Myths abound in the north when it comes to techno ground zero, and they

refuse to go away. Oliver Huntemann is one of a handful of children of the

north who, for what seems like an eternity, add an element of credence to the

mythology. He does not, of course, live in a snowy forest or at the edge of the

polar oceans. The sun does, on occasion, shine down on Hamburg.

Nevertheless, there is a tendency towards hypothermic reduction in the

rigorous efficiency of the Huntemann oeuvre. Images of cold storage

warehouses, desolate heavy plant sites and bluish flesh are not entirely

misplaced. Shards of German Engineering glimmer in his music, laced with

persuasive logic, gruesome Darwinism. What remains: what works.