I’d programme this at 122 BPM in the tight lock of 9A; to my ears, it is progressive house that refuses to throttle down despite its after-hours pedigree. The energy meter is pinned to 10, yet Howells keeps the temperature sultry rather than frantic, draping lush melodic figures across the grid like velvet over scaffolding. Every bar feels precision-engineered for the Selador aesthetic—deep, refined, and unapologetically warm.
For me, it is the sort of record that makes a 4 AM room feel infinite, trading peak-time bombast for a sustained, hypnotic burn that still drags the weary back onto the floor. I’d drop it when the crowd needs intensity without aggression; that relentless ten-tenths pulse and the 9A centre keep everything anchored while the progressive architecture swells around you.