Ace heavyweight techno from St. Petersburg. Dirty, gritty, belting, twisted.

‘Just over half an hour of Luke Wyatt nattering — talking over, against, and to himself — interspersed with slyly deployed SFX, and quotes from his own musical recordings. A wild, uncannily cohesive, funny-sad excursion, issuing from a childhood memory, and somehow taking in the ’86 Mets, WIlliam Rehnquist, and Boy Scout regalia, amongst much else, in a hilarious, poignant affirmation of the spiritual prequisite of self-expression.’

‘An unshackled mind melt of amorphous Berlin School electronics, glistening guitar tones, snatches of disembodied voices and rumblings of percussive melody… an invitation to introspection, turning sky-seeking kosmiche towards a resonant, contemplative core… too busy to be ambient, too zonked to be rock, instead resting on a modern psychedelic perch of its own somewhere in between.’

Sublime, masterful singing — poetic, polyphonic, evocative sufferers — over a stately and atmospheric Java excursion, more sombre than mystical. Super-soulful. Ace.