Category Archives: Mueran Humanos

20JFG Podcast: Mueran Humanos

Featuring : Mueran Humanos + Podcast

(Image by Viktor Pivovarov detected at 50 Watts)

The mixtape awaiting for you at the end of this merciful handful of lines was arranged by our beloved Mueran Humanos, it unsettles like a collage of the eeriest mysteries and aberrations off Arthur C. Clarke’s Mysterious World stitched upon the morphing walls of the corridor through which his astronaut transitions into starchild, or like a collection of sounds found via a random walk across the radio-waves of the demon-razed Earth that Hope Hodgson described in The Night Land.

What a beautiful abyss!!


  1. The sound of Saturn rings as recorded by Cassini spacecraft. From NASA website (2005)
  2. Sand: Sarah (part I). From “Golem” (1974)
  3. Igor Wakhevitch: Eau Ardente. From “Docteur Faust” (1971)
  4. Huun Huur Tu: Prayer. From “The Orphan’s Lament” (1994)
  5. Pino Donaggio: Bucket of Blood. From “Carrie” soundtrack (1976)
  6. Silver Apples: I Dont Know. From “Gremlins” (2008)
  7. John Carpenter: Halloween Theme. From “Halloween” soundtrack (1983)
  8. Travesti: Juventud Residual. From “Axito” (2003)
  9. Ilich: Ell Voulait que Je Sois Drôle. From “Ten Suicides” (1980)
  10. Revolutionary Corps of Teenage Jesus feat. Alan Vega: Daddy Died. From “Daddy Died: A Brooklyn Nightmare” (1999)
  11. La Neu!: Blue. From “Blue (La Dusserldorf 5)” (1999)
  12. Chrome: In a Dream. From “Inworlds” (1981)
  13. Mujercitas Terror: Actriz. From “Mujercitas Terror” (2007)
  14. RTX: western xterminator. From “Western Xterminator” (2007)

Mueran Humanos Mixtape

We hear there still are a few vinyl copies of their self-titled debut available from Blind Prophet. Sort it out.

20jazzfunkgreats best of 2010: Paranormal Beauty Contest

As we approach thee end of 2010, we open the gun locker, gaffer tape a flashlight to our pump action shotgun and slide into the vietcong tunnels of what went on this year. There be monsters there.

Being the all encompassing unstandardised weirdoes that we are, we make no attempt at ranking our choices, or to classify them by format. We just about manage to drop them into different buckets which aren’t quite genres, but a chromatic scale of the kirlian aura colours that they impressed upon us.

Let’s begin with black. Things that go slash in the night.

Chris Carter – The Space Between: Optimo music present to us a resurrected artefact from the dawn of our current philosophies.  Instrumental sides to the freestyle battles of Gods.

Chris Carter – Clouds (posted 2008)

Cold Waves and Minimal Electronics Vol. 1.: An urban survival guide for the modern existential hero. Can be read as a cyberpunk anthology, or as a collection of fashion tips for the cavalcade of the damned.

Eleven Pond- Watching Trees (posted in 2009)

Florene – Homemade Extacy. Those blips you see breaking the speed limit in your radar, lt. Strumpf, as you swig on your hip flask behind a battered roadside advert in the scorching Texan night, they aren’t your average joy riders. No, they are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and they are looking for a rave.

Florene- Homemade Extacy (new post)

Gatekeeper: Giza.Herr Mannheim, I think that upgrading the operating system of our robotic assembly line with a code sequence downloaded from an anonymous source located somewhere in the sidereal voids wasn’t such a hot idea.

Gatekeeper- Serpent (posted Dec 6th)

Indian Jewelry: Totaled. Dorothy is bored in her house in the middle of the desert. A whirlwind takes her to a world of impossible colour . She jacks a pickup truck and storms down the yellow paths with her gang of metal men and talking beasts, under a black cloud of flying monkeys. Oz is toppled and anarchy ensues.

Indian Jewelry- Excessive Moonlight (posted May 18th)

Liars: Sisterworld. This is the sort of pop music that fills the airwaves in those desolate places where prepubescent worshippers of a pagan cult slaughtered all the adults.

Married in Berdichev: Readying. Walking down the private collection of the Hunterian museum at night, where beauty stands still, preserved in aspic.

Married in Berdichev- I Need the Sun (posted July 27th)

Model Man – Shouldn’t I be Dead by Now? Dry ice and airbrushed laser beams thunder over a brutal coastline as Tron’s less binary characters engage in fatalistic plans for their escape.

Model Man – Shouldn’t (posted October 18th)

Mueran Humanos: S/T. The dead are not quiet in Mueran Humanos’ album. Within, walls continue upright, bricks meet, floors are firm, and doors are sensibly shut. Silence lies steadily against the wood and stone. And we who walk here… walk alone.

Mueran Humanos: Festival de las Luces (New post)

Psychic Ills- FRKWYS 4: Doomsday ragas kinaesthetically synchronised with the infra-red output of the Predator’s mask, while manhunting in the Arabian desert.

Psychic Ills- Mantis (Juan Atkins Remix) (Posted August 26th)

Puerto Rico Flowers: 4. Me and Bauhaus getting it on in the abandoned abattoir (a love story).

