TWINS

Matt Weiner, a.k.a. TWINS (That Which Is Not Said), is an enigmatic musician. Not many are capable of pulling off such a wide range of styles with any real success – most whom we consider really good, are good at their thing. Matt’s “things” seem to be several, and maybe that’s an additional reason for calling himself TWINS. What remains is to find out how many twins there are. Thus far we’ve heard TWINS play some really lo-fi oldschool goth post-punk (e.g. on his Music From The Insider II for ClanDestine Records), as well as music that lingers one fatal step away from truly cheesy relaxing house music (on, say, Love Is A Luxury). Then there are records that sound like an amalgam of both of these directions plus some Featureless Ghost (a now defunct synth-pop project) on records such as the Rather Not 12” that was released on Enfant Terrible in late 2016. All are great in their own unique way, but the latter is one of the most exciting records in recent times due to its seemingly effortless merge of unrelated aesthetics into something that is at the same time intense and gentle, catchy yet not at all superficial. In addition to making great music, Matt also runs his own label, CGI Records, which focuses on 12” releases of the more bizarre techno, electro and house music, and co-runs DKA Records.

STM 215, in keeping true to the TWINS ethos, is a very dynamic and sincere selection, full of unexpected transitions into even less expected tracks. The mix starts off with Edgard Varèse’s “Poème électronique”, a slow and foreboding start – a sickly moan, some church bells, the beeping of a life support device; the theater stage being set for a series of musical sketches. Musique concrète is phased out by the percussive tribal rhythms of Miguel A. Ruiz, which in turn give room to the confused and isolated nocturnal drama of Minimal Man’s “Christine Says”. Acid techno into the noisy punk of HOGG and on it goes, fusing classics with completely fresh tracks to bring images of neon lights on tropical beaches and paranoid glances of speed junkies on dancefloors. Every track on here has a very distinct feel to it, but then again none of them seem displaced – there is an overarching link that is difficult to perceive, but it’s distinctly there between the cracks. Perhaps one answer is to be found in the deviations from the standard within all these pieces, and hence their ability to put the listener slightly off their footing and closer to uncanny valley territory. As such, the mood of TWINS’ mix reminds of Gosta Adrian-Nilsson’s Shadows, twilight: the scene is familiar and not directly threatening, but the street corner, the shadowplay, the empty windows infer a greater mystery, a conversation that was silenced moments ago.

In the records

TWINS on the mix

I wanted to create a mix that was experiential and went through many different moods, colors, atmospheres, eras, and ideas. I wanted to create a mix that was full of space without feeling empty. I wanted it to ebb and flow and start and stop and get interrupted and pick itself back up again, and I wanted it to contain records that have influenced the bright blurry suggestions of what can be in the corners of my own mind, some of which I’ve been fortunate enough to release myself. I don’t know if this succeeds in any of that, but I do feel that the selections are very personal with lots of friends and people I’ve met along the way thrown in the mix, because it’s a frighteningly small world and the best stuff always hits me close to home.