Two concise but perfectly formed clumps of blurred-round-the-edges techno from relative newcomer Meginsky, who corrals abstract modular synth geometries (or approximations thereof) into various firm but bouncy shapes fit for late night jacking. Subotnick at Berghain, you might say, if you were so inclined.
Side A starts slowly, with Aaili’s subdued bubbling pitched abruptly up and down, like a wasp in jam jar, while woolly synth tones hover inscrutably above. It’s Sudafed groggy, but still groovy, with a little bit of spookiness too. Then, when the hi-hat kicks in, it’s a like a proper ghost dance, the bare bones of a rave, 7am on a Monday morning in the dungeon, where everyone’s gone home or passed out, only the real lost causes are still here jerking to the arrhythmic judders and jolts.
Things get very marvellous in the second half, with a lovely syncopated clatter that’s half rusting b-boy stance and half proper Vorsprung Durch Techno quickness. It’s funkily unfunky, a locked-on machine-shop banger, with a strange hissing breakdown in the middle and an almost industrial backbone.
Meginsky’s edits here are anything but seamless mixing. Although individual tracks threaten occasionally to morph into one another like on all those Journey By DJ compilations (that Justin Robertson one is still my fave, btw), for the most part his the transitions are crudely curtailed, slo-mo jump cuts like Jeff Mills on Mogadon, just sloppy enough to be endearing. After all, why waste time with all that dead air between songs?
The grumbling synths and elecro snaps of Ziya open side B. They’re dense and intricate yet curiously low-key too. Over the course of five or so minutes, the electronics vibrate and squirm like endlessly generating algorithms, steeped in a heavy amount of reverb that’s redolent of draughty, abandoned spaces and lost weekends.
Then, after a quick breather for the beatless, googly-eyed swathes of Affan, it’s eyes down for the finish line. Waqas sees Meginsky piling on layers of swirling, repeating oscillation to whirl us into a disorienting trance, before transforming into a final hi-vis acid footwork rush. Set endorphins to kill!