First release of 2025, check it out and let me know what you think :)

Detach

Like the Track? Click the [Repost] 🔁 button so more people can hear it!
How Dark can you go?
-YES

Hold My Seat

Few popular melodic techno tracks

techno melodic-techno dark-techno afro-house house dj-mix dj-set 2024-mix peak-time-mix charleyyoussef electronic underground-techno mixcloud dance deep-techno live-set electronic-music rave club-mix new-music up-and-coming-dj

First Techno Mix-2024

Anechoic - Divide (Digital Bonus)

Anechoic - Mythodology Of Blue

Anechoic - End (Digital Bonus)

Visualizer Music Video : https://youtu.be/ncBHDoL8AQg
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Fractal portals, hypnotic bass—this space trip resets your brain.
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Voyage of the Fractal Nomad
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Follow on SoundCloud for more tracks : https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
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Page 1: The Cocoon and the Call
In the pitch-black cradle of deep-sector 91‑Δ, something stirred.

The Cocoon was not a ship in the traditional sense. It pulsed, breathed, and dreamed. Its hull was laced with thin-film iridescence, woven from the silk of bioluminescent mycelia. Inside, a singular entity began to wake—the Fractal Nomad. Not born, not made, but grown from the remains of a forgotten psynaut and an ancient fungal intelligence.

No alarms. No spoken commands. Just a vibration that deepened into meaning.

The Nomad blinked twice. Not eyelids—there were no more eyes. But consciousness phased into clarity. A lattice of liquid sunlight unfolded across the Cocoon’s canopy. That was the signal.

The solar sails unfurled, silent sheets of translucent light slicing through vacuum like blooming petals. The Cocoon heaved forward, stretching spacetime into a tunnel of colorless heat. As it entered slipstream velocity, the Cocoon's internal symbiotes pulsed in sync, lubricating the journey with ionized thoughtform lubricants.

And then... they descended.

Not downward, but inward. Into something deeper than space.

Page 2: Tunnels of Smoke and Memory
The slipstream was not linear. It twisted like a Möbius nerve—a loop folded upon itself, hiding deeper truths with every pulse. Inside the stream, light behaved like thought, and thought behaved like fluid.

The Nomad’s mind flickered with echoes of past lives: dying on a jungle planet while mushrooms sang dirges; drowning in clouds made of serotonin; kissing a mirrored self on a moon with no name.

The Cocoon shook.

A metallic howl rippled through the spine of the vessel. The warp coils strained, each one a living organ wrapped in platinum membranes. Electro-psionic turbulence tore at the mycelial lattice, splitting it momentarily into kaleidoscopic nerve clusters.

They were being rerouted. Something unseen had hijacked the trajectory.

But then came the release.

The Cocoon burst into a nebular blossom—a great flower made of starfire and pheromone dust. The Nomad hovered in its core like a bee tasting eternity.

Time bled into petals.

Page 3: The Bloom, the Chorus, and the Caravan
An 8-second eternity.

The Cocoon drifted inside a radiant prismatic bloom, where rainbow light condensed into liquid lenses. Through them, the Nomad could see latticework cities built by forgotten species: organic skyscrapers, breathing streets, psychic highways.

Then, something emerged from the bloom—a mushroom spire, golden and immense, coiling around the Cocoon. It released a harmonic burst of spores, each one humming a perfect A♯ frequency. The chorus of spores sang a name the Nomad had never known it had.

And with that, the Cocoon recalibrated.

A swarm of micro-vessels unfurled from its hull—the Quantum Caravan. These weren’t ships; they were fragments of the Nomad’s own psyche, each carrying a different version of truth. They aligned into a spiral formation and began gliding across a plane of turquoise plasma.


Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/07/29/voyage-of-the-fractal-nomad/

#techno  #4kvisualizer  #psychedelictechno  #trippyart

Voyage of the Fractal Nomad

🔮 Awaken | Digital Escape 🔮

When the screen life hits too deep. AI-crafted melodic techno for breaking free from the digital maze.

Melancholic journey through our endless digital chase - trading real connection for false freedom. Sometimes you need that 4am reflection track that hits different.

Perfect for late night sessions, digital detox moments, and those times when you need to step back from the noise.

🤖 AI-generated melodic techno
🔮 Dystopic System

For licensing & collaborations: mike.byte.srl@gmail.com
© 2025 Dystopic System. All Rights Reserved.

Awaken

First attempt at an 8K music video. If it's not showing up in 8k, that's because I read it takes a while to process 8k videos.

