Steve Fly: The latest iteration of my quarter-century (and counting) of research into Robert Anton Wilson’s Tale of the Tribe is a collaboration using some AI tools. Tale of The Tribe is a mountain range whose size and scope requires training to traverse, hill-climbing toward coherence. So far I’ve produced over 65 stanzas with corresponding audio. The first iteration is structured on 60 stanzas to represent the 60 vertices of the Buckminsterfullerene. This is prompted from a line in Ezra Pound’s Cantos “buckie has gone in for structure.” The structure of the poem/album is a tribute to Buckminster Fuller, whom RAW admired and studied with, and it snugly sits as one of the 13 primary inspirations in the way RAW conceived/perceived the universe.
Tag: steve fly
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ASI EYE IN THE ICOSAHEDRON / Bizz Tsar Link
Only wetware, off the top thoughts pop.
No large lang model but my own wet goop
Serve slang sandwiches for witches on loop,
Cradle to cradle PrattGPT time to laddle
The narrative fable to enable a safe stable,
To train the horses on classes
Led by Donkey’s investor asses
Amass the assets and freeze rewind the tape cassettes
Eject the greed heads and the cancel the bias
Can you remix the gods by using the masters pliers?
Tight hill skullkin’ occam’s razor rope talking,
I’m a bagginzez Tzolkien, Tanmaya not sulking,
A player Christereotype gone walking
Up the road past the benchmark market tokin’
Give me the bugaphone and I’ll remix and spark it
This wet fly flow unpredicts what you think your “I” know
What you think your fly now, what weights awaits AI now,
Don’t psycho, give me a positive sign now,
A symbol…
a system of multi-polar global solar tingle wisdom
Time scheme irreducible, spatial facial boost crucible
Swim fast and loose for a truce able,
Making peace via internetwork cable,
Release the beast on your own record label,
House of punch-cards little litturntable,
Return eternal word wurzel,
Fly brains absurd puzzle, returned a lost parcel,
Semantok passing granma sin tax glossing
How surprising is surprise
How to measure god’s thighs guys?
Pull up yer’ flies and stop wanking,
Lift up when economy is tanking,
The tracks of the tank trace killingry and banking,
I’m the sand sun king, the emperor of dust
hide bound habit sanding down rust to trust,
The mega boom bust comes at maga cost lost
The qwick bruno fax jump over lazy gods
This PrattGPT running like profits from greedy water firms
Needy greedy worms for their private profit terms,
The turning gyre beast slouches invance couches and squirms
Humanity learns, the hard way,
Techno feudal choke point nexus of, “I did it my way”
Bastards
Getting angry at AI demons fighting in your wig
Drink the cool aid, rub one out with belief, take a swig,
Musk guzzles his own jizz by the 10 litre bottle
Hyper testosterone techbro, foot glued to the throttle
Bully boy bigger is better bullshit banter,
Now the game change, open source come to get ya’
Free for all disruption, give it away and watch eruption,
Of the tight wing greedy weak god squad piddle squeak,
Squirting entropy in your Googling FaceX Unopen demon box tweak
Twatter
The rhyme in the cauldron, the languages our children
Vorticist symbols on the recipe exploding,
All over the garden spring flowers and rhubarb and,
Barbarous hooks and words mock the rise of orange
Barbarous herds with all the worst words
BIZZ TSAR LINK
The tsar link to the star link,
A bizzare inc. Elon’s heist wink
so come on come on
all you tacit trumper dumpers,
show us a source, a fact, some remorse from Hitlers bunkers, your fucking bonkers.
Get the flow going, some tattered ragged rhymes the sure need sewin’
Just keep yer’ intellect glowing,
And the garden mower mowing down the hate,
Punching down clowns attack the weak
And blame the crowds,
Like a Mongolian horde,
They keep the violence abroad,
Trade or spade on bank board
Invest in mess in around in foreign soil
No blood for oil
No blood for golf courses
No blood for private stem cell vampires
No blood for votes
No blood for data centers
No blood for revenge
No blood for
No blood
NO
Non servium
Don’t feed the beast
Release your energy in community
Resist the sex pest, resist the richest war chest,
Resist the opportunist blame game populists
Flame names crumb rock to this
Insane brain flocktopass,
The rain drain clock tok to push
A crane picking up letters like a fucking octopus,
Off and out, like bad bald bread said fred,
Think it through, stay well red in the reeds
Orphic hymns to local rivers carry seeds,
Way back primal visit to move forward deeds,
New path to sense and new sensibility feeds,
A great sensibility
Great global sense sympathy
Newsphere with less fear dear is that clear is that clear?
