Nawlz

Ep #4 – Raw Analogue is now live!

Check it out at http://www.nawlz.com

First day back at work, Harley takes to the seedy streets of Metzer Lane to escape the suffocating stillness of his mundane apartment.

What really happens when you deadlight? You force you’re brain circuitry into an artificial flux to the point of overload. It’s like switching on a thousand light bulbs at once.  Then one day they all blow and they’re not so easy to replace. You’re brain is stripped back to a basic operatiing level and reduced to primal instinct, what I call, the Raw Analogue.  – Harley Chambers

Big thanks to Matt Leaf-Tierney for his nintendo-ess Golden Years track.  ‘Tis very mesmerizing, puts my head in the 8-bit clouds.  And the usual thanks to Jordan King of Speakerwrath for bringing the technological darkness to the streets.  There’s lots of seediness in this episode, I think Jordo felt right at home.  Also, keep your ears open for the very last track of the episode.  We’ll be releasing that shortly as a single titled ‘String Theory’.  I’ve been listening to it it all week, very cruisy, very addictive.  I’ll keep you all posted -  Mr Sutu

Ep #4 ‘Raw Analogue’ coming soon…

What really happens when you deadlight? You force you’re brain circuitry into an artificial flux to the point of overload. It’s like switching on a thousand light bulbs at once.  Then one day they all blow and they’re not so easy to replace. You’re brain is stripped back to a basic operatiing level and reduced to primal instinct, what I call, the Raw Analogue.  – Harley Chambers

Cybull

So I got a commission from Red Bull to cyber up their pets. Meet Sutu’s sinister mecha bulls.  They look kinda beefy. If I was gonna make this in to a comic I’d call it…   ‘ROIDS VS DROIDS in the clash of the titanium horn.

Research…

So I’ve been researching hookers for my next Nawlz episode.  Check out this one.  I’m geting confused confused by the messages… black african american demographic with asian salad? what?

Be warned, the next episode will be getting a little raw.

“What else can I say?”

Late last night there was a bum camped outside the old theatre on City Road. Slumped in his rags, his spine molded to the shape of the steps. He sat in a patch of his own piss and between his boots grew a small mountain of ash. Hanging from his lip, a cig on the burn. Trembling in his boney skeletor fingers another cig waits, ready to light. ‘What else can I say?” he announces to an imaginary audience “It’s only July, too early for a Merry Christmas!”