RETROLE

Look at that subtle flat coloring. The tasteful thickness of the borders. Oh my God... it even has a hard drop shadow.

There is an idea of Retrole. Some kind of sonic abstraction. But there is no real producer, only an entity, something illusory. And though you can hear the synthesizers, and feel the bassline gripping your nervous system, and maybe you can even sense the BPM syncing with your own pulse... I simply am not there.

The production values represent a ruthless dissection of memory. People listen to the tracks and think it's a warm tribute, but it's actually an autopsy. The mastering is so aggressive, so clinically precise, it leaves no room for human error. It is an exercise in auditory perfection.