hinese whisper's favourite DJ for years, Christian S has been around since the mid 1990s, getting his education from the legendary Cologne house underground of that decade. Teaming up with Matias Aguayo he soon himself became a key figure to the scene when launching an equally influential fin de siècle club night called Lost. With a blissfully darkened tone in dance, a fearless repertoire and illustrious like-minded guest DJs from everywhere, Lost evolved into a haven for enigmatic dancefloor mavericks, setting the pace for what was to become the Cómeme phenomenon of here and now. Since then, sequencing his output elegantly scarce, Christian S has been injecting some intriguing rhythms into the dance world with Cómeme classics like Jagos (just read Ben UFO's comments on it), the 2012 hit The Power of Now (which aptly never went off air since), and remixes for Philipp Gorbachev (Last Days Of The District) and Alejandro Paz (El House). Now that the title track of Pitch Rider, his long-awaited first solo EP for Cómeme, may still suggest a sane salute to the likes of DJ Pierre or even Womack & Womack (whose Night Rider Christian S uses to kill with in the very late hours of his sets), the real pursuit of this utter beast of a debut must be summed up like this: Farewell solid ground. Hello sweet vertigo. Here's the opener's equation: percussive pitch mastery plus radiant chord action equals yourself getting gloriously coiled up. Or as Mr. S briefly puts it: »The rave track«. So, when totally falling prey to one vicious little ride cymbal isn't already the baddest idea, then wait: In comes the unfathomable Philipp Gorbachev (extra drums/keys) for Number One. This one is a jam, we're told. But what sphinxy something it was to throw the dice and take control over both Christian and Philipp while recording this somberly glowing late night hypnojam, we're not told. Waking up afterwards, they might have wondered themselves. While the stripped down 808-only version of Die Durch Die Nase Lachen (Cómeme 022) has become a quintessential object of desire for beat adventurers worldwide, the track' s »Long Hot Summer Version« unfolds another quintessential facet of Christian S: Pop-wise nonchalance, discreetly dangerous, supremely stylised and elementary at once. Just like the sneaky melody in Drifting, the graciously filthy hi-hat over intricate layers of Rumba or the simple call at the bottom of that all: »Whoa. Let's go let's go.«