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As you progress through this modest craziness, it could be most easily explained as the audio equivalent of spending 10 hours in the L.A. sunshine without your hat and lotion on. Prepare yourself, as your brains will sleeeep awt urrr eerrrzz. Aaaaahhhhh.

Further examples of how this album will pleasantly fry your perception: Nathan Yell’s ‘Goodbye’, which is possibly one of the off-beat, hellish choirboy prey-praises. Armed with a sampled congregation led by an electro priest, the lead man in doom-colours drones and casts his sorcery, elongating phrases that focus around the name of the track and gradually take you one step further out off the precipice. Together with the immensely weird, broken and sticky-taped ‘No Strings Attached’ by Coleman, it becomes as clear as the summer sky that you will only fully get to grips with this album by either working in a cocktail bar or being smashed off your face. The choice is yours, but either way you will have to undergo a form of training.

The ‘cutting edge’ of L.A. is one f*cked up place, clearly. Perhaps the alienation and high-octane parties have taken their toll on the ethereal celebrities and party persons. Now, in their state of higher self, they reflect upon what has made them other-worldly, and how in the name of all things glittery they are going to stop themselves involuntarily flying off in their UFOs. They are semi-human, messing around with tape reels, beats and sunshine. Devilishly addictive, full of good times and swamped in rainbow-coloured wires, you can and probably will lose yourself in record time… But as the slightly eerie bass beats flomp all around your front room and the producer records himself playing an LCD game (‘Killa Peach’, for instance), you might well find you subsequently view the world through a circus mirror.

Your reality will be bent from hereon in (no need for heroin).