At the EP's open and close, those sentimental synths get the upper hand. "Filton Recal" opens with gentle euphoria, its chord sighs and sepia lead-lines lending a redemptive glow to the technoid drums. "Pottlin" is even more cuddly at first, but its pensive melodies only hold court for the first minute or so. From there, the drums–soft and crumpled but fiendishly detailed—draw the focus for the level midsection, before regrouping around new, firmer chords.
Structure and deft arrangement elevates LOFT's already strong ideas to the level of brilliance. "Funemployed" is the best evidence of his knack for keeping you guessing. The track's percussion patterns don't sit still for a second, forever glitching, bobbing and weaving, letting out squeaks and pops and the odd Bruce-like effects smear. All this nervous energy unfurls during an epic breakdown, before coiling abruptly back into itself like the power cable on a vacuum cleaner. On "Oh Well, We're All Fucked Now," mutant techno is replaced with wilder club shapes befitting of LOFT's former home, The Astral Plane. The dialogue between the bits that make you dance and the bits that bliss you out remains. It's a dialogue at least as old as dance music, giving fascinating new form in LOFT's music.