10:08 pm - Wed, Sep 24, 2014
5 notes

Julian Casablancas+The Voidz
Cult
2014

Where does one begin with Julian Casablancas? Truly, without a doubt, Mr.Casablancas helped profoundly shape the sound of rock at the turn of the century. Out of the nauseating late 90s haze—-the tired post-grunge, an evaporating ska-punk wave, and American Pie-flavored suburb punk—came The Strokes. Led by Julian’s singular voice, The Strokes became The slick, raw revival band that would do for indie rock in the 00s what Nirvana did alternative rock in the 90s.

It’s unfair to discount the band’s influence I their prime, and it would be unfair to do so now, but we’re 13 years removed from their seminal debut Is This It and things have withered. With 2 great albums, 1 decent comeback record and 2 blunders, it’s safe to say the band is naturally on the decline. Last year’s Comedown Machine couldn’t be more aptly named. Tired, tepid, and more degradingly 80s than an oxidized NES, The Strokes’ last full length effort felt like an ember slowly dying out.

But it wasn’t over for Casablancas, as he would become the central element of “Instant Crush”, one of the most memorial tracks on Daft Punk’s modern classic Random Access Memories. That track was actually a marker of where Julian’s head was at creatively. It was the very small tip of a massively ambitious iceberg. Enter The Voidz, Julian Casablancas’ new backing band which helped him on this follow up to his 2009 solo debut Phrazes of the Young.

Tyranny begins with a haunting, industrial-cross-new wave opener “Take Me in Your Army”. Immediately, it sounds quite removed from anything The Strokes ever did, and at this point, the record is just getting warmed up. In fact, Take Me in Your Army is a deceptively temperate track; weird to be certain, but it doesn’t truly prepare you for Mr.Casablancas’ most inspired work since Is this It. Shifting to the even odder lo-fi garage take on 60s mod music, “Crunch Punch” pushes even further away from Julian’s comfort zone with The Voidz providing the exact opposite Strokes calling card; layers. Deep seated basslines, unchained guitars cutting into each other, electronics plugging into every crevice and every inch; every conceivable quarter is textured. And still, the album is just warming up.

 On “M.Utally A.Ssured D.Estruction”, JC+V dive headlong into a galactic punk jam that tears apart the notion that this album was designed to be inviting. There’s something headscratching about the idea that a Julian Casablancas record is somehow much more challenging and antagonistic than a Richard James comeback album releasing the same day. Tyranny is simply unphased by expectation, ranging from harsh, invigorating Akira-flavoured Thrash on “Where No Eagles Fly” to the crushing over-compression and latin flair of “Father of Electricity”.

The crown jewel of the entire record however, is the 11 minute beast that is “Human Sadness”. Its scope is unexpectedly staggering. Its layers are so thick and varied, that its scale is almost disorienting. Strings, audio samples, sweet basslines, big ass busted sysths, big ass busted drums, legions of harsh guitar leads, and as always Julian’s elastic, expressive vocals. It is truly one of the most impressive tracks of 2014, equal parts because of its surprise and its vision. He may have not mastered the art of scale quite like the chrome-laden, Parisian, electronic titans he collaborated with last year, but Human Sadness proves there’s an entire world of possibilities out there for JC+V.

And really that is the biggest take away from what is ostensibly, a debut record. Tyranny is the sound of Julian’s violent rebirth, a rejection of musical circles still waiting for a follow up to Is This It. Tyranny is full of rage, flaws, vulnerabilities, unwieldy pacing (see “Johan Von Bronx” and “Do I Care”), and wild ambition. Ambition, is what makes this sonic mess so compelling. It’s hard to come away from this album indifferently. It will either alienate those looking for something strokes-esque (or a rock record really) or it will reward those willing to wade through this volatile playground of shattered egos and bugling nonconformity. I’m parking in that second space, how about you?