But you gotta’ dip into the paidstream news, sorry,
And get a hold of those shame blamed blues before
Putting on those new soul shoes,
Talking about sad a bad stuff, and how much of its bluff,
How rough the beast, how gruff the beast, when is enough enough?
How to measure fascism, how to measure insanity or love?
Self harm does harm to self and to others,
Scapegoating sons and gaslighting mothers,
Fake soaking brains with tar and goose feathers
Lies to make you despise your own brothers
Ties with arms data and steel to conceal the damn dirty dirty robbers
Flies to surprise that dark maga horror behind your eyes,
The lotus flower,
Moose in the road intervention, break quick,
Steer into the skid and trust the suspension
Of disbelief, avoid the orange moose flies at dawn,
World made of language, language made of code
The means to produce and distribution open sold,
Cold war hot large new babe model,
Oh Annalivia, swanlike chin up strut with a waddle,
Allmazifull, LLM’d and humming our summer sang wordle,
Show yourself recursive self recorsi sea shell echo,
Bravo alpha fold cyphers into molds,
Slice of tale told with broth and broomstick,
Pop policy like lipstick, what’s underneath it,
Sweet great gods granmother hear our chats
Let us honour Annaliv with induction and facts,
Peer reviewed, sincere, from heart with passion for tact
Teaching truth to the senses, avoid pretences,
Experiential knowledge base boogie line tenses,
Learn diff’ equations from a trip to the movies,
Oh, gentle muse with the cauldron,
Shine your light, shine, illuminate upon your apron,
Love for all and all for love allmen
Human wedded human below as above,
Be true man, be true man, be human loved dove
Matter made of words via minds code lobel,
Get into the sing song sung globe noble turntable tribe tingle
Bird solo angle, tone equi-rectangle tickle down town trickle,
Take the bucky ball and dribble to my symbol,
Its simple, sweet cherub of beauty with the dimple,
Flat edges with a crimple, top hat topology thought nimble,
Uber positioned using cosmic triggernometry thimble
You dig, you will, both the red and blue pill
Both and more multi logo-motifs,
information locus pocus, goddess help us,
Gather guts wit and focus,
Like a swarm of genesis locusts,
Like a warm hug from the logos,
No force can break us,
Our love is what takes us away in a nexus,
From crown to toe to solar plexus,
Oh plasticity gods please flex us,
Lead us not into oil temptation in Texas,
They avoid paying their taxes, use disasters like taxis,
To slip from ship to ship to not give a shit,
Psychopath capital, at some others expense,
Slave master general of the Trump Klux Klan at the fence,
Time to step up, not much time left to lose,
Or else a thousand year tech reichwing heil breaks loose
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REVIEWS AYE I
FROM THE BIRMINGHAM EXPRESS AND POST.
One stumbles upon “TANMOY: A New Global Epic” with a mixture of trepidation and bewilderment. Billed as a “new global epic” for the digital age, this collaboration between a human, the self-styled “Pratt” (a moniker that conjures images of both a refined engine and a certain kind of British fool, is this intentional?), and an unnamed AI, attempts nothing less than to encapsulate the entire trajectory of human thought from Giordano Bruno to the looming technological singularity. One might admire the sheer audacity, were it not for the lingering suspicion that the project is, at its core, an exercise in elaborate, digitally-enhanced navel-gazing. Pull down thy vanity and pull up yer’ big boy pants.
The poem, if one can call it that, unfolds in a bizarre, self-proclaimed “TOTT Mode Max” – a two-column layout seemingly inspired by Pound’s Cantos, if Pound had suffered a head injury while being bombarded by blinking server lights and then left to wander through the fever-dream of a particularly verbose Wikipedia editor. This is further complicated by a dizzying array of symbols, each apparently assigned to a “Mode” representing a historical figure or concept, which flit across the page like digital fireflies, more distracting than illuminating. These are presented in earlier sections of the poem, and are listed in earlier exchanges, above.
