Bells

The tempo says 130 and the energy meter is pinned at ten, yet the danceability reading sits at one — which tells you most of what you need. This is electro built for the head and the spine rather than the hips: clipped Detroit-leaning drums, a bassline that walks rather than pumps, and that bell motif tolling over the top like a signal from an empty platform. In F minor it never quite resolves the way you want it to.

The moods are logged as happy and sad and aggressive and relaxed, and somehow all four survive the listen — the bell is the reason, bright on the surface, mournful underneath. It builds a cold, clean room: concrete, a little fog, one strobe. In a set it works as a hinge, dropped where the floor needs unsettling rather than lifting, and it leaves the next record more space than it took.