In a future where silence fell like dust across abandoned dancefloors, and memory was too fragile to store in words alone, humanity chose rhythm. “Planet Boom” is the echo of that choice – a musical archive flung into the void, stitched from broken grooves and half-remembered melodies. On this second vinyl artifact from Hack The Planet, sound is no longer just sensation – it’s survival, resistance, mythology. Four artists converge, not merely to contribute, but to conjure. This is not a collection. It’s a coded dream, broadcast from the pulse of a vanishing world.
It begins with a smirk. “Front Street Strut” doesn’t walk in – it slides. A swaggering blend of dusty funk and low-slung rhythm, it’s the kind of track that seems to know the room better than the DJ playing it. Sweater, fresh off a killer release on BLKMARKET and a fixture behind the counter at Philadelphia’s Impressions record store, brings that crate-digger’s sixth sense for what moves. The percussion skips like sneakers on concrete, while synths flash like gold chains catching neon. It’s smart, it’s sly, and it grooves like memory in motion.
Then the air changes. “Martian Law” is the sound of boots on alien soil. Label head Reyer doesn’t knock – he kicks the door in with a rhythm forged in zero gravity. The beat is authoritarian but irresistible, a cold, perfect storm of metallic thuds and subterranean bass. Fragments of synthetic melody rise and vanish like warning sirens in fog. It’s claustrophobic, propulsive – a law written in decibels and enforced in sweat. As a producer, Reyer lays down the rules. As curator, he sets the tone for the rebellion.
Where others push forward, “Coming or Going” stares into the blur. Poten’s contribution is a maze disguised as a groove. It doesn’t settle — it shifts, like ground beneath unsure feet. Minimal in construction but maximal in effect, the track deconstructs itself even as it unfolds. Chopped drums flirt with breakbeat energy, while ghostly textures leak from the corners. It asks the question — are we dancing toward something, or running from it?
“Spectrum” answers with light. The closer, courtesy of Lukey, is the moment after the storm – windows cracked open, steam rising off asphalt. It’s warm, flowing, strangely forgiving. Pads stretch like a yawn after a long sleep, while the groove rides a crisp, understated current. It’s emotional but not sentimental – like hearing the voice of someone you forgot you missed. It doesn’t end with a bang, but a beckon. Come closer. Breathe deeper. Begin again.
“Planet Boom” isn’t just a showcase – it’s a decoded transmission from a distant now. A call to movement. A coded dream. These four tracks don’t just coexist; they converse, plot, and conspire. The record plays like a battle plan disguised as bliss – made for dancers who question, listeners who move, and sound systems that crave tension.
It’s not a declaration. It’s a pulse in exile. One you don’t read — you feel.
Words by Holger Breuer
Torture the Artist 