Puerto Rico Flowers: Let’s Make Friends (new post)

Salem – King Night: Filling 20JFG’s lungs with bewitching dreams since 2008, Salem deliver the album that brushes past any middling concerns of genre partisans.  Exquisite beauty lurking beneath waves of delay and syrup.

Salem – Frost (New Post)

Scorpion Violente: Uberschleiss. The Gabber Meinhof aren’t a wild bunch of decadent noisemongers hellbent on collapsing society by industrial means. No, they are the research & development department of the survivalist massive, prototyping sonic armaments to be deployed against the undead hordes crawling from an oversubscribed hell.

Scorpion Violente: Viol et Revanche (posted October 18th)

Teeth of the Sea: Your Mercury. Sexual transcendence you achieve while your flesh dissolves under the leathery wings of the bat people of The Beastmaster.

Teeth of the Sea: A.C.R.O.N.Y.M. (posted October the 7th)

Xander Harris – Urban Gothic Synth drenched ode to Brian Keene.  A mix tape of all our favourite horror scores ripped to shreds and assembled into terrifyingly catchy shapes.

Xander Harris – Opening Credits (posted August 20th)

Gatekeeper Video Premier Day 5 – Storm Column

Featuring : Gatekeeper + Mueran Humanos

We wrap up Gatekeeper week on day 5 with the video for Storm Column.  The tracks arpegiated, gated, EBM dread gets the Outer Limits treatment in a video that begins with a suitably portentous track around the Statue of Liberty before quickly wrapping its stock footage into universe building spheres.  Got that?

While we’re dwelling in the embedded video realm we thought we’d share with you a recording of current (and past, and future) 20JFG obsession Mueran Humanos. The Argentinian duo journeyed high above their current Berlin home to record some songs live to filmmaker Mariano Báez’s camera.  The description that opens the video covers all the bases:

August 2009. Mueran Humanos go to the abandoned CIA Station at Teufeslberg (Devil’s Mountain) to use the fabulous acoustics of its higher dome. The dome was build to catch soviet radio frequences and therefore produces a natural amplification and huge reverb. Mueran Humanos use there a casiotone toy keyboard, a walkman with prepared tapes and a hammer as instruments. No amplification and no electricity were used and no effects were added afterwards. This is the real sound there direct to the camera. This is a small extract for their performance, filmed by Mariano Báez.

What follows is a minimal version of Monstruo, from their début album on Old Europa Cafe (who insightfully name-check Possession in their write up).  Seemingly recorded at twilight the Berlin cityscape spreads, vertiginous, out behind them through a breach in the domes wall.  The pale light brushing over their faces or, just as likely, casting them in silhouette depending on where Báez moves his restless camera.

The recording itself is breathtaking not just for the quality of the recording – something unusual straight to camera – but for the beauty the pair conjure up with a battery powered keyboard and their unamplified voices reverberating around the huge acoustically perfect space.  For those paying attention, the tension – conjured first, by the inclusion of a hammer in the description and then by its threatening appearance in and out of frame – is finally released in the sparse appearance of percussion towards the song’s end.

Mueran Humanos’ album is out now and you can get it here. Which you should do. Because it’ll appear in our year end round-up-thing that may or may not take the form of some sort of list of music we liked. Which is the fashion these days, we understand.


One of the wonders of the Internet is how it allows curmudgeonly little bastards like ourselves to launch arbitrary assaults on whatever novel fad that happens to slip into the wrong side of the soiled bed where we lay, like the unwelcome head of a shit stallion running ahead of the pack of popular culture.

We whisper at it with wet lips. This is what dawns look like in our decayed habitat.

It is teenage vampires which concern us today, those pale and pseudo-satanic cherubs with chiselled jaws and gelled hair which have infested the wistful minds of confused youths, like acceptable role models for anorexia because the digestive system of the undead is a barren land, like Patrick Swayzee in dirty dancing if only a non-descript post-emo outfit was the house band.

Nay we say to these avatars of kitsch ferality, nay, we were weaned on the stench of Dracul the impaler, rotten gums encrusted with millennial blood-clots under a mantle of fungal Transilvanian soil, on the impressionistic shadows of Nosferatu’s derelict demesne, on Brian Lumley’s trashy Necromantic chronicles, where the wampyr thrives on the body of the infected like a cthonian cancer, projecting leprous tentacles across deformed fangs to feast on the blood of the victim, on the cryptic masquerade of the World of Darkness as illustrated by Tim Bradstreet, under the showers of gore of the slaughterhouse rave that Blade gatecrashed, even on the new wave rebellion of the Lost Boys, surely soon to be remade, perchance inadvertent antecedent of the blight that afflicts us today.

Nay we say, let us retch engulfed by the whiff of the second hand haemoglobin nourishing these super-evolved leeches, let us stare into their corrupted pupils stretching like rusty razorblades over yellow iris beyond which  unhinged bloodlust lays, no morality, no restraint, these guys are not pretty, they don’t want to sleep with you, they don’t want to show off their superhuman speed like quarterbacks strutting their feathers in front of quivering cheerleaders, no, they are monsters roaming in a misty land beyond good and evil, in their lonely and sad world thirst rules absolute, you are prey, nothing else.

