Harnessing some pretty rough and raw live energy is the key to DPT’s sound, refusing as they do to allow overdubs, along with a completely uncompromising approach to song structure and making no concessions to what they or anyone else might consider fashionable.

Beginning with the unusually catchy ‘Count the Clock’ – a pulsating motorik affair with offbeat electronic syncopations and dreamy synths – we quickly arrive at ‘Hiritoto Shikitsch’ where a whole welter of other potential references and influences come to mind, with none of them coming close to capturing just what is going on here. At times we could be listening to some unholy mash of Add N to X, Cabaret Voltaire and Holy Fuck, with elements of Maurice Fulton’s Syclops project thrown in for good measure. Super tight drums keep a handle on barely-contained synth overload... there is a lightness of touch, hard (and live, remember?!) internal edits, a broad palette of sounds being employed using a relatively constrained set of instruments.

The set continues with ‘Aber’ – a broody chugging headnodder, all half-speed beats and crushing staccato doom riffs pinning the thing to the floor, before it unleashes a double, quadruple and octuple speed black metal-inflected live harmonic acid emulation. ‘God’s Left Eye’ seems to offer repose with soft pads and an almost Tortoise-like feel; another processed vocal waxes out a torrent of imagery leading the track into refined territory, opening further into thick layers of droning melodic guitar and feedback squall. ‘Sector G und D’ sounds a note of genuine alarm, a grinding menace not entirely alien to Maurizio Bianchi’s strange industrial universe – where a surpri- singly soulful vocal carries a thread of mild sanity to hang onto amid the nauseating heat.

‘I am the Brute’ treads a fine line, one seeming bright and playful but permanently on the edge of major malfunction – a lost chorus from Beefheart set to a sort of skipalong live AtomTM jam, but halfway through - suddenly - we are in an 8-bit Bad Seeds disaster game with untethered libidinous vocals, perhaps thankfully just on the verge of audibility... who ARE these weirdos? ‘Henry Who’ opens as some sort of unconventional space dub workout, with shimmering harmonics and bubbling delay trails; the synth takes centre stage and kicks off a dialogue with gentle guitar feedback... once again, about halfway in, when we think we have a handle on this, along comes the noxious breath of Sa- tan to drag the melodic remnants into a funky gutter of drastic proportions, fading out to leave only Laibach-styled militaristic percussion ringing heavily in the ears.