Album Review: Gobby / ‘Fashion Lady’ (UNO NYC)

gobby fashion lady

★★★☆☆

The society pages should take note of a techno collection that sported a New Hat last year, leans to the left, and becomes more and more off the wall until there’s a free-for-all to pap down the runway. Striking posers throughout, you won’t be able to take eyes and ears off Gobby’s lights-camera-action that the dastardly Harlem designer is only too pleased to project through a mass of wires and plug-ins.

Brash curtain raiser “Krylon Surf Magix” amps the analog and gives instant lift-off; a little scattershot, but with Gobby letting you know he’s got this. His loop philosophy is to clamp down and see if the screws come loose, disorientation courtesy of any effects caught in its orbit and tailoring a burgeoning metallic bump. The peak is the acid-drugged “Rashe”, having you doing hyper bunny hops to warehouse techno madness. “Slick Boi Gel” is a cacophony of laser synths twisting the catwalk into a stinging uprising of dry ice, before “Healing Factor” kills the lights with a trundling plus-sized model of ungainly, crunchy minimalism, like tribalism re-translated by an alien race.

Gobby continues the chaotic crowding of the soundbed with the industrial footwork breakout “Lect Hom.” Closing two tracks “Faculty” and “Spilla Drink” loop long, harshly and high, the glamour and glitz suffocated by the blitzing style icon. Beyond a diva, Gobby’s muse is a bruising ball-buster, tight-roping the divide between whatever feels right and dressing in the dark.

File under: Actress, Techno Animal, The Squire of Gothos

Compilation Review: Rodriguez Jr. / ‘Mobilee Back to Back Vol. 7’ (Mobilee)

Mobilee Back to Back Vol. 7

★★★☆☆

Olivier Mateu is in the Mobilee hotseat to referee a double-disc set of deep house best described as duking it out. Rounding up label highlights reaching deep, tech-tweaking standards, Ray Okpara and David Labeij provide firm fixtures, both in staying on the dancefloor and with their cast iron demeanours, seeing the club as one long strip it can fully extend into (unsurprising, given the press release’s mentioning of Rodriguez’ 10-hours-a-day studio habit). A stiff funkiness has And.Id attempting disco depressurization, one that pushes home the singular loop, whether riff or bass, to propel everything around it. A crossroads of thinking man’s DJ where the cogs and pistons visibly perform, and a spinner riding a buzz out of routine and repetition, the Frenchman plays patiently for vibes to descend, once in a while adding a pinch of class (his remix of “Chi This Wonder Up”).

Re.You’s “Junction” looks to join the trending masses of low slung bass-house while keeping a tribal membership to hand at the same time, taking the doggedness to new determined levels until maximized by Pan-Pot and Safeword, techno-siding breakers of glass chins. As he goes for self/collaborates with those already detailed, disc two sustains the show of one-sided potency. Another dash of the high-rent (“Roads,” the skippier “Nuages”) stands amongst a set of exacting tech-fed pendulums showing only occasional leniency (the friendlier, less taut “Ghetto Blaster”). Slackers need not apply, those fine with burning rubber from the soles of their shoes, pull on your pumps.

File under: Sebo K, Anja Schneider, Tassilo

Album Review: James Teej / ‘Eight Bit Ocean’ (Last Night on Earth)

James Teej Eight Bit Ocean

★★★☆☆

Teej fosters a strength setting up a set of deep house that prides itself on the exactness of its level head, the Canadian looking you square in the eye and daring you to test him. Completely, authoritatively in control, he’s not here to lift you up, or maybe even entertain you; his task-mastery, ignorant to the title’s lo-fi suggestions, pays to pay you physical attention. Pro-fortitude without being stiff or tuneless, color is limited to transient flecks (“Right at Home”), making it a perfect disconnection for the end of the day.

“Liking Your Disorder” couldn’t be any more clinical if it had its own waiting room and surgery hours, one loop engineered into a go-getting, deal-crushing Gordon Gekko of the dance floor, popping tech pep-ups to stay on track. A silent fumer, as losing your head gets your nowhere, Teej’s restraint perhaps comes from the imposition of a limited studio set-up to test itself and show its mettle.

“Disclosure,” dusting off a lava lamp to groove to, and “Leaving the Island,” showing signs of comfort and relaxation and perhaps a grudging admiration for rave, are still laced with a grimace that shows that the deck-hand never takes time off. Teej is much happier preaching his wisdom on “The Last Request” and although not adverse to the neon lights of the club, the notion is dismissible like change petulantly chucked to a beggar. Get your game face on in preparation.

File under: My Favorite Robot, The Kings Arms, Âme

Album Review: Beacon / ‘The Ways We Separate’ (Ghostly International)

Beacon The Ways We Separate

★★★★☆

Sidling up to you with the softest of electronic pop and R&B via some attachment to post-dubstep/meta-bass subsidiaries, Brooklynites Thomas Mullarney and Jacob Gossett stretch their arms wide to show they have a lot of love to give. Except everything’s in miniature, bringing music boxes into the studio to use as a metronome and reimagining the grace of its pirouetting ballerina. However tender and fresh-faced, the presence of an anonymous puppet master watching every move they make shows that beckoning for an embrace isn’t enough.

“Overseer” is that casual, smoke-blowing observer slash noxious voyeur, attempting to move the finger permanently pressed against the album’s lips by slipping in busy signals. Despite wanting to “separate the lies from the truth,” oddly it’s not a cold reception Beacon slink with. Given the construct, humidity is present throughout the softly-judged electronica, though “Late November” is art imitating climate and “Anthem” deals with a wintry air, revelling and revealing itself in low volume textures and enclosed, shadowy spaces. And despite when feelings are made to the contrary, the vocal delivery helps relax ears tricking you into thinking peace is always on the horizon (the assuaging “Studio Audience”).

This as much as anything gives the album its low insistence and quietly scheming coyness, making you worry about how amicable Beacon’s degrees of separation really are. Mullarney and Gossett scatter rose petals en route to the boudoir, but also leave the thorns in your wake.

File under: James Blake, The XX, Emika