BUSSIT

A1) COUNTING
A2) U.BSTRDS

B1) BUSSIT

28.08.2025

BANDCAMP EXCLUSIVE;
https://bohn-aus.bandcamp.com/album/bussit

STREAMING AVAILABLE ON ALL PLATFORMS

BUSSIT

The Drill stands in direct contrast: raw, uncompromising, and built for forward momentum. The track relies on a powerful, driving rhythmic foundation that takes command right from the start. This is less about subtle buildup and more about direct energy, impact, and physical presence.
The percussion cuts sharper, the textures are rougher – almost industrial – as if the track were drilling through space with unstoppable force.
“the drill” is the extroverted counterpart of the release: an invitation to let go, to move, to surrender to the sheer intensity of rhythm.


Mix and Master by Heidmann

Bandcamp

The Drill(Radio Edit)

Cosonu unfolds like a slow inward journey – hypnotic, flowing, and carried by subtle layers. It thrives on repetition without ever falling into monotony: small details, gentle modulations, and shifting textures keep the tension alive throughout.
The bassline acts like a steady heartbeat, grounding the track, while the rhythmic elements feel almost like breaths – organic and mechanical at once.
The result is a state somewhere between meditation and trance, where each cycle pulls you deeper into the sound. “cosonu” reveals the introspective side of the release – patient, profound, and infused with a ritualistic energy.


Mix and Master by Heidmann

Cosonu(Radio Edit)

PLAYA SOLEIL 6.8.25

I played a sunset set in a beautiful spot on a mountain overlooking the Ionian Sea in Albania, near the island of Corfu, where you can feel the echoes of different ancient cultures🏺 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tiiKkvzMWJY&t=1619s
✈︎

🎧 Tracklist:
Gathaspar – I Had a Dream That She Was Dying Alone (Original Mix) – Freude Am Tanzen Recordings
Marcelo Cura, Dubelu – Inner Dream (Original Mix) – Akbal Music
Interlude, Emotional Tourist, Emotional Tourist & Interlude – Doină (Original Mix) – Kindisch
Wareika, N/UM – Embrace (Original Mix) – Visionquest
Dudley Strangeways – Hallam (Original Mix) – K7 Records
Lumieux – Sitral Six Hundred (Brizman Remix) – SILVI Digital
Elsoo, Gudj – After Hours (RQZ Trip Remix) – Rayzeh
Silat Beksi – Jhana (Original Mix) – Rawax
Reboot, Miroloja – Tribu (Original Mix) – OLO Records
Bodeler, Grees – Baraka (Original Mix) – Revival New York
Masomenos – On fait la java (Original Mix) – Welcome To Masomenos (WTM)
DakhaBrakha – Salgir Boyu (Bedouin Rework) – Human By Default
Daniel Meister – Vision (Original Mix) – Hoomidaas
Doubtingthomas – Krajina (Original Mix) – The promises




Lewale DJ Sunset from Albania

Shifting Colors – ein progressiv-technisches Live Set.
Dunkel, pumpend, mit feinen Psy-Einflüssen und atmosphärischen Übergängen. Begleitet von >ytube @master-percy - Visuals und Live-Aufnahmen hinter den Decks.

🎧 Mixed & curated by: DJ Master Percy
🌀 Style: Minimal Progressive / Deep Tech / Emotional Techno
🕓 Länge: 1h 22min

Mehr Mixe findest du in meiner Serie One Eye for Me und auf meinem Kanal.
Master Percy – DJ & Producer seit 1985.

Special Thanks
Ein grosses Dankeschön an alle Artists, Labels und Produzenten, deren Musik diesen Mix ermöglicht hat. Eure Arbeit inspiriert und macht solche Reisen durch Klang und Emotion erst möglich. Respekt und Liebe an die gesamte Szene.

👉 Abonniere für mehr!

Master Percy – Shifting Colors

Have Faith

From past tense to present tense we come with the suspense time to fill with this with no hesitance it be from the mind of the Ryme Tyme coming from the Ed Rush and the Optical coming to your mind. Take a u we need no part-two, no sequel when we kung fu like untouchable every time you know it's brand nu we see...