Peak‑time energy meets cosmic calm—ride this melodic techno odyssey.

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ᓚᘏᗢ


The Story ➜
1 — Arrival: The Observatory that Breathes

The observatory didn’t sit on the planet so much as the planet grew around it, like a pearl grown from a grain of math. From space it was a pewter iris set in a black-salt desert. Up close, it was alive: the walls breathed, exhaling faint motes that glowed teal before dissolving into the heat.

The traveler reached the threshold at nightfall—though night here meant a subtler dimness rather than absence of light. They were called Quen, or perhaps they had chosen that name because it sounded like a question. Cloak drawn against the cold, boots whispering over mirror-smooth stone, Quen paused beneath the arch. The arch was ribbed like the underside of a mushroom cap, gilled with bioluminescence, damp with ancient condensation. The place had the hush of a cathedral and the throat-clearing hum of machinery waking from a long reconsideration.

“Authorization?” asked a voice that didn’t quite use sound.

Quen let the question hang. The observatory’s throat worked, swallowing some old echo. A thin disc of light rolled down the arch, took one lazy lap around Quen’s boots, and wobbled upright like a coin deciding whether to fall.

“Navigator,” Quen said, finally. “Cartography corps. Voluntary.”

“Voluntary,” the voice repeated, as if tasting the word for its mineral content. “Then step in, and let the engine look at you.”

Inside, corridors radiated from a central well whose surface held a patient mirror of stars. But the stars rearranged themselves when Quen approached, as if the sky engine beneath the observatory preferred to work from its own memories instead of tonight’s weather. The air smelled faintly of iron and cedar; somewhere water trickled, but it couldn’t be seen. The mirror showed a constellation Quen didn’t recognize: a lacework of hexagons threaded by gold, humming between choices.

They walked until the corridor narrowed and the light gathered into an alcove. The alcove held what passed here for a reliquary: a coin of light, half-embedded in the wall. When Quen reached for it, the coin slid free and hovered over their palm, precessing slowly. Its face had no inscription. Its edge was impossibly sharp.

“Ephemeris,” the voice said—no, not the voice: the engine itself, speaking through vibration, a bass line felt along the bones. “Not a prophecy, not a command. A schedule of where the possible intends to be.”

Quen had come for that schedule. People told different stories about why. Some said Quen wanted to find a world that had been mislaid by history—a planet erased when a war needed a place to hide a mistake. Some said Quen had lost someone. Some said both were the same story, depending on how you rotated the map.

Quen closed fingers around the coin. It stayed warm in the glove, pulsing in time with the engine’s hum. “Show me the path that arrives,” Quen said. “Not the path that repeats.”

The observatory’s ribs flexed and sighed. The mirror-well brightened. Far below, something turned—a mandala as big as a city, as elegant as a seed.

The engine began to open.

Continues on the website.


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Ephemeris of the Sky Engine }|{ Psychedelic 8K Music Video on YouTube

A hypnotic 8K sci‑fi voyage—deep bass, trippy geometry, melodic lift‑offs.
Melodic, psychedelic, progressive—zero‑gravity techno for late hours.
Minimal to massive: trippy textures, deep drive, melodic bloom.

8K Video: https://youtu.be/_6mjYbS_-6Y

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ᓚᘏᗢ


The Story ➜
The shuttle cut across the dark like a scalpel of dull chrome, its hull showing only a thin comb of starlight as it banked toward the Quay. Below, an archipelago of structures rose out of the vacuum—a ring of barbed petals and glassy ribs, like a flower pressed between the pages of physics. They called it Tessellation Quay, and at its center—hung on invisible filaments—waited a round, black sheet with a faint sheen, as if it were coated in oil that refused to drip.

Amri Quell watched it tilt, an angle shifting against nothingness, and adjusted her ship’s attitude until her reflection skimmed the slick surface and fractured into a dozen faint copies. The copies kept flying, like she did, but their courses were off by the smallest degree, and she had a brief, superstitious fear each one would plow into some invisible wall she’d avoid only by accident.

“The Mirror’s awake,” said the Quay’s traffic mind, its voice a steady alto that made no effort to be comforting. “Dock on rib seven. Your sponsor is waiting. And Amri—don’t touch the surface.”

“As if anyone comes this far to smudge a priceless artifact,” she said, and let the shuttle kiss the rib with a well-practiced lean.

