Like a pool cue stubbing on felt, or flat rocks on a pond top, DeLaVega bounces beats, handclaps and looped cell rings off your inner ear and between your speakers. Always stonking, the beat encounters some pitch-up sinewaves and fluttering static as the tracks progess, as if they were pink puffy horseflies, lambent and luscious. Then it's onto a short-circuit firecracker, scaly with noise. Sonic splatter drains from your tweeters, running into puddles onto the floor. Don't slipp on this.
> www.schematic.net
> www.myspace.com/dinofelipe
Appearances:
> CTM.03
