DescriptionThere's something ineffable about a raw sex groove. About that liquid pulse that climbs deep inside you, that heats the blood and makes your ass bounce like a meth-wracked Tigger in a bouncy castle showroom. It's that moment of dancefloor coherence when an entire room looks at each other and thinks 'you know what, baby, it's time to fuck.'
Perhaps Admin, the production guise of 20-year-old Bristolian Adam Wickens, sees himself as a sexual messiah, a love-spreading Christ here to impart a funk-infused message of dripping sweat and getting wet. Can there be another explanation for 'For Junior', which winds its pornographic saxophone around a low-end that goes deep enough to tap cervix. As if Prince's libido was employed as manufacturing director of General Motors, it's a strutting slab of Detroit house made for peak time getting down that's as destructive in the bedroom as the club. And how to judge 'Looking Through', with its lethargic Rhodes licks dancing seductive up your spine. Making your skin pop and pucker, your back arch, it's a come on, no doubt about that; a call to the back room for Hollywood sex, all jump cuts and panning cameras, bodies entwined and indistinguishable. Play safe, kids.
The flip too crackles with between-the-sheets charge. But this is a more luxuriant, early morning fuck, a coming together of pliant bodies under a groove and moving toward a shared moment of sublimation. 'Sunday Loops' arcs through a static charge, its drums sparse and with the swagger of the next-morning walk home. The similarly citied Crump, fresh off his recent release for Red Bull, drops a Jamaican root extract, stares Admin's original in the eye, and puts its skull through the headboard with a throbbing column of bass that seems like it just...won't...fit......ohmigooooooood!
It's perhaps of concern that two young men barely out of their teens should create such paeans to the beast with two backs. Maybe it's because of the sexualisation of our youth, a fuck-focused effect from the grot-filled images that fill their minds every day. Then again, when the results are quite this electric, this dripping with visceral sex-funk, that's no bad thing.