Broklyn Beats performed a helluva feat by entering a crowded underground and maintaining a recognizable sound. Said sound typically plays out as jungle and hip-hop for brain-surgery-altered guinea pigs, as label owners Doily and Criterion demonstrate on this CD, which compiles their past EPs. Doily fancies tossing drum machines into trashcans that then get rolled down steep hills. Her ramshackle, no-fi production is a relief in our age of antiseptic digitalia. Criterion mainly focuses on hung-over loops, picking at them like fresh scabs. In "Sole Controller," he disembodies a porno-funk guitar riff that then jabbers itself to oblivion. And somewhere deep in this dancefloor-clearing mire, a savage intelligence lurks.