The soul seeker, the mind creeper
The soul seeker, the mind creepers
The soul seekers
The seek seek...



EDRUSH OPTICAL INTRO TECHY MIX 2 DARKER START

New 128 BPM ambient techno track. This is influenced by styles like Joseph Capriati, Dubfire, Anyma, and Boris Brejcha. Enjoy this journey through space and time.

False Idol Music

Invention

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

Heidmann stands for relaxed beats with a lot of rhythm and feeling. Born in a small town at the foot of the Black Forest, he found his passion for music at an early age and developed a very special love for electronic music.

His musical journey began in 2010 when he made his first steps as a DJ in the local club scene. He captivated his audience with energetic sets that perfectly hit the vibe of the time. Over time, however, he realized that simply DJing wasn’t enough – he wanted to create his own tracks and develop a sound that truly reflected him.

Inspired by legends of the Tech-House, Deep-House, and Minimal scenes, he began crafting his own unique style. His sound is characterized by clean, driving beats, minimalist melodies, and a touch of melancholy that seamlessly blends into the dynamic flow of his productions.

Today, Heidmann creates music that grooves, entertains, and makes it impossible to sit still. Whether playing live in a club or releasing his own tracks, his main goal remains the same: 

that the beats make you swing.


Heidmann steht für entspannte Beats mit viel Rhythmus und Gefühl. Geboren in einem kleinen Ort am Fuße des Schwarzwaldes, fand er schon früh seine Leidenschaft für Musik und entwickelte eine ganz besondere Liebe zur elektronischen Musik. 

Sein musikalischer Weg begann im Jahr 2010, als er als DJ in der lokalen Clubszene Fuß fasste. Er begeisterte sein Publikum mit energiegeladenen Sets, die den Nerv der Zeit trafen. Nach und nach merkte er, dass das Auflegen alleine ihm nicht reicht – er wollte eigene Tracks erschaffen und seinen ganz persönlichen Sound finden.

Inspiriert von Größen der Tech-House-, Deep-House- und Minimal-Szene machte er sich daran, seinen eigenen Sound zu entwickeln. Sein Stil ist geprägt von klaren, treibenden Beats, minimalistisch gehaltenen Melodien und einem Hauch von Melancholie, die sich perfekt in die Dynamik seiner Produktionen einfügen.

Heute produziert Heidmann Musik, die groovt, Spaß macht und einen nicht still sitzen lässt. Ob im Club beim Auflegen oder seinen eigenen Produktionen, 
Hauptsache, die Beats bringen einen zum Mitwippen.

Producer Specializing in Evolving Techno & Ambient Beats

Born in Ukraine, where an unstoppable passion for electronic music led him to shape his identity as a DJ under the influence of the local scene. Later, he moved to Poland, delving into musical production. Formerly known as Fedotov, his releases have graced labels such as 📀 Vandalism Musique, Baile Musik, CELO rec, Conceptual Records and more. One of the most exceptional works worth listening to is the vinyl "COLINDE", released on a Punchis Records from San Francisco.

https://mixmagadria.com/feature/vinyl-tjedna-fedotov-feat-adrian-naidin-colinde-p-u-n-c-h-i-s

Seeking inspiration from various ethnic cultures, he weaves a captivating musical creation that enchants listeners with his unique style. True pleasure for him lies in house and minimal music, influenced by the Romanian scene. For Lewale, it's all about intelligent grooves and rhythms. This is music for dancing, socialising, and making connections, not just for making noise at parties but also for showcasing an alternative way of enjoyment.

Direct contact email: allisound.curation@gmail.com

Master Percy 
Deep Tech  House - ELEKTROWERK Switzerland
Jazzy James:
Day-Player & Deep-Driver - Cologne - Germany

Artist
Melbourne, AUS

@bohn_aus
CONTACT

bohnrichter@gmail.com

HXC at Heart

xx

New tracks tagged #DeepTEch