Because I know that DJ Kentaro has skills – you can hear that (and of course you can read about it) and anyway I like to give things a chance – I listened to this album all the way through…until track four. That’s when I heard a sound that, well, it felt like (what I imagine it might be like to hear…) a video-game being fucked by hairdryer.
So – I kept on listening, naturally…
God lord it was awful. Like, mind-bogglingly awful. A whole new version of awful that had been not so much cut’n’pasted as barrel-scraped from the bottom of a tub that collects the residue of sweat expounded from a nightclub where somebody’s daughter dances in a cage wearing a dog-collar and cycle shorts while anybody’s son takes two steps forward and three steps back as he drunk-stumbles about concentrating on his shoes, searching, you have to presume, for his dignity. (Oh yeah, and he’s wearing a fucking chambray shirt and an inane grin).
And so then the album got a whole lot worse. A funeral for drum’n’bass appears to be being held while extras from 2 Fast 2 Furious rap about their 20-year-old life experience.
And I’m supposed to review this?
And we’re supposed to call this music?
No wonder so many people buy guns.