The Long Player – Looking Back At Underground Resistance’s Interstellar Fugitives.

It can be difficult, in this internet saturated era, to remember a time when finding new music wasn’t always easy. Great tunes heard in the club could all to easily vanish into the ether without you ever knowing who they were or even what they were called. DJ’s, in a time of white labels, were not always very forthcoming about what they were playing, and although a good record shop could sometimes help to cut through the thick smog of confusion, disinterest, and elitism, even their knowledge could be down to the mercy of the occasional savant-like gonk with an encyclopaedic understanding of music.

Compilation albums offered a way for the average idiot to join the dots and connect the differing strands until something suggestive of a complete picture began to emerge from the fuzz. At their most basic a comp was simply a collection of tunes, often the bigger numbers that you had probably heard a million times. In the very early days, house compilations – acid ones especially, for some reason – were almost identical; the same tracks, the same artists appearing over and over with little regard to anything other than cashing in on a particular vibe. At their best, though, they illuminated not only the artists but the labels too, and provided a portal to a larger world. They were instructive as much as entertaining. And throughout the nineties, as the various scenes and genres developed so did the role of the compilation. They moved on from simply being a bunch of tunes brought together on the same records and became something of an artform in themselves.

Underground Resistance’s Interstellar Fugitives album took this to a new level entirely. In its most immediate form, Interstellar Fugitives was a sampler of the various talents who had hooked up with both the band and the label itself over the years, and from that simplistic point of view it can be seen as a jumping-on point, a place for those new to UR to get themselves initiated into what the label was all about. The truth, however, was a little bit more complex.

First released in 1998, Interstellar Fugitives was perhaps the definitive document of an electronic phenomenon then at the height of both their importance and powers. There had been other compilations on the label before: 1992’s Revolution For Change had brought together a number of explosive tunes by the original Banks-Mills-Hood line up that still holds up to the test of time even though its more British/European rave energy now infuses the collection with the retrospective air of a world long vanished. 1995’s Electronic Warfare – built around the fire-starting call to arms of the title track and expanding out into a stellar remix EP (and a later reissue which included the peerless X2 by Banks’ Electric Soul guise) – was a true landmark of nineties electro and technobass; a double EP which explored not only UR’s fury but their more playful and soulful side.

What set Interstellar Fugitives apart from those other releases was the way it brought several important members of the UR into the light. While Mike Banks had always been the driving force of the outfit – even in the days of Jeff Mills and Robert Hood – the fact was that it had always been a collective, a family of like-minded individuals who each brought something unique to the music and to the label. Interstellar Fugitives afforded an opportunity for many of us of to better get to know some of the other members.

Several of them needed little in the way of introduction. By the time of the album’s release Drexciya were every bit as big and important as UR, perhaps more so. James Pennington AKA Suburban Knight was, like Banks, a brilliant producer whose career straddled Detroit techno’s first and second waves. His first release, The Groove, having arrived on Derrick May’s Transmat back in 1987. Others such as Gerald Mitchel were long time Banks collaborators, and an important member of the collective, particularly in a live setting. DJ Rolando, UR’s tour DJ (amongst other things) would go on to have a major breakout hit the following year with Jaguar – a tune that, for a variety of reasons, achieved a certain notoriety (but that’s a story for another time). He would also go on to mastermind another important UR document – the mix CD The Aztec Mystic Mix.

Even the other artists, those who are not perhaps as ‘box office’ as those listed above, are not here to make up numbers. Marc Floyd, operating here as Chaos, is a real great of Detroit technobass, with a slew of essential releases across a number of labels. Chuck Gibson remains a fairly low-key name, but here, as Perception, his addition to the line up adds something thrillingly different and unexpected.

This was more than just a collection of artists. This was UR opening the door on their family, on their community. In fact, this is probably one of Interstellar Fugitives‘ most important factors. Since their inception, Underground Resistance had been about far more than just the music, and their sense of community was one rooted in Detroit’s inner city: a real place, with real people, and real lives. Often across various electronic scenes the concept of community is one which is virtually meaningless. It frequently has no purchase beyond the immediate, and no sense of itself beyond a rather banal and often fairly selfish connection between a handful of friends or like-minded individuals. With Underground Resistance though it was far more than that; it was the foundation of their music, the guiding hand which shaped their philosophy and sound. It’s a reflection of black, inner city communities, their lives and their struggles; it’s about supplying school bags and books to kids; it’s about positivity and strength; It’s music as a form of direct action.

