Celestial rave chords are the root of Peter Horsham’s Without Words pledging a breaks pilgrimage, almost fearful of approaching the sparkling deity of the main riff. Wrong as it may sound, but almost immediately you’re thinking that that riff in more assertive hands is a fire breather waiting to happen. Before your attention rightfully switches to the matter at large; Kraymon courteously winds up and releases colourful synth spirals in a slo-mo somersault of ambience, the dancefloor has been replaced by a soft and squashy eiderdown, and you have the spectacle of ambient breaks settling nicely into the afterhours festival tent emitting a soothing euphoria. Interesting and heartening, begging for a lightshow to go with it.
Llupa aka Australian Tom Herbert-Doyle is also not one to wake Kraymon from his slumber, another lithe piece of breaks whose sleek lines suggest mind expansion and a finely tuned engine running on the outer edges of the cinematic. It doesn’t quite tower, but there’s a certain authority casting its eye over Kraymon’s congregation, further projecting visions of ravers in robes and new members being baptized as they groove under stained-glass windows.
Fog’s remix is a fan of Krayon’s dreaming, evident in a loooong breakdown, before fearlessly manning the controls of a fighter chopper on a dubstep grazing of ear skin. Fog poses a quandary; after thinking there’d be no harm in someone landing some thunderbolts across Without Words’ bows, welcome abrasion from one side of the crossroads meets power-crazy disrespect from the other. And seeing as the prevailing mood is of finding tranquility, it should probably apologize for trampling the flowers. Stateside spinner Paul Prato seconds the motion to make the sleepiness a touch more restless, though the electro-bass spikes he puts into his quicksilver breaks aren’t ones to disrupt Kraymon’s wisdom.