Glasgow techno giants Slam space you out with cyclic, pulsing audio-therapy on a conventionally played routine.
Alright, damn it, it’s a journey, whose dreaminess, approaching a widescreen level of inter-planetary eyeballing, could come from any lava lamp salesman.
Being all about the chase, the mix was always going to gently lift you onto the dancefloor – gradually giving you back your senses one by one as the mothership docks – as a precursor to producer pair Stuart McMillan and Orde Meikle going hammer and tongs. It’s just a matter of when.
So it’s to Slam’s credit, three-quarters through, they revert to a womb-like suspension – before their diligent tech-house floors it and seizes control. Going by the book pays off.
Words: Matt Oliver
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