Clean. Fresh. Solid. There. Cutting. Sounds. These are all words that jump out at me as I listen to this disc. And this is a pathetically jargon infested typical run of the mill way to begin a barely cogent description of said music. But it is what it is, ne'st pas? How do you describe house music? Boom, bap, slippery beats, building pounds of pressure reaching up into your cranium, threatening doom? Bah and sigh.

As goofy looking as this guy is, he puts together masterful ass crapsterpieces, and please, yes, that's a compliment. Maybe it's just the picture. Man, get a comb, or a hat? But hey, who said looking savoir faire was a prereq for greatness? If that was the case I'd be sitting in the gutter with a sign saying will work for, nah screw it. And the last time I was in the gutter, you know, physically sitting in one, OJ was still a hero and george foreman wasn't even slangin grills yet.

Not that that has anything to do with the issue at hand. The beats are funky, the oatmeals lumpy, and lupid could be a word if that fake nosed fella says it is. What more is there to say? You shake your ass, you nod your head, you remember the time that really meaningful moment in the club occurred, when she looked at you, you looked at her, you both knew it was gonna cosmically affect primal forces for eons and eons, and even if you talked to her you never called her. You woke up the next morning, with or without her, and either got up and made some coffee or got the hell out of that strange room and went and got some starbucks.

Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Anyway, I might be getting a little sidetracked. This is John Kelley's artist debut, although he's been integral to the west coast breaks and desert trance scene for ages, in other words, he's put out plenty of mix albums, but this is his first with all original material. Well, honestly, it sounds good to me, I could listen to it all day, serially, so if you want more of a stamp of approval than that, go out the farm and milk a goat and ponder your own existence while blasting this album in your headphones. If you don't achieve total consciousness as you tweak those imaginary teats, than there's obviously something wrong with you, and I'd suggest seeing the nearest professional therapist or at least doing a self-affirmation exercise. Congratulations in advance.