There is the thump thump of electro-alternative from the neighbors across the back and contained in the pounding bass is a lesson you never learn except by sonic accident: Edith Piaf was born for techno sampling in a bittersweet, lost-histories and human emotions breaking over the rough fractal shore of the archival future. Like that feeling you get when you realize the whole of your past must be shed to grow into a new chitinous time. Not invalidated, but past-participle. The once and that's it. Something very like nostalgia.