8.4

11:39 am - Sun, Sep 14, 2014
9 notes
90magazine:

10 Years In the Backseat: An Arcade Fire Retrospective
Queued up with sullen piano keys and blurry guitars on “Tunnels”, out warbles Win Butler’s meek operatic words of nostalgia for a time that universally cuts through modern, technologically comatose condition; childhood. Indeed, Arcade Fire’s seminal debut record was thematically awash with the attempted connection to a time where things were miniature yet wildly grand, ordinary yet extraordinary, and powerless yet potent.
With the sheer volume of baroque pop/ art rock in the early 2000s, Funeral stood out because it deflected notions of narcissistic superiority and self-involvement leveled against the genre. The band used rich instrumentation and loaded textures to paint the mind of a child. Everything is a toy, it all twitches, swirls, wails, screeches and beeps. The constant locomotion of Arcade Fire’s inverse arena rock approach was imitated the ever buzzing imagination of a child’s mind.
The emotional spectrum of childhood infects the entire approach to the record, but what really connects the bridge between nostalgia and expression is the ability to appreciate youth without reflecting on it with patronization. As the album suggests, Funeral is a syrupy wake for youth. It’s both longing for youth and knowing that it has passed away naturally, an inflection that “Kettles’ mirrors beautifully. 
The culmination of this album’s entire approach comes by way of “Wake Up”. An absolutely soul shaking ode to the death of childhood and the call to another generation to not incinerate what they have left. This is the only time Arcade Fire directs nostalgia for youth at their own jaded ages and the youth of future generations. It only really happens once on the record; saving the most lavish stroke for the most poignant act of the play. And really, this is what Funeral resembles most, a small theater production pressed to a record.  It’s scrappy, emotional and unwieldy yet vigorous. It’s a kid with cardboard box that functions as a space station, a pizza court house, and infinite blanket shield conglomerate. 
Funeral is one of the most sincere musical expressions of nostalgia and emotion of our time. In an age where ironic appreciation and appropriation of 90s youth culture is further detaches from emotional sentiment, a decade on and Funeral is still a rosy reminder of what it’s like to really reach out and grab the bleeding emotion of adolescences and celebrate how precious and fragile it truly is. 

Happy 10th birthday Funeral and congratulations to Arcade Fire for such an amazing journey!

90magazine:

10 Years In the Backseat: An Arcade Fire Retrospective

Queued up with sullen piano keys and blurry guitars on “Tunnels”, out warbles Win Butler’s meek operatic words of nostalgia for a time that universally cuts through modern, technologically comatose condition; childhood. Indeed, Arcade Fire’s seminal debut record was thematically awash with the attempted connection to a time where things were miniature yet wildly grand, ordinary yet extraordinary, and powerless yet potent.

With the sheer volume of baroque pop/ art rock in the early 2000s, Funeral stood out because it deflected notions of narcissistic superiority and self-involvement leveled against the genre. The band used rich instrumentation and loaded textures to paint the mind of a child. Everything is a toy, it all twitches, swirls, wails, screeches and beeps. The constant locomotion of Arcade Fire’s inverse arena rock approach was imitated the ever buzzing imagination of a child’s mind.

The emotional spectrum of childhood infects the entire approach to the record, but what really connects the bridge between nostalgia and expression is the ability to appreciate youth without reflecting on it with patronization. As the album suggests, Funeral is a syrupy wake for youth. It’s both longing for youth and knowing that it has passed away naturally, an inflection that “Kettles’ mirrors beautifully. 

The culmination of this album’s entire approach comes by way of “Wake Up”. An absolutely soul shaking ode to the death of childhood and the call to another generation to not incinerate what they have left. This is the only time Arcade Fire directs nostalgia for youth at their own jaded ages and the youth of future generations. It only really happens once on the record; saving the most lavish stroke for the most poignant act of the play. And really, this is what Funeral resembles most, a small theater production pressed to a record.  It’s scrappy, emotional and unwieldy yet vigorous. It’s a kid with cardboard box that functions as a space station, a pizza court house, and infinite blanket shield conglomerate. 

Funeral is one of the most sincere musical expressions of nostalgia and emotion of our time. In an age where ironic appreciation and appropriation of 90s youth culture is further detaches from emotional sentiment, a decade on and Funeral is still a rosy reminder of what it’s like to really reach out and grab the bleeding emotion of adolescences and celebrate how precious and fragile it truly is. 

Happy 10th birthday Funeral and congratulations to Arcade Fire for such an amazing journey!

