THE SHITSHOW

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

Entry #003

*~MØØŁΛKĪĪ ČŁÜB ΛÜDĪØ ĪИŦEŘFΛČE ZĪИĒ*~ WĒĒKŁŶ ŠØČK ØF PĒRĪPHĒRΛŁ ÜИDĒRGŘØÜИD SØИĪČ MΛYHĒM ŦΛGŁĪИĒ: SÜŘŘĒΛŁ ZĪИĒ FŘØM ΛИØŦHĒŘ ŦĪMĒŁĪИĒ VØŁ. 4.17 // 19 SĒPŦĒMBĒŘ 2025 // MΛĪŁŦØ: moolakiiclub@gmail.com ŦHŘÜSŦ YR SØÜŁ ĪИŦØ ŦHĒ ÜK’Ś MØSŦ DĒŘΛИGĒD SØИĪČ FŪŘŸ Oi, you sonic heathens, it’s another warped jolt from Moolakii Club Audio Interface, yr nano-label for the UK’s most unhinged underground electronica. We’re wading through noise-drone bogs, ambient shrouds, gaze-soaked hazes, downtempo slithers, glitchy fits, minimal electro twitches, avant-garde beats, and grooves that lurch like a virus-ridden hard drive. This zine’s a middle finger to corporate sheen, stuffed with pigeon tongues (Esperanto, patois, mangled Français, jagged Nihongo), and tales so mundane they’re practically occult. Expect ascii art, raw swears, invented curses, and random human nonsense. No clean edges, just sweaty, surreal chaos from another timeline. Let’s plunge into the fuzz. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * _ ___ _ | |__ ___/ __| |_ ___ | '_ \ / __\__ \ | '_ \ | |_) | (__ ___) | | | | |_.__/ \___|____/|_| |_| ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ŦHĒ SØИĪČ ČΛŦΛČŁYSM The UK’s underground is a pulsing, glitched-out fever dream. In Leeds, noise freaks are wiring busted vending machines to synths, spitting drones that sound like a city having an identity crisis. Cardiff’s ambient heads are sampling wind through rusted fences, weaving it into gaze tracks that feel like staring into a broken prism. Bristol’s downtempo crew are slicing up old busker tapes into glitchy rhythms, while Manchester’s minimal electro scene is crafting beats that hum like a knackered power grid. Glasgow’s avant-garde lot are churning grooves so skewed they’d make a sequencer swear—putain de bordel! Scour these sounds in dead X threads, Bandcamp pages with broken links, or tapes tossed in canal locks. MĪИDFÜŁ MØŘΛŁ MÜSĪИG “ŦHĒ WØŘŁD’Ś Λ ŠŦŘĪИG. PŁÜČK ĪŦ ŦĪŁŁ ĪŦ ŠČŘĒΛMŠ.” —Scratched on a Brighton bench, 2025 WĒĪŘD MÜИDΛИĒ ŦΛŁĒ: ŦHĒ ŠŦĪČKY ŦΛP Kez from Edinburgh, a glitch producer who hoards cracked Walkmans, once found a sticky tape dispenser that squeaked in A-minor when pulled. She recorded the screech, layered it with alley noise, and crafted a 15-minute drone track called “Tape Squeal.” The dispenser’s now on her desk, still squeaking faintly. True story, from a timeline where office supplies groove. .·:¨༺ ŦΛPĒ DRØИĒ ༻¨:·. ┌───────────────┐ │ ░▒▓ Squeak Hiss ▓▒░ │ │ Tape Murmur │ │ Static Stick │ └───────────────┘ HΛĪKÜ ØF ŦHĒ WĒĒK Rust creaks in the night, Lamplight buzzes, then fades out, Void hums its own tune. 16-SŦĒP DRÜMBĒΛŦ MΛP FØŴ ŦŘΛČK SUBMĪSSĪØИŚ Yo, you sonic outlaws, here’s a 16-step drum sequence to twist into madness. Six elements: kick (K), snare (S), hi-hat (H), glitch snap (G), sub-bass thud (B), and random glass clink (C). Build a track that sounds like a server farm having a breakdown in a fog. 