Running some cranky, tempestuous currents on the latest, courtesy of Berlin’s Okain.

A quartet of the meanest cuts to grace the label for a minute as he pulls no punches on propulsion. Hurtling through the temporal plane at break-neck speed.

Proper strapping accelerators rooted somewhere between third portal freak-out and girder-strength tech house flex. All four built like a brick shithouse, but the foundations have given out and we’re falling down a wormhole. Transcending epochs and realities with one foot in the free party and another in the big room.

Organ synth, searing 303 and lysergic flourish in abundance. Synths darting, drums impeccable.

Trippier than we’ve come to expect from the Talman Records founder, but no diminishing returns on dancefloor potency.