Snack Master Channels Braindance Chaos on ‘The Dreamers Of Dreams’

John Bowman has never been one for clean corridors. Under the Snack Master alias, his new self-released album The Dreamers Of Dreams picks up the traces of Rephlex Records’ most unstable frequencies and threads them through a processor running well beyond its intended clock speed. The result sits somewhere between electro errorfunk and manic braindance, with sampladelia that would have nudged early Coldcut toward a distribution deal.

Bowman’s production vocabulary is piled high and stress-tested. Percussion scatters without warning. Sweeps of white noise dissolve and re-form around rhythms that treat a barline like a loose suggestion. “Dark Triangles” opens on flanges so extreme they seem to phase against themselves, while beats land like a door rammed off its hinges. “The Weirdest Noises” tears through drum‑and‑bass histrionics, the Amen break barging in like it owns the place, then overstaying that welcome deliberately.

The title track reads as a collision of incompatible requests: twenty-five people shouting ideas into an arrangement that, against all logic, locks into something intoxicating. Repetition here doesn’t loop—it mutates. Synth lines collapse inward and rebuild mid-phrase, never settling into mere function. By the time the fifteen-minute closer “Future Funk” arrives, elements appear and evaporate around a pokey kick drum that pings and pops as if it’s learned to walk on its own. It isn’t an ending so much as a final overload, the circuitry still working only because it refuses to stop moving.

The Dreamers Of Dreams treats genre memory like scrap material, pressing broken grooves into new shapes without cleaning them up first. It’s an album that sounds like it’s improvising its own internal rules, and it carries that instability with a straight face. Bandcamp self-release suits it: no framing, no filter, just circuitry pushed until the joins shine through.