Too melodic? There's not even anything resembling a proper note on "Order"—just a dull subwoofer throb, ringed by the rattle of torn paper. It's mostly just moving air—bass music reduced to its most basic state—with a filament of tone flickering unsteadily in the background. I'm reminded of Ilpo Väisänen's dancehall-inspired 10-inches from ten years ago: "Order" has a similar approach to space and volume, heaving like an iron lung with a hole in it. The queasy frequencies, high and low alike, give off an unsettling air, like synthetic fiber that's been singed.
"Pan" is slightly more substantial: there are tuned toms that sketch something like a melody, and sheets of reverb that take on recognizable tone color; there's an actual two-note bassline. We have lift-off, we have "music." But that's as far as he gestures towards club convention. Even played loud, this feels quiet; every sound is ringed in a halo of white noise that makes it feel like a whisper. The boom and hiss recall faintly Sleeparchive, if rearranged for a 140 BPM pulse and attacked with a dirty eraser. Sounding bruised and frostbitten, he couldn't be less emo if he died.