Ken@Work returns to Discoholics Anonymous Recordings with a double-tracker that doesn’t just thump—it testifies. These aren’t just reworks or homages.

It’s A JB Thang isn’t subtle. It doesn’t need to be. It drags James Brown’s pulse back onto the floor, stitches his howl and hunger into the beat. It feels like something found in the back of a smoky club, still warm, still alive. You hear it, and for a second, you remember what power sounds like when it breaks loose.

You Got The Power comes softer, but it cuts just as deep. It’s a Motown séance, a hallelujah whispered into gospel licks and orchestral shimmer. There’s ache here, but also faith—a belief in rhythm, in redemption, in the fragile hope that music still has something to offer a wounded world.

This is soul as memory, funk as resistance, and dance as salvation.

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Discoholics Anonymous doesn’t ask for cookies. It slips them into your pocket while you’re not looking, the way clubs used to slip flyers into your coat lining at 4:37 in the morning. Some of them are harmless — the house keys. They keep the lights on, remember who you are, stop the whole thing collapsing when you hit refresh. Without them the site is just a room with no door. The others are curious little spies. They want to know which mixes you stayed for, which ones you ghosted, whether you