At one-eleven in the key of B-flat minor, this thing stalks rather than sprints, draping its nine-out-of-ten charge across a frame of organic percussion and tactile, off-centre drums. The groove is humid and unhurried, letting each wooden slap and dubbed-out tail breathe in a space that feels more like a sweat-drenched backroom than a polished booth. It is exactly the kind of leftfield nu-disco that refuses to spoon-feed its melody, instead building atmosphere through meticulous sound design.
In a set, it is the bridge between warm-up and wired: too restless for background, too weird for the main-room obvious. I would slot it after something slower and let its club-credible momentum pull the floor toward something tougher, trusting those relentless discodrums to do the heavy lifting without ever sounding mechanical.