Once locked into the throes of Berlin’s ceaseless techno throb and now back home in Albenga, Italy, Gaja represents the gnarly, noisy extremity of modern dance music. It’s a desolate, distorted place where blasts of noise spit in the empty footprints once shaped by snares and hi-hats, and the bass bleeds out over everything. Listen closely though – the deeper you take yourself into this forbidding space, the more you can detect the subtleties. The delicate relief of the harmonic overtones, the brutally managed modulation. It’s bleak, to be sure, but it’s also beautiful.