Triple Cool Hang is less a compilation than a reel unspooled from the middle of Family Underground’s story. Drawn from archives and mastered by noise stalwart Lasse Marhaug, the album gathers deep, shimmering cuts that trace the Copenhagen trio’s evolution from improvised, frayed song-forms to full immersion in psychedelic drone. Pressed in an edition of 300 with an insert, it feels like someone has cracked open a box of old tapes and discovered a complete, alternate history running parallel to their existing discography: not outtakes in the usual sense, but moments where the band’s aesthetic was being discovered in real time and caught on whatever gear was at hand.

Formed in 2000, Family Underground - Nicolas “Brother Jinx” Kauffmann on guitars and tapes, Jesper “Byronic” Hedegård on warpspeed wah‑wah and staccato guitar, and Sara “Sonic” Czerny on synthesizer, bass, voice and drums - arrived at their sound by abusing limitations. By 2003 they had “found their form” in songs made up on the spot, structures fraying at the edges, and long, immersive drones, all tracked on an old Danish Movicorder tube reel‑to‑reel mixed straight to CDr. That machine didn’t just capture the music; it heated the room while they played, turning each recording into a literal micro‑climate. You can hear that heat in the way tones smear and overload, the sense that the tape is always almost too full.

The selections on Triple Cool Hang are anchored in specific rooms and nights. “Milk Of Wonder” comes from a freezing loft in a former Methodist church on Møllegade, the band’s first rehearsal space - a Factory‑style arrangement where cheap rent bought them the right to be loud, late, and a bit unstable. The last grooves of side A document one of their jams with Fursaxa in New York on Family Underground’s first US tour in 2006, a transatlantic collision where two different drone sensibilities braid into a single, woozy spell. “Cosmic Skullduggery” was originally slated for release by Eclipse Records and never materialised; its appearance here marks the first time the track finally claws its way into the world, an orphaned piece that turns out to sit perfectly in this constellation.

The remaining material comes from Waffle Cone Country, an old industrial building that doubled as FU’s studio and home for Nicolas and Sara. Those recordings bear the imprint of long nights and early mornings spent playing, smoking, and running through endless cycles of tea and coffee - the “classical Triple Cool Hang situation” the title alludes to. The atmosphere is unhurried but never slack: guitars hover between shimmer and scrape, synths lean into long, gradually mutating tones, percussion appears and disappears like someone testing whether rhythm helps or hinders the spell. There is a strong sense of people living inside the sound, not clocking studio time but folding music‑making into the texture of their days.

Heard together, these tracks sketch an alternate map of the early‑mid 2000s underground: Copenhagen lofts, New York basements, industrial live‑in studios, all linked by a commitment to communal, hand‑made psychedelia that treats tape hiss and room tone as essential instruments. Triple Cool Hang doesn’t try to tidy that world up; it presents it as is, with all the blur, drift, and sudden intensities intact. For long‑time followers it offers missing pieces and context; for new listeners it works as a self‑contained portal into Family Underground’s ecosystem, where the ideal state is half awake, half elsewhere, and always one more cup of coffee away from another side-long, slow‑burning jam.