LHT - Open Loops: 2026 ( ReMix bases)

Begin with near-silence, layering a backdrop of low, trembling drones, Sparse, isolated percussive sounds, soft hits, metallic clicks, and sudden pulses, punctuate the emptiness, Minimal textures and heavy use of negative space maintain an eerie, immersive atmosphere

148 BPM industrial techno, apocalypse as minimalism, One brick kick, one splinter snare, one serrated saw pulse that refuses to resolve, The skull-head hook is a sampled jaw snap, chopped into nervous triplets that jitter against the grid, Stabs flicker like streetlights dying, with long gaps where only wind and static remain, Pressure builds by stacking saturation and grit, not extra chords, The drop is sudden silence, then a reboot beep, then grinding bass that surges once, stumbles, and cuts mid-breath

92 BPM in D minor, punk jazz drinking song with a mechanical heart, A brushed kit plays a lopsided march, while upright bass is doubled by a gritty synth that growls like boiler pressure, Clarinet and trumpet trade sleazy lines, recorded close so keys and spit become part of the groove, A detuned music hall piano stabs out conditional chords, tense then released, The hook is a singalong in unison, half pub choir, half protest, Midway the band halts on a door latch click, then returns with double-time snare chatter and a sax solo that spirals into laughter and steam hiss

186 BPM in D minor, frantic dancefloor sermon with sabar, shred and soul, Kick and snare land like steel, while sabar drums run a fast conversational pattern across the top, constantly answering the grid, Bass is neurofunk teeth, midrange-hot, tightly gated so every wobble reads as a syllable, Progressive metal guitars enter as short, precise stabs, then a brief tremolo flare, like a warning, Radio samples, adverts, news bites, and a laugh track, flicker between sections, implying the world is sponsored, Verses are alt rap, agile and cutting, Chorus hits as R&B release, wide harmonies and a sunlit chord change, then the track snaps back into pressure, louder in texture, not volume

Haunted Hollywood chambre-pop, A flat major that keeps slipping into minor shadows, Soft pedal piano and a small string trio breathe in long phrases, but each bow scrape is micro-sampled into shimmering dust, A distant choir hums like studio air, and the devil mask becomes a tremolo theremin line that smiles too long, Long nails are foley percussion on glass and lacquered wood, looped into a nervous waltz, Verses stay almost silent and close-miked, with audible lashes and lip clicks, The chorus blooms with celesta “diamonds”, then drains to a single breath and room tone

Found metal percussion, chains, pipes, and a snare tuned high, builds a punk jazz shuffle that never quite sits still plays the main motif, answered by a snarling synth lead that sounds like sparks on iron, The verse is spoken, precise, almost objective, with a close mic and minimal reverb, Then the chorus throws the rulebook away, stacked until it feels like a whole room leaning in, Outro tape-stops the band, leaving only ticking gears and distant cheering

Start with a thin line-drawn banjo pluck, hard panned like a cartoon outline, then colour it in with warm synth pads that wobble like VHS, Kick and rim-click trot in a dusty swing, spurs sampled as bright hats, A theremin melody drifts overhead, simple and bold, like one black stroke across a pink sky, Midway, a vocoded countdown becomes a campfire chorus, then the groove lifts into a starburst key change, lasers and handclaps flicking like animated sparks

Monochrome industrial glamour, 140 BPM, rigid but sensual, Kicks are compressed like stomps on a soundstage, snares are metal slaps, and a distorted synth bass growls under everything, A looped whisper, "touch", becomes the hook, repitched like lipstick smears, Diamond glitter is bright granular noise, sprayed in sync with hand gestures, then gated into spark showers, Guitars howl in short feedback strokes, tracing the ornate mask, In the bridge, everything narrows to a thin slit of sound, telephone-band vocals and a ticking jewellery-box latch, then the full mix returns like a flashbulb