Mag clamps took hold. The cockpit glass irised open. She climbed down into air laced with a mineral chill and the faint musk of wet soil—the Quay kept gardens threaded everywhere, corridors furry with moss and filaments, a mycelial skeleton that made walking through the place feel like navigating a living lung. The filament glow was gentle, teal and cobalt, as if bioluminescence had learned restraint.

A figure waited at the end of the causeway—a long coat, a thin halo of thin-film iridescence around the shoulders, and the austere expression of a person who conversed mostly with machines.

“Conservator Nals,” said Amri. “You look exactly like your letters, which is mildly disappointing.”

“Pilot Quell,” Nals said, dry. “You look exactly like someone who doesn’t believe in mirrors.”

“I believe in mirrors. I don’t trust them.”

“Good. The Rosette returns mistrust with courtesy. Come.”

They walked a narrow path that spiraled inward, over a dark well where the Mirror hung. From above, it was not perfectly round. Its edge flowered into petals of angle—eight elaborate lobes, like a rosette carved from shadow. Each lobe was the suggestion of symmetry, not symmetry itself; when she tried to count the facets at any given radius, the count changed by one, as if the Mirror reserved the right to differ with her.

“Everyone calls it the Rosette Mirror,” Nals said. “But that’s not its name. It’s an artifact we don’t know how to name.”

“What does it test?” Amri said.

“Continuity.”

“Of what?”

Continues on the website.


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Rosette Mirror Test - 8K Psy Video on Youtube

Techno Mix for Techno Tuesday Amsterdam Opening October 22nd.

Planetary Mix 013

Well holy hell Andre it's mushroom-spaceship bananza or maybe it's just a banana OOORRR MAYBE a bandana! :) enjoy crew!
Hahah I might of taken it too far with the spaceship scene but I just couldn't get enough :)

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ᓚᘏᗢ


The Story ➜
The first time the stars breathed, Kiera thought the station’s windows were fogging from the inside. A ribbed pattern shimmered over the night—fine, parallel lines radiating outward, folding and unfolding like the underside of some celestial creature. Then the pattern vanished and the sky returned to the ordinary cold scattering of points.

Kiera held still, counting. Three seconds. Five. Eight.

The pattern returned, faint but certain: silver lamellae sliding across the constellations, as if the dark itself wore gills.

She killed the cabin lights of the Kite of Radials and let her eyes adjust. The ship—a grafted thing of bone-white ribs and black ceramic tissue—hung docked on Harbor Nine like a seed caught in a spiderweb. In the dim, the cockpit felt more grown than built: vein trails in the console resin, organ-glass curled around the navigation core, the slow pulse of the hull’s self-healing membranes.

“Show me the sky raw,” she said.

The glass peeled back its filters. Deep field flooded in, along with the faint photonic noise the station usually scrubbed. There—again—the slow, tidal sweep of lines, not atmosphere, not lensing, not a glitch. It was a rhythm. A breath.

Kiera’s left hand eased toward the lamina compass she wore on a cord around her throat. It was an old, illegal thing: a coin of frost-glass with a thin gold filament threading inside it like a living maze. At first breath the filament trembled; at the second it traced a curve to starboard. By the third, it formed an arc that settled toward a patch of nothing near the Mirror Belt.

“Coordinates,” she whispered, and the Kite woke by degrees—panels unfurling, thrusters whispering, marrow engines tasting vacuum.

Three months earlier, a courier had handed her a cloth-wrapped bundle with no name. Inside: the lamina compass and a single line of handwriting, shaped like a sigh.

Find where the stars learn to breathe.

Kiera had laughed then, because she had spent years mapping lies dressed as mysteries. Contracts with extraction fleets taught her that most wonders hid pipes and price tags. But now, with the compass thrumming and the windows showing parallel ridges slipping over starfields, the old skepticism felt thin and brittle. This wasn’t a trick. The sky had gills.

She undocked without asking permission. Harbor Nine came from a culture that never said no if you didn’t ask first, and Kiera had long since learned to protect that balance.

The Kite drifted, then glided, then became a line spreading away from the station into the black.

Continues on the website.


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Gills in the Stars | Psychedelic Music Video @ YouTube

Drone - dRave 5 (20250809)

Organische Melodien, verzwickte Basslines, durchdachte Vocals, innovative, dich reflektierende Atmosphäre im Klangteppich der Kreativen. Gemixt mit einer kleinen Prise Groove.

A Better Tomorrow

Enjoy this hour-long mix of electronic secrets no one's touched, until now.
Sounds so fresh, the world's not ready! Are you?

We’re sharing for free 2 of the tracks featured on the set. Fear is now up on Bandcamp and Deep Love will be soon. Spread the love!

