Picture waking up tomorrow morning, walking into your kitchen, and seeing a cage. It looks somewhat normal, but this isn’t a normal cage. It’s special. It has a trick. What makes this shit so special? This bitch can hold concepts, ideas, the sun, types of music, memories, laughter. Anything you want can go inside. That’s pretty fucked up, hey? It’s also a major fucking responsibility. So, what are you going to do? When Daniel Lopatin, the man behind Oneohtrix Point Never, woke up with this shit in his kitchen he put Pop music inside. Then, he went out and bought thousands of aerosol spray cans and sprayed every one of them inside that small fucking space. That’s right, motherfuckers. David poisoned pop music. This album is the sound of pop music going through chemically induced nausea to the point of death. Well … it’s either that or Daniel is so talented, and has such a deep knowledge of pop music and all its elements, that he can somehow make this shit sound exactly fucking like this. My money is on option one.

This is one of the more compelling records I’ve heard this year. It’s weird fucking shit, don’t kid yourself, but it’s entertaining as all fuck when given a chance. The opening track is a harpsichord. You know that Haydn and Mozart shit. But the timing of it sounds modern. And, every once in a while, there’s this sick sounding note. The second track comes with this autotune male vocal lick right out of a pop game. It sounds like a Kanye produced vocal track. You know that “Baby. Baby-baby. Baby, let me hold you all night. My ba-ba-baby. Baby. Um, baby?” type of shit. But again, something sounds really off with this shit. This is the sound of Pop music getting ill and it sounds ill as fuck. By track nine you’re knee-deep into this fuckery like a Blair Witch Project acid trip. Also at this point you’ll be able to hear David’s signature all over this shit. This guy likes to make fucked up, incredibly and intricately composed and produced, music. On this album, David dips his hand into the pop game like a car mechanic dipping his hand into a bowl of fresh bubble-gum. He wants to fuck your shit up. It’s an Aphex/Kanye baby (obviously named Kaphex) or a fucked-up set of twins from Bon Iver and Venetian Snares (Veniver and Boni snares).

This music may be outside what you’re used to. This shit sits in a dissonant and fucked up little solar system. But the more you listen to it, the more you’ll love it. I’ve played this shit twice in a row already. It’s twisted its way into my consciousness. And by fuck, if I woke tomorrow to find a fucked up cage in my kitchen? I’d hand that shit over to David. I wanna hear more of this shit.