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After a hype campaign to rival Daft Punk’s and a level of vinyl sales ahead of pretty much everyone, it’s striking just how odd a record Tomorrow’s Harvest is – an hour of broken rhythms and jagged electronics, of fragmented vocals and burnt-out loops and half-heard radio static. And yet at a time when so much new music is throwing us relentlessly back into the past perhaps it’s logical that we should be drawn to somewhere alien, where synths make us feel rather than simply move and the music evokes such lucid dreams. It’s cinematic in a way that Hollywood rarely even aspires to, widescreen and vital and yet worn and faded at the edges – an oversaturation draining to a mottled dusty noir, isolated and lonely and yet dancing solipsistically in the dying light.

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