DJ Booking Requests at bookings@bass-moves.com

You’d like your music to sound like this? 
Mixdown and mastering requests at sound@bass-moves.com.

Support

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Support

London Futures 001 - Unreleased Only w. Greenhouse

Deep/minimal groove with trippy ultra‑real visuals. Enter the corridor.
A fractal sun over glass dunes—hypnotic techno immersion.
Dark kicks, deep subs, cosmic glow—get lost in the visuals.

Stream / download / buy ➜
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The Story  ᓚᘏᗢ  ➜
I — The Door Beneath the Dark

The star was a fever that never cooled. From orbit it painted the hard vacuum with spirals of color too precise to be chance: lime, magenta, ultraviolet lattices shimmering like the wings of mythic insects. The Hyphaeryx named it the LSD Sun for the way its light convinced stone to dream and dunes to rearrange themselves into perfect mandalas. Around this sun drifted a desert of comet‑ground silica, fused and refrozen into rippling continents. The dunes rolled on tides of radiance rather than wind, sculpted by spectra that moved with the patience of continental drift and the caprice of a hallucination.

Vhorin arrived not in a vessel but in a germination. His body stepped out of a seed that had been a star only yesterday; he shook the last dew of cold nebula from his shoulders and watched it evaporate into petals of cyan steam. The dunes murmured in color. Far beneath his feet, he felt the Hyphosphere stir—threads of living matter braided through the vacuum like the roots of a forest that had traded soil for starlight.

He walked until the dune‑faces climbed to meet the sky, tall as mountains and rimmed with auroral fire. At the base of one such face a circle of gills irised open in the dark glass as if the dune itself had been holding its breath. The hatch exhaled a fine mist—spores sculpted into vowels—and in their pattern Vhorin read greeting and test.

“I have come for the corridor,” he said, and his voice was a fiber of gold weaving itself into the mist.

The hatch widened. Beneath it, a stair spiraled away into a coolness that was not darkness so much as uncommitted color. Vhorin lifted one foot, then the other, and descended into the under‑dune where gravity behaved like a thought that refused to settle.

II — Gravities Turning

The stair did not point down. It turned toward a vector Vhorin could only name by taste: metal with a citrus tremor. Each step unhooked weight from one meaning and relayed it to another. The dunes above forgot he had ever stood upon them. Somewhere behind his eyes, a flock of phosphorescent glyphs convened: coordinates singing to each other in a language of angles.

Walls of interlaced hyphae rose around him, pale braids pulsing with slow, star‑blue light. He let his fingers brush the living weave. It shivered and disclosed a map—strands touched strands, and whole constellations changed their minds about where they lived. High overhead, where “overhead” was temporarily plural, he glimpsed DMT auroras sliding through the rock like cattails through riverwater: mint green, persimmon, electric violet. Each color drafted a hypothesis of the corridor’s location.

He tasted the air with the filaments along his wrists and whispered his lineage—the spore‑names and filament‑houses that had grown him. The stair humbled to a ramp and the ramp bent open into a chamber where the ceiling was not a ceiling but a low sky.

Continues on the website.


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Dunes of the LSD Sun | Cinematic Visual Trip @ YouTube

Hard techno + sci‑fi visuals—enter the dark warehouse at 4AM.
Peak‑time energy with hypnotic, trippy visuals in 4K—go deep.
Raw, deep, hypnotic techno—late‑night sci‑fi trip.

Stream / download / buy ➜
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The Story  ᓚᘏᗢ  ➜
Prologue: The Mote That Sang Coordinates
In the cold fold beyond the Perseid wake, a glint of biology threaded with machinery drifted like a seed waiting for soil. The vessel had once been named for a numbered star, but that name had long since been composted by its living hull. Now it was simply the Ship That Grew a Forest, and it was dreaming itself apart.

The call that reached the Lattice did not arrive as sound or code. It arrived as fragrance—notes of rain on copper, lichen warmed by moonlight, resin char from a fire that had never burned. Those who could taste messages tasted it and turned their attention. Those who could walk the geometry between intentions chose a courier.

The courier’s name was Vyr, a bipedal being of amber cartilage and night‑black bark. Vyr was not born so much as distilled from woodland thunder, given joints that clicked like patient metronomes and lungs thick with spores that glowed when it thought. It wore no armor, only a cloak woven from mycelial skeins that learned whatever they touched. Every step it took made a quiet pattern in the air, as if the floor had become a pond and its feet were pebbles thrown carefully into it.