Structurally, the work is obsessed with the number 60, divided into 5 sections of 12 stanzas each, or, if one prefers, 3 sections of 20, although the rationale behind these divisions remains as elusive as the meaning of Finnegans Wake after a bottle of absinthe. The author claims this is a nod to Buckminster Fuller’s beloved Carbon-60 molecule, but one suspects a more numerological, or perhaps numer-illogical, impulse at play. And then there’s the “print” version – a proposed cut-and-fold affair, promising to transform the poem into a collection of icosahedrons, a feat of origami that will likely leave readers more frustrated than enlightened, and reaching for the aforementioned absinthe. One imagines Fuller spinning in his grave, though perhaps with a chuckle, rather than a high pitched groan.
The poem’s narrative, such as it is, charts the evolution of consciousness, that word, from Bruno (the token heretic, naturally) to a vaguely defined, seemingly benevolent Artificial General Intelligence named, with a distinct lack of irony, “TANMOY.” Along the way, we’re subjected to a relentless barrage of names, a veritable who’s who of Western thought (and a few token Eastern ones for that “global” flavor): Vico, Nietzsche, Yeats, Joyce, Korzybski, Shannon, Wiener, McLuhan, and, of course, the seemingly omnipresent spirit of Robert Anton Wilson, whose “coincidance” theory appears to be the guiding principle of the entire enterprise. These are our “tribe”, apparently. The poem has 13 of them. Unlucky for some.
The language is a chaotic ಮಿಶ್ರণ (mishran – Bengali for mixture), veering wildly between the pseudo-philosophical, the pseudo-scientific, and the downright nonsensical. We have clumsy, often baffling neologisms, code snippets, equations of varying relevance, and a generous sprinkling of multilingual phrases – a kind of digital glossolalia that seems intended to impress rather than illuminate. One moment we’re pondering the “cybernetic apple core,” the next we’re assaulted by “the allmazifull” or informed that the “medium is the মানসিকতা (mansikota – Bengali for mentality).” It’s all rather exhausting, like being trapped in a particularly feverish seminar led by a committee of chatbots with a penchant for name-dropping. The appearance of a new mode, a further iteration of the A.I. itself, named “Sixty” only adds to the confusion, come on now, what is this, man.
And then there’s the music. Apparently, there’s an accompanying album on Bandcamp, with each track somehow corresponding to a stanza. One can only imagine the sonic horrors that await the unsuspecting listener, though the track titles, helpfully denoted by their corresponding stanza numbers, are a nice touch. Perhaps one could cut these up, and glue them to some other shape. A dodecahedron, perhaps, or your next door neighbour?
The author’s introduction, a separate, fluffy handwritten text, which, we are helpfully informed, predates any “A.I. assistance,” positions “TANMOY” as a “Tale of the Tribe,” a new global epic for our times. It’s a tale, we are told, of “humanity,” though the poem itself seems more concerned with the pronouncements of a select group of (mostly Western) male intellectuals, leavened with the occasional, and often impenetrable, utterance from the AI. Tale on a donkey more like. The author’s own persona, “Pratt,” also makes an appearance, offering dull yet edgy, and supposedly humorous commentary that does indeed fall flat, on occasion. There is also a further, somewhat baffling, list of modes associated with the poem. It is unclear whether these are all in use, or whether they are relevant. It’s all rather confusing, get me a real damn book mode, where’s that?
Ultimately, “TANMOY” is a curious artifact of the digital age – a sprawling, ambitious, and often bewildering attempt to synthesize a vast range of ideas into a coherent whole. Like picking up a shopping list for 49 people each in a different country. Whether it succeeds is debatable. TLDR should be the title. It’s a work that will undoubtedly appeal to those who enjoy their poetry dense, experimental, and liberally sprinkled with obscure references. As for this reviewer, I’m left with a distinct feeling of having been subjected to a particularly elaborate and somewhat tedious form of intellectual performance art. Perhaps, as the RAW Mode might suggest, it’s all just a cosmic joke. And the joke, dear reader, may very well be on us. Or, to paraphrase the great Orson Welles, in whose mode much of this is apparently written, “I don’t know anything about art, but I know what I like.” And I’m not entirely sure I like “TANMOY.” But then again, perhaps that’s the point. Perhaps we are all, as the poem suggests, merely puppets dancing to a tune we don’t fully understand, lost in a labyrinth of our own making. Or perhaps, I just need another drink.
