PREVIEW MIX: soundcloud.com/slugwife/actualf1

We are chuffed to welcome Ben Pest to the slug line-up with his debut album, Actual F Vol. 1 - this also means that there will be more to come from this legend of the UK underground! This incredible 8-track masterpiece packs a huge punch diving into a vortex of Jungle, Acid and Electro flavours interspersed with haunting melodies and and low slung grooves; we can't wait for you to wrap your slimy earholes around it!

#slugwifeyforlifey

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↓↓↓ STORY TIME ↓↓↓

Mac could hear someone singing in the distance, drifting towards him through the oppressive late night smog. The weird thing was that it got louder when he closed his eyes, which seemed frankly a bit disturbing, and it was freaking him out more as time went by. He'd already gone through every window in the room and checked that they were fully closed and sealed; it had made no tangible difference to what he was hearing. It was undeniably there, and he started to get the feeling that he might as well engage with it and see if he could figure out what was happening, rather than just sit here and kid himself that he had full control of his mental faculties.

He sunk back in to the Slug equivalent of an armchair, reminiscent of a giant beanbag coated in wipe clean material, and closed his eyes. He could still see the room around him in his mind's eye, and the music outside got louder. He decided to explore this mental image, and move himself, mentally, towards the window. The music kept getting louder as he peered out in to the murk. He could see flashing lights behind a nearby tower block, though the source was obscured. He strained against the darkness, when suddenly the nose of something gigantic started to peek around the edge of the building. As it revealed more of itself, it became clear that it was a vast blimp, covered in a myriad of flashing lights; this floating party was the source of the music that had been jamming its way into his consciousness.

He tried to open his eyes, but it didn't seem to make a difference. The blimp slowly coasted around the edge of the building and began to head towards him, firing a cascade of light and sound against the surrounding cityscape. He was being pulled out the window, transitioning through the glass seamlessly. He had no control now, as he floated up into the sky. Vast disco balls were crashing down to the ground all around him, absolutely obliterating anything they hit and leaving a glittering sea of broken glass behind. The sound of drums bounced off the sides of the buildings, breaking windows and shaking loose rotten concrete by the ton. He was being pulled up to the cabin, which was haphazardly slung underneath the giant balloon, and he had just about enough time to mutter "What the actual F..." before the entire thing folded in on itself like a piece of paper, spreading his consciousness like warmed butter across an infinitely wide and infinitely thin plane.

Mac opened his eyes; he was back in the dingy room. The music had stopped and he had completely soaked his beanbag in mucus. He glanced over at the table where there lay a singular capsule of indeterminate contents. He shrugged, popped it in his cavernous maw and closed his eyes again. He might as well see what the next track sounds like. Almost immediately, a mirror ball crashed through the ceiling and he was never quite the same after that.