Even Tuell turns in the latest installment in the series, and perhaps the most timely sounding the label has yet produced. It starts with an eerie track threaded with a clockwork vocal sample (simply "Detroit," uttered offhandedly in an accent that has nothing to do with Michigan). Initially it comes off as spare, somber Clone old school, but the tone warms substantially with the addition of a few more layers until it's weaving brisk house. On the flipside, a twisted keyboard loop plods forward ominously, overpowering every sweet floating melody that threatens a sun break through the record's dark clouds. It's perhaps the most adventurous track here, but is ultimately eclipsed by the chillingly sinister finale, in which only a few pensive plucks of guitar manage to be heard over the cracking handclaps and deep throb of moody synths.
We've not heard much from Even Tuell, AKA Paul David Rollmann, one of Workshop's heads. Recently he contributed a slithering snake of a track to the label's fourth record, which then found its way onto both Âme's Fabric and Matthew Dear's Body Language mixes. This new set follows that track's shadowy trail, and arguably overtakes it.