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 - SNARE: - s - - s - - s - - s - - s - - HIHAT: x x x - x - x x - x x - x x - x GLITCH: - - g - - g - - g - - g - - g - BASS: b - b - - b - - b - - b - - b - CLINK: - c - - - c - - c - - c - - c - Submit by 26 September 2025. No polished shit. Make it sound like a modem choking on dust. ČĒŁĒBRĪŦŸ MΛSH-ÜP: ŁΛÜŘĪИ HĪŁŁ + JΛČØB ŘĒĒS-MØGG ŦΛŁŁ ŦΛŁĒ In this timeline, Lauryn Hill and Jacob Rees-Mogg got trapped in a Manchester squat rave in 2024. Hill was wiring a synth to a busted heater, while Rees-Mogg, there to “preserve tradition,” tried to lecture on etiquette over the beat. They ended up jamming on a 13-minute glitch track called “Heater Hum.” Hill sold the heater as an art piece; Rees-Mogg denied it but was caught humming it at a tea shop. The track’s on a USB stick floating in the Irwell. ČØØKĪИG ČØŘИĒŘ: ŠŦΛŦĪČ ŦØΛSŦ Take bread, toast with ditch water and a cracked USB stick. Sprinkle ash from a burnt flyer. Heat till it smells like regret. Serve on a rusty plate with a side of 69 BPM drone. Bouffe ça, enfoiré. ┳━┓┳━┓┳━┓┳━┓┳━┓┳━┓┳━┓┳━┓ ┣┳┫┣┳┫┣┳┫┣╬┫┣┳┫┣┳┫┣┳┫┣┳┫ ┣╩┫┣┻┫┣┻┫┣╬┫┣┻┫┣╩┫┣╩┫┣┻┫ ┣┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻ ┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻┻ WĒĪŘD MÜИDΛИĒ ŦΛŁĒ: ŦHĒ WØИKY MÜG Jez from Brighton, a gaze producer who collects busted earphones, once found a chipped mug that clinked in G-minor when tapped. He recorded the clank, layered it with street hums, and made a 12-minute downtempo track called “Mug Murmur.” The mug’s still in his studio, clinking faintly. True story, from a timeline where crockery grooves. PØŁĪŦĪČΛŁ PĪGĒØИ: ŠŦĪČK ĪŦ ŦØ ŦHĒ MΛИ The corporate machine can choke on its own wires. Glasgow’s noise artists are shredding old invoices, sampling the rip for drone tracks. Sheffield’s glitch crew are dropping USBs with avant-garde beats in corporate lobbies. Stay wild, stay free, merde au système! FΛSHĪØИ FŁΛSH: ŦHĒ ŁØØK ØF ŦHĒ WĒĒK Wear a ripped bin bag jacket, pinned with dead SD cards. Pair with boots wrapped in fairy lights and tape. Hang a cracked CD from yr ear. Smudge yr cheeks with ash for that post-crash vibe. Baka cool, bastards. FĪŁM, ŦV, ŘΛDĪØ, BŁØG BĪŦĒ Film: Broken Pulse, a grainy flick shot on a flip phone in a Liverpool alley. It’s 83 minutes of glitch visuals and mumbled patois about a lost button. Pure delirium. TV: Skip the mainstream. Detune a telly for accidental noise art. Radio: Catch 89.2 FM in Leeds at 4 AM. Some weirdo’s looping minimal electro with broken Nihongo poetry. Blog: “GlitchHowl.neocities.org” rants on why capitalism’s a bad reverb loop. MĪИDFÜŁ MØŘΛŁ MÜSĪИG “ŦHĒ GLĪŦČH ĪŚ ŦHĒ SØÜИD ØF ŦHĒ ÜИĪVĒRSĒ ČŘΛCKĪИG.” —Etched on a Manchester lamppost, 2025 ČΛŦČHPHŘΛSĒ ØF ŦHĒ WĒĒK “Static and grime, mate, that’s the fire!” SĒИDØFF That’s yr fix, you chaotic fuckers. Keep it gritty, keep it anti-corporate, keep it surreal. Send yr tracks, yr rants, yr weirdness to moolakiiclub@gmail.com. Lurk in the static, where the madness lives. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ____ _ / ___| | ___ | | | |/ _ \ | |___| | __/ \____|_|____| ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * Surreal zine from another timeline, flung with fuzz and spite.