Unsuspended from 30 years of self-imposed musical animation apaull found himself, as he scraped the ice of his statis pod, somewhere between a ‘he is arisen’ resurrection and Star Trek re-animation, awake, into a new world of machines and autocrats, all with something to say. He found a world where cleanse, fold and manipulate gave way to a pretty hate machine, which gave way to an antichrist superstar and a perpetual dawn, which morphed into roygbiv, a red flag and the sounds of silver. Somewhere in there the west end girls continued to foment the blasphemous rumours to which he had succumbed. All he can hear now though, are the many voices; some disembodied, some real; some trying to say nothing but most just trying to game the system. Using juicy beats and the words of others he is on a journey to process yesterday’s grievances and pushing hard to dis-assemble today’s boundaries.