While all the cool kids whip themselves into a frenzy over Roger Tellier-Craig’s old band (GY!BE), cooler kids get jazzed about a less visible RT-C outfit (in various states of defunct) and the coolest kids pretend to not even know about him. Those so embryonic in their coolness are pushing themselves deeper into the womb of Le Révélateur’s Horizon Fears. There’s little elbow room, due to the electronic cell-splitting of synth and sound, but it’s cozy. Before the need to nurse our coolness with heaps of mother’s milk and awkward record-store crate-digging, we are at the apex of cool: we sit in a belly, protruding and intruding on everything with the swagger and ease of Henry Winkler, with Tellier-Craig’s esophageal rumbles delivering healthy nutrients and vital blood platelets to our growing bodies. But the light grows brighter. We begin to descend and feel the earthquake of flesh and muscle thrust us out of comfort. Ours is not a fear of the horizon, but of the vertical. Yet we’ve been given the guidebook of cool. Once we enter our new realm, there will be none cooler. We will have all the knowledge given to us by RT-C. Our supply will dwindle, but never to levels too dangerous to be sucked into uncool vortexes. We have the vacuum of Horizon Fear to maintain until we are of age to complete the cycle ourselves. That is so cool.