7:40 pm - Fri, Sep 12, 2014
9 notes
10 Years In the Backseat: An Arcade Fire Retrospective
Queued up with sullen piano keys and blurry guitars on “Tunnels”, out warbles Win Butler’s meek operatic words of nostalgia for a time that universally cuts through modern, technologically comatose condition; childhood. Indeed, Arcade Fire’s seminal debut record was thematically awash with the attempted connection to a time where things were miniature yet wildly grand, ordinary yet extraordinary, and powerless yet potent.
With the sheer volume of baroque pop/ art rock in the early 2000s, Funeral stood out because it deflected notions of narcissistic superiority and self-involvement leveled against the genre. The band used rich instrumentation and loaded textures to paint the mind of a child. Everything is a toy, it all twitches, swirls, wails, screeches and beeps. The constant locomotion of Arcade Fire’s inverse arena rock approach was imitated the ever buzzing imagination of a child’s mind.
The emotional spectrum of childhood infects the entire approach to the record, but what really connects the bridge between nostalgia and expression is the ability to appreciate youth without reflecting on it with patronization. As the album suggests, Funeral is a syrupy wake for youth. It’s both longing for youth and knowing that it has passed away naturally, an inflection that “Kettles’ mirrors beautifully. 
The culmination of this album’s entire approach comes by way of “Wake Up”. An absolutely soul shaking ode to the death of childhood and the call to another generation to not incinerate what they have left. This is the only time Arcade Fire directs nostalgia for youth at their own jaded ages and the youth of future generations. It only really happens once on the record; saving the most lavish stroke for the most poignant act of the play. And really, this is what Funeral resembles most, a small theater production pressed to a record.  It’s scrappy, emotional and unwieldy yet vigorous. It’s a kid with cardboard box that functions as a space station, a pizza court house, and infinite blanket shield conglomerate. 
Funeral is one of the most sincere musical expressions of nostalgia and emotion of our time. In an age where ironic appreciation and appropriation of 90s youth culture is further detaches from emotional sentiment, a decade on and Funeral is still a rosy reminder of what it’s like to really reach out and grab the bleeding emotion of adolescences and celebrate how precious and fragile it truly is. 

10 Years In the Backseat: An Arcade Fire Retrospective

Queued up with sullen piano keys and blurry guitars on “Tunnels”, out warbles Win Butler’s meek operatic words of nostalgia for a time that universally cuts through modern, technologically comatose condition; childhood. Indeed, Arcade Fire’s seminal debut record was thematically awash with the attempted connection to a time where things were miniature yet wildly grand, ordinary yet extraordinary, and powerless yet potent.

With the sheer volume of baroque pop/ art rock in the early 2000s, Funeral stood out because it deflected notions of narcissistic superiority and self-involvement leveled against the genre. The band used rich instrumentation and loaded textures to paint the mind of a child. Everything is a toy, it all twitches, swirls, wails, screeches and beeps. The constant locomotion of Arcade Fire’s inverse arena rock approach was imitated the ever buzzing imagination of a child’s mind.

The emotional spectrum of childhood infects the entire approach to the record, but what really connects the bridge between nostalgia and expression is the ability to appreciate youth without reflecting on it with patronization. As the album suggests, Funeral is a syrupy wake for youth. It’s both longing for youth and knowing that it has passed away naturally, an inflection that “Kettles’ mirrors beautifully. 

The culmination of this album’s entire approach comes by way of “Wake Up”. An absolutely soul shaking ode to the death of childhood and the call to another generation to not incinerate what they have left. This is the only time Arcade Fire directs nostalgia for youth at their own jaded ages and the youth of future generations. It only really happens once on the record; saving the most lavish stroke for the most poignant act of the play. And really, this is what Funeral resembles most, a small theater production pressed to a record.  It’s scrappy, emotional and unwieldy yet vigorous. It’s a kid with cardboard box that functions as a space station, a pizza court house, and infinite blanket shield conglomerate. 

Funeral is one of the most sincere musical expressions of nostalgia and emotion of our time. In an age where ironic appreciation and appropriation of 90s youth culture is further detaches from emotional sentiment, a decade on and Funeral is still a rosy reminder of what it’s like to really reach out and grab the bleeding emotion of adolescences and celebrate how precious and fragile it truly is. 

6:25 pm - Sun, Sep 7, 2014
8 notes

Interpol
Matador
2014

Perhaps one of the true harbingers of the 00s post punk revival, Interpol lurked out of the shadows and unleashed a sound descended from Joy Division as reconstructed by this New York band of disciples. “Turn on the Bright Lights” was an incredible blend of monochromatic gothic post punk gloom and the skinny jeans/blade edge guitars of the early 2000s. As it seemed to be the trend with many bands at this time, Interpol’s debut album proved to be its everlasting ghost. Every album chasing its glory in one way or another, some with better results (Also see: Antics) and the rest well…not so much. But here comes El Pintor, the first new LP by the New York group in several years, and it just maybe Interpol’s most successful effort to channel the potency of that original release.

