3 hours left till sunset. Sweat-soaked, hollow-cheeked disciples of the moment moving like synchronized machines to the rhythm of the everlasting 1-2-3-4. The bassdrum is stoically kicking, some percussion are clacking hollowly and between the sounds there is a synthetical bleeping. We find ourselves on the climax of the digital age, at some rave... The beat seems to last forever but the inner emptiness is constantly growing and growing. And suddenly..., a strange glow..., music..., life in eternal ice. BENNA has entered the decks and suddenly the sound temperature changes. Beats transform int..