Remember when house and techno actually were fun? No fucking concepts whatsoever? Just dancing? A well-employed strobe light? Drugs that do not wreck your mind for weeks to come? That mighty unparallelled e-dancer feeling? Reach back inside your memory! Go on! Don't be shy! You had almost forgotten all about it, hadn't you? Fear not! So did I.
Well, Fuckpony (What an unashamedly, dreadfully dirty name! All Hail to the Lords of House!) takes you back to those days. Nice 4/4 bass drum. Chirping acid. Primitive and unpretentious toms. Voices that seem to come straight from the cellars of your mind. Sexy and a little perverted lyrics. Music that sticks to one idea without boring the hell out of you with tons of clicks, cuts, glitches and other fart-related sounds. Darkness that is mysteriously tempting and attractive instead of being the herald for an aggressive black hole of endless repetition.
Right! You remember! Way to go! Hold on to that feeling because Children of Love could have been your soundtrack to all that.
Children of Love was, rather predictably, eclipsed by the gloriously overrated Booka Shade album (OK, Booka Shade are brilliant, but like Metro Area they are also a tad boring in their perfection, not?). Fuckpony, on the other hand, is far from perfect. But, hell, Fuckpony sounds like it is 1986 all over again and you are jacking and rocking down the house. And, come on, who would not want to be there in Chicago jacking it to one of those succulent Ron Hardy sets? Yeah, that feeling!