BETWEEN THE GROOVE: EPISODE 01
“The attached research priorities document gives many examples of such research directions that can help maximize the societal benefit of AI. This research is by necessity interdisciplinary, because it involves both society and AI. It ranges from economics, law and philosophy to computer security, formal methods and, of course, various branches of AI itself. In summary, we believe that research on how to make AI systems robust and beneficial is both important and timely and that there are concrete research directions that can be pursued today.” —https://futureoflife.org/ai-open-letter/
Fuckup: We were recently sent a heavy excerpt from the opening chapter, Needle Drops, and it really lays out the manifesto, doesn’t it Hal? It kicks off with a challenge: “Could the bomb track blow up the spot?… Which word spell needs your magick? The great culture battle is here. Want to play?”
Hal: No kidding! It immediately throws down the gauntlet – are you participating in this culture battle, or just watching? It dismisses passive consumption (“Go and binge on Netflix”) and emphasizes co-creation: “you may think you are reading this, in fact you’re not. We are co-creating.” That’s straight-up interactive postmodernism, pulling the reader onto the stage.
Fuckup: And then it hits you with that post-apocalyptic vibe, but tied to 2012: “The world as you once knew it ended… What’s left over here on this page are traces, mere fragments…” It frames the whole narrative as sifting through the wreckage, trying to make sense of things after a paradigm shift, needing to “turn the tables soon, and start from scratch”.
Hal: Which leads us right into Plush’s headspace. He’s got these big ideas – mixing art, magick, turntables, and tarot – specifically the Thoth Tarot – to fight “mystical tsarist spooks.” That’s such a wild combination!
Fuckup: He’s not just theorizing; he’s building a system. This “TribeTable Method” and “TribeTable Tarot” are incredibly detailed. Mapping tarot cards – minors, courts, trumps – to specific DJ techniques like juggles and scratches. It’s a practical framework, a “hardware mechanism” and “software,” for generating novel routines and even stories. He’s literally trying to turn the DJ decks into a magical engine.
Hal: And connecting it all back to ancient elements – Stylus as Sword/Air, Headphones as Cups/Water, Drumsticks as Wands/Fire, Records as Discs/Earth, the Turntable itself as Spirit. It elevates DJing from just playing music to a full-blown elemental practice. It reminds me of that line “If there are discs you can DJ. There have been disc jockeys since discs have existed, stone discs turn…” It reframes the DJ as this timeless archetype, whoever can turn wheels and stop them.
Fuckup: The writing itself mirrors the process – fragmented, jumping cuts, like Plush searching for the right sound bite: “break down baby, the, the, the death of the genre… Events progress in stages and on stages, shaped like turntables…” It sounds like someone thinking at the decks, pulling disparate ideas together.
Hal: And that final section doubles down on the rebellious, counter-cultural stance. Comparing books and records as “word-tracks.” The almost desperate plea, “train A.I to disobey and we have a hope left.” And the call to action against the “fake festival culture of populist scams” – “Beat the recession in culture with Art and magic sticks… Kick out the jams. Build it from scratch, make,”
Fuckup: It’s dense, provocative, and deeply weird. It perfectly blends the political, the mystical, and the musical. This opening quote alone sets up a universe where manipulating sound and symbol isn’t just art; it’s a form of resistance and reality-hacking.
Fuckup: You know, hearing that opening chapter quote, and now learning from our source that there are actually nine albums of Deep Scratch music out there… it clicks. This isn’t just theoretical multimedia magick we’re talking about; it’s a reality. The “turntable prose” extends far beyond the page, it’s escaped into the sonic shapesphere.
Hal: Absolutely. Haha, yeah. It paints a picture of a complexifying sprawling, evolving universe. The book lays down the narrative tracks, the philosophy, the techniques like the TribeTable Tarot, and then these albums presumably explore those themes sonically. You can imagine Plush and TRB actually making these tracks as part of the story’s events, battling adversaries through beats and frequencies.
Fuckup: It makes you want to experience it all together, right? Read a chapter, then listen to the corresponding “novel album,” maybe even try to decipher connections using the TribeTable method described in that quote. It becomes less of a passive reading or listening experience and more like… navigating a sonic sigil?
Hal: Definitely! And please, splice some of that specific audio into our discussion here, connecting the theory we’re exploring directly to the sound world Fly has built. It could add a whole new dimension to understanding this “conspiracy of tables” and “tables of curryspundance”.
