Sounds Like: It's 2am on a clear, early autumn night and your friends say, "let's go to a club;" the song that pops into your head.
RIYL: The Presets, Riton, Human League, Depeche Mode, LCD Soundsystem
Personal Response: The invitation is white with red letters reading "Dance Hall, Rm 16", and the outside looks familiar enough: iron door, dark facade, bass you feel in your feet--your stock standard dance venue, you say to yourself. You knock on the door. Woodhands answers wearing a black tie, white oxford shirt, and black trousers. "Meh," you think as you saunter past. You begin to get settled into a run-of-the-mill room full of boogie tracks when Woodhands shuts the door behind you and starts re-arranging all the furniture. What follows is a twisted, dark scene from Dragonball Z: You watch Woodhands's face go from average to pleased-yet-slightly-creepy. "That's right," says Woodhands. "You thougt we were just ripping off Kylie Minogue, didn't you? Well take this: [flying Human League high kick] and this [flaming ball of Herbie Hancock-meets-Kraftwerk] and this [multi percussion bitch slap]." By the end of the album you're battered, bruised, and begging for more.
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