more from
noodlebake
We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Hypomanic Carnival LP (Deluxe Edition)

by Scatterboxx

subscriber exclusive
1.
{“Basquiat.”} the animal’s back. mandible no longer in tangible tact. a mannequin mechanically zapped. yo my sanity snapped. so i panicked, went manic, broke through that outlandish contraption, then vanished at last. i’m Basquiat at a carnival slinging OxyContin crushed to particles. the snorting sound is audible. sophisticated gypsy wandering the winter snow. sip, but save the whiskey, pondering what if you don’t. life is filled with dirty secrets often kept in Vegas, so really if you’re getting sloppy seconds, take it. dark boulevards that aren’t full of cars. instead filled with stray, but smart wolves & dogs. i’m talking mad jagged teeth on these savage beasts. i’m drafting dreams on the back of Mad Magazine. car sitting still, smoking artistic filth, while i carve rhythms in the stars with a quill. having delirium in my Delorean. i’m bored again, forming forgeries, snorting glass, smashing porcelain. brain stir crazy, blazing with The First Lady, cursing at the blood moon, angry ’til the herb sways me. Danny scribbles mad dope, that’s a fact, ain’t it? as i craft, painting raps on the black pavement, half baked & grubbing shrooms, lounging ass naked, trashed, spacing out to jazz in my dad’s basement. my music is this: fluid liquid eucalyptus you dudes can use to trip with, lucid visions influenced by hallucinogens, …psychedelically infusing luminousness. Illuminati got me paranoid & doing business with the wrong people, now i face crucifixion, so i’m scarily manic, pacing, with Marilyn Manson playing, dizzied by these aerosol cans i’m spraying… my brain disappeared at youth. …my parents knew but it’s hard the bare the truth. smokejumping into fires without a parachute, & barefoot cuz i forgot the right pair of shoes. what the fuck is wrong with me? hell if i know. tears turn to curdled blood flooding swelling eyeballs. fucked up dreams with demons in Gene Simmons’ jacket. reliving tragic scenes, screaming in madness. i protect myself how i feel i best can, but the pressure builds & truthfully i’m stressed, man. so i kamikaze with the paparazzi peeping while i flow fury following the Fibonacci Sequence. i’m off the deep end, dawg, for real, my head is gone. …i’m thinking prolly by now it’s descended dawn or stomped to death by the echelon of Genghis Khan, so finding alive ain’t something that i’d bet upon. i’ve got leather bondage beneath my fleece sweater on, with my jaw locked in a muzzle at my favorite restaurant. i’m half renaissance-man / other half Devil’s spawn. hexagon splitting when i’m spitting lexicon. so i’m running faster & faster from the coming thumbing chapters & not becoming clung to rafters, but unfortunately due to my attention deficit, i forgot to finish mapping out the plans for exodus. so i’m running faster & faster from the coming thumbing chapters & not becoming clung to rafters, but unfortunately due to my attention deficit, i forgot to fi
2.
{"Hypomanic Carnival."} come with me… yo, i blazed out Shiva, then i sipped ayahuasca. made my way to my apartment via flying saucer. spilled paint on my silk, suede garment, as the blacklight lit the milk-stained carpet. …so now my human instinct got me moving in sync while i’m doodling ink. …loose cannon who spews random raps dressed fresh in polkadot Snuggies. dude, fancy that. come with me to the Hypomanic Carnival. we can smash dreams into subatomic particles. now & then we get crushed by an obstacle. life aint no pot of gold, but you’re not alone. come with me to the Hypomanic Carnival. we can smash dreams into subatomic particles. now & then we get crushed by an obstacle. life aint no pot of gold, but you’re not alone. …mentally, i’m medically a mystery, a pedigree. i was raised a Big Pharm guinea pig. & shit i’m growing old now. i got these grey hairs & dark rings sunk beneath the eyes of a blank stare. plus there’s dead roses rotting on my window sill. & there’s vengeance felt to a sick extent. it kills. …so doctor when’s my re-up on these mental pills? there’s venom in my veins and i can’t assess what’s real. come with me to the Hypomanic Carnival. we can smash dreams into subatomic particles. now & then we get crushed by an obstacle. life aint no pot of gold, but you’re not alone. come with me to the Hypomanic Carnival. we can smash dreams into subatomic particles. now & then we get crushed by an obstacle. life aint no pot of gold, but you’re not alone. …hit up the bodega for breakfast. digestive diet of Backwoods & Chex Mix, Prilosec, Prossecco, & some Lexapro to help let go of all the side effects that come included with the Depakote. magnetic maniacal molar mechanism. brain rocket launched on a solar expedition. now my essential sequential pencil flies. so pop some X & vibe. let the tempo ride. my cybernetic mind electrified by florescent dialect i direct every time. you lurking leeches can’t suck my venom dry, since i’m technically composed of circuitry my flesh helps hide. the narcoleptic architect of sweat & grime, spacing out as the darkness then sets the sky. so once i’ve sparked then yes my heart confesses crimes. & i start to sketch & carve & etch & rhyme… …my sliced hand’s dripping from this blood oath. bottle rocket back to Saturn. neck bolted. cutthroat. molotov cocktail sipping. spit Listerine. crystal clean star systems seen. palms wrinkling. pineal’s developing. i’m Yelping where to find truth. so i hired several private eyes & a blind sleuth. slinging blackmarket beats built by carpentry as sirens in the night sniff my scripts from the pharmacy.
