PX 31 by Shanghai Beach: A Synth-Pop Time Capsule That Still Glows in 2014’s Shadow
Alright, let’s talk about PX 31. This album isn’t your run-of-the-mill electronic release; it’s like someone took all the neon vibes of the ‘80s, gave them a modern twist, and then whispered, “Don’t tell anyone.” Released back in 2014 under Memory No. 36 Recordings (cool name, right?), this thing is straight-up dripping with synth-pop slickness and New Wave nostalgia. And guess what? Steven Salazar did pretty much everything here—composing, recording, the whole shebang. Hats off to that guy for wearing so many hats without dropping one.
Now, I gotta say, this record feels like stepping into some alternate universe where Miami Vice meets Blade Runner on a rainy Tuesday night. It's moody but catchy as hell. The two tracks on this sucker are called "Px-31" and "PX-31." Yeah, same title, different cases. Like they're twins or something. But don’t let that fool you—they’ve got their own personalities.
First up, there’s “Px-31”. This track kicks things off with this hypnotic pulse, like a heartbeat made outta synths. You know those moments when you’re zoning out at 2 AM, staring at city lights through a window? That’s this song. It’s not trying too hard—it just flows, smooth and steady, pulling you deeper into its vibe. There’s something raw about how simple it is, yet every beat hits just right. I remember listening to this while walking home late one night, and suddenly my boring sidewalk felt cinematic. Like, whoa, dude, am I in a movie now?
Then there’s “PX-31”, which flips the script a little. If the first version is chill introspection, this one’s more like waking up from a dream and realizing you’re still dreaming. It’s got sharper edges, more urgency. The melody builds slowly, layering sounds until it feels like you’re standing inside an old arcade machine that’s come alive. Honestly, I think it’s the kind of song aliens would beam down to Earth if they wanted us to understand their emotions. Or maybe I’m just overthinking it because it’s 3 AM again. Either way, it sticks with you.
What makes PX 31 stand out isn’t just the music itself—it’s the mood. It doesn’t scream for attention; instead, it lingers, like cigarette smoke in an empty club after closing time. You can tell Steven Salazar poured himself into these tracks, crafting something intimate yet universal. It’s weirdly personal, even though it’s mostly instrumental. Maybe that’s why it works so well across borders—the USA and Canada both seem to vibe with it equally.
So yeah, PX 31 might not be perfect, but perfection’s boring anyway. What it does do is give you space to feel stuff. To imagine stories. To get lost in soundscapes that feel familiar yet totally new.
And hey, fun fact: apparently, Memory No. 36 Recordings only ever put out this one project before vanishing into thin air. Kinda poetic, huh? Almost like PX 31 was always meant to exist in its own little bubble, untouched by trends or sequels. Makes me wonder if Steven Salazar secretly retired to a cabin somewhere, surrounded by keyboards and cats. Or maybe he joined a cult. Who knows?
