Optimus Maximus EP edition

On their debut cold, granite slab for Fright, the newly appointed home for serial killer synth symphonies, Gatekeeper tear open a vortex in the brick walls of our imagination and unleash a world where dancing is no fun unless you find yourself in an impenetrably dark room desolately trying to body pop in a strange trance, unwittingly slipping and sliding in in a pool of freshly spilt blood, jerking in backwards slow motion movements as you two step with the sound of someone else's wheezy breathing and the quick terrifying sonic sting of a serrated blade striking just inches from your ear. As Chicago's masters of the macabre, Gatekeeper are truly awe inspiring conjurors of the kind of crimson splattered disco that terrified the babies of the 80s, toiling away in the basement of Smith's Grove - Warren County Sanitarium to create sinister synth cathedral epics that perfectly evoke a spine shuddering time when we were haunted by those mysterious plastic boxes so ornately displayed in VHS rental stores that provided portals into a garish, gross, darkly glamorous celluloid world where hotel hallways were eternally aglow in green ectoplasmic matter, masked men were glimpsed briefly from bedroom windows in suburban gardens before vanishing into thin air, where seemingly innocent toys harboured horrific secrets inside their plastic prisons, and blackened alleyways were home to invisible, parallel universe bazaars run by mysterious men with pointed teeth and intense blue eyes obscured by their pyramid bamboo hats, selling a dizzying array of golden Mattel weaponry and three headed creatures in wicker cages.