Baroque trap-opera at 102 BPM in C minor, Harpsichord and pizzicato strings play a courtly cadence, then get spray-painted with bitcrush and chorus so the notes smear neon-lime, 808s throb like velvet footsteps, hi-hats flicker as aerosol bursts, A soprano line floats above like a painted profile, then is chopped into stutters and reversed tails, Chorus hits with stacked choir and a dirty synth lead, vocoder consonants and dripping reverb, Dropouts leave only breath and crown chimes, then a final hiss fades

a black-and-white photograph of the beautiful pre-code actress wearing an ornate devil mask, leaning over to touch her hand on top of a box with diamonds on it, her hands have long nails with glittery nail polish, and she has very dramatic makeup with prominent eyelashes and full lips, the photo is taken from above

Unorthodox new wave with a dancefloor backbone, 172 BPM in D minor, felt half-time in the verses, A stomping kick and toms push air, while a thin synth bass doubles the live bass for extra snap and bite, Guitars sparkle with tremolo-picked hooks, then switch to scratched mute-strums like a turntable, making the rhythm feel chopped and cheeky, Vocals begin in clipped, rhythmic phrases, almost rapped, then climb into raw, hoarse belts on the chorus, briefly overloading the preamp for grit, The outro spirals into a noisy chant, filter sweeps close in, then it cuts dead on the last snare

A fast, jittery pattern at 160 BPM, but stripped down to essentials, Kicks are short and rubber hard, snares are thin and sharp, hats are tiny shards of metal, The melody is almost absent, just a two note synth that keeps rising a quarter step, then dropping, like eyes widening, then freezing, Sound design is cartoon minimalism, crisp pops, squeaks, and little whooshes that hint at motion in the dark, Reverb is used like space, sudden and then gone, creating the feeling of a corridor, Breakdown is a single sustained sine, vibrating like held breath, then the beat snaps back and ends abruptly, as if the screen cuts to black, [Is_Max_Mode: Max] (Max) [Quality: Max] (Max) [Realism: Max] (Max) [Real_Instruments: Max] (Max) [Dynamics: Wide] (Wide)

124 BPM in G major, starting on a single street-corner acoustic, pick noise and palm slaps loud in the mic, Bass and tambourine join like mates turning up, then the band snaps into post-punk sprint mode with bright, wiry electrics doing locked eighth-notes, Drums stomp with a dry snare and floor-tom kicks, pushing the chorus into open-road singalong, Add a thin Farfisa fizz line, mid-forward not pretty, and a backing vocal that answers in short shouts, Midway, a hoarse shout-vocal doubles the warm lead, Bridge drops to busker hush, just voice, taps, and one ringing chord, Then the full band returns for a final sprint, cutting hard on the last downbeat

Kinetic art-punk collage at 176 BPM, mostly in C sharp minor with sudden lifts to E major, Guitar one is glassy and chorusy, guitar two is brittle and percussive, both playing interlocking patterns that never quite repeat, The groove stomps, but the kick pattern keeps shifting, so it feels urgent and slightly off-balance, Vocals are close and dry, then doubled by a shouted octave above for the peaks, with brief band-stop gaps for breath and tension, The bridge becomes a spoken count-off over bass and rim-clicks, then the final chorus detonates and cuts hard

A kinetic, unorthodox post-punk/new wave rock single that plays like a sprint, Bright, wiry guitars and a stomping rhythm bed support a vocal performance that swings from tight, rhythmic lines to full-throttle, throat-tearing peaks, Contemporary reviews called it infectious but unorthodox, and a real “pot-pourri of sounds and ideas”

Industrial lullaby, all room tone and pressure, A miniature guitar riff is played through a battered speaker impulse, so every note arrives warped and papery, Sub is not a bassline, it is the box breathing, a low sine that swells as if the cardboard walls flex, Feedback is visualised as granular glitter, tiny bright shards that orbit the vocal like insects around a lamp, The air-raid beacon becomes a syncopated click track, intermittent and unsettling, forcing the groove to stutter, Final section collapses to one ringing harmonic and a distant siren tail

