In the ever-expanding cosmos of musical vibrancy, The Lax Funkers stand as the ultimate force of groove, but for Jast Wico, the rhythm didn’t always call his name. He spent years in Ratoro’s data hubs, keeping the city’s endless flow of information in check, his days measured in numbers instead of beats.

Then one night, an envelope arrived from his old friend Clara Pearl, containing nothing but a tape cassette and a note: “Play this when you’re ready to hear something real.” The moment he pressed play, a deep, hypnotic bassline rumbled through his chest, awakening something long buried. That night, he walked away from the noise of the city and into the pulse of Ratoro's Desert. Now, his steady, rolling basslines hold The Lax Funkers together, a groove so solid it feels like gravity itself. “That’s just the way it is,” he says, locking in the rhythm, as if it was always meant to be.