I’m never one for the big boom boom sounds that permeate the air in EDM clubs like Nyan Cat spliced with Molly and sent out via supposedly inescapable aural transmissions into your brain. The formula is formulaic at this point: the bigger the beat, the more we piss all over it with happiness, the more people will get pissed in their own joy. Or something. I love my ‘drops’ as much as the next melodic dub lover, but put me in an EDM club and I’m likely to just lick your face instead of dance just to show how emotionally manipulative these tracks are. Resist the training. Lick the cheek! Like the small of the back. Lick your own hand!

Which is why even though Urban Cone’s drumbeat is the kind I’d normally bang to, not even he can save me from heeding the warning beacons like lasers shooting out the back of my head as soon as I start to loose myself in Porter Robinson’s original ‘Lionhearted’. “Lionhearted’ comes on, and I feel the need to rebel; because, succinctly put, Robinson’s version is paint by numbers anthemic material for people, who, like, have never had to really be ‘lionhearted’. When you have, and you’re at that stage when a dancefloor feels like therapy, you don’t need to keep reminding yourself that YOU.WERE.THE.STRONGEST. Unless you’re drunk, in which case everything’s an anthem anyways.

Instead, versions like Giraffage’s tantalize your mind with affirmations of your kickass aptitude at, like, roaring the fuck back in the face of life; and lets you forget about it  by soaking  you in some warm, healing synth beats. Because, you know, you just rawred, clawed and pissed in the face of life pissing at you, why do you need to be soaked in some pissant production that tells you how to feel instead of just letting you do it?

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