At the edge of the derelict, Vyr found a hull grown into arches and buttresses, cathedral‑minded, a skeleton trellised with luminous growth. The ship had weathered vacuum as if vacuum were merely another winter. Filaments strung from rib to rib like constellations. Caps the size of shields opened to text the dark with bio‑luminescent grammar.

The scent‑message burned brighter. Vyr inhaled. The spores kindled in its lungs, and the path unfolded.

Continues on the website.


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The Ship That Grew a Forest | Music Video on YouTube

DJ specialized in electronic music, with a deep passion for Afro House, House, and Melodic Techno. Inspired by the sounds of Keinemusik, Black Coffee, and other boundary-pushing artists. Currently playing few gigs and working on mixes. Always exploring new rhythms and emotions through music.

Next Dates:
05.09.25 - Asbach Schmalkalden
02.10.25 - Broilerroom end of Summer Break 
16.10.25 - Broilerroom with Sonny K
18.10.25 - Clubnight Live @ Radio Leinewelle
30.10.25 - Broilerroom with Semi;con 

Jayrobs Reise durch Klangwelten
----------------------------------
Schon im zarten Alter von sechs Jahren begann Jayrobs musikalische Odyssee – nicht in staubigen Klassenzimmern, sondern im Proberaum des Knabenchors Erfurt. Dort erkannte er erstmals, dass das Leben weit mehr zu bieten hat als Zahlen und Buchstaben – es sind die Noten, diese geheimnisvollen Zeichen, die Emotionen malen, Geschichten erzählen und Herzen bewegen. Von diesem Moment an wurden sie zu seinen treuen Weggefährten.

Nach den ersten Schritten in die Welt des Gesangs öffneten sich weitere Türen: Das Akkordeon-Orchester ließ seine Finger tanzen, das Keyboard folgte seinem Bauchgefühl, und die Schulband gab ihm als Schlagzeuger den ersten echten Bühnenboden unter den Füßen. Doch der wahre Funke sprang 1999 über – entfacht von der Magie nächtlicher Partys und dem hypnotischen Kreisen schwarzer Vinylscheiben. Das Auflegen wurde zu seiner neuen Sprache.

Was mit kleinen Privat-Sessions begann, entwickelte sich bald zu regelmäßigen Gigs in Thüringen und Hessen – von Meiningen bis Bad Salzungen, von Fulda bis zum Freien Radio Kassel. Hier durfte Jayrob seine Liebe zur elektronischen Musik teilen, roh, pur und echt – direkt von der Rille ins Herz des Publikums.

Der Waldschall in Breitungen wurde zu seinem musikalischen Zuhause, Jahr für Jahr. Auch andere Open Airs – Tunnel-Events in Mittelstille, Himmelfahrts-Festivals auf der ehrwürdigen Krayenburg, Veranstaltungen in Meiningen, Kühndorf und Umgebung – wurden Stationen seiner stetig wachsenden Klangreise. Clubs in Thüringen, Hessen und Baden-Württemberg öffneten ihm ihre Tore, und Jayrob brachte seine ganz eigene Interpretation elektronischer Musik auf die Tanzflächen – stets im Austausch mit einem Publikum, das ihm Energie gab und ihn zugleich trug.

Dann – eine Pause. Eine Pause aus Liebe, aus Verantwortung: das Abenteuer Vater sein begann 2013 und stellte die Beats für eine Weile leise. Doch die Musik blieb – als leiser Puls, als stetes Rufen. Und seit rund eineinhalb Jahren ist Jayrob wieder da – lauter, facettenreicher, freier denn je. Ob mit Vinyl oder digital.

Mit seiner eigenen Streaming-Sendung, dem Broiler-Room, sowie Gastauftritten bei Radiosendern und Events rund um und in Schmalkalden hat sich aus der wieder entfachten Glut ein Sturm entwickelt. Einer, dem er sich weder entziehen kann, noch entziehen will. Denn das Leben ist zu kurz, um es nur mit Zahlen und Buchstaben zu füllen – Musik ist sein Weg, sein Ausdruck, seine Sprache.

Und dieser Weg ist noch lange nicht zu Ende.

