In the back of a noisy club, a bunch of Cheeto-eating stoners are adopting the primary pose of "The Chillout Room". Arranged in a series of semi-natural shapes, throbbing space cadets nod their heads in silent reverie to a collection of tripped-out ambient tunes from the likes of Philip Glass, Moby, Paul Hartnoll, Markus Schulz and Fred Deakin.
Shapes enter their blank minds. Their obsessive compulsive disorders collectively kick in to high gear and the need to fill the void with colour preoccupies them more than the need to get laid, eat junk or roll another doobie. 8/10