II nøthing II — higeki

The ungenerous among us would describe higeki as background music. And on paper, that's exactly what it is. Narcotic, downtempo beats lift spectral horn samples into life. Delicate, modal keyboard phrases sing from the back of the room. There's a sleepy easiness to it all.

But it's deceptively melodic and full of rich textures. The sheer craft and attention to detail makes you lean in; savour every second. That's what keeps you up. Figuring how washes of funk, vaportrap and trip-hop intertwine into a seamless whole.

And what a whole it is — this is a hauntological treat. Vaporwave which recalls the mysticism, melancholy, and wonder of Boards of Canada — not the arch jokiness that keeps outsiders standing in the rain. Listen to the echoes of Photek's 'Rings Around Saturn' in the weightless opener '疼痛'. There is a sincere artistic ambition here, often lacking in a movement which can fall foul of its own cynicism.

Wonderful ephemerality disintegrates this trio of tracks even as you listen. The dream upon waking, the hand curled around smoke. This music is substantial and insubstantial all at once. Like a daydream it's come and gone; it conjures itself from nothing, and on ending vanishes somewhere you cannot follow.

Like receiving a garbled fax from Boards of Canada, Black Moth Super Rainbow and Oneohtrix Point Never. Available to stream and purchase here.

Words by Andrew O’Keefe

LOGIC1000 — LOGIC1000

A cocktail of tabla, handclaps and speedy snares open LOGIC1000. It sounds punchy and simple. But Samantha Poulter's danceable beats conceal great complexity. Individual drum lines drop in and out of the mix, rejuvenating those that had surrounded them. Poulter's touch here is deft, near-invisible. It makes the first track pass in seconds.

'The River is Tight' follows -- a short, moody sketch, punctured by a relentless, funereal gong. We nosedive from the opener's euphoria into implacable unease. It's the only track bereft of an immediate sense of joy. It's also your last opportunity to catch your breath.

Straight into this EP's standout, 'DJ Logic Please Forgive Me'. It's an infectious remix of 90s R&B legend Deborah Cox; irresistible old-school vocal house. This is a shameless throwback whose ambition doesn't extend that far beyond making everyone dance. But Poulter finds strength in pragmatism. She achieves her ambitions by imposing smart limits on them. Better to do one thing well — and this does its thing exceptionally.

Once she's got you dancing, Poulter follows up with 'Derrière'. This charismatic piece swaddles a charming and cheeky vocal sample in insistent rhythms and buzzing bass. It's LOGIC1000's infectious sense of fun, boiled down into one brief, potent package.

This is an absolutely loveable release. Stuffed with diverse influences; tight, bouncy grooves and squeaky-clean production. The second it's over you'll want to start it again.

Shades of the stellar Kelly Lee Owens, Kelela and Aaliyah. LOGIC 1000 is available to stream and purchase here.

Words by Andrew O’Keefe

Gum Takes Tooth — The Arrow

Gum Takes Tooth make their intentions clear from The Arrow's first track. Heavy modulation shakes the music loose from itself. Guitar distortion pushes the sound into frailty rather than power. A discomforting feeling announces that everything could, at any point, fall apart.

This unique and engaging sound is The Arrow's most appealing element. Composition on this album, by contrast, seems to pilfer from a patchwork of influences. Its title track is the most shameless example. The crushing repetition of Swans' 'Mother of the World', or My Bloody Valentine's 'Nothing Is' is grasped at. But the track is gutless, sinking without leaving a ripple.

Gum Takes Tooth would no doubt enjoy comparisons to such extreme or experimental acts. Their work, though, is closer to The 1975's A Brief Enquiry Into Online Relationships. Inhuman by design, apocalyptic yet triumphant, eclectic but not messy. It’s a half-hearted bid for esoteric beauty — too timid to sever ties from more broadly accepted modes of expression.

'Borrowed Lies' is a mid-album highlight which incorporates a folk-like vocal melody. Gentility and beauty supplant the band's self-seriousness. It's a welcome break — and a few more moments like this could have worked wonders for the album.

As it stands, The Arrow is grandiose, but outstripped by its own ambition. It punches, but punches like a kid. And even its fantastic, medley-like final track, House Built of Fire, can't quite leave the bruise they want it to.

For fans of Crystal Castles, Savages and GNOD. The Arrow is available for streaming and purchase here.

Words by Andrew O’Keefe

Kelman Duran — 13th Month

The Hotel Caimanera in Cuba. It's painted yellow and blue. Arches, French windows, wooden floors. A swimming pool with a shallow section for children. There are thousands of these. The inoffensive, packaged resorts we task reggaeton with filling. And even by those standards, Caimanera is gaudy. It looks like somebody tried to represent Luis Fonsi's 'Despacito' in sculpture.

It also happens to sit less than a mile from the Guantanamo Bay detention centre. Caimanera's website boasts that you can see the base from their balconies. If they have a poolside playlist, Kelman Duran had better be on it.

It's all too easy to compare 13th Month to the work of British producer Burial. Both artists make use of heavily obscured vocals. Both use the pops and scratches of vinyl as percussion. Both provoke strong feelings of loneliness. But that's where the comparison ends. Substitute Burial's midnight cityscapes for lush natural environments. Transform the depressiveness into searing anxiety.

A seismic shift emerges occurs between the two works' content. The loneliness of Burial has always belonged to the listener. Duran's work transposes this onto the imagined subjects of his work. Pursued, harassed, endangered. Given form by some stunning vocal collaborators. You hear the urgency of people whose lives are nothing but running, running, running.

The vocal samples themselves fall like footsteps. Short, sharp explosions of sound that complement 13th Month's dembow riddims. There is something of Swedish DJ The Field here. Where their loops are ordered and robotic, however, Duran's are wild and frantic.

This panic, scattered over so many styles, imitates the unsolvable vastness of social disparity. 13th Month is a moral assault. Voices of victims drowned in noise. You are culpable and unable to help. The suffering blends into a formless and ungraspable whole.

The album closes gently. Rhythm gives way to atmosphere and ambience. Have they stopped; given up? Did they fall? Or is this an imagined future in which nobody is forced to run? Duran leaves these questions hanging in the silence.

In the spirit of The Knife’s Shaking the Habitual, Gaika and with sprinklings of The Field. Available for streaming and purchase here.

Words by Andrew O’Keefe

Lighght — The Skin Falls Off The Body

You expect efficiency from an artist named after a single-word Aram Saroyan poem. And, true to their name, Lighght's brisk debut EP doesn't waste a second. Opener 'Hang Nail' punches into a disordered evocation of early Aphex Twin. Further tracks follow suit, fed out as short drips of uncomfortable, jittering chaos. The taunting playground-dread of Come To Daddy casts a long shadow. But Lighght manages to burn through with a distinctive organic timbre.

Aphex conjured images of otherworldly metals clanging together; the ineffability of an hallucinogenic experience. By contrast, The Skin Falls Off The Body grounds itself in the physical. Somewhere between club and abattoir. Negative space and arrhythmia fill airy cavities. These tracks rattle through the chest, march goosebumps over its surface. A shattering corporeality ensures every beat, screech and snarl lands with full force. The sheer, body-pulping impact of this work is difficult to resist.

Lighght retains your attention like it's nothing. Ethereal atmospheres are interrupted by blasts of noise the second they settle. The effect: a jumpscare-pocked horror which forbids passive listening. A cleansing examination of our relationship with our own bodies. A unique new voice that’s still just clearing its throat.

This unsettling EP should please fans of Aphex Twin, Autechre, Klein and Jlin. Available for streaming and purchase here.

Words by Andrew O’Keefe