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‘For home use only’ is an anti-club social, a chance to get to know someone/something. A series of transmissions purely dedicated to exploring the other side.
What’s good, good people? Doesn’t it feel nice to be slowly transitioning back towards a sense of normality? Yes, yes it does. Do I have the perfect accompaniment for this shoulder state of mind? Yes, yes I do. Number 63 comes courtesy of Oz legend Biancolato aka Nick Whiteside.
Nick has been around the traps for a few moons, a tidy list of productions and a DJ’ing resume that would get him almost any job, the Biancolato moniker is a recent excursion into a bit more intimate territory and damn does he do it well. I cannot stress this enough, THIS MIX SLAP’S (hard), oozing maturity and understanding beyond comprehension, it transcends any situation and directly dumps you into a good (great) mood. So many perfectly tempered tunes, meticulously pieced together to build the ideal ‘home’, and that's exactly what it is, a place to be comfortable, a place to feel safe, a place to share with your loved ones. This is the perfect embodiment of the series, a real chance to show and tell a different side. I've blasted this thing countless times over the past months and I can guarantee its freshness, welcome to your new soundtrack. I actually think he put it best into words (see below)
Bless up. X
HIs sounds >>> https://soundcloud.com/biancolato
His words>>>
It’s the endless twilight of an adolescent summer, long, lazy hours poking rocks with sticks on warm afternoons and waiting for something to happen, like finding a blue-tongued lizard during a dust storm, perhaps.
It’s your first kiss, soft, terrifying. The smell of another person’s breath.
It’s running until you can taste copper.
It’s lying in bed, your lover by your side as dappled sunlight filters through lace curtains, slowly moving across the wall.
It’s the smell of the forest in the rain. The smell of Mrs. Palmer’s surfboard wax. The smell of fresh cow shit. It’s the smell of old books and timber; slightly damp but comforting. It’s the motor oil in your grandfather’s shed.
It’s the condensation on the kitchen window on a winters night as potatoes boil on the stove.
It’s drinking jasmine tea from a jar with a friend, loose leaf with chunks of ginger and lemon slices.
It’s leaving home and returning.
It’s sitting alone on a moving train, watching.
It’s seeing something so painfully beautiful it hurts in your throat.
It’s knowing, and not knowing all at once.
It’s thinking in loops and regret. It’s an unwavering optimism.
It’s the comfort of familiarity; a sound, a scent, a snippet of melody that conjures a space in your mind, perhaps forgotten.
It’s a selection of music, of records. A soundtrack to a journey that may have already happened, or may be about to begin. Perhaps it involves distance, momentum. Perhaps inertia.
A journey can be soothing and fulfilling, rewarding, but also sometimes uncomfortable. Things happen, maybe unexpectedly.
But by the end of the journey, by definition, you’ve arrived somewhere, even if that somewhere happens to be right back where you started from.
- Genre
- For Home Use Only