̶̶̧̖͙̤̑̓͘͝o̸͈̊҉̸̶̶̛͖̬̬̙͕̆͋͘҉̸̵̵̳̥͕̥͐ͧ́̾̂͜҉̶̵̴̡̱̝̜̲̬̋͊ͫ̔̀҉̵̷̴̢̙̩͍̈̑̋͘ͅ҉̸̷̵̳̦̙̮̻̣̐͑͊̈̒҉̵̨͋—unraveling an array of saucy scintillas that unbind bewilderment and open the ¯̶̸ͣ҉̶̸̴ͬ̅҉̶̴̸̹̈҉̶̵̵̡͚҉̶̷̸̵ͪ҉̶̸̶̣ͣ҉̵̷̴̦́҉̶̶̵̦́҉̸̸̸̥̓҉̵̷̴͖̑҉̶̵̴̒͆҉̷̸̷͈ͮ҉̸̸̸̸͐҉̶̷̴̦̉҉̶̶̵̃̈҉̷̴̴̞́҉̵̴̬˝̵҉̴̶̶̞̃҉̶̵̶̙̈҉̶̵̴̟͠҉̸̸̵̧ͥ҉̸̶̵̯̂҉̵̵̴͓͟҉̵̴̖o̸҉̶̸̸̬̙҉̸̸̵͕ͧ҉̴̴̷̝ͫ҉̸̷̸̩͘҉̶̵̵̙̈҉̸ to an uncharted world of ¯̷̸̡̹͚̣̦̦̥͖͈̦̞̬ͣͬ̅̈ͪͣ́́̓̑̒͆ͮ͐̉̃̈́˝̧̞̙̟̯͓̖̃̈ͥ̂͟͠Ø̬̙͕̝̩̙ͧͫ̈͘.

°̵̖͚͎̝̍̎̋̾̔ọ̸̡̨̧͚͕̲̩͓̠̞̹̣̻̻̝̹̪̞͗̊̂̄̐̒̐̚

INOPERATIVE SYSTEM ™© 2var133varF (Senglar Rmx)

Connecting Flights

Lost Goals

"Lost Goals" - Jacques Labouchere

Written by Nadedja
Produced by HATi
Mixed and Mastered by John 'Trafik' Elliot
Artwork Original Photo by Michael Sreenan
AWAL Digital Limited (Kobalt) (on behalf of Nadedja); Sentric Music Publishing, BMI - Broadcast Music Inc.

Lyrics

It seems like
This is the step I take
To see you
It seems like
Halfway here
I lost the truth

Empty mugs
All that I am
On the kitchen floor
Vulnerable me
Dripping down the sink
All that’s in between

And I shift and change
And I rearrange 
And I fill with rage
And I try again
And it’s all about
The way I hold my mind
And I if I keep you close
I might free your mind

And I hold your body 
Like you’re holding mine
And I feel the cure
Running down my spine
It’s a strange exchange
The way we’re shattered now
But I feel alive

When I hold on to you
Unfold you
Hold on to you
Hold on to you

Let me be
The one who holds you close 
Intertwined 
I’m your ghost
Our veins, blood
Flows through me

It seems like
This is the step I take
To see you
To see you

And I shift and change
And I rearrange 
And I fill with rage
And I try again
And it’s all about
The way I hold my mind
And I if I keep you close
I might free your mind

And I hold your body 
Like you’re holding mine
And I feel the cure
Running down my spine
It’s a strange exchange
The way we’re shattered now
But I feel alive

When I hold on to you
Unfold you
Hold on to you
Hold on to you

Unfold you (unfold you)
Unfold you (unfold you)
Hold on to you (unfold you)

(C) 2021 Nadedja Leal

Unfold

KIMO - HOME ALONE

Reuben

from the forthcoming album 'sacrament'
available on streaming 22.01.21

blood harvest

Ruth wrote Way the Wind Blows when she was 12 years old. The lyrics reflect on missing her dad whilst growing up as he worked as a touring musician. Now 23, she has reimagined the song with her band, featuring guitars from James Cooke, recorded by Mark Lewis at Germanium Studios in Manchester.

Way the Wind Blows

Fresh On The Net is a music blog hosted by Tom Robinson and Team Freshnet, offering independent artists an open door and a level playing field for their music. Our inbox is open at http://freshonthenet.co.uk every Monday to Thursday morning - if you share a track with us there it will be heard by every member of our moderation team.

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Only send ONE track, and make sure the dropbox says "OPEN".  Sorry, but tracks sent while the dropbox is closed - or shared drectly with this Soundcloud account - will not get heard.

blood harvest

london hatred

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