3.
{"Pills & Spilt Milk."} …pills & spilt milk fill acrylic fabric. real bad habits trapped in a filthy mattress. drills & hatchets to build quills to draft with. now i kill bills, slashing skilled assassins. five-part palm exploding-heart technique, as i come through samurai-style, slow but steady. messy, grubbing cookie crumbs off the basement floor while i’m huffing glue hopped up on some agent orange. & when it rains it pours, so shit i’m eating shrooms ’til i’m playing peek-a-boo with Pikachu & Beetlejuice, zenning out with weed, nicotine, & greasy food, leaving room in the belly, though, for emcees to chew. ..this is whipped cream topped butterscotch pudding, steak, potatoes, & summer squash cooking, smoke rings ringing bells bout Saturn’s rings. frequently these thought frequencies keep scattering. fanny pack stuffed with candy wrappers & Danny’s raps, so i couldn’t find my Xannie stash in it & can’t relax. bloodshot green eyes mean-grilling mirrored back images of myself made it clearer. dank blends of indica-sativa in the AM, since cannabinoids battle noise in my brain stem. eyes dilated, hydrated chugging gasoline ’til my battery’s fully back to its capacity. pot smoke tingling my fucking nostrils; finger-licking White Widow grown in Colorado. my past fucked my ass up. had to let go, now i find sacramental value in a pad & pencil. feel the aura of the epileptic sorcerer. they say i’m fucking weird & severely bipolar, deformed since i was born or before then. but y’all are far too normal for importance, so forfeit.
4.
Bad Fetish 03:11
{"Bad Fetish."} blast off in this tiny little spaceship flying me to Vegas so i can be famous. i got grudges, now my doctor calls it dark vengeance. she tells me when i’m angry i should start penning. marksman, i’m starving, so i carve venom out of stars, grinning. now my heart’s rhythm stops ticking. lost in this babbling. i’m a strange one. talk a lotta bullshit. make your fucking brain cum. tastefully text twining, i’m sick, sizzling; swift scribbling penmanship, spit dribbling… i can’t help it’s obvious i’m hot as tits, so i skip showers now, hawking spit to wash the grit. smidgen in my stubble, truffle sauce on my lobster bib. kibbles of some dolphin meat caught in my esophagus. shark guts, the carcass of an octopus; tentacles robotically programmed to feel consciousness. cats sweating my raps, yet i’m crash-testing. fact-checking what i last said in past tension. a tad flemish, as i laugh like a mad chemist. filthy tongue twisters. it’s a bad fetish. …monthly visits to the local drug store. doctor maxed my dosage, yet i’d limitlessly love more. the subject of mixed Benzos & Tegretol, now my head is all fucked up & i can’t rest at all. heads spinning while i flex writtens, got your sweat dripping. insane asylum bed-ridden ’til the meds kick in. ashy black punctured lungs blowing smoke rings; lonely, hoping that they’ll know i’m not only joking: think they got something wrong with my diagnosis. spy kaleidoscopes in my eyes while they’re open. doc’s got her science focused on my decoding, as she tries to identify these spikes in voltage. i try minding my own, but my mind has a mind of its own with its own phone-line; voicemailbox met its max cap in ’09; sucked every moaned sigh from me, left me bone-dry.
5.
{"The Dissertation."} hovercraft hot-boxing, i’m Johnny Rotten cozied up in bubble baths & strung out from the OxyContin. a fucking handful. i’m a walking, breathing dissertation pixelated by my therapist’s notes cuz she mixed up patients. …fixed in place with duct tape & gorilla glue, Depakote, Lamotrigine, & Klonopin when feeling blue. the list goes on & on with an infinite ellipsis…………………….. fists clenched, bleeding, binging; this is sickness. oops, forgot my meds again. it’s fucking with my dopamine. it exploded at the seams revealing all my broken dreams. clouds standing over me. i’m staring at the solar beams. they found me by the river channel, channeling its poetry. they say i’ve gone crazy. they began to think this when my doctor left a voicemail handing me my pink slip. dreams become reality. reality is virtual. virtue is a fallacy, but not until the curtains close… i been spoon-fed lab-created sugarcoated chemicals with doctors sneaking looks at my notebooks in hopes they’re legible. …so, yes i do attempt to find my pulse every time they’re mesmerized by my MRI results. …Pfizer’s favorite client funding mass production, but my past consumption of these pills tear up my abs & stomach. siphoning the sap of salvia for turpentine to turbulently turn on my turbine for turbo drive. speak in tongue, spelling alphabets in halogen; a talent i developed in my youth to use for balancing while sitting by my lonesome in the psyche ward for my christmas supper at the age of fourteen, since i lost my shit that summer. violent motions, followed by crying oceans. i victimized myself, which then led to my neurosis. brain dripping ooze, flipping through manic channel static while i handle matchsticks & flick ‘em into cans of gasses…