Opening with “All the Rage Back Home”, Interpol are after the ghost again but exposing its tangibility in the process; it isn’t impossible to catch it. The deathly melancholy and scattered, shrouded interactions between lovers is Interpol at its purest. Along with whirling streaks of angular guitars and languid brooding vocals, All the Rage Back Home informs much of the record. If Bright Lights was monochromatic shadow play, then El Pinto takes after its name sake and paints in different shades darkness; it expresses gloom in more fluid ways than one would expect. “Anywhere” and “My Desire”  feel similarly swathed in dark strokes, deep reds, sharp blinding lights and an ocean of black gradients.

Baring some macho basslines in “Everything is Wrong” and jauntier drumming on “Ancient Ways”, Interpol’s latest feels like a collective entity, an ornate ocean of murky gothic tones pushing toward shore by vaguely commanding, intense narration. Now, there are two ways to look at this description; it feels samey or it feels cohesive. As “Twice as Hard” warbles a thick molasses end track, I’m inclined to lean toward the latter conclusion.Like a dark, non-descript car ride through the lonely streets of New York’s streaking neon nightscape, El Pintor is also a place bathed in rich amounts of darkness and isolation.

Interpol didn’t need to chase their former glory and reproduce it exactly, they only needed to look at the philosophies of what made their debut so impressive. On this album, Interpol has taken the emotional colour of Bright Lights and expanded the depth of its hues. El Pintor may not produce the the exact feeling of that 2002 polaroid, but it’s breadth is nearly as enveloping, consuming and evocative.; this is the best case scenario that may prove vital to the band’s future. Their 2002 Mount Olympus isn’t nearly as unreachable as it seemed.

8.2

6:24 am - Wed, Aug 27, 2014
6 notes

Sun Kil Moon
Caldo Verde
2014

Raw and to the point. It’s only fitting that this review reflect the uncompromising style of Mark Kozelek’s latest release under his Sun Kil Moon project. Benji is utterly stunning in its minimalism and startling in its clarity. Each song is a long form story that deliberately paint with every damn word possible. Every inch, every detail, Kozelek deliberately robs listeners their own imagination devices.

There is so much loss on Benji, that it may border on the oppressive for the faint of heart. “Carissa” is a beautiful song about Mark’s second cousin who passed away in a freak fire in her backyard. Swirling around the song is Mark’s recollection of her as a young girl, a young mother, and a second strike of a freak accident (his uncle dies the same way which). Carissa is a stirring opening in a gamut of high definition musical storytelling that lays Kozelek’s life out bare for inspection.Indeed, two songs later on “Truck Driver”, Mark describes his bumpkin of an Uncle who (as mentioned earlier) dies of a freak fire as well.

Even when Kozelek changes up the pace for a more positive tribute, there’s still a lingering mourning. On “I Can’t Live Without My Mother’s Love” there’s a haunting, bittersweet emotional overtone that is inescapable; a beautiful tribute of love and a progression of despair and fear of human mortality. Sometimes, it’s frightening.  “Richard Ramirez Died Today of Natural Causes” represents a long, hard gaze at the psychology of fear breed from the ugliness of murder and the glamorization process that follows. The nature of  kids “scared of taps on the window, what’s under the bed and what’s under the pillow” reflects a culture of fear that grows with the children of generation x in the 80s where kids progressively began to stay inside more often out of parental fear and societal fear-mongering with the likes of mass murder Richard Ramirez stalking the night and Regan nearly the successful target of assassination. It’s erie stuff only made more transcendent as Kozelek describes the way this era (the Ramirez murders in particular) is used to mark time from the days of his murders started to the day he died himself.

To cross mediums for a second, Benji’s paired down instrumental style provides emotional propulsion much in the way point and click adventure games do with their gameplay mechanics. Any given First Person Shooter may be filled with a bunch of mechanical bells and whistles, akin to the guitars upon guitars found in your average Post-90s Alt. indie rock song, but point and click adventure games use minimal gameplay elements to facilitate the story. Much of the acoustic work on this record provide emotional backlighting for Kozelek’s distinct spoken word-folk style. This minimal pattern keeps up until the album’s closer “Ben’s My Friend”. Like much of the record, Kozelek signposts a jump off element in the title of the song itself, and explores the waters outside of it; a midlife crisis, crab cakes and Ben Gibbard. Ben’s My Friend contrasts the rest of the record by upping the emotional tone of the instrumentation on the track with more elements than any other song on Benji.  The result is a track full of the same storytelling elements pervasive throughout the record, but a scale intentionally bigger; the closest this record comes to a grande finale.

