Hold Four by Booclap

Alright, so this album, *Hold Four*, it’s a lot more than just tracks strung together. It's the sound of what happens when you’re stuck on the graveyard shift, the fluorescents humming overhead, and everything suddenly starts to glitch out. We’re talking about the panic you feel when the building itself turns against you, alarms screaming, and the only comfort is the crew around you. This whole thing started because we wondered: what if that fear, that jump-scare feeling, could be turned into something warm, something that actually holds you?

That's the core of it, the main idea: taking that smart-building chaos – the badge scanners beeping, the vending machines buzzing, the CCTV hum – and flipping it. Tiff Taffy, Mallow, Dr. Bones, Janitor June, we’re the ones doing it. We took those mundane, even unsettling, sounds and ran them through the SP-1200 grit and MPC swing, turning them into the rhythm section of a city finding its heartbeat. It’s like we weaponized the night-shift soundtrack. We brought that Booclap scream-to-hug thing to a whole new level, turning it into a straight-up protocol: "Boo, clap, hold for four." Anyone can learn it. Just listen to *Fluorescent Jitters*, feel that anxious tick-tock, and then hear Tiff teach that first chant to a staff that desperately needs it.

The journey on this record takes you from those shaky moments, the candy-wrapper percussion we cooked up in *Wrapper Hymn*—a real nod to finding grace in the mundane—through to the brass stabs of *Badge Bloom* that turn cold tech into something human. You hear Mallow’s theremin in *Siren Swoon*, crooning back at a yelping alarm, turning dread into a weird, beautiful sway. We dug deep, too. Remember that feeling in *Stairwell Ring*? That's Tiff laying bare a raw family story, her voice cracking, and us layering screams re-amped through concrete steps under quiet hums. It’s about finding courage in confession, transforming pain into connection.

And then it hits. *Hold Four* isn't just a track; it's the moment the whole block pours in, learning that simple civic chant. It’s that surge, the crowd’s footfalls thumping like a thousand hearts, the feeling of de-escalation becoming a full-blown cultural movement. We wanted to make music that isn't just listened to but actively *lived*. You get to *Borrowed Lungs* and hear Mallow, raw and vulnerable, as the block literally lends breath, strengthening her voice with their own quiet hums. Then June, in *Grid Kneel*, hotwires the intercom, making the building’s alarms literally bow to human voices. That’s not just sound design; that’s a statement about where power really lies.

The album culminates in *Scream-To-Hug*, the peak moment where alarms finally yield, sidechaining to the crowd’s low hum as Tiff breathes into a ribbon mic. It's a sonic surrender, the tech resetting itself into something more human. You feel that release, that chest-thumping relief. And when the sun finally breaks in *First Parade*, you're out there on the street, brass bouncing, neighbors sharing those four-count embraces. It’s a triumphant, messy joy, the kind born from shared fear and hard-won connection. Dr. Bones closes it out with *Heartware*, a mock clinic report where the building gets a "care update," its systems rewritten as something truly empathetic.

This whole record, from the SP-1200 grit to the second-line swagger, the jazz-rap cadences to the gospel-tinged hooks, it's our attempt to build a new social instrument. We're showing how boom-bap can tell stories that are intensely personal and universally felt, how brass bands can be more than just celebration – they can be a force for de-escalation, a ritual for courage. We aimed to create something that’s not just catchy, but profoundly resonant, a unique blend of live-band heft and sampled precision that speaks to the anxieties and hopes of our time. It’s hook-heavy, yeah, but it's also a deep dive into how we find warmth in the cold glow of the night, how we hold on. We finish with *Hold More*, back under the fluorescents, the jitters smoothed, that soft wrapper tick now a comforting memory. It’s not just music, it’s a blueprint for connection.

We're Booclap. We cook up boom-bap, brass, and jazz rap. Those late-night scares? We turn 'em into a big hug. Find your crew with us.