By October even the most pie-eyed, mad-fer-it raver has developed a protective layer of cynicism. After four solid months of hype, headlines, "anthems" and spine-jerking moments of dancefloor ecstasy everyone's ready to take a step back, chill out, take it down a notch… right?
Not this year. Oh no. Jamie Jones – soft spoken enfant terrible of the techno new guard – has chosen this moment to unleash the wrecking ball record that is Should Have Gone Home.
He's proved over and over again he can manipulate the most resistant dancefloor like so much Silly Putty, whether with his own depth-charge productions like Amazon and Panic, or simply his fierce, wild, sexy, acid-fried DJ sets. Yet, he's outdone himself. Should Have Gone Home kicks in with a twisted, pitch perfect vocal hook – "Where is everybody? Fuck… I'm the last one here again" – which reaches out and tweaks the back of your neck, then snaky little acid effects come oozing through, invading your body like the X-Files' infamous Black Goo.
The sound is pure Jamie: tight as a camel squeezing through the eye of a needle and as punchy as Mohammed Ali rumbling in the jungle. Subtle percussion nips at your ears while a low-slung layer of funk causes extremities to spasm spontaneously. Throughout the vocal (always the wild card) broods deliciously along - like the unforgettable refrain to La La Land, this one will be running through your head for just about forever.
Mr Jones could quite easily have stopped there, but instead drops what has to be the best flip side the Voice has heard all summer… Can't Believe I'm Still Here. Our protagonist is still out… the lyrics roll in on a wave of pitch perfect old-school-acid-meets-new-school-techno: "shit, shit I can't believe I'm still here/those motherfuckers left me, like, five hours ago." The music works itself into tight, twitchy knots, methodically building till your head seems to be at the centre of a psychedelic swirl of dark, dirty sound. You could easily sit and play spot the influences: Detroit, Chicago, Berlin, some grubby London warehouse action… but why, when you could just be dancing? It's all wrapped up in here: sex, sweat, sleaze, substances. Girls will love it, boys will love it; it's completely now, yet utterly classic-sounding. The only thing you want to do when you've heard this cut once is listen to it again – immediately.The killer touch? The parting shot, as the music drops out: "there's no way I'm goin' home." When you hear this filthy, end-of-night H-bomb in the club, you won't be either.