Gabriel Gurnsey - Diablo (2LP) - Neon Pink Vinyl

Gabriel Gurnsey’s second solo album, Diablo, feels like a sly grin from across the dancefloor. As the former drummer of Factory Floor, he always understood how to make a room move with minimal parts and sharp edges, but here he leans into something more seductive. Released in 2022 on Erol Alkan’s Phantasy label, Diablo is not a retreat from the intensity of his old band. It is a reframe. The rhythms are still strict and physical, but the palette glows warmer, the vocals flirt, the synths sigh rather than scowl.

A big part of that shift is the presence of Tilly, whose vocals glide through much of the record. She doesn’t belt. She murmurs and coaxes, threading melodies that work like a spotlight in a dark club. Gurnsey sets the scene with tight machine funk, then lets Tilly’s lines give the tracks a human pulse. The balance is careful. Nothing feels overloaded. You can hear the drummer’s discipline at the heart of it, every hit measured, each loop given room to breathe. It is club music that remembers how the body reacts to space and silence.

Take “You Can,” the standout single that telegraphed the album’s mood. It runs on a clipped four to the floor, a rubbery bass figure, and a whisper that turns into a hook. There is no sudden drop. Instead, the tension ratchets up by inches. By the time the synths peal in the chorus, the track has already done its job. Diablo loves that kind of subtle escalation. Rather than chasing maximal payoff, it aims for extended hypnosis, the kind that makes the morning train feel like a slow strobe.

The production is sleek without losing grit. You can pick out the drum programming and the live-feeling percussive touches, and that interplay keeps the record from drifting into background gloss. Gurnsey’s ear for texture is as precise as ever. He stacks small details in the midrange, then holds the low end steady and thick. If you came to this from Factory Floor, you will recognize the discipline, but the mood is different. Where that band leaned industrial and austere, Diablo moves toward late-night pop with teeth. It sits nicely next to labelmates who blur lines between the warehouse and the radio, yet it has its own stride.

The sequencing helps. Diablo plays like a night out that starts confident and grows sweatier by degrees. Early tracks tease with open hi-hats and elastic bass, mid-album leans into stickier melodies, then the closing stretch drops you into a slower, more shadowy pocket. It is the kind of record that works front to back, though individual songs slide neatly into DJ sets. As a piece, though, it rewards the full ride. You hear little motifs return, drum tones reappear, synth patches evolve. The craft reveals itself with repeat listens.

It is also a rewarding one to own physically. The bass feels glorious on a decent system, and the clarity of the programming pops when the needle drops. If you have been browsing for Gabriel Gurnsey vinyl, start here. Diablo vinyl is easy to live with and perfect for house parties where you want heads to nod without killing the conversation. If you prefer to buy Gabriel Gurnsey records online, most indie shops and Phantasy’s store have kept it in stock, and you will often find Gabriel Gurnsey albums on vinyl filed alongside Daniel Avery and other leftfield dance staples. I have even spotted it while crate digging at a Melbourne record store, so keep an eye out if you are hunting for vinyl records Australia side.

What sticks with me is how human the album feels in spite of the machines. Gurnsey gives the rhythms enough air that small gestures catch your ear, like a roll that sneaks in before the chorus or a vocal ad lib that suddenly feels like a wink. Diablo is nightlife with a pulse and a plan. It invites you in, takes its time, and never raises its voice to be heard. Put it on and the room reshapes itself. That is a rare trick, and on this record, Gurnsey makes it sound effortless.