Kinetic art-punk collage at 176 BPM, mostly in C sharp minor with sudden lifts to E major, Guitar one is glassy and chorusy, guitar two is brittle and percussive, both playing interlocking patterns that never quite repeat, The groove stomps, but the kick pattern keeps shifting, so it feels urgent and slightly off-balance, Vocals are close and dry, then doubled by a shouted octave above for the peaks, with brief band-stop gaps for breath and tension, The bridge becomes a spoken count-off over bass and rim-clicks, then the final chorus detonates and cuts hard

Up-tempo at 112 BPM in F minor, but the groove is built from breath, not drums, The main rhythm is her inhale and exhale chopped into a swung pattern, layered with acoustic guitar taps and a muted kick that only appears on downbeats, A thin synth line traces the melody like chalk, while sub bass slides in gentle glides, more cradle than club, The lead vocal is raspy and cutting, high larynx grit with vulnerable cracks left untouched, In the pre-chorus, harmonised hums bloom into a barbershop-like stack, then snap back to one voice and one guitar, as if the room closes its eyes, Glitch edits punctuate key words like thoughts in real time

Industrial art-pop exorcism at 132 BPM, Metallic clanks and candelabra taps become the drum kit, edited into a militant groove with short, aggressive reverbs, A distorted synth lead wails like a horn, while guitars scratch at the edges, gated so they bite and vanish, Vocals are performance first, spoken lines, sudden yelps, then a clean pop hook that feels wrong in the best way, Breakdown strips to sub rumble and whispered crowd noise, then the final drop returns with choir layers and a crushing kick that feels like ritual pressure

Folk horror séance recorded “in room”, Fingerpicked acoustic guitar in D minor, frame drum and foot stomps, with dried petals and chains used as percussion, Wind and distant street noise leak in, making the altar feel real, The lead vocal is intimate, like a confession over a candle, while harmonies arrive as soft, stern thirds, Halfway, a tape loop of creaking wood and reversed piano blooms, and the arrangement tilts into uncanny space, Ending is almost silent, only breath, a single harmonium chord, and the faint scrape of something moving off camera

150 BPM but felt half-time, a stampeding broken-beat engine with sudden empty bars, like the drummer blinked and the universe changed, Acid-house 303 runs are not smooth, they are jagged, with filter spikes that sting, Soukous guitars are hyper clean and fast, but pitched up and down in capricious swoops, turning sweetness into panic, Space-rock is the glue, long sustain, reverse reverb, starfield delays, Opera choir enters like an alarm, clustered dissonance, then resolves into a triumphant major lift that lasts only two beats before collapsing, Trock bridge, a galloping synth arpeggio and radiophonic bleeps, then back to chaos

Start acousmatic, a market of unseen objects, Coin spins, plastic bag snaps, kettle clicks, all close miked and panned like characters, Those sounds become a tricky hiplife groove, bottle clinks as clave, foot scuffs as kick, a chopped laugh as snare, Traditional folk enters as koto and hand drum, but only in short, capricious phrases, as if someone keeps turning their head away, Japanese pop chorus blooms clean and bright for eight bars, then dissolves back into isolationist room tone, a distant train, and one stubborn ringtone looping out of time

Start with a Game Boy arpeggio in D minor, detuned and bit-crushed, like a corrupted save file, Dirty South drums land at 140 BPM, slow hats, thick 808 glide, the snare pitched low and smug, Then death metal bursts tear the grid, blast beat samples and palm-muted guitars gated so they hit like trap one-shots, The chorus flips into experimental pop clarity, bright vocal stacks, glossy synth pads, but the chip lead keeps glitching through, capricious little wrong notes, End with the 808 alone, trembling under a single 8-bit note that will not resolve