6.
Noir 04:03
{"Noir."} futuristic. psychoactive. psychedelic. psychiatric. psychotropic. psychopathic. embryonic chain reaction. futuristic. psychoactive. psychedelic. psychiatric. psychotropic. psychopathic. embryonic chain reaction. futuristic. psychoactive. psychedelic. psychiatric. psychotropic. psychopathic. embryonic chain reaction. futuristic. psychoactive. psychedelic. psychiatric. psychotropic. psychopathic. embryonic chain reaction. futuristic… as i calculate computer glitches, algorithmic alchemy amalgamates into a system. Satan summons & the full moon eclipses. psilocybin steaming on the kettle as i do the dishes. shooting eucharistic juices through syringes. moody dimwit in gloomy dim lit rooms glueing broomsticks to create my crucifix with. so burn me at the stake. use this lit wick. unsuccessful exorcisms left me less than humanistic. fire filled my eyes. i was soon a vicious, superstitious lunatic with a tendency to lose my shit quick… now you can feel the weather change with my looming sickness. …Brattleboro Psychiatric Unit visits rudely woke me from my slumber in the padded room i lived in. schizophrenic clues were given doctors would pursue incision using only toothpicks driven into my two pupils with ‘em. nothing seems to soothe the symptoms…. the noose is gripped & i can hear the rooster’s risen… the view is vivid as i weigh the pros & cons of jumping off the roof. i’m slipping; chewing on my lip until it bleeds & causes mucus dripping… ..now gooey crimson goop is sticking to my linens, where parasitic colonies assume is cool to live in. they crawl in through my cuticles & move into my thick skin, make their way inside my skull, planting tumors within. medulla bit into, then split in two divisions, but the neurosurgeons couldn’t loop the stitches back into position, so maggots ate my brain & spiderwebs then grew within it, & now they’re telling me there’s nothing they can do to fix it. every month, Dr. Gaev gave me new prescriptions; a therapeutic script list of pharmaceutic biscuits numerously multiplying, just accruing digits. they never seem to help, yet i continue to enlist ‘em. twenty years ago i shoulda just refused permission, withdrew admission from the loony bin & blew it kisses. but i blew it since i never followed through & did it, & now i find myself much too addicted. but simple things like spoonerism doodling in pseudonym & scribbling in unison with Univision euphemisms simple things like spoonerism doodling in pseudonym & scribbling in unison with Univision euphemisms to assist when scrutinous my screws are spinning loose again is ludicrously useful in eluding from the truth that’s hidden. futuristic. futuristic. psychoactive. psychedelic. psychiatric. psychotropic. psychopathic. embryonic chain reaction. futuristic. psychoactive. psychedelic. psychiatric. psychotropic. psychopathic. embryonic chain reaction. futuristic. psychoactive. psychedelic. psychiatric. psychotropic. psychopathic. embryonic chain reaction. futuristic. psychoactive. psychedelic. psychiatric. psychotropic. psychopathic. embryonic chain reaction.
7.
{"Detonate The Serotonin."} padlock Scatterboxx in a strap-jacket. i’m a lab rat tripping on some bad acid. …lucid black magic got me flash-backing to custom crafted cabinets to stash tablets. …nap sack packed with fat hash spliffs, backpacking even with these bad back spasms. electric epileptic bipolar. printpressing rhyme flower, son, have a crack at this. EEG stat graphics not looking good, CPU machine crashed. screen glass cracked quick. off the charts balderdash mathematic results got these technicians going spazmatic. …got a few too many bad habits, excessively crass when my Absinthe is absent has it time to undergo added malpractice: non-FDA approved detonated serotonin. detonate the serotonin. clogged arteries tangled in a bob & weave. i’m shot, popping poppy seeds, lost cosmically. late night rendezvous with the oddities while you sleep soundly, yo, i set sail for odyssey. snap high-definition pineal photography: Dimethyltryptamine dreams seen consciously. …everyone by now knows obviously age bit its fangs, hit the veins of my artistry. biologically, i am a robotic beast that methodically was built on canvas in Picasso’s dreams. cough & wheeze; snot dripping while i cause a scene; see me vexed at the CVS Pharmacy. it’s gotten me in constant animosity & neurologically, i probably could use lobotomy. self medicating fear & loathing irresponsibly led to improperly detonating serotonin. detonate the serotonin.
8.
9.
Paroxysm 04:42
10.
11.
12.
Side FX 02:48
13.
The Comedown 03:08
