The consistency of McCutcheon's music owes a lot to these sort of tensions. Under "Marius"'s lovely crystal peals, sub-bass throbs with overwhelming force. "Off Court"'s synth chords churn and slosh like windswept surf; as electrical currents crackle, they harden, briefly, into viscous clumps.
The spiraled lead on "Don't," given flight by sonar pings and synthy updrafts, is free of the A-side's friction. Synthetic bird sounds and crashing waves suggest a seaside idyll. But as you glide over this scene, features of McCutcheon's music seem eroded. His kicks are like aglets on a shoelace, which other elements—melody, in particular—follow as they loop and knot. "Don't"s cursive-smooth lead, with no drums to plot its path, is surprisingly plain. On a track like "Marius," notes are arranged more like inkblots, appearing together like happy accidents.