92 BPM half time, it begins as country gospel on a porch, acoustic guitar, foot stomp, soft organ, and a small choir that feels like neighbours, Underneath, an IDM pulse hides, bit crushed hats, reverse clicks, tiny modem tones and a wobbling sine, When groove metal arrives the floorboards turn to iron, wide guitars, snare like a door slam, bass huge but controlled, and the acoustic keeps strumming to prove it is still human, Barbershop voices stack in close harmony over the breakdown, then the beat fractures into micro cuts, It ends on a lone quartet cadence, cut mid breath

140 BPM, A major, a bright pop punk guitar riff is doubled by a cartoonish marimba and brass hits, like a theme tune sprinting down a hallway, Glitch drums scatter around the four on the floor, tiny reverses and micro edits acting as fills, Kuduro groove takes over in the pre chorus, snare rolls and offbeat kicks, then the chorus detonates into power pop harmony stacks and Disney choir swells, Crunkcore arrives as a stomp chant bridge, side chained synths pumping, heavy distortion and crowd yells, Ending does a fake out, silence, then one last chord with sparkly 8 bit tails

110 BPM in E minor, wonky synth bass wobbles around a tight power pop drum kit, snare crisp, kick tidy, A music box motif opens the song, then gets bit crushed into glitch arps that sparkle like pixie dust, The chorus lifts into Disney harmonies, stacked thirds and a warm string pad, while kuduro claps and syncopated conga accents keep hips moving, Mid track, crunkcore distortion floods the vocal for eight bars, screamed ad libs and bass drops, then everything snaps back to clean pop with a triumphant key lift and a final glittering glitch rain

A minor leaning, mid tempo hybrid where timpani replace the usual kick, hammering a four on the floor while shakers stay dry and close, The bouncing sample becomes the main riff, doubled by chorus smeared bass and thick guitars, so pop loop and sludge hook feel like one organism, Verses roll with tight, controlled lows and intimate vocals, then choruses widen into slightly dissonant stacked harmonies as roomy toms and snare hits bloom around the timpani grid, Production stays mid forward and percussive, short ambience, sharp transients, ending on a heavy, decisive drop

Cold open, a TARDIS hum filtered into sub, then a grime riddim lands at 132 BPM with glitch hats and rubbery bass, Clean guitars shimmer with chorus, but every fourth bar a modern metal riff slams in, palm muted and brutal, leaving air between hits, The MC rides the gaps, close and sharp, while a gang answers like a club crowd, Bridge turns into time travel, tape stop drops, reversed cymbals, and a lead synth quoting a bright sci fi motif in odd metres, Final chorus goes full alt rock lift with wide harmonies, then collapses back to the hum and a single ticking hi-hat fading down a corridor

Quirky, primal dance-pop with a smoky, off-kilter jazz-club colour, It is fundamentally house-rooted, but the core “drum” voice is orchestral and animalistic rather than club-standard, Feels like pop music viewed through a nature-documentary lens, playful and slightly menacing at the same time

140 BPM in D minor, an electro-grime pulse of square bass and snapped claps, like a police light in rain, Guitars enter as angular alt rock jabs, then modern metal chugs lock to the kick with machine tight stops, The vocal flips between grime bars and shouted chant hooks, doubled by a vocoder that feels like a corrupted sonic screwdriver, Mid track, a Trock fanfare appears on synth, heroic but off kilter, pushing time shifts from 4/4 to 7/8 to 5/4, Dalek stutters chew the last chorus, cymbals reverse, then one bar of pure TARDIS wheeze rewinds the mix, Final hit is a unison stop, no reverb, just blackout

Opening with intricate math rock guitar patterns entwined with complex drum grooves, the track fuses Danish Hip Hop’s sharp flow, A nimble West African jazz bass lines lock in with polyrhythmic percussion, Throughout, guzheng delivers melodic counterpoints and textured interludes, driving unique section transitions and bridges

