The kick lands at 140 with a flat-footed insistence that should feel brutal, yet Spillman keeps the low-end swinging rather than static, letting the track breathe through gaps in the percussion. There is a melodic thread running through the noise—something close to a vocal fragment or a detuned pad—that pulls the ear away from the grid and into a greyer, more sentimental space. At energy ten, it could easily flatten the room, but the texture is too irregular for that; it stutters and recovers, slightly off-balance.
In B-flat minor, the harmonic mood sits naturally with the Hessle catalogue’s colder moments, though here the sadness feels earned rather than decorative. I would slot this after something straighter and more functional, letting its asymmetry act as a pivot point: the moment the set tilts from physical exercise into something more haunted. It does not resolve cleanly, which is why it works.