Featuring James Massiah from Babyfather.
The flip is pure terror, with John T. Gast in the mix; heavier than lead, dreader than dread.

D.K. and Low Jack.

Four experiments in Pisan beat science — fleet and swirling at the limits of its dancefloor idioms, but faultlessly grooving with the hypnotic charge of classic techno, and flashing a precious combination of exquisite, confident melodicism and ruthless intensity.
Beautifully presented in stickered yellow sleeves with PVC covers, inserts and stamped inners.

Luigi Pirandello provides the conceit for the tenth Baroque Sunburst: his thinking about masks, duplicity, and ensnarement; the idea that ‘self’ and ‘identity’ are unattainable plenitudes; that we are all trapped behind masks and other concealments.
Hence each of the four tracks is designed for playback at either 33 or 45 rpm. Maschera itself is a half-time stomper with the slithering grace of a snake, intricate IDM refrains, and riddling drum patterns. Trappola is melodic hide-and-seek, with a stately, captivating tribal rhythm which slowly gathers intensity. The snake returns in Specchio, biting its own tail in an endless birth-death infinity mirror… before KRSLD brings the curtain down with a dubwise, dancehall rework of the opener, teasing the snake into the open. Or does it?

Epic, protean brilliance from the Sotofett corner, bumping nylon New Age and ill Chill Out up against reggaeton and jungle exotica, spilling batucada-style percussion workouts out of clean-heeled house.
Each side spins the wheel and introduces a new collaborator or two — Phillip Lauer from Tuff City Kids is here; Gilb’r from Versatile (on a new version of Pulehouse)...
The knockout punch is there on side three: Nondo — which means ‘Heaven’, ‘Eternity’ — starts out as an electro-lullaby from Côte d’Ivoire, sotto voce and abuzz, before lifting off as a zinging, anthemic, future-house-classic.
A real tour de force all round, gusting in from Moss.

Three murderous steppers dubs on a propulsive, rat-tat-tat rhythm, combining mystical spaciousness with detail and ferocity. Angry-lion bass and smears of brass, fusillades and explosions, scares and shocks, oriental pentatonics, clattering percussion and synthy transcendence… the business. The second mix is nastiest; the third is the wildest and most discombobulated (and our favourite).
Bim bim bim.

‘Perhaps the first time he has chosen to showcase the full range of his skills. The set is intoxicatingly rich and, with a couple of exceptions, largely downbeat… Sonically there’s much more variation — if not in the pace of the riddims, then certainly the instrumentation and textures — making it St. Hilaire’s most approachable album for non-dub-techno aficionados… A modern master whose importance and influence can now — though long overdue — be fully recognised’ ((Steve Barker, The Wire).

Tikiman running full range, from the spoken-word dread of What’s This to the Rhythm & Sound-style call-to-action of Send Them On.
Nine dazzling collaborations with Mala, Shinichi Atobe, Batu, Azu Tiwaline, Gavsborg, and full crew.