14.
15.
{"Pills & Spilt Milk (Mint Pillow Remix)."} …pills & spilt milk fill acrylic fabric. real bad habits trapped in a filthy mattress. drills & hatchets to build quills to draft with. now i kill bills, slashing skilled assassins. five-part palm exploding-heart technique, as i come through samurai-style, slow but steady. messy, grubbing cookie crumbs off the basement floor while i’m huffing glue hopped up on some agent orange. & when it rains it pours, so shit i’m eating shrooms ’til i’m playing peek-a-boo with Pikachu & Beetlejuice, zenning out with weed, nicotine, & greasy food, leaving room in the belly, though, for emcees to chew. ..this is whipped cream topped butterscotch pudding, steak, potatoes, & summer squash cooking, smoke rings ringing bells bout Saturn’s rings. frequently these thought frequencies keep scattering. fanny pack stuffed with candy wrappers & Danny’s raps, so i couldn’t find my Xannie stash in it & can’t relax. bloodshot green eyes mean-grilling mirrored back images of myself made it clearer. dank blends of indica-sativa in the AM, since cannabinoids battle noise in my brain stem. eyes dilated, hydrated chugging gasoline ’til my battery’s fully back to its capacity. pot smoke tingling my fucking nostrils; finger-licking White Widow grown in Colorado. my past fucked my ass up. had to let go, now i find sacramental value in a pad & pencil. feel the aura of the epileptic sorcerer. they say i’m fucking weird & severely bipolar, deformed since i was born or before then. but y’all are far too normal for importance, so forfeit.
16.
{"Bad Fetish (Mint Pillow Remix)."} blast off in this tiny little spaceship flying me to Vegas so i can be famous. i got grudges, now my doctor calls it dark vengeance. she tells me when i’m angry i should start penning. marksman, i’m starving, so i carve venom out of stars, grinning. now my heart’s rhythm stops ticking. lost in this babbling. i’m a strange one. talk a lotta bullshit. make your fucking brain cum. tastefully text twining, i’m sick, sizzling; swift scribbling penmanship, spit dribbling… i can’t help it’s obvious i’m hot as tits, so i skip showers now, hawking spit to wash the grit. smidgen in my stubble, truffle sauce on my lobster bib. kibbles of some dolphin meat caught in my esophagus. shark guts, the carcass of an octopus; tentacles robotically programmed to feel consciousness. cats sweating my raps, yet i’m crash-testing. fact-checking what i last said in past tension. a tad flemish, as i laugh like a mad chemist. filthy tongue twisters. it’s a bad fetish. …monthly visits to the local drug store. doctor maxed my dosage, yet i’d limitlessly love more. the subject of mixed Benzos & Tegretol, now my head is all fucked up & i can’t rest at all. heads spinning while i flex writtens, got your sweat dripping. insane asylum bed-ridden ’til the meds kick in. ashy black punctured lungs blowing smoke rings; lonely, hoping that they’ll know i’m not only joking: think they got something wrong with my diagnosis. spy kaleidoscopes in my eyes while they’re open. doc’s got her science focused on my decoding, as she tries to identify these spikes in voltage. i try minding my own, but my mind has a mind of its own with its own phone-line; voicemailbox met its max cap in ’09; sucked every moaned sigh from me, left me bone-dry.
17.
{"Bad Fetish (Gold Must Die Remix)."} blast off in this tiny little spaceship flying me to Vegas so i can be famous. i got grudges, now my doctor calls it dark vengeance. she tells me when i’m angry i should start penning. marksman, i’m starving, so i carve venom out of stars, grinning. now my heart’s rhythm stops ticking. lost in this babbling. i’m a strange one. talk a lotta bullshit. make your fucking brain cum. tastefully text twining, i’m sick, sizzling; swift scribbling penmanship, spit dribbling… i can’t help it’s obvious i’m hot as tits, so i skip showers now, hawking spit to wash the grit. smidgen in my stubble, truffle sauce on my lobster bib. kibbles of some dolphin meat caught in my esophagus. shark guts, the carcass of an octopus; tentacles robotically programmed to feel consciousness. cats sweating my raps, yet i’m crash-testing. fact-checking what i last said in past tension. a tad flemish, as i laugh like a mad chemist. filthy tongue twisters. it’s a bad fetish. …monthly visits to the local drug store. doctor maxed my dosage, yet i’d limitlessly love more. the subject of mixed Benzos & Tegretol, now my head is all fucked up & i can’t rest at all. heads spinning while i flex writtens, got your sweat dripping. insane asylum bed-ridden ’til the meds kick in. ashy black punctured lungs blowing smoke rings; lonely, hoping that they’ll know i’m not only joking: think they got something wrong with my diagnosis. spy kaleidoscopes in my eyes while they’re open. doc’s got her science focused on my decoding, as she tries to identify these spikes in voltage. i try minding my own, but my mind has a mind of its own with its own phone-line; voicemailbox met its max cap in ’09; sucked every moaned sigh from me, left me bone-dry.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