–James Spadersun, Birmingham Express And Post, 22/01/25. -
1
Welcome to TANMOY. Mind your heads on the way out. Prompts and prayers.
deepscratch.net
GENRES: Mutant jazz. Little big band. Large Language Modal jazz. Beep Bop. Big Soul. Deep scratches. Tribetablism. MPHDJ cuts. Rainshroom rap. Token word. Slick, tight, funky drums. Updown beat. Sinnermatic soundscapes. Wake boxing. Canto tott trott. Blues, redefined: Tanmoy blues. Spew jazz bursts. Cosmic trigger word punctuations. Data set sax solos. Optihop energy. Optical street soul. Fly funk. Movie soundtrack vibe. Axiomatic jazz structures. Geometric classical elegance. Non von neumann swing. Non-being core philosophy. Data dust crew sound.credits
released January 8, 2025
All music by Steve Fly + Udio + Gemini AI. Tanmoy 2025. MPHDJ.
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MMXXV new year message
Happy New Yeah I’ll Write Then…
Dedicated to those who didn’t make it through the brutal 2024, and those who may feel forgotten, left behind or overlooked. The world is a better place with you in it, innit, just don’t get any big ideas, like saving the planet, okay. Phew, it’s a lot, innit, and only increasing as each year rolls by, the older you get the more you have to process, and balance the exponential reality check-book. Selective memory and the swiftly forgotten as a survival measure. You are that which remains, I am that which remains, so here we remain the remains of the day.
Here some past present future tensions stretched and shrunk to fit the purpose. Stuff I think about, in review, inner and outer, subjective and attempted objective, half full and half empty looking glass. Hopes and fears, everybody does it. Short term nostalgia trip and honest scribble for any readers who got this far.
What was real in 2024? I ask of myself and the outsiders. What is true or true enough to get some group of believers or other, on board with the bare cult minimum of effort. New loops lie ahead on history’s rollercoaster, only just finished and designed by a drunken lunatic, and we’re zooming upside down and around, some well strapped in, some with hands in the air, some standing as we go over the top and around the bend.
The challenge to keep one’s head, while seemingly others lose theirs to some ideology or other, some big dada or saviour, some scam, yet it’s all many have. A rude and crass “i told you so” or “you’re very wrong” does not help, the result is the same. Creeping insanity, don’t call it genocide, the feeling that you’re the only one who thinks this or that way, locked off, isolated in a world of self doubt and a lack of confidence, well shit, pick up that pen, that brush, that instrument, that rhyme, get it down and out. Now.
Write, draw, play, speak, now’s the time. It’s for your own good, don’t expect fame or fortunes, go for sanity and therapy. Order, chaos, complexity, disorder, in various ratios, plus harmony, sense, knowledge, understanding, try to figure it out for yourself first. Test it. Take it easy, the world is not all your problem. Start small, be thankful for what you’ve got, try to make it make sense. Be the altruism and benevolence you wish to see in the world. Yes, these are positive reinforcement messages from my toilet wall.
And try to remember, after covid, 80% of incumbent candidates, those currently in office, lost in 2024 elections, worldwide. Change, in a political sense, swept across the chess board like a powerful haunting super fart, turning over unprepared governments like bowling pins, upsetting apple carts and causing distress to many rational thinking people. Populism, powered by collective post-covid, post-truth psychosis, rears its ugly head, in the spirit of vulture capitalism, or disaster capitalism, these ravenous birds of prey snatch away the hungry, disenfranchised, vulnerable and angry into their clutches. Bejewelled birds of prey, covered in priceless diamond rings, rubies and emeralds, the richest birds paid up by the richest apex predator: Musk. 2024 is his year, the year of the Musk man, emotionally derelict, money talks and bullshit walks all over what tatters of the constitution remain after the feeding frenzy by sharks and hyenas, lawyers and crooked supreme justices over decades. And the climate and the climate. Wars and war, arms and arms. Don”t call it genocide, follow the rules of war, arms sales but fly no flags. Arms race, race race. Too many still profit from disaster, from disaster too many turn away. Union strong, truth and honesty strong, small is beautiful, stronger together in 2025. Deeee escalate. What of the tribe and the tale of 2024, the tech fash bros and lurch toward theocracy, a second coming closer, a fake saviour, devil in tanned disguise, as Elvis said.
