There’s a rumble underground. The T.B.W.T are on stage and a deep sound of growling thunder is rolling from one end of the dance floor to the other. They start swinging like wild baboons behind the decks and the base is kicking in, untz, untz, untz…you feel your heart starting to beat faster. You are trying to behave and reason, but it is too late you feel butterflies in your belly. Your skin is taken over by goose bumps and you scream ‘f***k yeah!’ Now you two throw your arms in the air and the wild baboon swing has taken over your body too.
Lost in the moment and before you know it the sound of sleep deprivation kicks in, three days on the rack but you want more. There is a buzzing in your ears and the twisted, wonky triple vision as you fight your way to the bar once again. Then back to dance floor.
T.B.W.T has reached into the deepest heart of rave and has emerged from the black strobe light with chrome plated, low slung, bass driven conception of music for the twenty first century party mavericks. The only way you’ll get rid of them is to find them another party.