The fat is on fire in the anthill. Anything having a chitine corpus and more than four legs is scrubbing its antennas and chirping of excitement, according a hearty welcome to the king of cybernetic cabaret: FYM, being an appreciated greatness already due to his various exhibits on Telegraph and Boogizm, he now blesses Karloff, the first address for molecular pataphysics and quantum-symbolism, with some very special samples from his collection of absurdities. Bouncing random noise paving the way to the metropolitan dancefloor, while waterdrops as huge as skyscrapers are crashing down between the dancers in slow motion. These swarming grooves have never been as irresistible, maybe due to the firm hand which speared the ultratight beats, stabilizing all that sonic scrabbling around. Definitely the most relevant insect funk ever. And as this rocks through the microscope already, how do you think it's going to be on the luxury PA in your favourite club?
