It's easy to knock off a few good t-shirt designs–hell, even Urban Outfitters has managed it once or twice–but it's hard to keep on rocking. Coming out with fresh looks for human billboards means keeping two laps ahead of the pack while staying true to your vision. It means knowing that certain things are never out of style if done right. It entails making clever entendres and cultural references, while steering clear of straight-up rip-offs. Read more »
"I have a thing for pigeons, it's no mystery," offers Stephen Powers (alias ESPO) by phone, when I ask him why he adorned our 100th issue cover with a phalanx of the world's dirtiest birds. "Pigeons are urban dwellers, they're the lowest common denominators, and yet they're amazing animals that can fly 600 miles in a day and they'll live off of anything. I love the fact that they're so hated and despised but they run things."
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As minimal techno plunders the ashes of Chicago's jack track aesthetic, Jamal Moss (a.k.a. Hieroglyphic Being) represents another deviation of the classic house sound. Mentored by Chicago legends Adonis and Steve Poindexter, Moss' tracks recall the sort of wild experimentation that can only be achieved through limited resources. Armed with little more than a couple drum machines and budget mixers, the typical Hieroglyphic Being 12" stands in stark contrast to the clinical style of laptop production. Read more »
It's 11 p.m. on a Saturday in March at DMZ, London's bi-monthly dubstep party at the 400-person 3rd Bass, the basement room of Mass, a converted Brixton church once the site of 10-plus years of legendary jungle events. The queue outside is 600 deep. Digital Mystikz and Loefah, the team behind tonight's event, make the decision to move the party upstairs to the main room. The sound goes from womblike bass-throb downstairs to a towering assault on the main floor. Three hundred guests were expected; more than 1000 go home that night with a new sound ringing in their ears.
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It's another typical L.A. day: 90 degrees, scorching, dry heat, a cover of smog laying low over the city like a giant blanket of lint that someone has forgotten to clean out of the dryer. Jimmy Tamborello is sitting inside, like he does most days, having just been interrupted from a not-so-great game of Xbox Tetris by my mid-afternoon phonecall.
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