If Rhizome was a rocket launch, Kimatika is the moment when gravity finally lets go and the ship starts spinning, disorienting and exhilarating in equal measure. Etceteral - Boštjan Simon (baritone sax, electronics), Marek Fakuc (drums), and Lina Rica (visuals) - have been tinkering with the machinery of futuristic jazz for a few years now, but their third record feels like the first time they’ve given themselves full permission to play mad scientists rather than diligent engineers.

The saxophone no longer dictates the path; it appears in the mix like a hologram, sometimes luminous, sometimes fogged over like a shoegaze vocal pushed through broken glass. The drums don’t so much keep time as interrogate it, asking whether rhythm can fracture and still feel inevitable. Meanwhile, sequencers and machines lurk in the background, setting up obstacles that the band hurls themselves against with manic joy.

The opener “Ljolo” squelches into life like some forgotten TV theme from the year 2079, all funk in zero gravity. “Questions” buries its own answers beneath widescreen brass tones, while “Facci Sognare” is the sound of a Balkan carnival colliding with a rave in Detroit. By the time we reach “Prepih” - a delirious handshake between Warp-era bleep and sweaty basement funk - the album has reached its ecstatic core. And just when you think the record has run out of surprises, “Kaneda” swoops in, a closer that plays like a neon sign flickering on in the ruins of a nightclub.

What keeps Kimatika from collapsing under its own maximalism is Etceteral’s refusal to take themselves too seriously. There’s humor tucked into the grooves - sly, playful, a wink through the smoke. Even at its most layered, the music never feels like a lecture on avant-garde possibility; it feels like an invitation to dance, stumble, laugh, and wonder why on earth more jazz records don’t sound this unhinged.

Slovenia may not be the first country that springs to mind when you think of interstellar groove collectives, but maybe it should be. With Kimatika, Etceteral prove that their sound world - part motorik experiment, part cosmic cartoon, part urban noise ritual - is one of Europe’s most vital ongoing projects. It’s an album that dares you to swap nostalgia for velocity, to stop polishing the old CDs and instead step into the vertigo of something truly alive.