A soft, dim glow that blurs the contours is the start of „Control“, like breath on a window pane. Then the bass sinks like a weight into your chest, a gravity that reminds you where you always end up. The groove is narrow and precise, a pulsating thread that runs through the night — not loud, but relentless. This is not a pose, but the roar of the inner mechanism: the circle that closes as if it had never been open. The synths layer like cold skin, with warmth underneath that can only be felt in the transition. Voices appear as distant reflections, an echo that is more space than response. The chorus remains restrained, a quiet contraction that broadens the view instead of breaking down walls. The cinema lies in the shadows, not in the light: hypnotic, observant, close to the surface of things that cannot be named. „Control“ is the elegance of return, when you see through it and yet follow it. A dance with familiar forces that seem safe because they know you — and dangerous because you know them. Stonewaller isn’t building a monument here, but a space to feel: cool, heavy, completely present. A ritual of electronics that finds you where you lose yourself again.

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