It's like a pulse. A deep underground throbbing, tempo klicks at 128bpm. Occasionally +2, maybe minus -1.
Some figure its a technique not a genre. But it's all smoke speak, coded lingo for the 'you know your in the scene when you get it moments'. Stylised interpretations, off the cuff dismissals of incorrect assumptions. Nothing really, just flippant divergent remarks (don't look silly).
The hats rub up like cicadas, nursing your sensibilities, easing you sense of rhythm in to the right commotion. You can almost feel the coolness forming as you move about the room, as if these sound waves are nano loaded with stylish.
Meet the anit-hype. Welcome to the undertones of sophistication. We can see you walking away pretending its not going to play out like that. Unremarkable, undistinguished, just so damn subtle it messing up your head, like asphalt, car fumes and caffeinated water.
The games up really. The cleaners have already arrived to take away the remnants. All that is left to do is 'right click save as' and the deals done. Pouring down the wire, filling up your drive, crawling at your finger tips, bugging up your ears.
What are you saying. Like its your control, like you could have anything to do with it. You don't make a choice. It's like a pulse, a deep throbbing underground.
