Death of Funk

At 125 BPM and locked in 10B, this moves with a rigid, militaristic stride that brooks no argument. The energy is absolute—every hi-hat slice and snare crack lands like knuckles on concrete, and the bassline feels forged from cold steel rather than vinyl warmth. It occupies that electro-techno hinterland where funk is not reinterpreted but actively dismantled.

This is peak ammunition for the harder late-night brief. The minor-key menace pairs seamlessly with other underground industrial cuts, and that full-tilt, ten-out-of-ten charge leaves zero room for hesitation. I would slam this in around four in the morning when the floor needs discipline, not charm; it seizes control and dares the crowd to keep pace.