The first law of thermodynamics stipulates that energy is neither created, nor destroyed, but simply converted from one form to another. Tonight this axiom is harnessed and assimilated in full effect.

Germinating within the subterranean bunker of Shoreditch's XOYO, the seeds of a sonic storm are being sown. Spanish bohemians circulate the bar, and the deep red of the halogen lights above reflects in the polished plastic beads bedizening their deadlocks.

On this night, a malange of arcane ravers, tech enthusiasts and high brow music lovers gather to show their support for Venetian Snares: the sonic alias of hyper eccentric noise baron Aaron Funk. Perhaps in equal measure to the teems of supporters writhing in the mosh pit, a well selected medley of electronic artists jump start the night with an acerbic spark.

First behind the beat modulator is Bristol beatsmith Throwing Snow. Masked by the silhouette cast by his hoodie, a succession of cut glass drum loops are sent into the air. A subversive synch chord is induced from his laptop, and the halogen lamps above turn to a furtive shade of yellow.

His candid thirty-minute set is followed by the futuristic astro-dub of Brighton's iTAL tEK. Unleashing his cosmic strains of seismically constructed soundscapes unto the crowed, shinning pellets of lager jump into the air and burst against the burning auburn of the lights above.

With an aptly prepped crowed waiting in the wings, Venetian Snares scuttles onto the stage. A fervent tap on this macbook casts a paroxysm of nascent colours spinning around the room in bric-a-brac formation. A canyon like pause is drawn, only to be obliterated by the rapacious firing of successive 8 bit glitches.

The halogen lights now burn a furious white and reveal a sea of dilated pupils and glistening torsos. A collection of preprogrammed drum beats are shot out of the speaker system at break neck speed. Jungalist drum sequences dart in lightening quick reams underscored by hypnotic basslines. As the crowed draws its breath, intermittent pockets of silence pinprick the air like the incandescent trail of a furious firefly.

Gazing out from the DJ booth, a mass of flaying arms beat in correspondence to the music with raw kinetic speed. Tonight we entered the fifth dimension; spine snapping breaks designed to disarm at synaptic speed. This is not just dance music, this is break-core!

Another great night from God Don't Like It