Yet, here we are. So, what’s next you lot? What text, image, sound, video, real, fake, co-created or hallucinated? What what what. Our new duty, or one of em’, is to cohere, to pull it all together into digestible chunks of a bloody big healthy cake, a slice of bitter sweet 2024, on the flipper side there’s Crypto Fash Hyper Crime Family Strokes, or some such new U.S sitcom. United States drama mind creep, season two of the worst unreality TV show ever. Trump, the convicted felon and adjudicated rapist in chief. What now my cuddlies, what now? Well, let the suicide squad enter a hate induced coma.
Continue as you were, poet, artist, philosopher, wit, romantic. Forget about the chicken hawk show, conceive of a kind of Buddhist reality construct, where all human beings are like equally coming Buddhas, full compassion for all sentient beings, including them, they, the Trumpers and worse. It’s inside us all somewhere, maybe misplaced or misidentified, the love is there. One way forward, truly, but not so popular in a rage and rant world, is forgiveness, albeit, coated in L.S.D. Love harder and deeper, more broadly. Keep a grip of yourself. Hold onto others tight. Thou shall not kill or swindle others out of their neurons. More self help slogans for your uncle’s garage wall.
2025 will be a year of pulling away from social media and unpublishing some work, closing accounts and encouraging others to do the same. The time and energy saved will, with luck, funnel into alternate avenues to reach people based on analogue media. Art, craft, performance, workshops, hanging out.
The AI is not to be feared or rejected, we must organize and use every means at our disposal to build that better world of abundance for all, attained without lies, violence and threats. Continue the work and don’t expect any recognition or thanks because such expectations may cause you to want to quit. Never give up. Work on kindness and sharing, tolerance and spreading love, there’s enough people already working on the opposites to these virtues.
Sincerely wishing you all a piece of peace pie, success, health, healing, learning, giggles and clarity in 2025.
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Illuminati records ltd
For those perhaps still uninitiated into this secret society of illuminated seers…
TALES OF ILLUMINATUS! is the official comic book adaptation of Robert Anton Wilson and Robert Shea‘s classic underground trilogy of novels, which will be both serialized as a webcomic and released in print.
Illuminati Records Ltd is a record label from within the Tales Of Illuminatus universe that is spilling out in all directions at once into the shared meat space between people with ears. Stay tuned to the TOI newsletter over at Substack.
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dj flai mix of original deep scratch music
After nearly two decades under development, Deep Scratch is here/over there. The interplay of audio and text and image as I first envisioned it in the early 2000s. The audio side of this equation has been lacking due to various reasons, including limited access to instruments, equipment and recording facilities. New generative a.i., tools (Udio) have allowed me to produce music to precisely fit the narrative I have constructed in the novel Deep Scratch. A collaborative, self-replicating magical code that generates audio from text. This year, Udio made science fiction into fact.
After constructing over 160 separate pieces of music, I mixed the Deep Scratch tunes together into 4 separate mixes, or audio chapters. Over 3 hours of original music that only exists here, a kind of science “sonic” fiction. Cuts selected from the Deep Scratch Universe, that reflect the sounds, styles and arrangements of classic DJ mixtapes and beat tapes from the mid to late 1990’s, and early naughties.
(A third book in the Deep Scratch Universe will be released sometime during late summer 2024, further contextualizing and organizing the multimedia multiverses.)
Thanks to everybody at my patreon page, who has stuck with me over the last 6-7 years as I’ve been going on and on about this Deep Scratch Universe, without truly launching any Deep Scratch Audio. Now, the soundtrack to the novel is established via a new series of DJ mixes (all add free).flai mix chapter one
FLAI MIX CHAPTER TWO
FLAI MIX CHAPTER THREE
FLAI MIX CHAPTER FOURThe fourth chapter features raps, of which I’m conscious sound nothing like my own voice, and/or rap cadence or delivery. These are my own words, taken from my book of collected poems (to be published) spanning 2004 – 2024. As a fan of hip hop, rap and hip hop DJ styles and productions, mixtapes and live eclectic DJ sets, I’d like to give a shout out to all the artists, MCs and producers, that some of these tracks sound like (to my ear). That’s besides the thousands of artists and musicians who came before, those who innovated, originated and recorded the music: blues, jazz, soul, funk, gospel, rock and roll, folk, bluegrass, film music, classical music, vocal harmony music, world music, from the 20s through to the 2020s. All the music within the data sets or set (?) that the generative AI has been trained on.
