A Pulse You Can’t Outrun 

Jean-Philippe Ruelle’s “Compulsein” hits like a neon-soaked adrenaline surge—the kind of track that grabs you by the collar, pulls you into the night, and dares you to keep up. It’s instrumental, sure, but don’t mistake that for minimal. This thing is alive. It breathes, prowls, and flickers like a synth-fuelled city at 2 a.m.

Right from the first throb of bass, you feel Ruelle’s love for retro textures—but what’s gorgeous is how he refuses to stay in nostalgia. Instead, he fires that ’80s voltage straight through a modern engine. You get that Kavinsky grit, the shimmering atmosphere of Röyksopp, and then—out of nowhere—a spark of Jean-Michel Jarre-style cosmic wonder, all twisted into something unmistakably Ruelle.

The tension builds cinematically, layer by layer, as if the track is mapping out its own chase scene. Synths spiral and collide, basslines tighten like a heartbeat edging toward overload, and suddenly you’re not listening anymore—you’re moving. Compulsein feels engineered for motion: headlights slicing through fog, empty highways humming, the world shrinking to a tunnel of sound.

What makes it shine is the joy behind it. You can sense it—the spark, the playfulness, the thrill of pushing a beat until it becomes its own creature. Ruelle isn’t just producing here; he’s letting loose.

Compulsein doesn’t just keep the pulse alive. It becomes the pulse—restless, hypnotic, and impossible to shake off.