Review Summary: And here we go a-
then I lost my place? Take me back - oh yikes cool, Kinoteki is still on. That new record Dawn of the Final [...Day? Hour? Dawn??] has it all and takes you to the middle of nowhere, fast. Jungle, house, footwork, bit of acid here and there. Someone else's good times seen through the window of Burial's McDonald's. Wanna rave but my limbs didn't make it into this plane - shimmer shimmer spirit, shimmer. Proper Cyberia bangers. Everything liminal - where the hell am I? Shit okay
sure: middle of a cafe, translating some technophobic German essay from a late-'90s cultural crit collection. Check assignment brief; inhale caffeine. It's a kneejerk about the rise of the internet: communitarian society collapsing; man forged in the white glare of automata visages; human voices increasingly dissociated from one another. Voices where? God, the sampling on this record really is on point - not just in its choice of vocal recordings (which do have the Instant Engagement factor down to a fine science), but in the way it chops, skews and generally repurposes these well beyond their natural life. End up admiring the humanity of those slashed-up hooks twice as much for its sheer tenacity on those Frankenstein waveforms. Personified handholds on a sleek hunk of digishit, or whatever. Fuck. There's an unwieldy Goethe intertext in the assignment passage, of bloody
course; 's a clutch, deferral of authorial clout to a sleeping giant.
Human relations sans internet are a glorious complicated mess, and to illustrate this, um, whatdoyousay, uh, Goethe said it better. Pff. Goethe would never. Cut that kid up. Splice that utterance. Make him sing for you. Don't put yourself in his mouth. Gross thought - heavy bass kills it in its infancy and I'm back on my phone. Is it a problem that the second quarter of this album is so indistinct? Same. Skim messages. Slurp coffee. Skittering breakbeat. Date night tonight, jazz club what time? Friend's breakup straightening out okay. Pressing plant issues: vinyl shopping delayed. Ugh. Mata ne, Dream Dolphin (fuck, she'd have worked it on this beat). Four suddenly comes down to-the-floor with urgency. Phone down - back onto the dictionary. How long have I been here? Remarkable how quickly these tracks pivot between banishing the edge on that caffeine off to the nethersphere and abracadabraing it back into my bloodstream with fresh vengeance, and back again. How long can I stay - not very, shit, fuck, parse that, substitute that, conserve that nuance, dip head to kick, tap pen to snare, ignore whatever the hell the spectral glitching ghostvoices are cooing. Time passes. There: done! Ish. Y'sure? Comb through again. This is a really good album, shame it's over. I was weighing up playing it from the top while staring at the translation, but
