Press play and the room tilts. your speakers become overflow channels, the kick a low-pressure front that pulls every molecule of air toward the dance-floor drain. Across four tracks Charlie Tennger treats house music like a hydraulic engineer treats riverbanks—reinforcing, redirecting, then quietly breaching them when you’re not looking.
There’s a science here—call it phase-transition groove: the moment the track seems to solidify, something opens and the whole structure liquefies again, running downhill toward the next bar, the next break, the next impossible blue-lit horizon. Demonstrating that a boundary is only a temporary viscosity, if you turn the volume high enough and even the room’s corners start to drip.
