Appendix.files rolls out its second LP with Irradiated, an eight-part excursion from Berlin-based sound artist and producer Kurt Reinartz. Its a record that thrives in the slipstream between dub-techno heritage and what he describes as ADHD-ambient, tracing radiant particles as they blur into textured depths. Reinartz sculpts a luminous but uneasy world, where melody flickers like static inside a charged atmosphere. With artwork by Montse Cruz and design by Amos Turner, Irradiated folds tactile craft into a patient, detail-driven approach to sound. It opens with A Point for Everything to Spread, a slow ignition steeped in the dubby depths of 90s German techno, vocoded swells pulling tension tight before releasing into wide-eyed gush. Empty Time (A Flowing Out) pivots to a boxy 4/4 kick whose elasticity could rival any fabric, mesh or rubber Gore-Tex, shot through with dub-techno tropes sharp enough to sit alongside a Chain Reaction platter. A Sponge and a Mirror floats on velvet sub pressure, its strange, fractured voices trying to seep through dimensional cracks, while Love as an Antidote to Fragmentation lets a shy warmth seep through the irradiated fog, tenderness glowing inside shifting sonic matter. Flip the disc and Empty Time (Leaking Skin) seeps outward, porous rhythms dissolving borders between inside and out. Things That Fall Right Into Place twists Amen breaks into a splintered dialogue, before climbing toward a lush spill of pads, hoover bass and gleaming arpeggios, rave euphoria replayed through a half-lit dream. Empty Time (Murky Dub) submerges everything in subterranean ooze, stabs of clarity poking through the haze. And then theres Telluric Murmur, rooted in hydrophone and geophone recordings from Berlins Kaulsdorfer See: a porous conversation between landscape, body and signal, an earthbound resonance vibrating just under the surface. Irradiated is a study in permeability, how emotion, matter and memory pass through one another, leaving faint afterglows. Its not an escape but an attunement, a quiet mapping of the radiation between inner and outer worlds. For media inquiries, review requests, or interviews, please contact: info@appendixfiles.com

xins WASTED lands on Appendix.files with nine pieces that drag the club through a compost heap of trash(ed) recordings, corroded basslines and scraps of rave memory, forming a porous archive of dance musics residues transfigured. Composed of field recordings of waste, the album doesnt recycle so much as ferment, mulching the detritus of dance culture into something gurgling, volatile, and eerily alive. Alongside the music WASTED expands into print and website: a zine and wasted.reluctant.promo hold xins texts hospicing dance music and unsustainability, extending the artists reflections on exhaustion, precarity and the cultural afterlife. Theres a sonic depth and mood here that sits somewhere between Raimes shadowed tension, Carriers electro-acoustic sleight and the spacious dub mutations of T++, while its textural apparitions feel as though theyve been dubbed over a battered Jon Hassell cassette the otherworldly nostalgia burned away, replaced with a hard-won momentum, like flooring it toward the next gas station before Immortan Joes war party closes in. WASTED reads as dance music after the fire: glamour gone, structures wrecked, a stubborn pulse still smouldering underneath. opening drifts in on fizzing debris and low-end churn, like a bin bag caught on a breeze. trash dub assembles a crooked percussion grid; compost believes in life after death hovers between hymn and hiss before plunging into the jagged kicks of wasted anew. Mid-record, enough to exhaust and indoors in time stretch the remnants thin, teasing collapse. The last sweep plastic legacy, no permanence, for now and apocalypse era (i dreamt i glimpsed eternity) folds exhaustion and faint euphoria into a single long exhale. Mastered by Ike Zwanikken, artwork and design by Amos Turner, WASTED is Appendix.files at its most thematically aligned: a porous document of cultural leftovers, decomposed into new sonic growths. For media inquiries, review requests, or interviews, please contact: info@appendixfiles.com