Nordic forest techno with pub gig swagger, 128 BPM, hard kick and metallic hats, plus an Australian indie pop bassline that bounces and sings, Lute plays the main hook in tight sixteenth notes, run through grit and a short delay so it becomes both plucked and electronic, Verses stay catchy, jangly guitars and clear vocal, but the mix keeps a cold IDM sheen, little clicks and data blips at the edges, Then the pagan black metal switch flips, blastbeats appear, Norwegian metal riffs punch through, yet everything is quantised and edited like a DJ set, Outro fades on lute echoes and distant crowd hum

A club track disguised as an alt rock single, 132 BPM, brick hard techno pulse and granular percussion under a warm indie pop topline, Australian rhythm guitars strum open chords with chorus shine, while a lute doubles the riff an octave up, giving it a folk bite, Pre chorus introduces pagan black metal choirs, whispered then stacked, with blastbeats chopped into IDM stutters so they feel like broken fireworks, Drop hits with Norwegian metal palm mutes locked to the kick, handclaps widening the stereo field, vocals kept almost dry for bite, Then everything snaps to half time for a lute solo fed through distortion and filter sweeps, before a final key lift turns the crowd into a chant

A surreal pop piece blending off-kilter piano, swirling synths, and subtly detuned strings, Sparse percussion frames a moody soundscape, with processed vocals echoing through foggy reverb, Sudden tempo shifts and warped effects evoke disorienting, dreamlike textures and eccentric charm

Noir tinged hybrid at about 90 BPM where trip hop loop sensibility meets progressive hard rock drive, Dusty drum loops are doubled by a live kit, bright snare and busy hats creating a pulse that shifts between straight four and a seven eight riff, A descending bass line anchors the harmony with warm but mid pushed tone, Tremolo rich guitar twang and sharper chorus riffs answer a Schifrin style string and vibraphone figure, while analogue synth pads and swells soften the edges, The vocal sits very close and dry, small room air around it, the mix clear, midrange focused and slightly menacing

Haunting Bristol trip hop with spy-noir overtones, The whole track feels like a lost Bond cue chopped for a late night hip hop record, melancholy but quietly menacing, Critics repeatedly describe it as downbeat, moody and filmic, with widescreen “widescreen meanderings” and Twin Peaks or spy soundtrack associations

art nouveau illustration of marilyn monroe in the style of alphonse mucha, featuring vintage art deco and retrofuturistic elements, the illustration uses a dark color palette with flat colors, depicting marilyn in a red dress with a gold floral print, a pearl necklace, and a white updo hairstyle

Imagine a slow, underwater waltz, A detuned toy piano plays a simple pattern that nearly aligns with a soft kick and snare, but the accents never quite meet, A cello hums a rich, steady note, supportive and kind, while a high synth line traces a delicate tune just a semitone away, Field recordings of paper rustling and box lids closing weave through the stereo field, Each time the harmony threatens to land, a subtle pitch bend or filter sweep nudges it aside, as if the music itself admits, quietly, it does not belong

The track begins in near silence, a faint high hiss like photographic grain, A single wooden creak rises, built from bowed matchsticks, becoming a low drone, Tiny percussive ticks, made from fingernail taps and flint scrapes, circle the stereo field like sparks that never quite catch, A bright, filtered noise swell mimics ignition in slow motion, flaring then freezing at its peak, Piano harmonics and glassy synth tones sit in stark, monochrome intervals, all thirds shaved away, The whole soundscape is light against dark, every sound either a sharp glint or a soft, sooty shadow

a close-up black-and-white photograph of the burning tip of an unlit match, capturing its flame in sharp focus against a dark background, the match's texture is detailed with small patterns on one end, creating contrast between light and shadow, shot from a low angle to emphasize depth, this image highlights both the simplicity and beauty found within everyday objects