All this fed into the sense of militant-ism which UR remain known for, and shaped their outward image: the bandanna and face masks, the real personas anonymous behind a carefully created image of underground techno warrior-monks fighting a guerilla war against a dangerous and shadowy establishment. Some of it can also be seen in the vistas of Drexciya’s expansive afro-futurism – an entire universe of myths and legends and stories which fed back and forth into the music. But where Drexciya’s world view was perhaps always as subversive as that of UR, it also seemed less concerned with the day-to-day; it promised a utopia of sorts. UR promised no such thing. It was far more direct, the sense of direct action dialled up. In certain ways it was a mirror of what Public Enemy had done a decade before, except here the politics were accentuated with an even stronger visual identity which tied in perfectly with the various guerilla and science fiction motifs.

On Interstellar Fugitives this manifesto was underscored in the cover art itself, particularly on the rear panel where Chuck Gibson’s artwork rendered the contributors along those very strong, strident, and militaristic lines. He took the artists and recreated them in a way that was reminiscent of Saturday morning cartoon superheroes – dangerous but honourable men fighting for something larger than themselves. The accompanying text reads like the charge sheets from the forces of darkness bent of stopping them. Mike Banks becomes one of the ‘shadow warriors (special forces); Drexciya become UR’s ‘aquatic assault unit’ skilled in ‘beach head preparations’. Much of it is tongue-in-cheek; often playful, but in a way that never detracts from the seriousness which underpins every conceit.

Of course, none of this would matter if the music on Interstellar Fugitives failed to live up to the high standards expected of it, but it does so with ease. While later revisions would add tracks, remove others, the original 1998 press of twelve tracks perhaps remains the definitive document of the Underground Resistance collective at their high water mark. Although each track explores differing forms of Detroit techno and electro, as well as drifting out into other, less easily defined areas, and all make great work of individual aesthetics, every one of them echoes with a shared, almost communal ethos and dedication to a particular approach.

At the album’s heart is a deep, intuitive reinterpretation of soul music. And while it might not always be evident, it shouldn’t really be surprising. Banks’ interests in soul, and gospel, had long been part of his personal musical canon. UR’s The Turning Point, released a year earlier in 1997 had taken soul, funk, and gospel as the record’s cornerstones, and Banks’ had reinvented them for the techno age. Where others had similarly delved into these genre’s riches, The Turning Point altered their basic DNA, and emphasised the way their kindred energies had a role in the development of Detroit music. Soul, in particular, remains one of Detroit’s greatest gifts to the world, but it was one where it’s obvious links with techno often remained hidden away and unremarked upon. On Interstellar Fugitives the sound of soul is altered beyond almost all recognition (its most noticeable appearance, if it can even be called that, lies on an uncredited Al Green sample within the wandering funk of Gerald Mitchell’s Soulsaver), but the meaning, that of emotion, place, and humanity, is at the album’s very centre. It informs every groove, every bassline. It provides the futuristic machine-funk with a tangible and solid essence. It understands that soul is both a physical music as much as a spiritual experience.

Perhaps in keeping with this, the music on Interstellar Fugitives remains accessible and welcoming, which is no mean feat considering the differing moods and tempos spread across the album’s six sides. The biggest tunes, Banks’ own Moor Horsemen On Bolorus 5, and Nanny Town, are hard, sinewy, blast of electro which stomp in at 150 and 155 BPM respectively. Yet it is a testament to their craft that neither feels as fast as that. While they both shift themselves at velocities which melt flesh, they refuse to fall into the trap of believing that faster is heavier. Both are strengthened by a lightness of touch, and by making much of a broiling funk which deftly draws you away from their weight. Moor Horsemen… in particular weaves elements of otherness into its explosive movement, the whip-like melody of African flute dousing everything with atmosphere until the tune develops its own narrative; it feels like your witnessing the terrible majesty of a Maghreban sandstorm rising above the Detroit skyline.

