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Ah. Man. That fucking techno/dance/(progressive/acid) house/(happy) hardcore/gabba shit that's regurgitated out.
The stuff that sounds the same and shares the same structure with a few different notes thrown together: a madly deranged chipmunk begs in a sing-song voice for mercy as a merciless fellow man turns on the washing machine that the chipmunk's trapped inside, and they yell in vain as it chugs along while some retarded man in a bobble hat and oversized fleece hits his fists aimlessly against a few keyboards. As far as I'm concerned, no-one likes that stuff. If one of these hack artists released a limited vinyl print at 40£, none of their "fans" would get it, as they only listen to it to fit in, and aren't bothered about paying more than 13£ an album to do so. Clueless polo shirt wearers who see life through the eyes of an ADD-suffering grasshopper.
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