Dave Lodge has been sucking the life out of parties since before the Acid House wars were won. Whilst everyone else was high on the vanquishing of Thatcher and heavy-duty Snowballs, losing themselves on the dancefloor -Dave was in the corner taking notes, eating his hair in wonderment at the drum programming on one Detroit classic or another. It got worse on the journey home; hed talk (in great detail) about wonky time signatures, snare sounds, hand-claps and why exactly a Roland 303 kills fascists. Its not like he wasnt animated as he prodded you as he spoke, but I couldnt give a sh*t: all I wanted to do was lick the window and do some more dribbling. Luckily for you, the saliva that stained Tonys Vauxhall Cavalier was well worth it. Daves first EP is the culmination of nigh-on 30 years of note taking, record collecting, sonic geekery and early morning service-station dinners. On opening track Be he reminds you what it was like to be scared by a kick drum in sheeps clothing. And then taken back to Francois Kervokians house for an afterparty. In 1989. At this afterparty, Kenny D**e Gonzales hands you a cold Corona and wanders back into the kitchen to chop a lime (he forgot: allow that; hes bigger than Louie. And you.) Skins is as the title suggests: four minutes fifty-five seconds of goosebumps. I dont want to write about its bassline because its best described with a maniacal facial expression. Breath is a Monster of Techno and thats all you need to know. Like all good parties, the last track leaves you questioning the sanity of the nine-to-five working drudgery. Its called Steam and you should let off some to this EP over the weekend. Daves mate (the one that dribbled in the 90s)