The space between the soft pillows of two Radio Shack XL500 cans were oft filled with something that I found myself incapable of describing to my friends. The music was something that landed solidly between jazz and techno, in that cold yet lusty place in my musical cortex. The reality is, that's just wrong. Purely dissonant, claustrophobic beats fall in torrents upon one another. But that could be because I'm well into the record now, and have all but forgotten all about Instinct.
Instinct reasserts itself here as the obvious sound comparison here.
At this point, the die has been cast. From this moment onward, the jazz remains in influence alone and the insanity begins. That Amon Tobin is sumthin' else, I tell ya. But Amon is just the beginning.