DJ Krush – Strictly Turntablized (1994)
By Rafi Mercer
Tokyo, 1994. In a scene dominated by Bristol’s pioneers, DJ Krush released Strictly Turntablized, a record that proved trip hop wasn’t confined to one city or one culture. Where Massive Attack and Tricky brought darkness through soul samples and layered beats, Krush brought it through space — vast, echoing, skeletal space. This album is about restraint, about what happens when you strip rhythm down to its bones and let atmosphere do the rest.
Built almost entirely from turntables and minimal samples, Strictly Turntablized is a masterclass in negative space. Beats crawl rather than drive, fragments of sound drift like smoke, scratches become percussion. It is hip hop slowed to a crawl, dub dissolved into fog, ambient music given grit. The result is uncanny: both hypnotic and alienating, both grounded and disembodied.
On vinyl, the album is stark but immersive. The bass is low and persistent, not heavy but insistent. High frequencies are brittle, cutting, like neon light in darkness. What makes it extraordinary on a good system is the detail: the crackle of vinyl left in, the echo trails, the microscopic manipulations of sound that feel almost tactile. In a listening bar, Strictly Turntablized turns the room into an after-hours dream. It slows conversation, sharpens awareness, invites listeners into a collective trance.
Tracks like “Keeping the Motion” and “Fucked-Up Pendulum” aren’t songs in the traditional sense — they’re environments. “A Whim” drifts like a deserted alleyway, “On the Dub-ble” hints at reggae structure but strips it to bones. The whole album feels like walking through Tokyo at 3 a.m., the city humming but empty, each sound amplified by solitude.
What makes Strictly Turntablized essential is its purity of vision. DJ Krush wasn’t chasing a scene; he was crafting his own. That’s why the record resonates in listening bar culture. It’s not just music, it’s a philosophy: minimal, precise, open-ended. Drop the needle and the room shifts into nocturnal architecture.
Rafi Mercer writes about the spaces where music matters. For more stories from Tracks & Tales, subscribe here, or click here to read more.
