South

At a locked 128 BPM, it doesn't build so much as detonate, its energy dialled to maximum from the first bar. Fango sculpts a raw, leftfield house framework where jagged percussion and Bb minor gloom conspire to keep the floor teetering on the edge of euphoria; every texture feels deliberately abrasive, as if polish would only dull the blade.

This is a record for the after-hours pocket when the room needs jolting awake rather than gently coddled. It sits best as a peak-time weapon or a wayward curveball in a deeper set, trusting the DJ to wield its full-tilt intensity without flinching. On Degustibus, it lands as exactly the kind of distinctive, unpolished raw house that demands attention.