Imagine a tiny theatre pit band wired on espresso, Piano hammers ornate triplets while guitars chime in counter rhythm against the fast four on the floor kick, Snare is crisp, almost theatrical, with toms rolling under each transition, The bassline darts between root and melody, giving the verses a restless, story telling feel, Choruses erupt into luminous power pop, harmony stacks and bell like guitar figures, Near the end, just drums and piano trade a baroque call and response before everyone lands on one tight final hit

Dual kits slam out a tom heavy march at 150, one dry and close, the other slightly roomier and filtered like an old field recording, A nervy breakbeat is tucked underneath, sliced into stutters that keep the pulse twitching, Open tuned acoustic batters the main riff in steady downstrokes, doubled by a filthy electric that glitches in and out like a faulty PA, Thick synth bass swells between notes, dark pads hovering just out of key, Gang vocals answer a single distorted lead, all feeding into a coda where tempo halves, Mellotron choir and toms circling like a fading bonfire

Fast hybrid march around 150 BPM where dual tom led drums ride a sliced drum and bass style break, A hammered acoustic riff, doubled by fuzzed electric, drives chant like call and response vocals treated with saturation and short echoes, Thick synth bass and pads shift between bright modulations and darker minor inflections, The mix keeps drums and riff dry and forward, with claps and backing voices spread wide, synths swirling behind, A final half time section strips to toms, bass pulse and a Mellotron style choir fading into haze

A fast, ritualistic march at around 150 BPM where dual tom heavy drum kits lock to a nervy, chopped breakbeat, An open tuned acoustic guitar hammers out the central chant riff, doubled by distorted electric and filtered through sweeps and stutters so it feels both tribal and mechanical, Thick synth bass pulses and dark pads blur major and minor, lifting into bright key changes as massed gang vocals answer a single, heavily treated lead, Handclaps widen the stereo field, reverbs stay short on drums for punch but smear around the voices and synth FX, In the coda the groove drops to half time, toms and a Mellotron like choir circling in a hazy loop that slowly disintegrates

A cold scanner beep starts the track, looped into a minimalist rhythm under soft, vinyl crackle, Close mic lipstick clicks, compact snaps and brush swirls form ASMR style percussion, A glossy synth pad moves in slow, elegant chords, while a thin electronic tone traces the barcode as melody, stepping in rigid intervals, Vocals are whispered affirmations and product slogans, chopped and reversed until they sound like inner thoughts, Occasional sub drops hit like a flashbulb, leaving shimmering reverb trails, equal parts catwalk glamour and identity crisis

Distant temple bells ring in impossible harmonies, then are swallowed by a buzzing, neon sign drone, A lo fi drum loop clicks like plastic joints, snares replaced with camera shutters and hologram pops, Over this, a vocoder voice whispers in layered harmonies, sounding half mascot, half AI guardian, Synthetic koto and 8 bit bell tones weave a delicate theme that keeps tilting out of key, adding dreamlike unease, Subtle crowd noise from a futuristic street market flickers at the edges, while occasional glitch bursts zoom past like flying ads orbiting the character’s oversized head

The track opens on room tone and a tiny amp hiss, then a filthy bass note blooms, wobbling out of tune like a dying fridge motor, Feedback smears across the upper mids, slowly bending into a riff that feels more like a memory than a melody, The vocal is recorded almost too close, breath and consonants sticking to the mic, confessions slurred as if told at closing time, A pulsing synth drone rises beneath, torn apart by gritty distortion until it screams, The heartbeat kick enters late, steady for a moment, then drops beats as if the record has cracked

brushed drums, mix genres, syncopated rhythm, experimental jazz, raw, noise fx, Japanese percussion

A thrash metal assault at 210 BPM erupts as the snare cracks into a tight, dry grid with razor-sharp guitars and punchy bass, everything bone-dry, The breakdown shifts to syncopated Latin jazz on toms and double bass, then withdraws to a hushed, spacious piano, The last chorus explodes with blast beats and soaring strings, crescendoing into a sudden choked guitar cutoff