No one here at 1100. Hard to believe as the music being played by Logos is phenom. Solid slabs concrete rumble, hard punches, swung whip-cracks. Spartan.

Some demented 2-step just came on, the rest of the set could just be this, tbh. Voices cheering maybe, but difficult to discern. Oh wait, Wen's Commotion V.I.P. just came on, horror flick pads sounding shrill and cartoony on the club's system

That's more like it. Space between an assemblage of crashes, stabs and clicks. Bric-a-brac glued together by feral engineers.

A swathe of hoovers, a low growl and giant clanging drums. Alien reptile cries over the grind.

Throbbing red membranes coat a collection of whirring clockwork. And now a metal slinky tossed between hollow bass tones, an irate mosquito buzzing through the mix for a couple of bars.

Things fill up slightly as worried strings drone, and then a troll starts pounding a makeshift xylophone and the bass bombs start falling again.

Ears prick up as the swung whip-cracks reappear. Something familiar – a constantly mutating blob of bass winding and wobbling through rolling drums. The chanting gives it away: Benga v Skream - The Judgement.

And then a blaster cannon fires ahead of a cluster of percussive ordinance. A hint of melody guiding the bursts of fire. Best thing I've heard this evening. Logos ends shortly after with some deconstructed near-beatless airy basswaves.

The ritual HAs pipe up regularly as slow enveloping clouds of matter waft through. Then some piano chords. Then two blaring tones, a trill and a third. Slightly nauseating low-end but I guess that's the point. A chorus builds. Darth Vader's marching tune if he had x2 swag.

Barely any percussion left over this disgusting bassline, the sort of thing that winds down your throat and twists into a bed of snakes in your stomach.

And then some heavy 4x4 pounding. Bug, dumb and brutal.

Is this 'trap'?

Asteroids bouncing off spaceship shieldwalls. And the ever-present coating of bass. A shimmer of melody GETS CRUSHED under reverberating colossal mountains of black gooey tar. On and on into oblivion. No one requested a rewind of that. Snatches of gasping breath escape the mangling in the torture chamber. Or is that a perverse pant?

My ears are going to fall off soon if this continues

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