If you can imagine two triangles joined at all three sides to each other, the impossible shape in the negative space would be the spazmodic brain sweepings of these dear boy's dear music. Dear God.
Oiled, shining, space-synth ramblings ooze from the keyboards into the physical realm where they are given a mathematical place in space and time by furious drum grooves. Actually, ooze is the wrong word. Every sound is made deliberately and with purpose, while the drumming is precise and exquisite. A perfect match. At the helm of this cacophony are the (freshly shorn) Danalogue and Betamax, who make the whole affair seem effortless.
If you thought, like Samson, cutting their hair off would deplete their powers, you would have been pleasantly mistaken. It has somehow heightened their shamanic powers, like a blind man sniffing out delicious moon pie from 20 paces. Channeling.
This just in on powers: They have sexual ones too, most likely gained from sleeping nude in oxygen tents, as per the below photographic evidence.
A particular highlight was Megadrive-Lamborghini. Talk about dynamics, amongst yourselves please, this is a lecture not a chat show.
The energy in the room was palpable last night, with both boys and crowd in high spirits. I couldn't honestly say how busy the venue was though, because to turn around physically and look would have been to tear my eyes away from the best feast they've had in a long time. (I have since been assured it was choca)
We knew we were awake, but it felt like we were dreaming