One of the eeriest-sounding entries in RRR's Recycled Music Series is the Haters tape, from LA-area multi-media artist and sound sculptor GX Jupitter-Larsen. A legend in the American noise underground (having been active since 1979), Jupitter-Larsen and his shifting Haters lineup is a consistent source of high-grade electronic mayhem, and having an entry in RRRecords' long-running series is a natural fit.

GX (along with whoever else might be working with him here, which is a total unknown) oversees an untitled creepy and heavily rhythm-based murkscape that early on makes me think of layered foley work from Ossorio's Blind Dead series, loping hoofbeat-like rumblings and mysterious gasping noise-loops stretching and repeating over each other for awhile, but then you begin to hear more urban sounds moving through the mix, the scream of an emergency vehicle's siren, weird broken fragments of something vaguely musical , every time returning to that base low-fi, grungy mantra of static and loop and abrasive repetition. I have no idea what year this came into being, but it's one of Haters more mesmeric noisescapes. Feeling like it's building in density by the minute while always retaining that churning meditative thud at the center.

But then each ten minutes or so, the recording seems to mutate without warning; that rattling, spooky din that galloped across the beginning of the tape proceeds to shift slightly into an equally hypnotic noisescape, but now dominated with strange gnashing sounds, pulsating, almost mechanical rhythmic loops again driving the sounds forward, but growing murkier and swampy as it evolves. Later, wildly oscillating effects and avalanche-like reverberations take over, lacerating high-end feedback sweeps through the roiling layers of sound, shifting into something akin to K2 / Knurl metallic-crush, squealing machinery straining beneath the massive weight of the group's distorted drones and monstrous loops. Vinyl lock-groove crackle materializes out of a sea of black hiss before morphing into a simple but crushing mechanical loop-cycle that sputters and heaves and belches sulfur. All of it is buried under a thick, very thick blanket of bleary, boggy murk, swallowed up by vast crackle and hiss, streams of low-key electrical hum, employing quiet / loud volume dynamics to punishing effect here and there; at one point making a startling jump into crushing pneumatic force for short periods, towards the latter half managing to achieve a grinding heaviosity that's pretty damn impressive. On top of all of this, there is a static throb in this sprawling noisescape that offers a similar pareidolia effect as certain harsh noise "wall" architects, but the electro-acoustic sounds and deliberately edited loops give this more structure, almost "ritualistic" at times, primal and physical.

One of the series' more imposing monuments of abstraction.