In fact, these two tunes feel like outliers against the rest of the material; as big and important as both of them are, they feel almost like book ends. An important role, for sure, and one which serves to emphasise important facets of the collectives work, but their fury, as playful and deceptively warm as it might be, serves to guard the deeper explorations contained elsewhere.

These deeper tunes, in particular the trinity formed from Aztec Mystic’s Mi Raza, Perception’s Mirage, and Andre Holland’s Unabomber, are subtle variations on the central theme. Mi Raza is the most open of the three; a twisting, rolling exploration of next generation funk as much as it is tight, spiky electro, it works its magic through a careful emphasis on a particularly un-electronic sense of movement. The beats are little more than sketches, but they echo something of the straight ahead swing of far earlier Motown music, and these ghostly memories drive a tune which angles itself towards a larger understanding of where electronic music is able to go. In 1998, as with so many of the tracks on the record, it sounded like the antithesis of contemporary techno, being less interested with cutting itself down to appease the constraints of predominately club based music, determined instead to explore the extreme edges of what a musical form based in both physicality and sound could be. Mirage is a similar case, but it lacks much of Mi Raza’s innate warmth. It is far more compressed; rain-swept and colder, it builds itself around swirling pads and Gibson’s ethereal vocals and slowly grows in tight, righteous rage. Unabomber barely moves. It’s a whisper on the edge of night, and it is interesting now to see its shadow across a number of modern records. Its sense of place and understanding of shade and contrast is a forerunner of the angry experimentalism of the likes of Vatican Shadow.

Drexciya’s entry, the wobbling Aquatacizem is perhaps the only tune on the album that feels out-of-place. There is something about it that lacks the natural soulfulness of the other. I’ve wondered before whether this is perhaps down to a clash of philosophy, that Drexciya’s world view was already sufficiently different to that of UR for it to really make sense to have Aquatacizem included here. Musically, it’s a strange piece – pitched somewhere between electro and ambient, and ending up sounding like an abstract of both. In some ways, it’s barely there, haunting the edges of the communal experience as it does. It is rare for Drexciyan material to crop up outside of their own records, and this suggests reasons as to why that might be.

At the album’s heart though is one of the very finest tunes to emerge from Detroit in any era. Marc Floyd’s work as Chaos has always been something for the heads more than for general consumption. His electro is shot through with a strong and profound psychedelic colouring; the tones and textures helping to create something within the genre which remains almost unique. Later releases, such as Dot Dot Dash on Metroplex, and The Safety Is Off, would emphasise this to an even greater extent. Dot Dot Dash especially is a high point for Detroit electro, and is fascinating for the way it harks back to a time when the music was allowed to be playful and full of fun and charm.

Afrogermanic may not emphasise such things in the same way, but isn’t required to. The title sets its stall out perfectly, and is perhaps a reference to Juan Atkins’ old maxim that techno is the music you would get if Kraftwerk and George Clinton were trapped in a lift together. What makes Afrogermanic so special is it is neither of these, and yet it draws heavily on both traditions. Beyond that it falls in a shadowy hinterland between electro and techno – a place where the conceits of genre can forgotten and room made for the actual point of the tune. Its closest sonic kin is not to be found in the music of Mike Banks, or any of the (at the time) other members of UR, but in that of the former member Robert Hood. While sonically Afrogermanic is very, very different from Hoods stripped down minimalist techno, it has exactly the same approach. Afrogermanic has been pared away until all that is truly left is the funk and the vocals, resulting in a track which is simply a burst of soul upon a snarling groove. it is tight and it is insane. And it is the absolute distillation of everything Interstellar Fugitives is about.

