sfv acid: grown

Like the permanent midnight warm up at a Genesis '88 bash, the empty squelch sounds of SFV ACID are at their tab-on-tongue-in-cheek, acid burning best. But don't come listening for the happy-faced ecstasy-laced house-for-rent vibes of the free-samplin', glory vocalin', disco duckin' SILKy celebrators. These are heady, midsummer night dreams of a bygone house era. There's luxury and play to SFV ACID's homegrown arcade grooves, as the DJ tweeks and turns sci-fi sounds over luscious piano leisure. It's alien versus elator, Robo-copiousness. Driving down an alley in the San Fernando Valley never felt like this; woozy and wound up, sensual and cell-blocked, bouncy and breathy; like, gag me with a silver spoon. As one electronic element bends, another synthetic sonance breaks, into a pleasure pulse that bubbles up like a shaken sparkling water. That's the fizzy tingle, the SFV ACID aftertaste