Abstract: Suppose we are at a show, and after the openers go up, we all have a collective moment: "Wait. Is that Muse?" "No. It's not." Suppose further that we are trying to connect experimental electronica with so-called minimalism. We strip our compositions and lose our faculty of speech, then our rhythm, then our perception of the passage of time itself until, finally, we are empty, the world is empty, our brains are empty. Is this a Beckett play, or an alien abduction? Suppose we at last find ourselves returned. The world words itself as worlding in this post-linguistic re-turn, but with difference: what if we have been replaced by alien-human hybrids? What if the underground and its dialectic from hip to hop is the hegemony (in Laclau's sense) of alien colonialism?

Mon Khmer—Anniversary
Solid Gold—One in a Million
Civil Twilight—Letters from the Sky
Zoot Woman—Lust Forever
Autechre—pt2ph8
Oni Ayhun—OAR003-A
Fever Ray—Triangle Walks
Claude Vonstroke—Vocal Chords
trance[]control—Beginning of the End
Eats Tapes—Hussled_2004
RJD2—Small Plans
Primal Static—Love Drone
Mount Eerie—(Something)
Audiose My Angel—Corrosive Brain Tissue
Ben Frost—…Coda
Thom Yorke—The Hollow Earth
The Books—Smells like Content
Matmos—Roses and Teeth for Ludwig Wittgenstein
jj—No Escapin' This
White Hinterland—Begin Again
Broken Bells—The Mall and Misery
Phantogram—Mouthful of Diamonds
The Counterfeit Junkies—Manifestation
k-os—Uptown Girl
Metric—Collect Call
Love Like Deloreans—Ollie Mess
Savoir Adore— Transylvanian Candy Patrol
Jacqui Hunt—Myriad
The Long Lost—Woebegone
Boy Eats Drum Machine—Mr. Train
Reverie Sound Revue—We Are the Opposite of Thieves
Pretty Good Dance Moves—Demons Dancing
Mike Maimone—on the Rope