A suitably frazzled run of excellent club nights in London has recently re-installed my faith in this capital. The nagging factors of sub-standard sound systems (bereft of anything below the magic 80Hz), overpriced drinks and the fact i cant fucking stand Shoreditch (you try making the schlep from E1 to NW2 after the tubes have shut) have temporarily disappeared.

To be replaced by beautiful music, beautiful people and the 189 bus actually getting home in record time! Skillz! But enough cogitation, I have some more words to post up, to make sure I still get promo's. It makes me feel important.

Anders Ilar: Nightwidth EP (Narita) - 12"

Everyone's favourite Swedish techno meister moves away from the logic-gate propelled abstraction of his 'Enkel' album to more cyclic territories. The A-side crouches down to ground level microscopic techno. Scurrying percussive ants busying themselves around concrete slabs of bass.

But this 12" really belongs to the crystalline beauty of 'A Day Ago'. A naggingly-familar, almost anthemic riff mutates and morphs over time to scraped scorched shuffles and low-end piston kicks. Pay cash for this, yeah?

Whilst i'm in the mood for bigging up Narita, I forgot to mention this little gem of a record. Arctic Hospital's palette is suitably restrictive; delay, relay, bounce and echo. Opening with the fierce 'Cold Wrapper': widescreen capsuled glitch towing along a gargantuan kick-drum. 'Gift Horse' gallops along with addictive urgency and the whole thing reeks of professionalism that's sure to uphold Narita's shareholder value.

False: River Camping (Minus) - 12"

Matthew Dear eases out more minty techno from the never-ending toothpaste tube. We would all head-noddingly agree before we moved swiftly on to more of the same. But the oh-so-special cut of 'Tanning Booths' isn't just a clever title; rippled sub-bass plays havoc with your low-end whilst rotor-blade rhythms circle overhead.

OK, despite the coverage I gave Mike 'Mu-Ziq' Paradinas in my Absorb incarnation, i thought he was losing the plot a bit with his last 'Bilious Paths' long player. His smart and inventive approach to melody and rhythm lost under a sea of DSP overkill with knobs that probably went all the way to 11.

'Ease Up' gives us a chance to revisit the folder labelled 'old school'. Initially sounding like 1990 in stasis, even this caves in to his jackhammer tendencies and we eventually plummet free-fall into the slimepit marked gabba. 'Wergle the Proud' sounds like a lost track off 'Tango'N Vectif'. In other words, ace.

Run/stop, fuzzbox, drum machines gone hyper hyper. The title track snares that distinctive flat electro sound to weave a dark, slightly disturbing ballad of possible (sick) love. 'Soda' sounds like the perfect alternative theme tune for the game show 'Countdown'. 'Breakers Know' tries to body pop to a chewed cassette player. It all reeks of geekdom and is totally sexless, a characteristic prevalent in most electronica. Easy to write off, if it didn't sound so good.

I'd say this is Venetian Snares' least effective statement. Angry, tantrum-induced, hate-filled schims of digital noise that would give you nasty cut if you tried to pick it up. The sheer pace of repeat makes an initial impression, but it lacks that unquantifiable something that exists in say his 'Infolepsy' or 'Meathole' works. Fattening breakcore with a bitter aftertaste.

Minus on a bit of a roll i reckon. Complaints from some known fashionista's that stuff 'is so dry'. But fuck'em, what do they know. Abercombie wearing wankers with haircuts'n iPods. Listening to endless cyclic surges of retro that signifies rock's decline into corporate functionalism. Nah, it's probably best they stay from stuff like this.

The latest in the Limited series from Trapez pushes the buttons marked 'winner'. Bric-a-brac beats and riffs made from micro-droplets of water fall into place with ruthless precision on the opening gambit of 'Painters day'. 'Cold feet' taps muffled MIDI bass to a minimalist template reminiscent of early Plastikman. And the other two tracks on the other side are also annoyingly spiffing. Click here to 'Add to Cart'.

Eevo Lute were one of the more forward thinking European techno labels during the nineties. Responsible for releasing considered, soulful forays into machine funk. Eevo Lute took their time, with only 30 releases covering a 14 year period. I personally thought they'd shut up shop, but was surprised to see this solid offering from Terrace, one of the founders of the label.

Smooth, polished techno that targets a trajectory towards Detroit. All are worthy, but the bouncy pop-jaunt of 'Sonic Solutions' proved a surprise hit around this part of North West London.

No. Skip this. Get the next one. Which sounds loads better. My mate runs this label. He's from up North. But don't hold that against him.

The recently-broadcast excellent BBC2 documentary 'A Short history of Tall buildings' featured an episode on the development of the hi-rise in Britain. One of those pivotal to the program was Erno Goldfinger; the Hungarian born architect whose buildings include Alexander Fleming House in East London and (most infamously) Trelick Towers in West London.

But the most intriguing artefact he left behind was the house that he built for himself in Hampstead, North West London. Amusingly, it isn't a hi-rise, but is instead a magnificent testament to the mantra of form and function. If Goldfinger were alive today, he'd make fucking good techno.

Lineage to Drexciya will give some reason to purchase, but most will wonder what all the fuss is about. Fifteen, short snatches of metal-hued electro; exercises in rhythm data manipulation and variations of burning chrome melody.

The stop/start echo of 'Entrophic Decay' and the John Carpenter-esque 'Probability Densities'. 'Orbital Wavelengths' and 'Information Quanta' remind me of early Aphex Twin: drenched in that 'trapped in the machine' zither vibe. Can't say this is as immediate as their previous album ('Wireless Internet'). But stick with it and it'll yield results.

I can understand people who are into electronic music NOT liking Kraftwerk. The 'so-rigid-its-funky' approach to beats and their sometimes quaint, almost dated subject matter might seem a bit too twee for those brought up on DSP and hyperedits. Their vision of the future was utopian, whereas say the technological forecast of Detroit Techno was one of decay. ('Radioactivity' being the only obvious exception.)

But this Live Double CD should convert a few. All the classics being belted out at full motorik pelt in front audiences around the world. I'd be lying if i said that they delivered this 100% live; more playback with playful spontaneous tweaks. The highlight for me is the crowd singing along to 'Dentaku' in Tokyo. This just reinforces the mantra that electronic music starts and ends with Kraftwerk.

PS. I reviewed this whilst watching the NASA Shuttle repairs live webcast. I really thought i'd landed in the future.

'Rossz Csillag Allat Szuletett'....I mean, songs about pigeons? Hungarian Architecture? Did we really think that the undisputed master of tearaway breakcore had gone all conceptual? 'Meathole' violently and sickly resets you to the palette he's best known for. Pulverising jungle with a side over of pain and penury. Best demonstrated by the killer opening of 'Aanguish'.

Fun, messy, incoherent and seemingly made by someone with musical A.D.D., Parisian-native Jackson is the latest pupil to be inducted into the school of Warp. Jackson, at times, comes across as Aphex Twin meets the Art of Noise. Where samples that were in view at the time of composition are forcibly rammed into the mix.

This approach results in a jarring cacophony that can start to grate on repeat. But the sheer breadth of sound being hurled at you can't be ignored. Check out those orchestral stabs on 'Rock On' and 'Utopia'. Or the intoned-disco of ''Radio Caca', which sounds like a rollerball jam with Akufen.

Jackson: Midi Trigger Happy.

Seattle's Orac imprint have been quietly going about the business of releasing hi-quality, up-tempo, minimal dancefloor to the cognoscenti since 2001. Their back catalogue easily putting a lot like-minded labels to shame.

Whilst the title might suggest otherwise, this is actually Caro's debut album. A quirky, left-of-centre mix of subtle techno, slabs of molten acid and nods to disco. Opener 'Ah, ah, ah' sets the tones: playful sinewaves, pulses, bleeps to a slo-house shuffle. But 'Can't tell why' is the most heartfelt vocal-led acid-house tune you'll hear this year. 'My Little Castle' makes the 303 squiggle in ways that Roland never envisaged.