"A year apart" opens with a bassy beat that hops along like a frog with a leg made of foil, leaving a scracthy residue in the air as the low down melody begins to appear. Almost grimy in sound, this secret tune flicks you into a trance and releases forgotten treasures from your overloaded information packed memory glands, which trickle to the ground like a hidden tap behind the shed in your polygon garden. I love it.

Your eyes are forced open by sand covered droids and you blink to attempt to get some focus of where you are, where the hell am I? I know its "Expodec"'s fault. Expodec is a rotund robot friend of yours, who really has a problem with the future, and in turn you end up getting the brunt of his manic temper explosions. This whole episode was fuelled by the echo beeps and eery calls which sound like something from a ghostly adventure into an arcade, that caused this faulty loon to explode you into the middle of next week. What a shitting bastard.

"Microform" pushes you down a tiny slide, which is 20% smaller than you are and forces you down into a bunker which is lined from floor to ceiling with discarded programs. You take a seat on the floppy disc stool and listen to the secret stories that these data storage devices have to tell. The messages are relayed to you via a melody of bleeps bips and whistles, that somehow translate themselves into video images in your mind and show footage of a huge marzipan ball crushing all of mankind. You make your excuses and get the hell out of that madness cave, them freakin loons.

"A year apart" is what you would expect to hear on the walkman of a toadstool in the middle of a forest whilst a bio thermonuclear war rages all around it. Cheju has created a series of intricate and detailed musical patterns that you can weave into your face and leave to soak in overnight.

More quality stuff on Boltfish, awesome.

Sam