Benji is an earnest, emotional record that looks you in the eye and tells you what Kozelek is thinking. There is no implied imagery, sidesteps or esoteric literary allusions. Benji is the kind the of record that naturally comes from a person in their middle age. They’ve seen miles and miles and aren’t sure how things will turn out beyond an everlasting streak of trees, but they’re along for an engrossing ride. The rest of us are just lucky to hear it.

9.3

4:39 pm - Tue, Aug 26, 2014
1 note

Cymbals Eat Guitars
Barsuk Records
2014

On Cymbals Eat Guitars latest release, leadman Joseph D’Agostino based much of the album’s conception on loss, hence Lose. The biggest loss permeating through the album is found in the death of his best friend and former bandmate several years ago. Throughout its 9-track run, Lose is scrappy in the face of painful memories and haunting ghosts.

Trailing in with mile long instrumental streaks, “Jackson” opens the album in grand style with a dense ground swell of lush guitars and soaring vocals. Much of the album relies on discarded memories that D’Agostino seems to pull from his subconscious at will, each time presenting a roulette of personal vignettes. This applies to the likes of “Place Names” which is a swirling, murky pool of streaky vocals and distorted guitars accompanying a gauntlet of loose thoughts. Again, CEG seem to revel in this near dreampop wash of lurid instrumental textures and raw emotional recounts of the past. More than once, tracks start with a distinct guitar progression reminiscent of the beaten down resilience in Alice in Chain’s “Rooster” of all things.

There is a punk thread through the heart of the entire record, and one of the interesting elements of the record’s sound is how this thread is reworked into new soundscapes to illicit different emotional feelings. Whereas Jackson feels melancholic, rife with angst and an attempt to cope, “XR” is an exuberant barb-wired Weezer track that combines bright sticky melodies and exhausted, tenacious razor sharp snarling. Contrast is always present on Lose between recounting memories, pain and trying to punch onward. It’s present in the ends of verses and compositions. “LifeNet” features a similar blend of irresistible melodies and visceral Cedric Blixer-inherited vocals.

Lose feels like a middle ground between Japandroids’ “Celebration Rock” and Arcade Fire’s “Funeral”. Lose is just as earnest but not quite as clear, which is somewhat detrimental to its impact on a granular scale. Atomizing CEG’s attempt to fill each song with details of loss is a little too obscured. For all the wonderfully dense guitar soundscapes, connective sonic tissue and gradual pacing, picking out the details of loss can be a little too difficult. For this reason, Lose works best like a Nolan film; conceptually brilliant, but obtuse in granularity .

As an ode to loss and the will to move on, Lose is raw and full of heart. Even when the reeling memory recollection is at odds with the instrumental composition at a granular level, there’s enough to gleam from the murky subconscious storytelling and wholly evocative instrumentation to feel the effect at a conceptual level. If nothing else, Lose is a great sounding record with enough emotional intent to involuntarily illicit an empathetic response. It’s a little unwieldy and bracing, put that’s part of Lose’s charm.

8.3

2:14 pm - Sun, Aug 24, 2014
3 notes

Ty Segall
Drag city
2014

Following Segall’s unusually delicate 2013 solo record Sleeper, the cali garage rock machine with a thousand arms is back with a beefy riff-heavy 17-track beast in Manipulator. The Eponymous opening track leads the album off as a strong microcosmic sample of Manipulator’s most notable element, melody. It’s not to say Ty Segall had no concept of melody or actively avereted it, but Manipulator is full of heavy, beatle-esque takes on rock. Inviting grooves and melodies dance along track to track, whether it’s the charming, bastardly take on paired down funk with “Tall Man, Skinny Lady”, the buzzy blimp guitars of “It’s Over” or the vague, early Sabbath tones of “The Faker”, melody and immortal humming follow through pervasively.

Other times, Ty Segall shores up on his innate oddness in the sonic elements of some tracks in Manipulator’s second half. “Connection Man” is at once a guitar playground, the paranoid scribbling of Segall’s imagination, and whizzing electronic notification of 60s era sci-fi; there’s quite a lot going on in this one track in particular. If Manipulator had one weakness, it’s ironically the length.A number of songs feel a bit peripheral, as it leans on Segall’s work with Sleeper throwing the pace off and making smudging the entire album’s pacing. While Sleeper’s style was novel as an entire direction, the exciting guitar jams of Manipulator cannot be denied as the star and tracks like “Stick Around”  weigh down the reeling adrenaline from the blistering “The Crawler”.

