Of course, even when Damu's gears get stuck in place, the resulting sparks are more enticing and enrapturing than most other artists. The record's opening stretch is full of immaculately candied R&B: whether it's the steel drums of "L.O.V.E." or the sugary but still-human vocals of "After Indigo," Damu finds more and more ways to make the sickly sweet palatable. It's his greatest trick, but like any formula it can start to wear: by the time interlude "Weapon #3" rolls around, one might start to wonder if he's ever going to change things up. Then "Maths Is Fine for Sum" slowly coalesces with bursts of static and feedback and we're thrown into a topsy-turvy world where the drums feel like they're malfunctioning and the soundstage is constantly being turned on its head. From here on the album takes an experimental bent even on its most typical moments: listen closely and you'll hear the rough-and-tumble bassline of "Cheat When U Compete" harshly jostling the usual proliferation of chirps and chintz.
The latter half of Unity reveals a different aspect of Damu's sound. The hypnotic, glacial "Plasm" lacks the instant gratification factor that makes the rest of his work so appealing, and "Waterfall of Light" features a grinding bassline that resists his usual perpetual momentum yet feels no less invigorating. Things look sunny again for closer "Don't Cry in My Bed," which stands as Damu's most confident and accomplished production. On first inspection it's just the usual suspects: clinking cascades of synth, ascending basslines, and euphoric vocal samples. But there are differences too, like the way the track cherishes its moments of silence, pairs male and female vocals, and ends in a punch-drunk sanguine swoon worthy of an album as incorrigibly ecstatic as Unity. Like most of Damu's work, it's almost aggressively catchy, certainly not in anyone's idea of good taste, and hits like a tanker full of dayglo-dyed corn syrup.