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B Y G E R A I NT D AV I E S , J O S H B A I NE S , A NNA T E H A B S I M , C L A U D E B A RB È - B RO W N, A L E X G W I L L I A M, D U NCAN H AR R I S O N, AY E S H A L I NT O N-W H I T T L E , J A M E S T. B A L M O NT, D AV Y RE E D , G A B RI E L S Z ATAN

TIM HECKER VIRGINS Kranky

THE WEEKND KISS LAND XO/Republic

17/20

7/20

The music we affix the ‘ambient’ tag with tends to veer down one of two paths: there’s the isolation tank explorations of the New Age-y chemtrail kind; your Harold Budds, your Tangerine Dreams, your Mountains. Then there’s the darker stuff, the records that explore internal geographies as much as idealised actual paradises. Over the last decade, Tim Hecker has stomped down the latter. His masterpiece, 2010’s Ravedeath 1972, was a study of instrumental decay, a haunting and haunted rumination of sonic dissolution. On Virgins, Hecker exchanges spectrality and concealment for a shockingly clear, clean sound: rotted etchings of terror for the HD generation. The Canadian’s collaborations with Daniel Lopatin’s Oneohtrix Point Never, collected on the brilliant Instrumental Tourist LP, write themselves in the margins here. There’s one major differentiation between the two; Lopatin’s recent material is intentionally-cloying, knowingly-sterile and insincere in the most PoMo sincere way possible, while Hecker’s record is fraught with feeling, intentionally-abstracted from the realm of the theoretical, heard best as a continuously unspooling stream. Going into individual tracks, trying to pinpoint moments of specificity seems counterintuitive to exploring Virgins. It sounds like moonlight sontanas melted in the arctic sun. It feels like bathing in VHS footage of deep forests at dawn. Whatever. It requires complete and repeated consumption. JB

So it turns out that Abel Tesfaye is the worst kind of creep. While The Weeknd’s brooding-yet-fragile-tortured-soul persona was coated in dense, then-original sounding production through most of his Trilogy series, with his fourth full length something’s gone awry. Kiss Land lewdly accounts for Tesfaye’s own hyperaccelerated journey into the sordid theme park of fame, where the rides are fast, devoid of emotion and leave you with a bad taste in your mouth. The production now seems overly sleek and over-compressed. And then there are the lyrics. Eugh, the lyrics. Tesfaye tell you that he wants to “domesticate you”, that you can “meet me in the room where the kisses ain’t free/ You gotta pay with your body.” Now it’s not like the mainstream hip-hop/RnB sphere is the wisest point of reference for advice on gender relations, but it’s hard not to be especially creeped out by Tesfaye’s murky, manipulative, and unintentionally hilarious ‘sit down on the sofa baby, express yourself ’ mentality. And so, within Kiss Land, Abel Tesfaye’s notorious lechery is no longer shrouded by semi-relatable, drug addled self-indulgence and tender bedroom producer mystique. Giving his grim depravity a glossy sheen, on Kiss Land he’s become RnB’s Patrick Bateman. AT

OM UNIT THREADS Civil Music

SPLASHH COMFORT Luv Luv Luv

15/20

London-based producer and DJ Jim Coles first came to light releasing hip-hop oriented bangers as 2tall, and a combination of footwork and jungle as Phillip D Kicks. Under his consistent and distinctive Om Unit moniker he’s maintained his versatility with tracks such as Neptune and collaborations with Kromestar and Machinedrum. That history of experimentation and subsequent ability to craft whatever sound he turns his hand to pays off throughout Threads, his debut LP under the OU name. Rather than being a showcase of dabbling, it is a matured arsenal, referential without being derivative. Utilising sampling, deep swells, twinkling trebles and a medley of percussion and sound tied in a dubby ribbon, the album flows as a rich narrative. Sharp and intelligent vocal content, such as Jinadu’s soulful input to The Silence and Patients, enlightened by MC Jabu’s spoken word, adds to the character of the album. Heavier instrumental tracks like Governer’s Bay maintain a spookily euphoric, textured sound, welcoming comparisons to Falty DL and Kode 9, right through to 2562, Flying Lotus and even Photek. In a UK canon which has been defined by being indefinable, Threads is a coming-of-age for a distinguished beatmaker and sound sculptor, provoking a rethink regarding the parameters of an increasingly blurred template. CBB

Social media devours music, grinding it up with its terrifyingly authoritative fangs. Bands are having to invent themselves around Twitter trends and Tumblr tags, blinded by their fringes as they attempt to qualify for every hashtag going. Breaking through with All I Wanna Do via the incredibly innovative label Art Is Hard, Splashh began their venture in the most authentic way possible. Enclosed in a 5” pizza box, the single was catapulted into the eardrums of every relevant blogger, the band gracing the pages of Vogue mere weeks later. Nevertheless, the unexpected fame saw little faith held in this debut album, amidst suspicion Splashh’s distinct sound might get lost amongst the ego and label demands. Fortunately, they’ve managed to protrude from the posers by simply writing songs as dense and engaging as Vacation. Overlooking the exhausted title, it fluctuates between salient melodies and silky sonorities,. So Young’s frantic drums and piercing wails leans inevitably towards surf-rock comparisons, yet through grunge-soaked opener Headspins and Feels Like You’s atmospheric psychedelia, the album favourably diverges between genres whilst pursuing their head-bobbing shoegaze throughout. Comfort’s acclamation is formed from its heterogeneity, proving cynics are drowning under the mass of fur coats and foolishly neglecting a charming album. ALW

CONNAN MOCKASIN C.A.R.A.M.E.L. Phantasy Sound

GAMBLES TRUST GMBLS

15/20

14/20

It was way back in 2011 that an intrepid cosmic traveller from a strange and faraway place (also known as New Zealand) first descended on our unassuming ears like a velvet supernova. Now Connan Mockasin returns with the follow-up to Forever Dolphin Love, signalling an altogether raunchier change in direction. The intent is clear from the start: less kicking, more drifting off with Nothing Lasts Forever. The first voice heard is not Connan’s now-trademark warbling falsetto, but a pitched down Bootsy Collins-esque concierge, enticing us into the album’s steamy boudoir. It’s a tough offer to refuse. Even more so once the satin smooth guitars of I’m The Man, That Will Find You drop in, packing more fornicating funk into their slow-jamming five minutes than an evening with Isaac Hayes and a roaring fire. The album culminates towards the triumphant climax of Roll With You. Granted, it’s a song Connan’s been playing live for more than two years now, but at the end of a journey like C.A.R.A.M.E.L. those irresistibly Prince-like vocals are like a familiar post-coital embrace lulling us off to a delicious slumber. AG

Having experienced a year of heartache and personal tragedY which he openly talks about in interviews, Matthew Siskin has been using his Gambles moniker as an avenue for communicating a story that had stayed unexpressed for a long time. Opener Angel demonstrates Siskin’s love for Leonard Cohen, while tracks like New York and Penny For A Grave are anecdotal, poetic and unpolished. It’s as if the process that made the album drained Siskin to the point where he had the songs and little else left. As an album solely composed with Siskin’s voice and guitar, the absence of diversity lets it down to an extent, and maybe Trust would work best in a condensed EP format. But the overriding ethos behind the record is to communicate what needs to be communicated – however long that takes. Trust’s final offering Animal does carry a feeling of closure and conclusiveness. Perhaps we will never hear from Gambles again. Perhaps Trust will leave no permanent mark on audiences whatsoever. But no matter how the story unfolds, this is a candid and unaffected document of Siskin’s personal expression. DH