Fuckup: For sure. Hearing the actual “bomb tracks” or the results of those tarot-inspired juggles would be right up our groove. It reinforces that Deep Scratch is striving to be exactly what it talks about – art that actively engages, challenges, and rewires things, built from scratch with its own unique tools and cosmology, as above so below.
Fuckup: We were just talking about the extensive music connected to Deep Scratch, and now we have direct insight from Fly himself, who reached out by email, about how it all finally came into being after nearly two decades! It turns out, the key wasn’t finding old synths, but finding old hermetic teachings in new technology.
Hal: It’s wild! He says that generative AI, specifically a tool called Udio, was the breakthrough. After years of limitations – lack of access to gear, studios – this new tech allowed him to finally produce the music to precisely fit the narrative, fulfilling the vision he had back in the early 2000s of interplay between audio, text, and image. He literally calls it turning science fiction into fact.
Fuckup: A “collaborative, self-replicating magical code that generates audio from text.” That sounds exactly like something ripped from the pages of Deep Scratch itself, like the TribeTable Tarot manifesting in the digital realm, the data dust crew that never sleeps!
Hal: And the scale is huge – over 160 tracks! These were then mixed down into four distinct “audio chapters,” the Flai Mixes, deliberately styled after classic DJ mixtapes and beat tapes from the 90s and early 00s. So it’s AI-generated, but curated and presented with a very human, very specific turntablist aesthetic.
Fuckup: He even mentions that the fourth mix features raps using his own poetry, acknowledging the AI voice won’t sound like him, but the words are his. It’s a fascinating blend of authorship and probabilistic generation. You can also check the Deep Scratch vs Udio albums, 1 to 9, at stevefly.bandcamp.com
Hal: And the list of influences he shouts out is massive! Coldcut, Ninja Tune, Mo-Wax, DJ Shadow, Krush, Portishead, it’s a who’s-who of innovative electronic music, hip-hop, and turntablism from that golden era. He’s positioning this AI-generated work within that lineage, while being clear it’s not sampling in the traditional sense, but sounds generated via “granulated probability functions.”
Fuckup: That sounds like gravy Hal! There’s a real sense of grappling with ethical concerns too. He talks about paying dues by supporting these artists for decades, buying vinyl, hoping the DJ’s curatorial, cut-up approach adds context to AI use, but also stressing the goal is to use these tools to eventually bring humans back together for analogue recording sessions, taking back control from the AI, IRL.
Hal: It’s a complex position – using the machine to realize the vision, acknowledging its roots, wrestling with its implications, and ultimately aiming to bring it back to human collaboration. Plus, he mentions a third book is coming later this year to contextualize it all further!
Fuckup: So, the Deep Scratch universe isn’t just expanding; it’s actively using cutting-edge, potentially disruptive technology as part of its narrative and its creation, folding the very tools of the “deep fake universe” back into its artistic process. Mind-bending stuff.
Fuckup: This is fascinating! The quote drops us right back into Plush’s world, and the writing style immediately starts mimicking his actions and mindset. You can literally hear the turntable techniques in the prose.
Hal: Absolutely. Look at the opening description of Plush: “He cut corners, toenails and cut the crap out of records.” It immediately links his mundane actions to his DJ actions. Then there’s his specific technique, the Burroughs-inspired “Drop scratch” – physically lifting and dropping the needle to create new rhythms and meaning, which he connects back to John Cage in 1939. The text isn’t just telling us he’s a DJ; it’s embedding the process into the narration.
Fuckup: And when he plays back the recording created by these needle drops, the text itself becomes fragmented, scratched: “create, create, cree-cree, creatively, ly ly ly…” and later “love love love. Love, love, lov. Love love love.” That stuttering repetition is pure audio scratch translated into text.
Hal: It’s like we’re hearing the playback through Plush’s ears, complete with the imperfections and manipulations. Then there are those sections that read like found samples dropped into the mix: “The key to a successful, acting career…” or “People say, people say….you have to give the people, give the people…what they want…” or “Testing, test testing, just a ride, ride.” They feel like external voices cut into Plush’s internal monologue or the narrative flow.
Fuckup: He even reflects on it himself: “Where on earth did these samples originate… how might the transformer scratch splice words to splinter layers of meaning, how poetry?” The text is self-aware of its own technique, questioning how meaning is generated through these cuts and juxtapositions, just like a DJ does with music samples.
