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Jambands, krautrock, desert rock, soundscapes, fuzz, experimental, post-rock, electronic, film soundtracks; all are touchstones for SLABS. Doused in overdrive and delay, the band's unique restlessness and inventiveness seduces with shifts, turns and large dynamic shifts - fundamentally devoted to working the groove in what ever time signatures are deployed. SLABS put simply are ‘Space Jazz’.


released March 11, 2015

Recorded + mixed by Dominic Rippel @ Shelter Studio
Mastered by James Hurst @ Lola Colt HQ

©+℗ SLABS 2015



all rights reserved


SLABS London, UK

SLABS est. 2012. Made in London.

Purveyors of Space Jazz and other oddities.

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Track Name: El Camionero
I am the driver, driver driver.
Track Name: 52 Hz
I woke up a whale,
Then Everything into...
Insignificance fell
When I woke up a whale.

In a sea, like my attention...
I woke up a whale.
I woke up a whale.

Great minds suspended,
I woke up a whale.
Great minds over many miles,
I woke up a whale.

In a sea, like my attention...
I woke up a whale.
I woke up a whale.
I woke up a whale.


The sun sets a warm orange;
Resting gently upon the skyline.
Old man Ra settling into his favourite easy chair,
The knowing people are dying.

An exit marked by cigarette burns.
A blemish in history.
Now obsolete and disallowed,
Ash upon an old mans sleeve.

The sun is silent…
The Old man returns to the middle,
Brushes the ash from his sleeve.
And allows necessity to justify atrocity.

Tracing the path,
step follows step.
A path cut from nape to throat.
A home devoid of sense.
God got cold and caught the last bus home.

Hope is important…

Birthed from a cervix,
Walls etched with those who went before,
Every one, a disillusioned youth.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter/exit here.

Children cry for home;
Trapped under the rubble,
The little experiment to pit reason against reflex.
Our Mother wants us out.

Terra’s child is now grown,
Generations scratched into clock faces as time ticks on.
So sorely cracked upon the head.
We made this,
Breathe the cold sterile air.

Hope is important…

A conflict of cold mechanics.
Technology wades forward,
Synapses firing into a mutilated body.
We stand at the pinnacle.
The Goat unleashed,
Stepped in so far, to turn back would be as tedious as go on.

A circus of lost Daemons, Lupine, Lucifer’s and Wendigos.
Billow outward like mushroom clouds.
Everywhere imagined fears spread.
Fears multiply.
Suddenly the waterside is dark.

It is cold.
Cradled in your hands is a whisper,
A forgotten gesture,
In your head,
A kindly thought.
Before reason, honor and empire.

Hope was important…

Our crisis is critical.
Too many hands clawing at a life boat.
People as kittens.
Suckle your dying mother.
Soon the milk is gone.
With it goes compassion and rationall.
Where can be found our Magnum opus? –

Hope is important…

Mortality weighs heavy on our backs.
Faces stare into the dirt –
“…fear in a handful of dust.”
We dress in our best.
Resign each other to oblivion…

At the end our hair thins,
Toothless gums lisp broken words.
We arrive at the start.
Futures rest upon balding scalps.

The contrast of cold,
That is all we know.
Comfortable for so long.
No longer claim you are at peace.

Hope is important…

Save each part.
Know the whole.

Hope is important –

We have language.
We have forethought.
We have the tools.

Hope is important.

Hope is important.

Hope is important.
Track Name: Brian Pulva
Man with a beard,
In a skirt,
On a bicycle.

That man,
The man with a beard,
In a skirt,
On a bicycle...

Lumbering internal combustion.
Wildering images distinct from,
Lumbering internal combustion.

Slabs form in tarmac,
Smog is scattered.
And in the dust all our friends will rot.