A Point Most Crucial

The tempo is locked at a lumbering 75 BPM, each beat arriving like a deliberate footfall through wet concrete. Carrier keeps the energy dialled to a restrained six, so the track never detonates; instead, it broods, letting grey-scale textures accumulate in the corners. That 3B key centre provides an anchor, though Carrier seems intent on stretching it until the tonic is barely recognisable.

This is a record for the headphone vigil rather than the peak-time floor, slotting neatly into the deeper, experimental stretches of a set where the room needs to shrink. Modern Love’s legendary underground pedigree for cerebral electronics is audible in every layer; the piece is functional only insofar as it builds a suffocating atmosphere that pins you to the wall. I would drop it after midnight, when the crowd is too committed to leave and too exhausted to move fast.