To be released in late August. C70 - Red tape with black imprints. Pro-dubbed chrome + tape. 2-sided 3-panel J-card with artwork from Khaki Blazer.
Pat Modugno makes music that defies rational thought. Whether performing under his solo moniker Khaki Blazer, or as half of mind-melting HausMo mainstays Moth Cock, he twists fragments of noise, hip-hop, and plunderphonics into a strain of mutant electronic performance capable of confounding even the most battle-seasoned beat heads. Moontan Nocturnal, Khaki Blazer's first Hausu Mountain release, sketches out his gleefully warped musical mindset over the course of a marathon 70 minute program guaranteed to erode your mental defenses and to spark your body into instinctive spasms of something that resembles dancing. From his home base of Kent, Ohio, Modugno honed his craft in the same underground circuits that spawned the likes of Emeralds, Bee Mask, and Prostitutes. From his battered rig of cheap guitar pedals, occasionally armed with a microphone or a trumpet, he conjures dense sessions weighted thick with alien tones and disfigured vocal samples. His arrhythmic percussion patterns and garbled melodies unite into some version of a legible grid, constructed in real time with live looping and effects processing tactics.
Khaki Blazer's tracks streak through their unpredictable structures as a series of tangents, feints, and dead-ends designed to defy your expectations of harmony and recursion. Settle too comfortably into a moment of lucidly sampled R&B or a tasty breakbeat and risk the fallout of the screeching static leads lurking around the next corner. Moontan Nocturnal winds through a seemingly infinite litany of stutters and moans, evoking the experiments of contemporary gonzo producers like Eric Copeland and Foodman, the ballistic voice sampling practices of Three 6 Mafia, and the high-BPM stimulus overload of Chicago's footwork movement. The near-randomized bass bursts of "Vibrato Rap" sound out behind a quivering network of sampled laughter. "Gettem Gator" burbles with synth arpeggios and hi hat runs until it self-destructs into a cacophony of fuzzed-out bass and ad nauseum vocal spamming. The searing "Reiki Martin" pits corrupted upper register whistles against the manic scales of a sped up flute. By the time you reach penultimate jam "Dinguss," you might agree with the track's sampled central assertion: "He's from another planet."