Tripform

It’s the soundtrack for a neon séance in a basement rave—equal parts swagger and spellcraft—seducing you to dance harder and feel weirder. Their tracks splice in ghostly samples pilfered from random field recordings, ’50s TV commercials shouting that the future is already behind you, and stray audio relics that shouldn’t exist but do. The result feels like dancing inside a time machine that swears every malfunction is on purpose—and somehow proves it.