Etch - Further Adventures Of The Cosmic B-Boy (2022)

TL:DR - Etch has a new album out on Purple City you dickheads.

Space: A vast, limitless ocean of potential shot through with infinite possibility, boundless opportunity and a bleak sense of yearning comparable only to that of humanity’s deep seated, ultimately destructive desire to constantly surge ever forward, push harder, dream higher, push until breaking point the very boundaries of both perception and… I’m sorry.

What a load of pretentious shit press releases are.
Why are we like this? Why do we need to write eight pages of sub “I did a degree in philosophy at Pontins Polytechnic” twaddle to make you enjoy music? Sod that, it’s tiring.

If it bangs it bangs, if it’s shit it’s shit. No amount of verbiage from some label goon in a Patagonia fleece and charity shop scrimmaged deerstalker hat, carping on about the relationship between the hardcore continuum and self-learning neural networks in burgeoning AI fields is actually going to stop a well boring tune being well boring. Likewise it's probably not going to convince you to buy a £22 record that ultimately sounds akin to a deaf building contractor who’s been knocked down to three days a week after a questionable on-site health and safety “incident” pouring liquid shit into your ears.

What’s the point in all that?

Here’s the point: Five years on from Purple City’s maiden voyage, the long sold-out, much acclaimed, massively classic Cosmic B-Boy EP, Brighton based breaks genius Etch aka our mate Zak is bloody back.

Yes the Cosmic B-boy is travelling one small step / giant leap further in 2022 and he’s got an album’s worth of cosmic beats, breaks, bops and general head nodding genius featuring vocals from up and coming Brighton rapper Donaghy on some truly Place Of Dead Roads level lyrical shit. It doesn’t have a big pretentious essay attached to it (unless you count this rambling bullshit obvs). It doesn’t have some Oxford scholar somewhere stroking her chin and ruminating on humankind’s inherently self-destructive nature. It doesn’t have some boring “minimal” sleeve design which is just a picture of a light pole on a street in Dalston overlaid with a single Roman numeral in a sans serif font.

It doesn’t have a hope in the flaming fires of streaming service back-end analytics Hell of making a profit.

But fuck it.

It’s just a bunch of fucking bangers made purely for the sake of banging in your fucking face on a ridiculously flourescent pink vinyl housed in a hand illustrated sleeve featuring a cosmonaut who’s had too much Buckfast, cracked his helmet, accidentally summoned a wizard and fallen into a wormhole like a total fucking First Day On Earther. What a wally.