UR would release a follow-up to Interstellar Fugitives a few years later. While Interstellar Fugitives 2 – The Destruction Of Order has many great tunes scattered across its vast 2 CD form it is a very different creature. Released originally (I think) for the Japanese market it is far closer to a traditional label sampler. What it does show clearly though, is that the Underground Resistance of the new millennium was not the same as in the nineties. It no longer felt as tight a collective as it once did, and the record (or CD in this case) no longer has that documentary feel. Neither does it feel like a manifesto. Its musical remit is broader, perhaps, but the lack of clear focus, of a unifying and central ethos means that it is almost incapable of reaching the same heights.

This is perhaps unavoidable. The nineties were a high point not only for Underground Resistance but for Detroit techno. While both label and genre have done remarkable things since then, you can never really go back to the glory days – at least not the same ones. Not only do things change, but so do our reactions to them. There has been a growing sense over the last few years that UR’s earnestness, their values, and their music do not quite fit in with a scene that seems increasingly narcissistic and self-absorbed, that the very things which once made them so incredibly important now render them a little beyond the pale and of-their-time. Maybe so, but I think anyone with an eye on the ways of this world can sense that maybe, just maybe, some of these values and ideas might be about to have their place again. Interstellar Fugitives they might be, but if ever we needed a dose of righteous electronic fury, it’s right now. What better place to start with the manifesto, and the soundtrack, to a revolution of change?

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Clearing The Decks: Part 2 In A Sort Of Occasional Series.

Wait, what do you mean there’s more? Nah mate, I’ve just written one of these and now you want me to spaff on and on about Kon001, Ultradyne, Binaural, and Sweely? Are you mad? OK then, let’s get it going. Can I do this from the pub?

Ultradyne – Ocular Animus (Pi Gao Movement)

The Detroit electro outfit return with their first release in going on three years – not counting last year’s repress of the Antartica album. While it would be nice to see them being a bit more active, you can pretty much forgive all that the moment a new record arrives in your hands because, simply, there is no one else who sounds quite like them. This is another master class in slightly cracked but utterly compelling Detroit fuelled electro. It seems prudent to give the warning that it might not be for everyone, though, particularly the sprawling, de-constructed, winter beauty of Reflex Movement No. 4, a tune which seems less like music and more like a sonic rorschach test. The other two tracks are moderately more sane, with the beguiling, spinning, Suicide Relay stripping away all of contemporary electro’s baggage to reveal the genre’s glowing soul. Please buy it now. It’s one of the best this year so far.

Binaural – Mescla (Dream Ticket)

Binaural have been around since the late nineties, making their debut with the highly regarded Unison on the legendary Djax and following it up with a body of work sooooo slender it pretty much becomes invisible in strong light. They unexpectedly reappeared last year with the excellent Prisms LP and seem to be ramping up their presence with this, their first EP in 13 years. It orbits a similar mass to Radioactive Man, or Sync24, in the sense that this is electro of a particular vintage where extraneous fluff is blown away to better reveal the tight rhythmic workouts which lie at the heart of every tune. Occasionally, though, this approach does leave the tracks a bit sparse in terms of emotion, as if they lack an obvious centre beyond the bounce of the beats. Even so, Mescla wears its heart joyously on its sleeve. Director’s deceptively potent mix of Dopplereffekt style grooves and old school story telling lends it a moody sense of emotion, but it’s Qwerty’s empty, wrong-side-of-midnight, scamper which raises the game – and the atmosphere – to unexpected heights.

Sweely – Les Chroniques De Monsieur Montana Part II (Concrete Music)

I’m always a little bit suspicious of music which elicits an immediate liking, as if there is something in its willingness to please which suggests there might not be much beyond first contact to hold your attention. Of course, this is largely because I’m a bit of an arsehole who sees disappointment beyond every corner, but it’s an occasionally useful strategy for separating the pretenders from the real deal. A good record will blow you away, but a great record will still blow you away years down the line. Les Chroniques De Monsieur Montana Part II is a bit of a mix; electro, house, jazz, funk, and little thrills n fills from elsewhere are condensed into a slick pack of prowlers which echo with a sense of homage for a music that never really existed. Straight of the bat, it delights in its winding takes and sensual grooves in a way that occasionally recalls fellow French genius/legend St. Germain, particularly on the languid Ambassadors Of The Jungle. Elsewhere Sweely sidesteps what, in other hands, may have been the temptation to dive into the lazy world of dull, chunky, disco to colour the music with true deep night, lounge-house textures which open up the sound to a wider, far more interesting world. More Love rolls with a coy, heartbreaking vibe that’s all understated chords and throbbing bass. No More Salad goes even further, latching onto a deliciously tight, cheeky groove which reminds me of Neneh Cherry for some reason. Lovely. So, yep, it’s a pretty good record. If you want to know whether it’s a great one though, check back in three years time and I’ll let you know.

