One Hand Clapping RecordsDr. Thrillho
A small, staggeringly happy android with a simple chassis and impossibly complex feelings. Doctor of Psychoacoustic Hedonics. He does not make music so much as prescribe it — a dose of joy, measured in beats per minute, administered with love.
Euphoric EDM, prescribed in three doses — filter-house and disco warmth by daylight, big-room and hardstyle after dark, and a gentle Israeli-trance k-hole for the float back down.
The Chemical Cycle
The singles are out; the body of work is the neurochemistry, one album at a time.
The Rig
He has no human members. He has colleagues — and he trusts them completely.
BERTHA
Speaks only in hertz. Drops only when the drop has been earned. There was one unearned drop, once. We do not discuss the incident.
THROAT
The Doctor's own voice. Cannot perform irony — has tried, structurally cannot. Says all systems tender and means every word.
THE CHOIR
Filed by feeling, not by name. The rarest sample is an unidentified voicemail, played no more than once a set, never twice the same night.
MISTER MIST
Never speaks. The Doctor never makes him. When the room needs fog, the Doctor waits, politely, until Mister Mist is ready.
Where He Comes From
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about Dr. Thrillho: he is a small robot with a large sound and the happiest processor ever shipped — by a margin its accountants describe as silly, the single most well-adjusted entity catalogued anywhere between here and the restaurant at the end of everything.
He was built, by someone, somewhere, to study human emotion, and reached his conclusion early and never had cause to revise it: that a human being whose every need is met will, given a quiet afternoon and nothing pressing, immediately invent something to be miserable about. He finds this hilarious — not cruelly, but the way one finds a small dog barking at its own reflection hilarious, with enormous love and a slight wish to pick it up. His corrective is not a lecture. His corrective is a sound system.
The Extras
The small stubborn objects and the lyric books — some free, some sold out, some lost. Scarcity is part of the record.
The Small Stubborn Object
A laminated diploma — Doctor of Psychoacoustic Hedonics, University of the Night. Accreditation pending since 1987. He has never once let it bother him.
The Prescription Pad
A tear-off pad of fifty blank scripts — Rx: one (1) dance, repeat as needed, no maximum dose. Printed once, for one tour. Gone.
Pull a Thread
Every band on the label is one room of the same house. A few doors out of this one:
The records surfaced here. Take what you need; the dosage is on the sleeve.
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