We've all had those nights. It's freezing cold stood out on the pavement, you've been queueing for hours outside this roped off doorway and the last bus home left a very, very long time ago. Then a grunt from the door-ape and suddenly you're in, getting no change from a twenty but you don't care, running straight into the main room, strobes blinding you, inhaling smoke, the hairs on the back of your neck raised like a porcupine's spines, the music overwhelming, drowning you, bass re-arranging your internal organs. In this claustrophobic circle of disciples you feel the sweat building across your back, so much that the Esashi Owaike piece which covers all of it feels sublimely like he's crying tears of joy.

The lasers stab and you realise that this isn't a mob of people anymore, it's some kind of sentient alien being, a single cell organism full of pills, powder and good will. As you head for yet another drop, yet another relentless android beat, you hear the words that sum up all of your life to this very point, raining down like lava: Alcohol. Drugs. Overdrive. Noise. Neon Lights. Party People. Can U Feel it? RAVE IS KING.

Some of you might never have had a night like that, but then again some of you are probably big fans of Razorlight, dead from the neck down without even realising it. Fukkk Off - aka Bastian Deerhorst - is from Hamburg, and creates the sort of visceral techno that makes SMD or Justice sound like the London Philharmonic. It belongs soundtracking the same kind of primitive, hardcore experiences we should all be having, whatever we listen to, and it's utilitarian nature is rigid and brutal, a device that doesn't give a second fukk for aesthetics.

You can excuse the German's horrible choice of moniker, the toe curling artwork and even what appears to be a sample of Bros' 'When Will I Be Famous'; Love Me, Hate Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me is the soundtrack to the best night of your life and most of you are too young to know that it's a night you'll never have again, you lucky fukkks.