That one has a sleazy wriggle to it, setting it apart from the album's mechanical grind and calling to mind Jimmy Edgar, Wasdsworth's boyhood friend, who released Infiltrator on his Ultramajic label. Behind his sardonic image, Wadsworth takes his craft seriously, and these tracks all sound like they were wrought from his own blood and sweat as much as his hardware. Or maybe that should be gasoline and oil—tunes like "Diesel" and "Milano" rumble, thump and race like engines being pushed to the limit. We get more uncompromising, no-frills techno on "Gearbox," which is slathered in sheets of dirty acid, and the stomping "Numinous," which seems to reflect the influence of Wadsworth's adopted home, Berlin.
Apart from "Sweetheart," Infiltrator's curveballs are the title cut, with its robotic voice and electro-influenced rhythm, and "Rhumba." Coming from a man who's said he suffers night terrors, the latter track seems curiously bent on evoking such horrific sensations. The beats are slowed down and surrounded by a malevolent buzz, while what sounds like a melody lifted from an '80s slasher flick lurks in the background. But those tracks aren't quite enough to give Infiltrator the diversity and contrasts it would need to be more than a collection of ruthless club jams. To his credit though, Wadsworth has always presented himself as a man with zero tolerance for bullshit, and sure enough, there's none of that here.