What’ll you do once you’ve finally concluded this book? Sigh, slam the thing shut and keep hold of the bookmark? So we’d perhaps optimistically hope… But what did Nick Zammuto do when he’d finally finished with the Books, a project he professes to have “loved” in the belly of the Barbican? Well, he went on to pen another zany opus under his very own “culturally ambiguous” patronymic Zammuto, that’s bloomin’ well what…

“Like most things I do, while I’m setting them up I have absolutely no idea what I’m getting into”, his voice caving in to a jejune chirrup of laughter. Never one to do things by halves, nor indeed by any fraction yet known to the human mind, he’s still learning.

However he concedes to losing his way somewhat following what sounds like a rather inimical breakup: “This record was like a do-or-die situation for me. And I felt as though maybe I should quit because, you know, it’s so hard on my family. But my wife and friends encouraged me 100%. To just go for it; to go and do something new.”

Although not entirely new – the rampaging bass lines of The Way Out slink through the ominous mechanical thunder of F U C-3PO; sample interlude Crabbing recalls the Books’ collagist approach; the self-professed ‘Grammar Stickler’ swoons through Auto-Tune on Too Late To Topologize, a searing denunciation of that dastardly Timbaland track perhaps – yet in scrapping the scraps of sound and opting to gallivant toward this unquanitified “something new”, Zammuto has galvanized his presence to inscribe a comprehensible future.