Kon001 – 65489 CETO (Pulse Drift Recordings)

Confession time: I’ve had this kicking around for a while by mistake, having stupidly convinced myself that I’d already reviewed it. Such is the danger of being a one-idiot operation who relies heavily on scribbling things down on the back of unpaid leccy bills and hoping that counts as living an ordered life. What the content of that non-existent review was, I couldn’t tell you, but if I was writing it now (which, you know, I am) I’d point out that Kon001’s mix of Stingray’s ERBB4 was my tune of the year a while back, and was a gorgeous, accessible, reimagining of what was a wonderful but fairly obtuse tune. I’m not entirely sure, but this would appear to be Kon001’s actual, full d├ębut, and it’s somehow not what I expected on the back of that one, miraculous, remix. On first listen I thought it too slick, too ready to sacrifice rhythms and grooves for melody and straight-ahead structure. On successive listens that feeling alleviates somewhat – although it’s never entirely laid to rest – and once your ears realign to the dominant frequencies it develops a fierce sense of itself. While it’s very much electro in tone, it frequently dives away from that to wrap itself up in Detroit techno as much as anything else. The truth is that 65489 CETO is a record which does put the melody of emotion, mood, and tone, ahead of a more pugnaciously rhythmic heart, but in doing so it evokes a type of deep-space soul which we don’t hear quite as much of as we used to. While UW Colony XY70S’ harder electro-funk may be the one that us grumpy old purists gravitate towards first, the real meat on the EP is best summed up in USO’s sedate, wide-angled investigation into collapsing melodies and bigger-than-life motifs. The big moment for me, though, is in Project Lyra 705’s oort cloud bop; a tune that feels as if it was shot into space in the late 70’s and it only now broadcasting back to an Earth. When it stops trying too hard, and lets the music breathe instead, 65489 CETO is a pretty good record.

Clearing The Decks. Part 1 of God Knows How Many

Jeez. You wonder off into a haze of jadedness, boredom, and football for a few weeks (months) and when you come back there’s about a thousand things piled up and howling for your attention. I don’t know about you, but when I haven’t been watching the World Cup, or sweltering in the most unScottish heat I can remember I’ve pretty much been listening to Mr De and Erotek on repeat. It’s had an effect on how I see all other music now, but it’s also been a very useful palette cleanser. I’ve got no beer and a really bad headache so let’s get down to deck clearing. Hold on tight, we’re going to move at a clip here.

Historical Repeater – Scientific Calculator (Earwiggle)

First up is Scientific Calculator by Historical Repeater, a collaboration on Earwiggle between Ctrls and Solid Blake that manages to sound exactly as you might expect while consistently stepping past your preconceptions. Essentially, this is the sort of scuzzy, forward aiming, techno that provides a much-needed counter-point to the hordes of identikit and boring sounds currently embarrassing the genre. It’s barbed, groovey, and all fuzzy on the outside. You’d probably expect me to alight on Flashdrive’s growling, industrialized electro stomp, but the real winner here is the expansive, funky, Say Nothing which draws out subtle melodies and a sense of motion from the darkness.

Vertical67 – Out Of The Void (Vortex Traks)

Vertical67 lands on Vortexs Traks with Out Of The Void, a record that builds up some interesting ideas, but unfortunately never quite gets them working together. The result is something bordering on lounge-smooth, although the glimmer of darker mood tends to stop it falling too far into the saccharine depths. Opener Out Of The Void carries it off best by simply keeping the groove locked into a tight snarl and coming up with something fluid, menacing, and noir-ish. Unknown Territories comes close to convincing you that there is still some worth in deep electro with a flair of emotion and vulnerability, but a little to much of the fragility seeps into the groove.

