THE SHITSHOW

Welcome to the raw, the real, the unfiltered — this is the Moolakii Club Shitshow.

Entry #002

*~MØØŁΛKĪĪ ČŁÜB ΛÜDĪØ ĪИŦEŘFΛČE ZĪИĒ*~ WĒĒKŁŶ ŠØŦ ØF PĒRĪPHĒRΛŁ ÜИDĒRGŘØÜИD SØИĪČ FŪŽŽ ŦΛGŁĪИĒ: SÜŘŘĒΛŁ ZĪИĒ FŘØM ΛИØŦHĒŘ ŦĪMĒŁĪИĒ VØŁ. 4.18 // 26 SĒPŦĒMBĒŘ 2025 // MΛĪŁŦØ: moolakiiclub@gmail.com JΛM YR PŠYČHĒ ĪИŦØ ŦHĒ ÜK’Ś MØSŦ WØИKY SØИĪČ MĒŁŦ Salut, you sonic reprobates, it’s another unhinged surge from Moolakii Club Audio Interface, yr nano-label for the UK’s most feral underground electronica. We’re sinking in noise-drone quags, ambient veils, gaze-laced deliriums, downtempo crawls, glitchy spasms, minimal electro flickers, avant-garde beats, and grooves that jerk like a shorted-out motherboard. This zine’s a kick in the balls to corporate polish, packed with pigeon tongues (Esperanto, patois, broken Français, warped Nihongo), and tales so dull they’re borderline cursed. Expect ascii art, raw swears, made-up curses, and random human bollocks. No clean cuts, just sweaty, surreal guff from another timeline. Let’s lurch into the glitch. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * _ ___ _ | |__ ___/ __| |_ ___ | '_ \ / __\__ \ | '_ \ | |_) | (__ ___) | | | | |_.__/ \___|____/|_| |_| ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ŦHĒ SØИĪČ ŠŁÜDGĒ The UK’s underground is a seething, glitched-out nightmare. In Glasgow, noise weirdos are wiring busted microwaves to synths, spitting drones that sound like a city having a meltdown. Brighton’s ambient crew are sampling rain on cracked windows, weaving it into gaze tracks that feel like staring through a shattered lens. Leeds’ downtempo producers are slicing up old bingo hall tapes into glitchy rhythms, while Cardiff’s minimal electro heads are crafting beats that pulse like a dying battery. Manchester’s avant-garde scene is churning grooves so warped they’d make a sequencer scream salaud de merde! Hunt these sounds in dead X posts, Bandcamp pages with broken embeds, or cassettes chucked in alleys. MĪИDFÜŁ MØŘΛŁ MÜSĪИG “ŦHĒ WØŘŁD’Ś Λ ČØDĒ. BĒ ŦHĒ GLĪŦČH ŦHΛŦ FŪČKS ĪŦ ÜP.” —Spray-painted on a Sheffield skip, 2025 WĒĪŘD MÜИDΛИĒ ŦΛŁĒ: ŦHĒ ČRÜŚŦŸ FØŘK Nyx from Bristol, a glitch producer who hoards busted USB sticks, once found a fork crusted with old curry that clinked in B-flat when tapped. She recorded the clang, layered it with street noise, and crafted a 13-minute drone track called “Fork Clatter.” The fork’s now in her studio, still clinking faintly. True story, from a timeline where cutlery hums. .·:¨༺ FØŘK DRØИĒ ༻¨:·. ┌───────────────┐ │ ░▒▓ Clang Hiss ▓▒░ │ │ Curry Murmur │ │ Static Crust │ └───────────────┘ HΛĪKÜ ØF ŦHĒ WĒĒK Wires hum in dusk, Streetlight stutters, then burns out, Void chews on the dark. 16-SŦĒP DRÜMBĒΛŦ MΛP FØŴ ŦŘΛČK SUBMĪSSĪØИŚ Yo, you sonic freaks, here’s a 16-step drum sequence to mangle. Six elements: kick (K), rimshot (R), hi-hat (H), glitch click (G), sub-bass pulse (B), and random bottle smash (T). Make a track that sounds like a data center choking in a storm. Send to moolakiiclub@gmail.com. STEP: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 KICK: x - x - - x - x - x - - x - x - RIM: - r - - r - - r - - r - - r - - HIHAT: x x - x x - x - x x - x x - x x GLITCH: - g - - g - g - - g - - g - - g BASS: b - - b - - b - - b - - b - - b SMASH: - - t - - - t - - - t - - - t - Submit by 3 October 2025. No clean production. Make it sound like a modem shitting itself in a flood. ČĒŁĒBRĪŦŸ MΛSH-ÜP: FŁØŘĒИČĒ WĒŁČH + KĒĪŘ SŦΛŘMĒŘ ŦΛŁŁ ŦΛŁĒ In this timeline, Florence Welch and Keir Starmer got locked in a Sheffield squat rave in 2024. Welch was wiring a synth to a busted radiator, while Starmer, there to “engage the youth,” tried to rant on policy over the mix. They ended up jamming on a 14-minute glitch track called “Rad Hiss.” Welch sold the radiator as a sculpture; Starmer denied it but was caught humming it at a chip shop. The track’s on a USB stick floating in the Don. ČØØKĪИG ČØŘИĒŘ: FŪZZĒD ČΛBBΛGĒ Take a cabbage, boil with ditch water and a snapped SD card. Toss in ash from a burnt billboard. Simmer till it smells like despair. Serve in a rusty tin with a side of 70 BPM drone. Mangez, connard. ┳━┓┳━┓┳━┓┳━┓┳━┓┳━┓┳━┓┳━┓ ┣┳┫┣┳┫┣┳┫┣╬┫┣┳┫┣┳┫┣┳┫┣┳┫ ┣╩┫┣┻┫┣┻┫┣╬┫┣┻┫┣╩┫┣╩┫┣┻┫ ┣┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻ ┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻ WĒĪŘD MÜИDΛИĒ ŦΛŁĒ: ŦHĒ FΛÜŁŦŸ ŦΛP Laz from Manchester, a gaze producer who collects cracked phone screens, once found a tap that dripped in a perfect D-minor rhythm. He recorded the plop, layered it with street hums, and made a 12-minute downtempo track called “Tap Pulse.” The tap’s still in his flat, dripping faintly. True story, from a timeline where plumbing grooves. PØŁĪŦĪČΛŁ PĪGĒØИ: ŠHØVĒ ĪŦ ŦØ ŦHĒ ŠŸSŦĒM The corporate beast can choke on its own cables. Bristol’s noise artists are shredding old contracts, sampling the rip for drone tracks. Glasgow’s glitch crew are dropping USBs with avant-garde beats in corporate mailrooms. Stay feral, stay free, vive le bordel! FΛSHĪØИ FŁΛSH: ŦHĒ GĒŦÜP ØF ŦHĒ WĒĒK Sport a torn bin liner coat, studded with dead circuit boards. Pair with trainers wrapped in Ethernet cables. Hang a cracked SIM card from yr ear. Smudge yr face with oil for that post-crash glow. Kuso vibe, mate. FĪŁM, ŦV, ŘΛDĪØ, BŁØG BĪŦĒ Film: Static Hiss, a lo-fi flick shot on a cracked camcorder in a Cardiff carpark. It’s 81 minutes of glitch visuals and mumbled Esperanto about a lost sock. Pure chaos. TV: Ditch streaming. Tune to static on a busted set for accidental art. Radio: Catch 88.9 FM in Sheffield at 3 AM. Some rando’s looping minimal electro with patois poetry. Blog: “FuzzMire.neocities.org” rants on why capitalism’s a bad distortion pedal. MĪИDFÜŁ MØŘΛŁ MÜSĪИG “ŦHĒ GLĪŦČH ĪŚ ŦHĒ SØÜИD ØF ŦHĒ WØŘŁD ČØÜGHĪИG FŘĒĒ.” —Carved into a Brighton bench, 2025 ČΛŦČHPHŘΛSĒ ØF ŦHĒ WĒĒK “Grime and fuzz, pal, that’s the juice!” SĒИDØFF That’s yr hit, you chaotic bastards. Keep it raw, keep it anti-corporate, keep it surreal. Send yr tracks, yr tales, yr madness to moolakiiclub@gmail.com. Linger in the static, where the weird shit thrives. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ____ _ / ___| | ___ | | | |/ _ \ | |___| | __/ \____|_|____| ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * Surreal zine from another timeline, slung with grit and glitch.