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Maniacts
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/maniactsdnb
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/maniactsdnb/

MANIACTS  - are the joint forces of Auckland D&B DJs Captain Morgan and NGN. With over 15 years' experience between them, MANIACTS are bringing an upfront, frenetic, four-deck style to create something fresh that wasn't possible as solo acts. 
Individually, they have torn up dancefloors next to the likes of Andy C, S.P.Y, Document One and TREi (among many others) in clubs and festivals at home in NZ all the way to Australia, England, Germany and Austria. After discovering each other and finding a parallel flow within their personal styles, MANIACTS are showcasing the music that excites them from heavyweight labels like Symmetry, Critical, Metalheadz and Sofa Sound, as well as their own unheard productions. Be ready to lock in for some bass heavy rolling funk that's all killer and no filler, with razor fine mixing, mad switch ups and a bit of that extra sizzle. The dancefloor is never empty when these certified vibe creators are in control.

Bookings: This Way Up Artist Agency
steve@twu.agency / 0224.643.644


MC Tree  - 

MC Tree
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mctree23

A.K.A PTHWYS is a prolific Hip Hop, Drum n Bass and Grime MC/Producer in Auckland New Zealand.

Using an expansive vocab and love for lyricism,
Tree combines hard hitting punchlines with rhythmic poetry to create a unique sound of rap music.

Primarily focused on Drum and Bass, Tree has had numerous singles released on labels such as, Skank n Bass, Hanzom Music, Subsine and Beat Spectrum and continues to spend most of his time working on his craft of producing and as an MC.

MC Tree's approach to live drum n bass mixing is more on the minimal side of the trade, complimenting the mix rather then dominating it with generic hype call outs and countdowns, in his own words "if you do not see me on stage at the time, you may think the vocals are part of the tune that's playing." 
With over 2 decades of musical experience, MC Tree offers a refreshing approach to live Drum n Bass MCing that is dedicated to the heads of the genre.

Co-labs: Pthwys, Fizik & Skopus, Breaking Beats, Central Bass Kickons, Content Therapy and many more

For beats, bookings and Colabs email @ mctree025@gmail.com

Maniacts - Engage Ft MC Tree

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

„DON'T WORRY, IT'S SUPPOSED TO FEEL LIKE THIS!"

Melinki

Four Corners Music 

Releasing quality music from all four corners of the drum and bass world .....

Dirty Deep Drum & Bass / Breaks / Hip Hop / Rap / Snares / Halftime Beatz / Neurofunk / Darkstep / Jump Up / Jungle / Underground / Fader / Scratches = Music with no Limits!!! :) 

This is the Moment when your mind is getting to feel free of any Problems and Stress while pure FORCE & ENERGY is growing to endless POWER! 

->>> inPorgress!!! 

Bombing fresh Dropz of me incoming very very soon peepz =)

DnB!!!

Those Damn Kids crew (TDK)
Cincinnati drum & bass dj/producer.  Watch this space working on getting some dnb mixes put together and some original tunes that are currently wips. As of 10/16/24 all mixes recorded on the XDJ-AZ.  I've been dj'ing for 5 years. Accelerate DNB: A new monthly held at Mixwell's in Cincinnati every second Friday of the month. 

for all dj booking inquiries email harrybawse@gmail.com

https://www.instagram.com/fuelized_events?igsh=MTR3aGZyM2YxMXBnMg==

Level: 28
Insta: m4yb3_music
Dj 🎛👻
DnB 🫶🏼 
Techno 😎
Psytrance 🕺🏻👽

/ex "Krezo"(Panevėžys,LTU) DJ /
big love to electronic music from 16 
this love goes bigger and bigger for hard sound and interesting tracks. 
My journey and love to Drum and Bass,Breakbeat started maybe 1996
when i first listened The Prodigy album Jilted Generation 🎧


maybe one day, after 20 years  ..i hope back to mixing 🎧🧘...
music helps me to keep balance in my soul...and defeat negative emotion 


at this moment working on my project
Extreme Kids Summer 2025 
i represent EDM music to kids in skate park on saturdays till september 6 
this project its free in my Home city Panevėžys (Extreme Kids Summer 2025 done)


my soul styles: Drum and Bass,Techno,Dub Techno,Acid House

jei turite savo DnB setų su mielu noru įkelsiu pas save,Warriors Of The Tribe serija skirta Drum and Bass muzikai.Ypač domina jaunimo darbai , ne visi turi galimybę mokėti už soundcloud...viskas prasideda nuo mažų žingsnių 🫶🎧🎚️

https://www.facebook.com/julius.domkus.37

"But what would it sound like in the Village?"
- Bren Cheveldave
https://soundcloud.com/hoodlums-hooligans?utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

Bookings/Personal 
camchev@hotmail.com

Cerberus is a producer from British Columbia known for his creative sound manipulation and meticulous assembly. Growing up with one foot in the world of Heavy Metal and the other in the Kootenay EDM scene, Cerberus found himself immersed into two groups with nothing in common. His high school years consisted of playing lead guitar in a heavy metal band covering songs from bands like Lamb of God, Pantera, Slayer and Devil Driver. During summer he went to festivals and shows attending his first Shambhala in 2008 which sparked a fascination with mixing and brought him into a world of music he had no idea existed. For summers following, he parked himself in front of PK bass bins for days and nights on end while watching the music scene evolve. Flash forward 12 years and Cerberus decided to learn music production in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic kicking off rapid growth for his music career. Cerberus, the three headed guard dog of the underworld represents the three genres that he holds true to his core and where it all began for this Kootenay talent. With energy like dark matter, his sound waves will hit and undoubtably throw you in every direction while keeping you rhythmically in tune with the universe.

Maniacts - Engage Ft MC Tree

Melinki / Four Corners Music