{"Afterhours.”} ……this ain’t no fucking fairytale; this more like Twin Peaks, broken ferris wheels. freaky clowns are following so i stay very still, cuz otherwise demise is a threat that is very real. scary chills creeping through my spine. poisoned berries kill & paranormally somehow they powered up the carousel. bearings tilt. shock! spark! it then appears to melt. smoke clogs the air but i stay focused on the carol bells. don't come with me to the hypomanic carnival. you don’t want the particle to grow into a molecule. every now & then, you’ll get that itch to wander through but that’d be irresponsible & that’s not what i want for you. don't come with me to the hypomanic carnival. you don’t want the particle to grow into a molecule. every now & then, you’ll get that itch to wander through but that’d be irresponsible & that’s not what i want for you. campfire flames. vampire fangs. mark my words: ….phantoms near with bats wrapped in barbwire soaked in cobra venom slashing at your car tires. deafen with alarm siren decibels, & start fires. these are dark times with even darker skies. beneath the eagles fly white doves the stars define. fell asleep to carni cries & nails on chalkboards; woke at home & found cockroaches in my sock drawer. don't come with me to the hypomanic carnival. you don’t want the particle to grow into a molecule. every now & then, you’ll get that itch to wander through but that’d be irresponsible & that’s not what i want for you. don't come with me to the hypomanic carnival. you don’t want the particle to grow into a molecule. every now & then, you’ll get that itch to wander through but that’d be irresponsible & that’s not what i want for you. i’m not feeling great, Bob Dylan tape’s on repeat as i pop pills & watch Will & Grace on TV. drooling pools of blood slithering through yellow teeth stained thanks to not listening to what they yell at me. a lack of gummy vitamins & anti-oxidants got danny lost again, having manic thoughts & since i’m from galaxies beyond, i can’t breathe oxygen, & now i’m stuck somewhere between fantasy & consequence. don't come with me to the hypomanic carnival. you don’t want the particle to grow into a molecule. every now & then, you’ll get that itch to wander through but that’d be irresponsible & that’s not what i want for you. don't come with me to the hypomanic carnival. you don’t want the particle to grow into a molecule. every now & then, you’ll get that itch to wander through but that’d be irresponsible & that’s not what i want for you.
34.
Afterhours 04:02
{"Afterhours.”} ……this ain’t no fucking fairytale; this more like Twin Peaks, broken ferris wheels. freaky clowns are following so i stay very still, cuz otherwise demise is a threat that is very real. scary chills creeping through my spine. poisoned berries kill & paranormally somehow they powered up the carousel. bearings tilt. shock! spark! it then appears to melt. smoke clogs the air but i stay focused on the carol bells. don't come with me to the hypomanic carnival. you don’t want the particle to grow into a molecule. every now & then, you’ll get that itch to wander through but that’d be irresponsible & that’s not what i want for you. don't come with me to the hypomanic carnival. you don’t want the particle to grow into a molecule. every now & then, you’ll get that itch to wander through but that’d be irresponsible & that’s not what i want for you. campfire flames. vampire fangs. mark my words: ….phantoms near with bats wrapped in barbwire soaked in cobra venom slashing at your car tires. deafen with alarm siren decibels, & start fires. these are dark times with even darker skies. beneath the eagles fly white doves the stars define. fell asleep to carni cries & nails on chalkboards; woke at home & found cockroaches in my sock drawer. don't come with me to the hypomanic carnival. you don’t want the particle to grow into a molecule. every now & then, you’ll get that itch to wander through but that’d be irresponsible & that’s not what i want for you. don't come with me to the hypomanic carnival. you don’t want the particle to grow into a molecule. every now & then, you’ll get that itch to wander through but that’d be irresponsible & that’s not what i want for you. i’m not feeling great, Bob Dylan tape’s on repeat as i pop pills & watch Will & Grace on TV. drooling pools of blood slithering through yellow teeth stained thanks to not listening to what they yell at me. a lack of gummy vitamins & anti-oxidants got danny lost again, having manic thoughts & since i’m from galaxies beyond, i can’t breathe oxygen, & now i’m stuck somewhere between fantasy & consequence. don't come with me to the hypomanic carnival. you don’t want the particle to grow into a molecule. every now & then, you’ll get that itch to wander through but that’d be irresponsible & that’s not what i want for you. don't come with me to the hypomanic carnival. you don’t want the particle to grow into a molecule. every now & then, you’ll get that itch to wander through but that’d be irresponsible & that’s not what i want for you.

