Right, this is the part where I’m supposed to tell you about my meteoric rise, my unparalleled sonic vision, and how my music is a journey that transcends genres. The truth is, I’m basically an electronic music fossil. My “journey” started about 30 years ago with a cracked copy of Fruity Loops, and since then I’ve collected software like it’s a nervous tic: Acid, Reason, Cubase… you name it, I’ve probably stared at its sequencer at 3 AM wondering where my life went wrong.
Instead of jet-setting to Ibiza, my industry experience involved working in music stores showing aspiring DJs which MIDI cable to buy and running a mastering studio, which is a fancy way of saying I made other people’s kick drums loud enough to annoy their neighbours. I was podcasting back when you needed to manually code an RSS feed to get five people to listen to me interview DJs who were far more successful than I was.
I did once write, master, cut a track to vinyl, and play it out in a club all in the same day. It was a stupid, glorious, nerve-shredding experience that I will never, ever repeat. The tune was probably rubbish.
This is what I was up to 17 years ago.
These days, I mostly lurk in the sonic Mariana Trench, making deep, echo-drenched Dub Techno as ‘Bromide Dub’. The problem is, my brain is a traitor. Despite my best efforts to be moody and atmospheric, it constantly tries to sneak in a big, dumb, four-to-the-floor kick drum. I seem to be caught in a perpetual struggle between making music for abandoned warehouses and tunes for a dancefloor I have no intention of ever visiting. I don’t really expect anyone to play them, but I can’t seem to stop writing them.
https://www.beatport.com/artist/bromide-dub/180777
https://tidal.com/browse/artist/3885327
Before all this dub nonsense, my best mate and I were ‘The Filterbrats’, where we spent years trying to sound like Daft Punk’s less-talented cousins, armed with more side-chain compression than was strictly healthy.
So there you have it. No grand narrative, just a long, weird trip. Buy my music. Or don’t. I’ll still be here, arguing with a reverb tail.
Boom Tish
Boom Tish. It’s the sound of a kick, a snare, and a punchline. It’s also the name of the label I have put most of music out under.
Let’s be perfectly honest. There is no grand mission statement here. There is no A&R department in a sleek office discovering the next big thing. The business plan was likely scribbled on a napkin and is probably now coffee-stained and lost.
Boom Tish exists because music exists, and it has to go somewhere. Think of us less as a record label and more as a slightly disorganised digital filing cabinet for sounds we think are worth hearing.
The ‘Boom’ is the serious part: the 4/4 thump, the deep sub-bass, the carefully constructed groove that we genuinely believe in.
The ‘Tish’ is the punchline: the self-aware acknowledgement that we’re a tiny blip in a vast ocean of noise, doing this for the love of it and not much else.
We release music that’s serious about the groove, but doesn’t take itself too seriously. That’s the beginning, middle, and end of the story.
Boom Tish. The joke is, we’re not joking. Mostly.