Spector - Spector EP

The sound of worn out brake pads, the robot dance in need of a good oiling, and square metal pegs trying to burrow into round metal holes. A thunderously crunchy stomper that’s not quite breaks – you can’t imagine Just Hiss taking tight racing bends too easily - but a skip-happy number of ball bearing-busting BPMs as John-Paul Denton introduces Rogue Industries as the label for all your programmable dance move needs. Heavy on the treble as it chows down on steel girders, it’s a funky monster of a machine doing its best not to leave a trail of destruction, which by rights it’s entitled to such are the ungainly pivots it performs.

The metal gets twisted tighter on Madonna Freak, a turbo-rusted crunch with a pop slashing p-funk ambition (that would be the freaky bit) and a fetish for crash and burn situations. Denton looks up to the Freestylers’ Push Up, only mangling, crushing and cubing it: funk as performed by crash test dummies. Backed by rock star guitar solos getting off on the smoke coming out of the amps, the hair-sprayed falsetto vocals are possibly the result of stray shrapnel finishing in the groin.

Denton’s funkiness can’t be rebuffed, despite the previous two tracks sounding like Transformers getting jammed in mid-conversion. Near the Mark begins to smooth out the EPs creases with slap bass that’s very Jacques LuCont, and hence ideal for Spector’s robot troupe to fully extend into star jumps and doing the splits. Ultimately, it’s what you always suspected Spector was aiming for. Scorching techno synths don’t take away from the feelgood bob and weave, helped out by party rap snippets. It’s open to question whether Spector can maintain a manifesto that’s so the opposite of being light on its feet it hurts, but look no further for some rattling gyration.