Hissman – Revenge EP (Dixon Avenue Basement Jams)

Fabio Monesi’s Hissman Project slams into DABJ at high-speed with a bumping chuckle of warehousey blangers. The Revenge EP is an immediate sugar-hit of noise, distortion, and general oomf that’ll make you feel like the most alive person in the room until the crash comes and you sit in a corner crying. First impressions suggest tracky madness, but really there’s a bit more going on. It’s a bit uneven – Revenge itself, and Forest Wave talk a big game, but are overly content with wobbling around the starting line. Fragment, though, is a solid slice of dirty techno nonsense – a kindred spirit to the Historical Repeater stuff (look upwards!), and the sort of tune that passes for peak time in my fever dreams.

Silicon – V981 (V-Max)

I’ve loved Heath Brunner’s work as Silicon since I first heard him many years ago, but V981 on his very recently reactivated V-Max Records was a difficult one for me to parse. I struggled up and down with it because essentially I’m a fanboi. The fact is I don’t think this is classic Silicon;V981 feels lacking in energy. It’s too well-mannered, and content to use flourish where there should be spirit. Even so, Brunner still has more funk than a James Brown clone factory. Lost To The Void swirls with moodiness and tight, hungry rhythms. Rx17 is maybe the standout, and captures something of the sophisticated electro-grace which made Silicon one of the real stand out producers of the last couple of decades.

DJ Glow Presents Populist – Psychometric Profiling (Trust)

DJ Glow is back on his own Trust label, with Psychometric Profiling and under the Populist guise which he hasn’t used in a while. It’s a likeable EP which gets stronger as it goes on, and there is a feeling of different shades of electro being brought in to illuminate the darker recesses of Glow’s mind. At first it lulls you into thinking it might be a slab of run-of-the-mill acid-tinged breakbeat wonkiness, but as the record unfolds the overarching atmosphere is brightened (and, importantly, darkened when the occasion presents itself) by little touches of drama as the music veers between straight-up modern electro, and something which I guess you could call more Warp influenced: a sheen of IDM which teases out strands of mood and texture from behind the beats. A solid record but the two big keepers are Electromagnetic’s compressed Jovian skank that sounds like the bastard offspring of Chaos and Spesimen, and Simulation City, a tune of clipped Stingray-esque beats and cascading light.

Well, that’s it for today. I’ve a million other records to get through so join me again soon for the next episode of All Work and No Play Makes Jack Question His Life Choices.

Best Of The Represses July 2018

It’s been a disappointing couple of months, music wise. Whether it’s new stuff or represses, I just can’t seem to find a huge amount of enthusiasm. House increasingly looks like it no longer even fancies doing something fun tonight, techno has increasingly become obsessed with sucking all the soul out of itself. And electro. Oh my beloved, beautiful electro. Stop pretending you’re in a shite experimental, gothy, 80s synth band. It was toss then. It is toss now. You know better.

Anyways, there are still a couple of things passing in this direction which help to dial back the jadeness. Here’s some old gear pretending to be young again.

Black Noise – Nature Of The Beast (Metroplex)

Oh you beautiful, crazy, bastards. You did it. You actually did it. You went and repressed Nature Of The Beast by Black Noise. At last. My own copy of this has all the scars and bruises you would expect from a veteran of the Techno Wars. This record has seen some shit over the years; a thousand yard stare locked into a disk of battered, tired, wax.

I wrote about this record an age ago, comparing it to a mass extinction event. I haven’t changed my mind. If this isn’t my favourite bit of hard techno ever, it is pretty close. listen to it on a big system, and squeal with delight as it takes you apart atom by atom. I think one of the reasons I’m so fond of it is because it doesn’t seem bothered by the fact it’s simply a gargantuan slab of brain-chewing noise latched onto the most basic of kicks and percussion. I can think of very, very few records that approach the seething, heavy, heat of Nature Of The Beast while maintaining a forward momentum that’s almost breezy; it moves so sweetly for a big guy it’ll take your breath away.

