nCamargo - Moonbeam - Terra Incognita EP [TESREC051]

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

Active listener of Drum & Bass since 2008.

In geometry, the tesseract is the four-dimensional analog of the cube; the tesseract is to the cube as the cube is to the square.

Founded By - Cagan Ozturk [D Flect]

Co-Managed By - Elliot Bowman [Arcus]

Our bandcamp - https://tesseractrecordings.bandcamp.com


Send Demo's to tesseractrecordings@yahoo.com

Mastering - Lockjaw (Sine Sound Mastering)

Support From - Zero T, Amoss, S.P.Y, HLZ, Batchelors Of Science, Random Movement, Philth, Skank&Bass, Mauoq, Mindscape, Mixmag Spain, Arkaik, Was A Be, Ill Truth, Kumarachi, DBR UK, Fearful,  plus many more

Artists- 

D Flect 
Arcus 
Taelimb
Fuj
Lao Wai
Bios Destruction
Hazqa
Madusea
Altered Perception 
Quantum Mechanix 
Internal
Dr Sloth
Nerv
Pen
Underspawn
Ding
Kubic Eye
Dubtrax
Optimal
Gifted Individuals
Javano
Shock Tactix
Felix The Red Cat
Oxytocin
Diasporah
Bassdubbers
Matt Pulsar
Dubterra
Theejay
Alex SLK
Frame
Nooch
Neothrope
Thematic
Peeb
Aeson
The Urbanizer
Hannah Small
Re:Edit
Not Guilty
Arks
Montesco
Incus
Rafiki
Draize
Hebra
Sedo 
St.iff
K2T

All releases for our first year will be free to download

Please send demo's to - tesseractrecordings@yahoo.com
If we like what we hear we will be in touch

I post dnb 🥁


Lover of deep/dark/minimal 🥁


Cannot access or reply to messages. 
Please follow me on insta @dnbhorrorhippie @hellbaby88x 

In the concrete jungle Brisbane, Reegze is known for his adaptiveness when it comes to niche genres of underground music including Dubstep, Halftime & Jungle/Dnb.

First influenced in 2015 by underground music festivals such as Tropical Bloom, Mushroom Valley and Happy Daze Reegze has found himself behind the decks at handful of Festivals/Raves such as Earth Frequency, Archaic Gathering, Spring Campout, Swampy Conscience & Renegade Playground.

As he followed the DNB to BNE in 2019 he has consistently developed a wide range of experience from DJing across South East Queensland and supporting the likes of S.P.Y, General Levy, DJ Hybrid, Whiney, Mrs Magoo, P Money, Unglued, The Upbeats, Delta Heavy, and Zombie Cats just to name his favorites.

Fast forward to now Reegze is continuing to find ways to improve and diversify his tune selections alongside sharing his addiction to bass music.

Pharaosa proudly represents the underground scene of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Where for years, he has been deeply inspired by many of the local artists and events.

A percussionist at heart, he was drawn to Drum & Bass, and of course Dubstep, specifically Dungeon/Deep/Tech. Through this sub-genre, he found the sound that he wanted to be associated with. The deeper he went down the rabbit hole, the more inspired he became. Some of his earlier findings were releases by Darj, Dark Entity, Mishva, Subreachers and Leon Switch. After years of enjoying countless events, Pharaosa made his debut at Even Further 2018 with Aimerie and Kryptic Disciple. Shortly after he was asked to open for Joe Nice, and Ternion Sound at the following Subsequential event. 

Over the past few years, Pharaosa focused all of his efforts into Drum and Bass. Finding a lot of inspiration from artists like: Creatures, Bredren, Thematic, Minor Forms, & Geostatic. After spending most of 2023 creating his own sound, he started to reap the benefits of those efforts. Opening for Chase and Status, Reso, Mefjus, Camo & Krooked, and making his Infrasound Music Festival Debut was just the beginning..

Pharaosa@gmail.com
Facebook.com/Pharaosa
Instagram.com/pharaosa

Fluzion is a Drum & Bass Dj coming from Tenerife (Canary Islands) now based in Amsterdam. He started his passion for low bass and fast rythms very young, when he was 8 he discovered M-Beat & General Levy and his leyendary song ''Incredible'', it was an addiction for him. Also in the Island culture Uk garage, Breakbeat and Drum & Bass always had a big influence.
His real passion started when the Dubstep was kicking very hard, at the age of 14, he discovered artists like Netsky, Camo & Krooked... and many more, there he started his real passion for this genre. After couple years of enjoying this beautiful music and getting a pretty decent track collection he touched for first time a mixer, he fell in love with that feeling.

He started to play in local raves in the Island becoming well known for his sets with jungle, techy deep and neurofunk. With couple of friends, they created ''La Jaula Music'' a Dj collective organizing a lot of Drum & Bass partys in Tenerife. He played in a lot of different spots in the city of La Laguna well known for its bar nights. Also with the Tribe crew in the Let it Roll WarmUp 2019 (Tenerife). 

After he moved to Amsterdam he started to experiment more with the liquid and soulful, he played couple times in open decks in the Cafe Havelaar and more recently in the Feed Amsterdam organized by Steppin through. Also he had the pleasure to play for the radio show ''The Blackdub Sessions'' Sub FM.

In all this life musical trip he have two loves in this Genre, the deep and hard sounds influenced by artists like: HLZ, Ulterior Motive, Alibi... but also the funky rythms of liquid and soulful drum and bass with artists like: Dj Marky, Motiv, Paul SG... and many more.

May the Drum & Bass be with you.

Bookings: aatomicdnb@gmail.com

nCamargo - Moonbeam - Terra Incognita EP [TESREC051]

Tesseract Recordings