Review Summary: A playful and energetic album that falls prey to the ghosts of albums past.
There’s no denying that Ryan Hunn has talent. The founder of the iconic Manchester club night Hoya: Hoya, and a genre-straddling DJ in his own right, Hunn has been releasing expansive works under his Illum Sphere moniker for a while now as well. Just like his eclectic live gigs and DJ sets, his back catalogue has roamed drastically between the detached and methodical beats of 2009’s
Incoming EP to 2012’s Birthday/H808R split, whose pulsating synths would have been right at home in
Symmetry/Themes for an Imaginary Film, the drive-esque collaboration effort spearheaded by Johnny Jewel. So it comes as no surprise that his debut full length is just as varied.
On many levels, this wide-ranging scattershot approach proves fruitful, with the album never succumbing to monotony and dirge, as tracks like "Ra-Light", full of jangly, exotic synths and tribal percussion are bookended by more atmospheric, moody numbers. The use of guest vocals also helps maintain interest throughout the course of the 13 tracks, with Shadowbox’s wistful, sleepy drones contrasting nicely with the driving momentum on tracks like "The Road".
However, it’s inescapable to get past the feeling that this is a compilation of prior works rather than a fully-fledged album. Nothing on here feels particularly new. The jazzy numbers reflect
Love as a Dark Hallway-era The Flashbulb, whilst the brooding, retro synths and soft melancholy on tracks such as "Sleeprunner" and "Love Theme from Foreverness" bring unwanted, and unfavourable, comparisons to the superior
SuperMigration by Solar Bears. Quibbles about the lack of cohesion soon give way to a strange sense of repetition.
It’s nice then that several tracks do rise above the rest. Title track and album standout "Ghosts of Then and Now" towers over the album, a catchy, energetic affair that brings many of Illum Sphere’s styles into play on one track. A hazy accordion and playful piano are the backing sounds to an urgent electronic beat, before the track gives way to a climactic finish, with maracas and Hunn’s own mournful vocals echoing throughout and somehow, despite sounding the exact opposite, it works. And it works well.
The myriad of styles on offer throughout the album makes for an entertaining, but disjointed, listen, and the best tracks really highlight some fantastic writing and production. However, the comparisons that spring to mind on repeated listens betray a slight dearth of originality that cruel the overall enjoyment of the album.
