Unloved today release remixes of new single ‘Turn of the screw’, by Juan Ramos, Erol Alkan and Darren Price.
Imagine a Georgio Moroder production broadcast live from inside a submarine, all of its relentless synthetic sounds bouncing around off metallic walls. Berlin-based Puerto Rican-American DJ/producer Juan Ramos’ take on “Turn of the screw” is just that – a brilliantly claustrophobic underwater disco trip.
Erol Alkan’s version mixes eight and a half minutes of precision electro rhythms and a hypnotic ping ponging riff with a simple, emphatic message for all discerning dance floors: “Screw you.”
Darren Price’s pulsating techno dub mix rides in on an ominous bassline that sounds like storm clouds approaching before opening out into a proggy John Carpenter-esque synth throb.
💃 LISTEN TO THE REMIXES HERE 💃
WATCH THE VIDEO FOR ‘TURN OF THE SCREW’ HERE
‘THE PINK ALBUM’ now available to pre-order on double vinyl and CD. Released on September 2nd digitally. With physical double vinyl and CD to follow on September 30th.
🌹 PRE-ORDER THE PINK ALBUM HERE 🌹
Unloved’s latest release, THE PINK ALBUM, is dawn and dusk, the epic and the intimate. This 22-track double album, its title inspired by the artwork of Julian House, features collaborations with Jarvis Cocker, Étienne Daho, Raven Violet and Jon Spencer. Pink has it modulations: shocking at times but signifying also tenderness, intimacy, the carnal. THE PINK ALBUM knows the shades of love, its nuances, and how it can be delicious – and frightening. Marvellous – and aching. Rather than be the silver lining to the cloud, THE PINK ALBUM mines deeper, to a precious ore, dark and glittering…
…Be seduced by the whispered, languorous, bluesy, not so sweet nothings of Love Experiment and the lippy insouciance of Turn of the screw. Thrill to the infinite variety: Mother’s been a bad girl is brazen, and I don’t like you anymore gloriously sultry. Here is Foolin’, where languid, world-weary jazz sounds are skewed by a phantasmagoric organ from a funfair hallucinated, and there’s the sparkling fury and celestial chorus of Rainbrose, as though some flower-festooned goddess is emerging. Go from the jaunty keyboards and hey! hey! hey! of WTC to the melancholic poise of Ever, the jittery electropop of Girl can’t help it, to the spacious Morricone-tinged Lucky. Be reminded that the past is a snare, the future doesn’t care. All we have is Now. There is psychedelic world-warping sound, but also times when reality is acutely, achingly, present. Number in my phone is a beautiful, wistful paean to those no longer here. Jade’s remarkable voice – whispering, icy, lush, wounded, smoky – unifies the album with its striking diversity.