Just in time for all the jungle craze, Jordan Anderson soars above with Revolution of Roses. Beats like a fierce wind that gasps with movement; fierce of all trades. Atmosphere abound by low-hanging concentration. As if vines could swing in a circular motion to gain momentum for life-off in a separate realm of club. Like a bus club.
A bus club that ours the oceanside slow as neon and strobe flicker out the window-sided walls. Sweat steaming up the interior. Even when the beat drops almost out, the weight of wage has won a voice particularly decadent and supreme. King of the jungle? No. All Illuminated Paths point to witch doctor of production:
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