(UK (England))
A force of the unnatural. A pop-star fed through a Nutribullet. A human bag of speed. The fourth horseman of the queer apocalypse. Lynks is here.
There is nothing quite like Lynks. An unpasteurized shot of electro-punk chaos compressed into the shape of a human man, wrapped up in a gimp mask, creating tiny queer utopias wherever he goes. And what utopias they are; sub-blowing, criminally danceable beats, anthemically witty lyrics about the darkest corners of modern life, and pure, unapologetic, camp excess colliding in a fog of sweat and confetti.
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