Eight and a half minutes of undulating, juddering, squealing electronics that builds and builds, an out-of-control juggernaut, always on the verge of crashing/climaxing, surging relentlessly forward until dissipating, slowly unravelling... la petite mort.
Space Mountain is the aural equivalent of a knee-trembler.
Taken from their second album Tarot Sport (ATP), which I might actually buy. With money. In a shop. Strange, I know.
mp3---> Fuck Buttons - Space Mountain (via box.net)
