There’s a lot of shit I’ll never understand– a first thing, a second thing, and the first thirty seconds of this track. When Clutterbuck crackles into the scene like two fistfuls of glow bracelets splintering orange light into a rayless blast freezer, I don’t know what the technique is called. There’s probably a music nerd already click-clacking some jargony clapback, but I don’t want to know. I know what a cassoulet is. I know what a consommé is. I don’t need to know what square waves and sidechains sound like. I picked my things. I’m already stretched thin enough over two dozen interests to make me a total anti-jiro, and music production is something about which I’m okay staying ignorant. Does this make me a bad person? Am I as bad as those die-hard fundies who don’t want to learn the truth about anything? No. Because I admit my negligence. I don’t got a clue. I don’t gotta front. I don’t got a lover. I’m just gonna close my eyes and listen to HONNE.