credits

released September 29, 2017

All music & lyrics written, recorded, produced, mixed, & mastered by Daniel 'Scatterboxx' Sheils.

"Basquiat", "Detonate The Serotonin", "The Witch's Ash", & "Medicine" feature violin composed, performed, & effected by Elizabeth Anaya Sheils.

Delve deep into Elizabeth's brilliantly intuitive approach to music; a composer, sound designer, multi-instrumentalist (with an expertise in violin), & a creator of experimental & rule-bending audio-hex arrangements. She is so, so, so, sooo much more, too. Listen here: lizanayasheils.com

All deluxe version artwork by Alexander Philip Miller.

An artist limited by no means to visuals, Alex is also a multi-instrumentalist, a member of multiple bands (including Bitter Lake & Disco Nebula), & owner/operator/head engineer of The Dojo recording studio in Oakland, CA.

Check out more of Alexander's art & reach out directly: alexanderphilipmiller.com, & learn how you can book a session at The Dojo recording studio at Dojorecording.com

"Bad Fetish (Gold Must Die Remix)" composed, produced, & mixed by Gold Must Die.

Visit goldmustdie.com & Facebook.com/goldmustdie to hear more from this amazingly talented dude.

"Bad Fetish (Mint Pillow Remix)" & "Pills & Spilt Milk (Mint Pillow Remix)" composed, produced, & mixed by Derek Hixon (also known as Mint Pillow).

Based in Greater Boston, Mint Pillow is a seasoned vet of both live DJing & studio-based production gifted with a unique ear for (re)mix sculpting & the ability to skew soundscapes with distinct intent. Listen to this dude's dopeness: mixcloud.com/mintpillow/

"Bad Fetish" music video filmed, directed, edited, & produced by Kyle Matthew. Additional conceptualization by Elizabeth Anaya Sheils & Scatterboxx.

Watch more of Kyle's amazing work & contact him directly for your project: www.youtube.com/channel/UCFJjM6rrht1FD7f4MovTx5g

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Scatterboxx Norwalk, Connecticut

writer, producer, sound designer, audio engineer.

1/2 of sidestep complex.

founder/owner of noodlebake records.

contact / help

Contact Scatterboxx

Streaming and
Download help

Report this album or account

Scatterboxx recommends:

If you like Scatterboxx, you may also like: