Day 897

Hurricane twister, break the transmitter

The rave – to paraphrase Glenn Gould – is twelve bars of brilliance surrounded by three and a half minutes of sticky tedium (no gimmick is left untried: from a wandering rubber-twang guitar lead on loan from ‘La Vida Loca,’ to slatherings of futbol-arena organ, to a glib rhythm track so close and overproduced it might as well come in ones and zeroes). I…