It’s the sound of a Friday night suburb. It’s the joyous child of funk and disco. It’s stripped down breakbeats popping in the silicon brains of drum machines. It’s a bassline that pisses on a “No jeans. No trainers” door policy. It’s in the first car you ever bought. It’s the dancefloor stains on a red tracksuit. It’s messy, it’s sleazy, it’s dodgy. It’s not hip hop, it’s electro.