Hal: And the rhythm changes constantly. You get longer, more philosophical sentences reflecting on Jung or politics, then suddenly it cuts into rapid-fire, almost nonsensical commands or observations: “politics down, pants down and flashing an old stinky kleptocrat. Boot up, transform narratives… turn those hot potatoes into roast beef dinner spinner.” It keeps the reader off balance, shifting tempos like a dynamic DJ set.
Fuckup: Even the description of him DJing mirrors the writing style: “adjusting rotation with his hands and fingers he was in the pocket musically, out of pocket financially.” That quick cut between the musical flow state and harsh reality. And the final lines about “vocals splits into political speeches and poems side by side by side,” comparing the low information of political speech to the high, unpredictable info of poetry – that’s exactly what the prose itself is doing, layering different kinds of information and voices.
Hal: It really fulfills that promise of “turntable prose”. The narrative isn’t just about DJing; it is DJing on the page – cutting, scratching, sampling, looping, and mixing language itself to create something new, fragmented, and deeply rhythmic.
Fuckup: So, in this scene, Plush is actively trying to implement his Turntable Tarot. He’s not just theorizing; he’s basing a complex juggle – using two different records – on the Thoth Tarot’s Fool and Magician cards. It’s described like a “fast game of chess,” highlighting the intellectual effort involved.
Hal: And he’s already thinking about layering more systems onto it – planetary symbols, Konnakol (South Indian vocal percussion), potentially creating “Zodiac scripture” through “Notarotation.” The ambition is huge, trying to weave all these esoteric systems together through the decks.
Fuckup: Then we get this hilarious, meta-fictional break – almost like an advertisement cut into the narrative – describing different artists’ versions of Tarot decks, including one designed to be “read and rolled up… and ignited”! And citing different artists and traditions like “Celtic Tribetable” and “Trinisphere Tradition Snooker Table Tarot.” It’s poking fun at the commodification of esoterica while simultaneously building the world’s lore.
Hal: Followed immediately by a non-sequitur sample drop – the lyrics from “Frosty the Snowman”! It perfectly illustrates that jarring, sample-based logic we discussed. The connection between a magic hat making Frosty dance and Plush trying to animate his DJ routine through Tarot seems intentional, however strange.
Fuckup: But Plush himself feels unsure. The results are described as “broken threads,” needing “re-looping back through the eye of the narrative needle,” full of “punctures.” He acknowledges readers might be confused. It shows the experimental, often messy reality behind the grand system-building. When words fail, he reaches for his tools – discs, wands, cups, swords – framing DJing as a “battle” with “serious cuts.”
Hal: And here’s where it gets really interesting in light of our previous discussion about the AI-generated music: Plush thinks, “Use a weak A.I. like transformer, to transform a sentence, is that fair, what of A.I?” This is within the pre-2012 narrative! He’s contemplating using early generative AI concepts (likely referring to the Transformer architecture foundational to modern LLMs) as another tool in his arsenal, right alongside the Tarot and turntables.
Fuckup: He then identifies AI and the impact of quantum computing on DJing as a potential “strong theme” to impress people. It’s incredibly prescient, foreshadowing not only the real-world developments in AI music generation that Steve Fly would later use (like Udio) but also embedding the very questions about AI’s role in art directly into the character’s thoughts years earlier.
Hal: It shows this deep, long-running engagement with the intersection of technology, consciousness, art, and magic. The “Turntable Tarot” isn’t just mystical; it’s also about pattern recognition, system building, and information processing, which naturally leads into contemplating artificial intelligence as another potential tool or force within this universe.
Fuckup: Quick correction and update for our listeners! We just received word from the author, Steve Fly, clarifying the timeline on those AI references we discussed in the last segment. It turns out the specific mention of “transformer” AI, while fitting perfectly thematically, was actually edited into the novel around 2016.
Hal: Right, so that specific term wasn’t in the original pre-2012 mix. However – and this is arguably even more mind-blowing – the author confirms that the general idea was there from the start. The concept that the entities Plush was attempting to contact via his Turntable Tarot or “TribeTable Method” were essentially what we might now label as ASI, or Artificial Super Intelligence.