Still immense, Still more alive, more potent, and more inventive than a thousand safe modern techno EPs. One of the very best records on one of the very best record labels. buy three copies right now and play them all at the same time.

Transllusion – A Moment of Insanity (Clone Aqualung)

I’m not sure what to say here. Anyone who follows me here and there probably know my feelings towards the constant discovery of ‘new’ old material relating to either of the Drexciyan members. Suffice to say I’m not a massive fan of it, and it feels a little more problematic in the case of James Stinson because, obviously, he is no longer here to stamp his approval of the bits ‘n’ bobs that seem to keep getting released. I don’t doubt that Clone are releasing this stuff because they love Stinson’s work, but you wonder how much more there can be that’s worth it.

This isn’t technically a repress then, because to the best of my knowledge none of these tracks have been released before. Even so, it seems right to stick them here, in the old folks home, so we can baff on about how things were better in the old days.

It’s just not an amazing record. It feels disjointed, weirdly self-conscious with ideas that come across as laboured and only passingly believed in. There are touches, here and there, which transcend that sense of circular entertainment, where you can glimpse something more vital moving behind the haze. The final track is a good one, particularly for the way it completely side steps any expectations to sound like Stinson’s gone and got himself a gig opening for Sonic Youth circa 1985. As for the rest, well, someone or other will probably tell me it’s genius but we both know it isn’t. Collectors who have to get everything will lap it up, as will the teams who put more stock in the name than the game. Anyone who wants to get in on Transllusion are better served by getting the album, The Opening Of The Cerebral Gate, or the first EP, Mind Over Positive And Negative Dimensional Matter where the mind-blossoming possibilities of the ideas are stoked up by sleek grooves and more soul than the Wigan Casino on a Friday night.

Review: OverworX – OverworX 001 (OverworX)

Next up is Ovewrworx, which is Ben Pest in disguise, and heading up what I think is his own label. For those who don’t know him, Ben Pest has been around for a while, with releases on underground luminaries like I love Acid, and Jerome Hill’s Don’t – both pretty decent arbiters of leftfield heat.

What we have here is a blast of the underground from a direction which has been growing a little bit over the last year or two. It’s reminiscent of Unspecified Enemies in the way it rewires broken bits of rave, house, electro, and God knows what else into a wonky looking, but hard moving, creation which exudes a sense of venomous glee. I Am The Cream Is a big room, day-glo stomper that whirls around the always improbable point where house begins to warp into rave. Let’s be honest here: it’s a brutally dumb track, but it’s not built for subtlety. It’s vast, colossal, and unashamedly aimed at getting hands-in-the-air. Carbs Before Marbs is less bothered about raising a smile – although it certainly does – and channels a bit of old Djax harshness into a clattering, rickety, skeleton always on the edge of falling apart.

The two digital only tracks pull a similar hit ‘n’ run to their vinyl siblings, but take aim at something less straight up and warehousey. Credible Honk is a frayed, garagey, scruff of fractured beats that expand and contract with heat. Leaner than the first two tracks – vainer too – it provides contrast and shade from the earlier work, and opens the record up to a wider world of influences.

Flybot’s electro is coloured with little tweaks, and a careful roughness, which accents an old-school looseness wedded to a Rotterdam-esque skank. While it never quite hits the scabby, mutant, heights of a Murder Capital/Viewlexx banger, it still manages to bring that same feeling of getting lost somewhere between the ribs of the groove and hoping you could get back to the open before it hits off on a tangent.

OverworX001 does a good job on opening up upon a similar electronic world as Jerome Hill, Textasy, a few others. Sonically they often bear little resemblance, but there is a shared energy that owes a lot to a brasher, louder, and dafter, musical heritage than we are usually treated to. OverworX001 differs in that, unlike those other producers, it’s at its happiest when moving between the various extremes, not particularly staking a claim to any one form. The ground it covers brings a wealth of ideas and, perhaps unexpectedly, moods. While the speed it moves at sometimes leaves things a little hazy, the energy it imbibes everything with is insane. Four directions on offer here. I hope each get their turn to be fully explored in the future.