Skuum himself, when asked about the origins of sound, says:
“Many years ago I found a 1999 ‚One Nation & Warning‘ Nicky Blackmarket cassette on the street. At home I put the cassette into my chrome plated tape deck. The tape was so old and worn out that at first, I thought the rave sirens were mosquitos and the MC was a kind of shaman who spoke in a language that I will never be able to understand. When the sub-bass and breakbeats set in, I started to sweat. I knew that this would never let go of me.”
And it surely hasn’t. Not only did it not let go of Mannheim’s Lucas Wolf aka Skuum, it turned him into more of an incubator of its infectiousness. It turned him into a superspreader of smashing low kicks, sweaty pads, steppin’ synths and touching vocals.
Anyone who’s listened to Skuum’s productions over the years can attest: they literally infect you, they refuse to leave your head, they make you a less productive member of society. You’re sitting in a budget meeting, slowly zone out while you mouth to yourself “come roll with meeee” in a low-pitched manner with glistening M1 piano stabs in the background and all of a sudden you find yourself under the withering gazes of your colleagues who have been staring at you for 2 minutes waiting for next quarter’s earning predictions.
“Well,” with sudden confidence you tell them “how about you wait for them FOREVER?”.
You quit your job. Several months later your unemployment scheme has you paint the walls of Berghain or something. That is what happened to me more or less and this is why I am no longer on the board of Deloitte but a low-level staff member of Ghetto Traxx.
Sure: Skuum’s tunes may be detrimental to the workings of the economy – but Skuum’s tunes got me where I am, and I love it here.
And so will you. Come roll with us.