----------------------------------
Played in the past @:
Waldschall (Resident) 2002 - 2012 - Breitungen
Sängerhügel Open Airs - Fambach
Tunnel Open Airs - Mittelstille
Alte Zuckerfabrik - Laucha
Himmelfahrt Open Air Krayenburg - Tiefenort
Open Air - Flugplatz Kühndorf
Sängerklause Open Air - Immelborn
Fête de la Musique - Meiningen
on air @ Freies Radio - Kassel
on air @ MDR Sputnik Halle (Saale)
on air @ C.A.M. Radio Leipzig
on air @ Radio Leinewelle Göttingen
on air @ Freie Seelen Radio - Breitungen
on air @ Broilerroom Livestream - Schmalkalden
Villa K. - Schmalkalden
Castle - Schmalkalden
Stadtfest - Schmalkalden
BMS Club - Merkers
Grüne Messehalle - Fulda
Eightball - Fulda
WerkZwo - Tann
D-Bar - Trusetal
Abschnitt 18/78 - Wernshausen
Forsthaus - Kissel
Kuckucksnest - Meiningen
Kartbahn - Meiningen
Sudpfanne - Meiningen
Kulturparade - Meiningen
Erdbeermund - Karlsruhe
Kommune2010 - Offenbach
Pressenwerk - Bad Salzungen
KW70 - Bad Salzungen
Kamadu - Bad Salzungen
P35 - Bad Liebenstein
Rosatalhalle - Rosa
Bikerclub - Wasungen
Karneval - Wasungen
Philharmonie - Suhl
Kulturhaus - Jüchsen
Altes Kino - Römhild
Club - Einhausen
Reiterhof - Dörrensolz
Palm Beach - Tiefenort
Turnhalle - Brotterode
Hohe Geba - Meiningen

We don't accept demos.

Cosmic Wave Records [CWR] is a french label based in the city of light organizing parties since 2015 in Lyon and focuses on the label side delivering its own vision of psychedelic music for both mind and body.

Releases : 

9beats - The Red Planet [CWR001] 
Various Artists I [CWR002]
Vardae - SG3 [CWR003]
Korben Nice - Atomos [CWR004] 
Mersel - Buya [CWR005] 
Various Artists II [CWR006] 
dc11 - Immersion [CWR007]
Vardae - Rust & Black [CWR008]
Various Artists III [CWR009] 
Mersel - Biome [CWR010]

9beats - Katan EP [CWRLTD001]
Anechoic - In Echoes of Fractured Light [CWRLTD002]

Artists / Producers :

@9_beats | @anechoic_music | @atoloi | @benabou | @diapasonn | @dc11music | @eric-fetcher | @justlocal | @kayawld | @klimmusic | @korbn1c3 | @marco_shuttle | @merseltechno | @nicorifo | @souls-tide-zne | @tobhiasguerreromusic | @valentinomora | @vardaemusic

Sounds that take you to my universe ... 🪐

✉️ info@iceyplanet.com

Thank You For Listening! ✨🙏 Follow for cake! And please, give me your VOTE on https://distrokid.com/spotlight/zemandan/vote/
Good things come to those who vote (Cake) 
Blending progressive house, cinematic EDM anthems, techno, dubstep & hypnotism into glitchy grooves, distorted fat bass and euphoric darkness🔥

Bookings: zemandan@hotmail.com
(NO promoters, please – direct only.)

Dig the tunes? Check out trippy music videos: https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum

Website or Instagram for booking.

Need change - going into the depths.

Techno, Trance, Psytech, Psytrance, and other liquid psychedelic music is where I'm the happiest but I do love a lot of Latin, Tribal, Trip Hop, Lofi, Chillhop so occasionally I'll release something off-beat.

------ Past-Tense Shenanigans ------

Born in the dust-filled vibes of a ‘90s apartment, Grass Patch Bum started spinning records back when vinyl was king and internet cafes were revolutionary. Armed with a crate of vinyl, Grass Patch Bum dived headfirst into underground raves and sweaty house parties, learning the art of blending beats on turntables and (eventually) the "futuristic" CDJs. But the journey didn't stop there.

After taking a hiatus to dive into the world of FL Studio and dissect the mechanics of production, Grass Patch Bum came back stronger, with a repertoire of original sounds and the technical chops to match. Fast forward, and they've turned dancefloors upside down from Thailand to Vietnam, Bali to the heart of Europe. Now, powered by Ableton Live and a creative arsenal that refuses to stay in one genre, Grass Patch Bum weaves sonic journeys that blend groove, grit, and just a sprinkle of nostalgia for the good ol' days.

Catch him live for a taste of nostalgia, modern beats, Latin grooves, electronic melodies, and a wide range of liquid sounds. Whether it's a tropical beach in Thailand or an underground club in Berlin, Grass Patch Bum brings thems booty movements like no other.

New tracks tagged #deep-techno