Ty Segall’s latest feels exciting at its core, but feels noticeably pent up in others. Had this record been 11 tracks all going for the throat, it would benefit in the same way  the Japandroids lean joyous Celebration Rock  did. As it Stands, Manipulator continues the Segall’s nearly inconceivable win streak, but with some tightening of track selection, Manipulator could have been more.

7.4

11:10 am - Sat, Aug 16, 2014
4 notes

FKA Twigs
Young Turks
2014

FKA Twigs often recounts her young personal history, as one characterized by a palpable degree of oddness.  Her style and composure are anomalous as is her music. On her debut full-length, pragmatically titled LP1, some of this strangeness obfuscates the pace of her work yet it also delivers an intimate record far beyond Twigs’ years.

The two ingredients in this dish are trip hop and R&B. The most salient influences appear to be the slow burns of Massive Attack and delicate, mesmerizing vocals of Aaliyah.  The first half of LP1 is paced remarkably well. The preamble opener, er “Preface” is an intriguing mix of operatic vocals, grimy samples and winding, voluminous, low-fi drum samples. “Lights On” creeps beautifully around cavernous verses and moon lit choruses. Space is clearly Twigs’ weapon of choice and it pays off well…until it doesn’t. It gets slightly dicey and monotonous through sections off the record’s middle.

“Hours” feels like a slog where the use of space has no real bearing and feels a little too aimless. Potentially it was meant to be a complete respite from the album’s more busy work but it doesn’t quite nail that function and “Pendulum” suffers the same fate. In the same section, “Video Girl” uses space between vocals and ornate beat-making to a winning result; catching respite and calm as beat casts out rotund kick beats, feathering laser overdubs and creaking snare rim samples.  In addition to the well crafted gothic sonic dissidence of “Numbers”, it becomes clearer the middle part is weakest on the record because its quality varies too inconsistently.

The subject matter on the album dances between relational intimacies, double entendres on these seemingly carnal intimacies, and delicate isolationist pontification. Twigs often obfuscates her own lyrics for emotional/atmospheric effect. Her voice is so lush that catching the ends of sentences on a track like “Closer” gives the ears enough to go on alone. The sonic delivery of her lines are illocutionary acts as their tone are evocative of the meaning beyond  sparse fragments. It’s a pretty powerful, and polished effect.The last third of LP1 closes beautifully with a pervasive emotional simmer and direction that sticks featuring the aforementioned “Closer”.  

FKA Twigs is an artist beyond her years though she is a young artist nonetheless. Her record features far more nuance than let’s say Lorde’s debut last year, but it does have some missteps. Regardless, LP1 is a great opening salvo in what is sure to be a long, quality career.

7.9 

8:14 pm - Sun, Aug 10, 2014
2 notes

Every so often, you find a song that fills a void in your life that you didn’t even know was there. This is one such song. You’re welcome.

1:52 pm - Sat, Aug 2, 2014
The Range6. The Range - Rayman
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Chewed:

Rayman (single)
The Range
Gem Drops 4(July 2014)

After the hypnotic, nearly combative electronica of James Hinton’s Nonfiction, and his recent EP Panasonic, it seems the train continues to roll until he passes out from exhaustion or the simian flu eventually comes for us all. As part of Portland-based Dropping Gems label’s ritualistic compilation (imaginatively named Gem Drops 4), Rayman is another piece of deconstructed dance music for those looking beyond an everlasting #fourtothefloor gobstopper.

It swells slow with some soothing electronics enveloped some elastic  percussion, stinging electronic glints. And would you know, some horn samples drop followed by some monolithic synths. As per Hinton’s distinct house sauce, there are some seemingly mistaken voice samples bent into rhythmic shape and then you have the picture. It’s about the groove of the ensemble, which exclusively works in unison. most electronic music really appeals to base rhythms that are readily accessible, but what makes Hinton’s style so intriguing are the intentional barriers he creates. As with Rayman, much like his other work, Hinton enjoys the layers that take a bit of work before you get to the center of the nut. It’s an entire contradiction of most synonymous dance staples, but Rayman is yet another track from an artist that truly strives to break his style out of monolithic “EDM”.

Check out the full compilation here

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