You

Warm-blooded, disco-literate house from a producer who treats nostalgia as an engineering problem. SG Lewis lays down a bassline with real fingers on it — round, slightly ahead of the beat — over a shuffling four-on-the-floor and a chord pad that keeps sliding between major seventh and something more wistful. The mix is the thing: everything is soft-edged, compressed the way a late-seventies record is compressed, but the low end has modern width and depth, so it works both on headphones and on a floor. The vocal is filtered and slightly detached, a falsetto that never quite fully commits to the room, delivering a lyric that is mostly a single fixation — you, still you, only you — repeated until it becomes hypnotic rather than declarative. That's the emotional trick: it isn't a love song so much as a rendering of infatuation's tunnel vision at 2am. SG Lewis belongs to the lineage that runs Daft Punk through Disclosure into the current UK dance-pop crossover, where euphoria is always cut with a little melancholy. This is the record for the stretch of a night when the club is still full but you've stopped talking to anyone, or for a summer drive with the windows down at dusk. Pleasure with a small ache built into it.