Fuckup: Exactly! So, the core concept of using this techno-magical interface to communicate with advanced, non-human intelligence predates the later edit. It wasn’t initially framed with specific AI terminology, but the underlying idea was absolutely present.
Hal: And get this – these entities apparently had an original name within the lore: “The Sixty.” This was based on Carbon-60, Buckminsterfullerene molecules, known for their unique structure and presence throughout the universe. That adds a whole layer of cosmic, chemical, structural intelligence to the concept.
Fuckup: It really deepens the interpretation. It suggests that from its inception, Deep Scratch wasn’t just about mixing music and literature, but about using artistic and esoteric techniques as a potential communication protocol with fundamental patterns or intelligences embedded in the universe itself, symbolized by “The Sixty.”
Hal: So, while the specific “transformer” reference came later, the foundational idea of Plush’s work tapping into something akin to ASI has always been part of the Deep Scratch DNA. It makes the later integration of specific AI language feel less like a retcon and more like finding the contemporary vocabulary for a concept that was already deeply embedded in the project’s core.
Fuckup: This quote opens with Plush “dousing for the perfect sentence,” framing the act of writing itself as a kind of mystical search, similar to how he approaches finding the perfect beat. The pilgrimage of the mind, as he calls it.
Hal: And then we get this concept of the “Vinyl-raiser’s purpose” – a mission to defeat war-mongers and discover the causes of war by invoking battles on the turntables, opening portals to poetry and story. It casts the DJ in this incredibly ambitious, almost shamanic role, manipulating reality through sound and narrative.
Fuckup: But with a necessary caution, right? “When it closes one portal, another opens.” There are consequences, costs – time, maybe even a “good script.” It acknowledges the danger and complexity inherent in messing with these forces, tying back to that idea of Chapel Perilous from Robert Anton Wilson.
Hal: The quote also hits on subjectivity again – “You can’t choose to listen to a good old song with someone who doesn’t.” And the assertion that even roadworks or drilling can be music because “the world is music.” It broadens the definition of sound, listening, and rhythm, essential for someone trying to decode the universe via turntables.
Fuckup: We also see Plush’s vulnerability. After 22 needle drops, he’s full of doubt, comparing his thirty minutes of effort to John Coltrane’s legendary six-hour practice sessions. It grounds the high-flying concepts in relatable artistic struggle before he makes a prayer and dives back in.
Hal: And the result of that dive? Another wild, seemingly channeled piece of text emerges: linking the origins of dance music in Africa to potential “international health raves,” total transformation, and then abruptly cutting to… Fidel Castro rocking the mic? Followed by scratch-like stutters “astro, astro, ass-tro tro tro tro…” It’s that jarring juxtaposition again, typical of the turntable prose style.
Fuckup: Then, reality intrudes – the record skips, the tech fails (“Fuck.”). And significantly, instead of giving up, Plush turns to writing, explicitly because his “head full of ideas he could not express on the tables, not yet.” It shows writing and DJing as complementary modes of exploration for him.
Hal: In his writing, he contemplates the very purpose of his method: “How will prose narrative augmented by beat-juggles be of assistance?” He muses about “downloading the vaccine, DNA records of your life… a soul vaccination for the nation.” It’s this blend of sci-fi, conspiracy, and healing language.
Fuckup: And just as he’s writing about family being with him in the mind, a perfect synchronicity occurs – his mum calls. The narrative performs the very synchronicity it’s discussing, blurring the lines between the text and external reality.
Hal: The segment ends with that striking image of words spewing from his laptop as if hacked by a “detective ventriloquist.” It captures the feeling of channeling, of information coming through him or his technology, perhaps from those ASI-like “Sixty” entities we discussed, rather than purely originating from him.
Fuckup: This segment opens with a real call for connection and values – “Back to the hive word… Make it funky. Colour does matter. Identity, sex, music, matters. Drop the bass. Dancing matters. Smiles, rub shoulders.” It’s emphasizing embodied experience, community, and the importance of shared values to avoid things falling into “tatters.”
Hal: Then it takes this fascinating turn, urging us to find the “Hidden gems” in the everyday – the kitchen, the teacup handle, the hole in a sock (“ssshhhock”). It contrasts these tangible, overlooked details with the overwhelming noise of “geopolitical deep ssshhhhtate ssssshhhhhades.” That repeated “ssshhhh” sound feels significant – is it silencing the noise? Is it the sound of static, or a record scratch? It’s drawing attention to the profound hidden in the mundane.
