n every sound there is a rhythm. In every sound there is beauty. In every sound there is a unique timbre. Our souls are like sounds. It's only a question of intently listening to the rhythm of your soul - then you will hear it's beauty. Then you will hear Panbobo. Panbobo is the sound dreamt by an industrial worker on a break, dozing to the rhythm of the factory machines. In the blissful loss of self, the hypnotic catharsis of drone, the machine-spawned grandchildren of the industrial-age acquire soul and groove to a new beat. This is Panbobo. Imagine being in the city, relaxing on the rooftop of an old club with a freeway overpass a few feet above you, the cars whirring by (thumpthump, thumpthump) and the music grooving along in a low-end wash, occasionally pierced with a distant siren and high-pitched screams This is Panbobo. Listen well.