Album Review: Groundislava / ‘Feel Me’ (Friends of Friends)

★★★★☆

Say Doug Quaid had a change of heart about wanting to see the Red Planet, and instead fancied a trip to the sandy beaches on say, the rings of Saturn. The in-flight entertainment and music welcoming him to the hotel lobby would’ve been down to Groundislava. Like he’s working a sonic etch-a-sketch where there are absolutely no curves to be found, Jasper Patterson measures the finest of margins that separates the beats scene from chillwave and Feel Me from fantasy doodle to emotional entrenchment.

On the one hand this is of a cheesily incidental tingle exhaling sweet nothings under the stars and through the 80s (an era that Patterson’s family tree knows only too well). On the other its powerful electro plateaux are scarily addictive, keyboards undercut with bass to blow the ambience wide open such as on “Cool Party” or the unexpected thrills of “Living Under a Rock”, likened to Groundislava remixing that Colbys finale where Fallon gets abducted by aliens. Or, option #3, it’s the most restful space-age resort of the mind imaginable (“Jasper’s Song II”), kind of dilapidated in dry ice but with a charming fire in its eyes like a cabaret music box still making it through revolutions. Whereas most in the field lower the temperature until icicles start forming around ears, GiL is forever warm, a bit sulky in places but always aglow, whether human or supernatural.
File under: Com Truise, M Fusion, Shlohmo

Album Review: Matthew Dear / ‘Beams’ (Ghostly International)

★★★☆☆

Matthew Dear’s evolution continues, now settling into a midlife shuffle that marks the point where 2003’s Leave Luck to Heaven and fifth album Beams have very little in common. The vocal style that he’s allowed to seep through record by record now takes center stage, its leftfield pop aspiration sort of hanging off beats with a languid keeping of distance, using a kind of Beck-meets-Davids Byrne/Bowie gabble. Dear’s persona is now either too cool for everything, or not cool enough for anything, veiling happiness in a saddened slouch, with low-spirited charm (“Do the Right Thing”) or droning frustration (“Shake Me”).

An eponymous dedication to Detroit-schooled house and techno has now progressed into sounds nagging at the mainstream through plenty of 80s references (the infectious, even if you don’t know why, “Fighting is Futile” and the showy DIY funk “Up & Out”), while simultaneously sounding as if they want nothing to do with any particular scene (rebel without a cause “Earthforms,” electro burrower “Overtime”). It does leave fans in a quandary: embrace the changes or bemusedly wonder what’s going on.

May this review be so bold as to say if Dear’s original sound first rapt you, you don’t necessarily need this in your collection. For first-timers, everything sounds very well drilled as if this were Dear’s signature, skippered by a character that’ll take many listens to make sense of. A dream topic for message board arguers, that’s for sure.
File under: Tiga, Audion, Talking Heads

Album Review: DeepChord / ‘Sommer’ (Soma Quality Recordings)

★★★★☆

An album that goes far beyond the club, past the back room, past the festival’s main stage, past the smaller side tent…before long you find yourself with Sommer in an enchanted forest. Or less romantically, DeepChord has taken a road trip to the middle of nowhere with only a tape recorder and a bag of magic mushrooms as travelling buddies. Essentially one long relaxation completing a perfect circle, Rod Modell sets up a gestation period of deep, ambient house and techno, pulling loops outwards and inwards into an infinitely misty whir. Automatically regenerating itself, nature’s small tics and effects (such as the hi-hats slithering in reverse on “The Universe is a Hologram”) heighten the levitation to take it way past your headphones as well.

When the beats drop out, you still find yourself with your feet moving until they’re re-grounded. When you suddenly find that the dreaming is pulling you towards a state of anxiety, and the forest’s enchanted profile comes with darker, turmoil-hued paths, “Fourier” and “Alfama” produce the meanest, dub-punched techno to shatter the looking glass. The album’s nature though is to just shake it off and get back to finding paradise, though actually finisher “Wind Farm” sounds doomed as if unable to find its way back.

As background clubbing or a tome deep in its own thought bubble, getting away from it all is either holiday luxury or the need to escape reality altogether. Sommer is much more than your average advertisement for mind body and soul.
File under: Echospace, Soultek, Basic Channel

Compilation Review: ‘Aux:Tech:02’ (Aux Technology)

★★★☆☆

Aux Technology’s second fleet is brought to you in an armour-plated  18 wheeler of new breakbeats and bass, refusing to stop for anyone. Tech twitches bounce around like a bobblehead on a dashboard, spearing around corners despite carrying serious weight. While some fit a comfortable template of ‘future’ dance and widescreen voyaging through cold worlds and meteor showers, they also bear breaks’ same old problems of reaching for the same tools and working to the same spec, no matter how many extra cylinders it can fire on.

It’s far from processional though. Fer BR is one leaving others eating dust through their crash helmets with the can’t stop won’t stop kick drums of “Good Afternoon,” and Charlie Kane’s mix of Seth Orin, also later responsible for funky tech frogger “Sleazy”, is like some sort of tank-sponsored Mardi Gras, showing off hydraulic bounce of something that usually can’t get off the floor. Hironimus Bosch jams the gears with what sounds like samples of P!nk and Sunshine Anderson (?!), and firing straight down the line, Dax J’s “11am” is minimal techno that seethes through the night, and Flukes’ tech-house hammer “This Will Destroy You” is much more open about its prospects of doing damage. Brawn rules brain for the majority, and it’s safe to say that those caught in the dance floor gridlock this causes are gonna be okay with that.
File under: Monk3ylogic, Paul Lyman, Stylus Rex