Nv3vss()l4z,/c0v3r.serugiran\

L4 v!d4 3n l:n34s
C0nst4nte (1nt3r)c4mbi0

Music and things that might sound like music by Mat Ward. Noise Art/A  Piano and Bass Duet with Dani Kirby/A 50 plus member Art Ensemble called Then She Reaches The Gun/Deep Research Into Luigi Russolo and his Intonarumori .. thats just the stuff I post regularly : ) Thanks to everyone thats ever stopped by. Music is The Best!

The night I met Inoxx & The Toxx, the city was drowning in its own reflections.

I was chasing what the department called the “Epic Journey case”: people who didn’t jump, didn’t run, didn’t die — they just stepped out of their lives after looping the same anonymous track on repeat. No body, no note. Just headphones on a pillow and a playlist full of ghosts.

Every scene looked the same. A laptop still warm. A browser paused on the same profile. One track spinning in the history, over and over: instrumental, trip-hop, strings, radio static and a heartbeat that wasn’t quite human. The last victim had renamed it “Nocturne: A Night of Wonders,” like they thought it was a private joke.

The trail pulled me uphill to a mansion that shouldn’t have had lights on at 2 a.m. Inside, the air tasted like old secrets. A grand piano waited by the fireplace. On the lid: three glasses, one half-empty, like someone had drunk their courage and left.

They were already there.

A punk with a green mohawk sat at the piano, leather jacket, Union Jack on the sleeve, fingers resting on the keys. By the window, a woman in a red dress watched the city. Her blue hair caught the glow from outside. Between them stood a tall figure in a velvet suit with an old computer monitor for a head, screen humming softly.

“Rough night, detective?” the monitor crackled. “Doesn’t look much like a Summer in Paris to me. Sit.”

I didn’t remember telling them I was a detective. I sat anyway.

The punk started to play. Slow, smoky chords. The kind of music that makes good decisions feel optional. It curled around my thoughts and dug up things I’d tried to bury. Regrets. Almosts. The people I hadn’t saved.

“That’s the one from the file,” I said. My voice sounded further away than it should have.

“In one version,” the woman murmured. “Out there they give it new names. Someone called it The Bright Side of the Moon once. Someone else named it after a person they should have let go. Some write Beware of the Quiet Girl in the title and pretend it’s not about themselves.”

She finally looked at me. Her eyes were too calm, like someone who’d seen every ending and stopped being surprised by any of them.

“The music doesn’t take them,” she said. “We don’t take them. They come here on their own. We just… give their feelings somewhere to live.”

In the corner, a tape machine turned, big reels spinning in a lazy circle. The labels were handwritten: track titles, dates, initials. I recognized some from the case files. One bartender had told me, “That song, it’s like it knows what you almost did.”

Then I saw it. My own initials. Same careful handwriting. Same date as tonight.

On the monitor, the image shifted. I watched myself open the front door, step into the room, drip on the carpet. Same coat. Same tired eyes. Same bad feeling dragging behind me like a second shadow. Behind that, another version of me. And another. Each one slightly different. A word changed here, a hesitation shaved off there. A dozen takes of the same scene.

“If you’re here,” the screen said, voice dropping into the mix, “it means you pressed play again.”

Time folded in my ears. I tried to stand, but the chords held me in place. I understood, suddenly, why no one left a note. You don’t write a goodbye letter to a song. You just hit play one more time and let it do the talking.

“That’s the real Epic Journey,” the punk said quietly, not looking at me. “Not running away. Finally letting the soundtrack match what’s inside your head.”

Moonlight slid across the room, erasing the corners. For a second, the salon didn’t feel like a place at all, more like the inside of a track: loops, echoes, reverb, tiny details you only hear on the tenth listen.

“That’s how it works here,” the woman in red said. “Nobody goes missing, detective.”

She leaned back into the shadows as the tape clicked and locked into place.

“They just stay in the song.”

A place for sound freaks lashing out from the dark. 

So there's all kinds of stuff on this page, but after months of schizophrenic debates about who was playing with who and who took the lead while doing it, finally, the decision was made: all my alter egos got together and decided to form a band. From 2020 on new tracks are created under the moniker Gruppo Infernal. Only pure MMTJ tracks will still be named as such. 

Gruppo Infernal still relies on my work as Me, my Thumb and Jack, an ongoing quest for a liberating approach to sound creation where the human body acts as an oscillator amplifying the natural 50hz hum. Direct live recording, improvisations and delay loops only using analog filters and effects. No editing, no overdubs. Gruppo Infernal adds digital treatment to this original sound material. 

UnterPitch was an alter ego using samples & synths.
Bleached Coffins was a one-off project using guitars.

earliest work when I was still a pup:
https://blindsightrecords.bandcamp.com/album/throbbing-flip-out

@vladimirkorablin
@flourishfill

thx for listening 🧡

2025/12/06:
Why was *https://soundcloud.com/jonathanbellot*
Jonathan Bellot's account deleted?
.
music & dance,
for the emancipation of the human spirit
.
for those with religious tendencies this could be called emancipation theology, a sort of liberation theology for the mind instead of the land
...

You can't see it because of the angle with which I took the shot, aiming down, but beyond those blocks is the sea.  To the left is the Mediterranean, to the right is the Atlantic Ocean.  No it's not Gibraltar, but a little bit further West. ... Actually I checked recently and it is further North more than West, I thought I was facing South when in fact I probably was facing the Atlantic ocean, which is why I suppose the waves were of a decent size where we were.
...
My face and the bike are a courtesy of Joël Vaudreuil
[https://vimeo.com/user8897093]  ... Merci Joe!
I then went ahead and butchered his work with a borrowed helmet.
Sorry Joe. =(
...
sometime in 2025:
I have not been able to recover access to my other account [https://soundcloud.com/ha-kekong] for a couple of years.  Don't be mad if I have not replied to your message in the past two years, that's because I never got them ; ) ... You can always reach me here though.
...

I'm trying to promote what I think is good music, so if you want to help out a bit I'd rather you [like] or [repost] my *playlists* rather than my field recordings, if you don't mind, unless you are a die hard fan of those things. Thank you ; )

I speak French, so if you send me a private message, and that you are a francophone, please write in French, thank you.  ... I mean, you don't absolutely have to, but I would prefer it. 

All my field recordings (except for when I record a person) are public, freely downloadable by anyone who is able to click on the button.  I encourage anyone interested to use them in any way whatsoever, on purpose or accidentally. No need for permissions or credits or any other kind  of administrative maneuvers.
...

Anarchists give me hope.

I'm a big fan of EFF.  Love ya EFF.  (no connection with the above line)
... and of course Richard Stallman and Linux and all the others.  Bless yous.

Now don't be lazy, go find out what it is this "EFF" that I'm talking about.  I'll give you a hint: it has to do with computers.

You have a nice day now.  Hugs & Kisses.

https://dominiquelebars1.bandcamp.com/album/8top-lalbum-communautaire

Hello
srp which lives in Japan. I write freely.
Please hear.

Nv3vss()l4z,/c0v3r.serugiran\

FalsaNostalgia X