Keepin It Real

Psycho Love

A Good Example

Check the groove and picture the club, lounge or rooftop.


Peter Sam - 10.10.10 house mix deLux

Experience the update; the future, and the past all melting into the present moment. 

미래 반송 (Futuristic Bounce)

needless as it is to include facts in a biography, Peter Samuel provides the close investigator with many puzzling facts worth drumming up. of course it is worth mentioning that Peter Samuel's first appearance was beside DJ WOOLLY MAMMAL. back then he was a twerp with a swerve.


two-steps away from the decks at all times, Pete/Sam spent most of his time meditating and burning incense. the funky dance steps that awaited him in his destiny swirled as arabic characters along the windowsill of his mind. shanti shanti shanti


two years later Pete Sam erupted from a deep bout of veda-like stillness into a funky rhythm outside his body's control. he hopped on the decks and duck-taped some lasers and blacklights to the wall. two days later the entire block was still shaking their virgin booties on the new and endless dancefloor erected by the holy DJ. scholars insist that that party still rages. geometric bursts of light in the foggy dance-den illuminate waving arms and clickin steppin feet.


absconding from his oath of austerity, Pete/Sam made tight beats and soaring synths into drugs for the meak, mild, hungry, thirsty, and himself. from one beat he summoned 2,000 metal melting summer jams. the bug shook him and he shook the bug back, scratching wicka/wicka into a slappin' mix-down mash-up compliments of the socal sun.


on the floor under his decks lame business men and account representatives slapped day-glo warpaint on their cheeks amidst the hurling honey tornado of sweaty young bodies. middle-aged religious women flocked to watch their progeny get hip-boogie on sunday nights. one business man was heard saying,

“my accounts! I must return to my accounts!” his partner, a young Armenian square, replied, “to hell with ze accounts.”


and all of this from a man with no beginning. no homeland. no history. the splitting mixes and smooth delivery resist understanding, but force one, like a fine malted beverage and a smooth blunted afternoon, to shake that ass, show me what you got. shake that ass, show me what you got.  



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