Buy Moire’s No Future Right F**king Now or Forever Hold Your Peace

Do you remember Shelter,  Moire’s 2014 record on Werkdiscs? Yeah that was a trip and if you weren’t banging any of that shit out in your DJ sets “Mr. Successful DJ”, please stop reading right now. I’m kidding, you can read ahead. It’s your life, do what the f**kever you want with your time.

Admit it though, you fuckin’ missed the guy, didn’t ya? You missed all that smoggy, jittery house and that raw-ass techno that was infinitesimally more real than the soft-on-the-edges garbage your local club circuit loves. And you fucking love all that distortion and shit don’t ya? You love “the noise” and “the noise scene”. I mean before all this electronic shit came to town, that’s all you listened to – shitty-ass guitar solos on worn-out solid-state amps. And I mean, look around you, step outside your house – it’s all you fucking hear and see, isn’t it? Noise and dirt and grit and dog shit on the sidewalk and rich Bandra aunties nearly stepping in it while jogging and texting and drinking Raw Pissery.

And then you go back inside your house and you open the refrigerator, which is empty by the way, and you think to yourself – “Wow. What the fuck has my life become? I have to hustle all day to pay the bills, can’t catch a break anywhere. The government’s checked out basically and now I have to pay ATM fees. The only way I’m paying ATM fees is if at the end of the fourth transaction of the month, a hand comes out of the money slot and jacks me off right there. Right there in the fucking ATM, in front of the security guard. There’s no other way I’m fucking agreeing to an ATM fee. What is this? The Developed World? Fuck. That. Shit. AND they turned your neighbourhood flunky into a demigod… the music scene that is. Why? ‘Cause he’s popular. He’s fucking friends with everybody and backslaps even the cunts he actually hates. You can’t do that. Fuck that. You can’t not be real. I mean you’ll die a fucking hater and a recluse before you ever ever ever go to an afterparty that resembles a pageant for Mumbai’s finest twats sponsored by Old Monk and the shittiest weed on earth. There’s no chance you’ll ever…”

You stop yourself right there. You aren’t alone right now and you’re actually thinking out loud. Your forehead is tensing and your partner is looking at you from like seven feet away wondering if it’s time to, you know, make a run for it.

Well chill the fuck out because I’ve got GREAT news for you. Moire is back with the soundtrack to your misery, and like your misery, it’s an absolute blinder. It’s even called No Future, which is what your parents say all the time when they’re referring to you. How uncanny is that? Well, I hope you hear it in a club I’m playing at and start a moshpit and scare some people with man-buns because really, what the fuck else did you pay to enter the club for?

Dig in. Buy it when you’re done. If you aren’t gonna support local music, you might as well buy the imported shit and then tell all your fake friends on the Internet how much money you spend on music every month.

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