Port Orange, Florida (USA)
HDninja have one mission: bring the highest quaility in entertainment beyond all expectations. This duo formed out of a love of unique, specialized music, and they hope that they can advance the experience of finding sounds and lyrics for an audience open to both the ridiculous and the deeply complex. Echewing traditional front-man roles, the boys let the words and melodies speak for themselves. They hide their faces for anonimity and let the rhymes define who they are. Mostly they just want to cut loose and invite folks that come to see them to share the energy they bring to the stage.
TCP the Ninja and 1080IP also believe in sharing their lifestyle with whomever is interested in taking their journey with them, and so have found a tremendous compatibility with the DIY nature of both EMPulse and scrubclub record labels. Both labels believe in giving back to the communities that follow them, whether through totally free sharing of music, organizing and supporting community events, or supporting peers with advice and camaraderie.
The Crimson Twins have been blessed to work with many talented artists, promoters, musicians and friends over their years in the independent music scene. They look forward to meeting supporters and rocking shows for many more years to come!
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The night is silent. Luna's pale gaze is casting long shadows stretched across the pitted and battered streets of Allendale's darkest and most desperate slums. A lone waitress staggers tiredly home after another stressful and gainless shift at a local late-night diner. The leopard's gaze befalls his decrepit prey. As her brain registers her livelihood in the bag thinly strapped to her shoulder being torn from her clutches, she shrills. The sound is abruptly arrested by a flowing elbow strike across her cheek bone.
She falls. He never looks back.
Before the last piece of her tumbling frailty reaches the pavement, she's blinded by a blue beam of light, amplified by stimulated emissions of radiation blasting in from atmospheric reaches, bathing the dark depiction with crisp, cleansing salvation in the form of highly energized, murderous molecules. When her pupils finally readjust to the darkness, a faceless figure in the shape of a man, offering gloved hand, is standing over her. She takes it.
As she's pulled to her feet, she's given her purse and a poetic allegory summarizing the entire event, yielding a clear perspective to injustice and it's consequences. At rhyme's end, he turns, his combat boots igniting in a fashion evocative of a discontinued Cape Canaveral shuttle craft, and blasts back to the starscape that broached him.