Some time ago we had the perverse pleasure of introducing you to the macabre delights of Mueran Humanos. Theirs are Gothic echoes of Argentina, from Argentum, latin for silver which kills werewolves, and sometimes vampires too, but also the material of which the knives wielded at satanic masses are forged, echoes we say, echoes that spread across the authoritarian landscapes of Possession-era Berlin like ink stolen from an apocryphal sequel of the house of leaves, now set in pock-marked concrete whence mouths stretch agape frozen in a silent shout.

Remember the dazzling urban landscapes of Demons? You should, smudge them with a layer of surrealism straight off a Lynch noire and slip into unsettling dreams where a coven of devilishly handsome cyphers stare at you in silence, stern examiners in the viva voce for a doctorate in the dark arts, with telepathic tendrils which are Leones en China they scour your mind in a psychic carpet-bomb operation worth of Spacemen 3’s esoteric brethren.

Over the conflagration levitates disembodied Carmen, like a Death’s Head Hawkmoth, her croon that of a rapporteur broadcasting from a dantesque scenario of satanic distortion and fluttering raven wings.

Mueran Humanos- Leones en China (Pre-mastered)

Mueran Humanos are looking for a label to release the album. Get in touch with them, the rest of it is as good as this.

The kinaesthetic optical output of EBM is a strobe shower of pillars of white light framing muscular shapes clad in leather, golden pendants dangling off ears protruding from emaciated faces, shaven scalps.

If we close the sensory loop back into sound we are confronted with the archetypical paranoid bassline, that which harkens back to a Nitzer Ebb gangbang, to a Front 242 manhunt, to a DAF riot, shock-waves project us into a tactile realm of  bondage fantasies and cybernetic interfacing, the body revels against such intrusion, vomits itself back to a mechanistic dome of audiopain where beats pummel with the indifferent precision of hateful machinery.

Past this gauntlet we escape into ideological spaces where the propaganda of nihilistic politics spreads across synaptic circuits firing up like baroque weapons systems commissioned by a deranged military complex.

Faced with this lethal battery we leap into the level below.

Into another quagmire.

Like Cabaret Voltaire said, quoting the Seeds, there’s No Escape. From our hunters, or the thrill of this chase.

Factory Floor- A Wooden Box

A Wooden Box is included in Factory Floor’s A Wooden Box 10”, get it here.

So here ends our descent into underbelly of the prince of darkness, a spiderleg forest leading to genitalia shrivelled like the putrescent carcass of an antediluvian white worm. The Bram Stoker reference is surely apt, for isn’t he the one who resurrected the wampyr like some clueless Transilvanian peasant spilling blood upon the tomb where Peter Cushing thought he had finally, and once and for all, laid the sucker to rest? He did, he did.

Brusque Twins’ ‘Black and Without Eyes’ brings to mind Jonathan Harker’s excursions into the forbidden sections of Dracul’s rotten manor, orchestral manoeuvres of a deathly ballet which begin down dusty corridors decorated with faded portraits projecting holographic memories of the father replicant, and continue into the boudoir that precedes damned bliss, past a door of heavy oak into a bedroom where the Wives lure the meek Englishman with mesmerising chants like venus flytraps of undead flesh, synthetic stabs stand for the caress of fangs against puritan skin, staccato drum machines for lusty foreplay against animated mannequins.

It would all be a wonderful tale of sexual awakening if it wasn’t for the fact that this millenial succubi are Satan’s own whores, weaned on the tender flesh of innocent babies.

Brusque Twins- Black and Without Eyes

Berlin de Noche


Mueran Humanos’ seductive dirge sounds like the missing link between La Dusseldorf and a squadron of cadaverous 4AD artists, or Indian Jewelry performing a macabre tango, like black raven wings spreading from a shadowy corner in your messy bedroom, dark bliss palpitates alluring hidden inside a shroud of cobwebs, perhaps 20JFG’s new favourite band for days of torrential rain and wind whistling malevolent against the rattling windows of the decaying Victorian manor where we dwell despondent.

Horas Tristes is a funereal march across the long empty corridors of a Berlin apartment where time and space stretch supernatural like the shadows hiding Catherine Deneuve’s nightmares in Repulsion, cracks bloom in the walls like the buds of poisonous flowers, a TV screen at the back stares back at you, lost in a graveyard of death channels interspeded by snippets of black and white surrealist hallucinations, cruel razorblades slide shiny eyeballs, not nice, but beautiful.

Mueran Humanos- Horas Tristes


I can’t believe I haven’t written about Kalte Sterne before. This is perhaps my favourite Neubauten jam,  the chugging of a coal-powered phantom train carrying a crew of deranged Section 8 cannibals across the dead tracks of a Carpenterian landscape of ruin and dereliction, or perhaps black blood pumped into the sclerotic circulatory system of a moribund industrial collossus by the last stertors of its once powerful, now collapsing heart. Which is totally it, if you ask me.

Einsturzende Neubauten- Kalte Sterne