Murkily mesmeric or callously colourless is the coin toss for Control. From hard dance superpower Steve Thomas alongside Trade comrade Nick Tchernicak, hoover stabs waft through like bats doing quick laps around a belfry of smudgy snyth drags, and an out-of-hours Madame whispers through fanged teeth belonging to SJ (remember I Feel Divine?). It’s a doggedly prog plunge into the deep of night across 10 minutes, despite not much evidence of atmosphere oddly enough; the pair’s rule of discipline overrules any potential kick-on or capitalizing on the blood-sucking elements in place.
T&T put on a auxiliary deep tech, bass-bolstered throb intended as a squeegee for peak time sweat. Coming a touch punchier yet with a bit more character as well, synths drip tap-like while also providing a secondary warm perspective that has the track moving from stringent dinginess and into a dimly Balearic-hued light, without lessening its hardness of kick.
Pensive tribalism from Paul Gala gets punctured by the hoover riff-raff running through like good-for-nothings, xylophone/Pringles-popping percussion and strains of synths scurrying mischievously for cover. The provision of a clunky alternative means punters are allowed a hobnailed tramp around the dancefloor while subject to a sneaking funkiness getting involved.
What with punters engaging in a staring competition with the club’s well-plodded boards, Rachel Ellektra shakes Control up and lets the fizz overflow with a re-route of the hoover stabs into a brasher hothead. A busily and markedly more energetic house/breakbeat raver, with a dream-synth breakdown to match.