Power poptimists rejoice, with synths this obnoxious there’s no shame left to lose. Embrace the crucifix of amps, emblaze your crop-top with a font tackier than brat and get down like it’s 2007 round Ed Banger’s. Debbie Sings, we party.

Sincerity and satire have never been paired so beautifully together before. Simultaneously grotesque, enthralling and hilarious, Christ Dillinger’s tribute to self-acknowledged racist and America’s greatest ever wrestler foregrounds the ugly reality of who our entertainers are.

God knows a.m. or is it p.m.? All that matters is the beat, the next beat and the space compressing and decompressing between. The right combination of venue, crowd, sound system and track selection allows techno to work its magic and enrapture its audience. With Forgotten Gods, Surgeon shows that he sure knows all the conjuring tricks.

The best contemplative pieces offer fertile soundscapes to plant new ideas and watch them grow. Each listen may sprout vastly different shapes, but the shadings of light and dark stay the same, providing set twists for thoughts to navigate, as sounds move us from one space to another. Finely balanced, richly rewarding.

Percussion, repetition, cycles of saxophone, spoken word, repeated, spoken word, cycles of saxophone, contemplations, again, percussion, contemplate. See? Percussion, repetition, cycles of saxophone, spoken word, repeated, spoken word, cycles of saxophone, contemplations, again, percussion, contemplate. See.

Breezy summers may evoke a certain care-freeness; what worries burden sun-kissed faces? But long evenings allow old emotions to blow in, linger and settle. Memories sharpen and resolutions to uphold past promises restore. For Eden.

It is dark outside already. Dusk is closing in on a dreary day, spent jogging across wet leaves and wandering Viking graves. Clouds stretch past the horizons, and beyond. There is a certain serenity to be enjoyed. Crackle of rain, hiss of wind, the irrefutability of the season.