The lockstep 128 BPM grid hits with the expected force of a nine-out-of-ten energy rating, every kick landing like a rubber mallet on a warehouse floor. Rodrigues keeps the hypnotic palette taut and cyclical, the 9A key lending a familiar gloom that rolls out in seamless, almost clinical waves; it is texture built for absorption rather than attention, designed to keep bodies moving through the dead of night without a single jagged edge.
Where it lands in a set is exactly the problem: this is a transition piece, a functional spacer between bolder statements that never quite stakes its own claim. The edit sands away any erratic brilliance until only a dependable, high-velocity shell remains, and while the floor will not flinch, the memory of the moment evaporates with the dry ice. It does the job, but rotation demands more than mere competence.