Desert winds crawl across cosmic black and white landscapes, delivering spatters of sharp grains through funnels and torrents of soundless cries. Death by a thousand cuts... an excruciatingly slow drowning...trial by fire & the gluttony of its flame... these rehearsals for an ender's game are all but phased out, leaving only the engulfing endlessness of OObe. The mystique of death and unseen pull of foreign drama are threaded softly yet firmly into organic rhythms and unearthly mechanised beats. This is hip hop removed from its culture, darkwave orphaned from its sense of rigour. Sounds into eternity and so far from home. Modern sequences and our tools of the trade find their way, with unbridled and terrifying uncertainty, through the mountainous black waves forever frozen in time.

Opener "Silk Drama" might as well be a closer. Inverse synths beckon while casting out, ensnaring and forbidding at the same time. From the opening lines of DELPHI, one can tell that this ride won't last long, but the effects will linger forever. "Agricantus" shows a glimpse of life through a spiral gaze an Arabian sun baking our minds with eyes cast into an unforgiving diamond sky. Our trustworthy steed disappears from beneath, leaving the human abstract to float in a hallucinogenic stream.

Restrictions of religion, race, creed, and thought leave the mind once the bulldozing force of "Herat" burrows its way into the body, blasting away the preconceived notions of pure, simple beauty that its predecessors set in place so lovingly. We find the truth; DELPHI is a drag through rebel fields, a drunken stumble into unknown places. Find your first dark alley, and slip into it. A mental fist pounds with infantile strength on every shadow-framed door it can find until the second from the last gives way and "Darling (Sogno Montecarlo)" separates brain from body in a whirlwind of minimal rolling snaps, phantom horns, and a pulsing guide.

DELPHI finds its place amongst dancehall classics with bludgeoning suggestion and ultimate drive. Angelic screams rally for heathen pleasures ("Didan"), throwing darts of distortion into the psyche and leaving room for little else, while dirty bumps of porcelain puree the physical form, dropping out the fluorescent floorboards of this cavernous nightclub and leaving "NothingUnderneath".

Banished through the back door to a sea of forgotten streets, the silky remnants of "Netzach" cater to our spinning mind and heaving heart, carefully whisking us down a market of abandoned street vendors all attempting to peddle the latest temptation. Avoid them all, and revel in the simple pleasures of OObe's DELPHI.