From the hermetic delusion of
Aaron Levin:
On the brink of a sexual explosion, Man Made Hill's warbled army of synthetic bone tweak the subconscious with unmitigated groove. Only Toronto could provoke such a paramount of reductive funk bursting with subterrestrial bass and
xenomorphic rhythm, paving the way for incumbent beings of radiant grind. Brought to you in finely compacted form by
Inyrdisk. Ultragrip.