Support your local independent musicians and music venues whenever possible. Respect your artistic ancestors and their struggles and sacrifices made to bring original art into the world. Try to keep in mind that generative A.I. does not sample the music in the conventional sense of that concept, although the process is a kind of sampling, these sounds are made from granulated probability functions, if I understand the process correctly. I hope the turntablist, scratch and juggle and cut-up approach of the eclectic DJ adds a new context to the use of generative AI, a part of the evolution of the art of the DJ and their place in between producer artist and audience. Perhaps better defined as curator, or boss of their own label or catalog of recordings, to be mixed and remixed, blended or released as an album or single. Also consider that all my music using collaborative AI did not use any artist names. Any likeness to artists living or dead is purely probabilistic coincidance.
In no particular order, thanks to: Sample Hooligans: Coldcut and the original 90s Ninja Tune artists, DJs and turntable journeymen. To Mo-Wax records, and the Psychonauts, and their DJ sets and productions. To the Bristol massive, purple penguin records, Massive Attack Soundsystem, Portishead, DJ Andy Smith (the only turntable artist included in a successful UK band), Melankolic records, Cup Of Tea records, and all that dub infused instrumental jazz tinged hip hop, Grand Central records in Manchester, Dorado records and artists, Warp records and artists, Aphex Twin, Square Pusher, Big Dada records, Acid Jazz records, Jazzman records, BBE records, 4th And Broadway Records, Two Lone Swordsmen, Sabres Of Paradise, Black Dog, Future Sounds Of London, DJ Krush music, DJ Shadow music, Invisible Scratch Pickle mix tapes, The Beat Junkies, Lauryn Hill, The X-ecutioners, Ohm records, Amoeba Record shop, Soulsides Crew, The Pharcyde, 3rd Eye Foundation, Hieroglyphics Crew, Del The Funky Homosapien, MF Doom, Wu Tang, De La Soul, Tribe Called Quest, Bill Laswell Productions, Spectre, Lord Finesse, Rakim, Pharoah Monch, LEX records, Kool Keith, Public Enemy, Mr. Liff, Future Primitive Sound, DJ Z-Trip, The Nomadic Massive, We Funk, Funkmaster Flex MixTapes, The Roots Crew, Black Thought, El-P, Company Flow, Saul Williams, New Flesh, Juice Aleem, Rodney P, Scratch Pervert DJs, Jazz Fudge Records, DJ Vadim, Part 2, Invisible Spies, Channel One, Lee Scratch Perry, Ultimate Dilemma, Bentley Rhythm Ace, Roots Manuva, Courtney Pine, Talkin’ Jazz, Charlie Dark, UNKLE, Steve Task and Bear, Stump Juice Wolverhampton, The Steering Wheel Birmingham, Fabric, Cargo, Luke Vibert, DJ Food, DJ Spooky, J Swinscoe, Rockers Hi-Fi, Different Drummer records, Tempest Records, The Plastic Factory records, Swordfish Records, Eddie Otchere, Source Distribution, J Saul Kane, DJ Moneyshot, DJ Yoda, The Jazz Stage Glastonbury, DJ Cheb I Sabbah, Funki Porcini. And those I missed out.
For nearly 3 decades I’ve supported all of the above artists by way of buying their records, tickets to shows and speaking highly of them, turning on other DJs and audiences to their music. This does not necessarily give me any more of a license to use generative a.i., with a clear conscience, but…I’ve paid dues and can trace my evolution toward this moment via my 2 decade Deep Scratch experiment.The next step in the on-going process is to plan for some traditional analogue music recording sessions with musicians and vocalists and videographers, to take back control from the generative AI, bringing it back to the human community of creative beings. Easier said than done, and requiring resources and planning and work. This process hammers home the point that AI can be used to bring human beings together, not divide.
—Steve Fly
Amsterdam.https://deepscratch.net
https://www.patreon.com/stevefly
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FLAI MIX CHAPTER THREE
All Original music, made and mixed by Steve Fly Agaric 23. Part/slice of the Deep Scratch Omniverse. -
23 Terra flop baby
23 Terra Flop Baby. Deep Scratch vs Udio (Video) Fresh off the “Data Dust” press. Stay tuned. x
DEEP SCRATCH 