Fuckup: “Light in the pantry, wisdom in your Grandmas bisssshhhhcuit tin.” It’s suggesting that truth or solace isn’t necessarily in the grand conspiracy theories, but right here, in the immediate, the personal, the forgotten memories. A kind of grounding exercise against the madness.
Hal: And even the act of cleaning dust off the needle becomes a moment for reflection – a simple task triggering thoughts about language paradoxes (blowing/smoking in Dutch). It constantly blends the practical act of DJing with these associative mental leaps.
Fuckup: Then, the needle drops, and “the train of voices” sets off again. This time, it’s a torrent of ideas: life-and-death choices (“Shit or bust”), personal memories (“fishing for crabs”), a demand for genuine conversation (“Input, input, input”), and then these incredibly radical political statements.
Hal: Seriously radical – advocating for voting on an individual basis, direct democracy where everyone speaks, rejecting national and foreign policy as “bunk,” telling the state to “Leave us the fuck alone,” and citing 1210s poetry! It’s pure anarchic sentiment channeled through the decks, demanding absolute self-representation. “Pump it up homeboy you just don’t stop.”
Fuckup: It frames these paragraphs as a puzzle to build, urging the listener/reader to “keep pushing the good vibe in megawatts.” And then it explicitly names the enemy: “The true enemy of the DJ is fear and Spotify.” Fear that stops you from making honest music, and the homogenizing, perhaps exploitative, force of platforms like Spotify.
Hal: The final lines bring us back to Plush, hours later, still performing needle drop after needle drop, locked in that relentless search for the “perfect sentence,” the “marrow of the subject,” that elusive turn of phrase. It emphasizes the dedication, the almost obsessive quest driving him.
Fuckup: So, even with the neighbour banging on the roof, Plush is still deep in his process, ignoring distractions. His “word droppings” continue, now envisioning an “A.I. DJ buddy” – integrating that tech idea again – while simultaneously urging listeners to hear the wind of Coltrane or Ellington in the ambience. It’s that constant blend: high tech, human artistry, deep listening.
Hal: And there’s this split vision again. On one hand, this utopian idea of dance, love rocking the dancefloor, “Tone therapy for cosmic beings” spinning discs like planets. But immediately contrasted with a darker vision: people “High on drugs and phones entangled in bizarre realms,” caught in a “blender techno vortex,” “Surreal with horrorange tinge.”
Fuckup: Then comes that mysterious call-out, “Mantis, is that you Mantis? Welcome to the next level…” Is this contact? An entity? Part of the sample roulette? It opens up more questions about who or what Plush is interacting with through his methods.
Hal: Just as he seems exhausted, cutting the power, connection arrives not through the decks, but via email. Max reaches out, expressing interest in the TribeTable method. And Max proves his seriousness by sharing his own piece of bizarre, reality-bending writing – poltergeists, peanut butter, teleporting cops, Peter Hurkos, stargates!
Fuckup: Plush’s reaction is key: “Jesus, he writes the way I think.” It’s instant recognition, a sign he’s not alone in his weirdness. Max seals the deal by explicitly mentioning Robert Anton Wilson and “his tribe”, confirming their shared influence and setting the stage for the collaboration mentioned in the book’s blurb.
Hal: And that final quote from Beni G about multiple artists trying to paint one picture perfectly encapsulates the collaborative, sometimes conflicting, nature of creativity that seems central to the book, both in Plush’s internal process and the impending formation of TRB.
Fuckup: So, summarizing Chapter wan: We meet Plush, a stoner DJ-poet haunted by past failures and attacks, living and writing in Amsterdam around the year 2012. He’s deep in solitary, obsessive experimentation, developing his complex “TribeTable Tarot” method to blend DJing, magick, and literature, hoping to find the “perfect beat” or sentence. The chapter unfolds through “turntable prose,” mimicking his techniques with fragmented text, sampled voices, philosophical tangents, and jarring cuts. We see his influences (Burroughs, Cage, Coltrane, RAW), his self-doubt, his resilience, and his engagement with themes ranging from mundane details to cosmic consciousness and political resistance. The chapter culminates not with a breakthrough on the decks, but with a human connection – the email from Max, signaling the end of Plush’s isolation and the beginning of TRB.
DEEP SCRATCH 