APHEX TWIN - Chosen Lords

Between us, this record was more predictable than an Easter lamb.

Why? The explanation lies in the recap of previous episodes. In the first half of 2005, Richard D. James released, under his old Afx moniker (and thus on Rephlex, the label he owns), a series christened "Analord" because, in defiance of the many possibilities digital technology offers musicians of our era, every track was created using exclusively the analogue gear that Mister Aphex is known to collect and build. Another peculiarity of the work is that the three and a half hours of music that make it up were released across eleven EPs issued exclusively on vinyl. The quirk of vinyl-only releases is almost a habit for the Afx alter ego, as is the later CD reissue. It happened with the "Analogue Bubblebath" series and more recently with the two "Hangable Auto Bulb" releases, so it could only happen again this time. What is surprising, though, is that, for the first time, the CD version has been heavily cut down. Instead of the sprawling box set we were confidently expecting, we get a single disc containing roughly a third of "Analord", with a tracklist entirely at the author's unquestionable discretion.

And then there's the fact that the new Afx material is once again "not so new". Previously unreleased on CD, fine, but already heard last year. And even then a doubt had forcefully emerged: is this new material, or a pile of old compositions never used before? It was impossible to answer a year ago and it remains impossible today, but the impression that all this is a kind of diversion lingers. Another move to buy some time during a creative stalemate: nothing has sounded definitively new since "Drukqs" (2001), and even on those two hours of unreleased material a certain fatigue was already noticeable. It's as if our trusted electronic pusher has been keeping us waiting since the year of 2001: A Space Odyssey. And meanwhile, excuses, meanwhile "try this one, for now, it's not bad". But the hunger remains, like that sense of peaks never again reached that we've carried with us since the Nirvana-does-Aphex-pop days of "Windowlicker".

If we stick to the compositions, though, we have to admit they're always very well-crafted pieces, sometimes even something more. Afx asserts his mastery in a field where he genuinely is the number one, even if it's an area where pretty much everything has already been done. It's a bit like one of the world's greatest poets deciding today to start writing sonnets. However accomplished and pleasant they might be, is there still room for operations of this kind? Self-imposed limitations are all well and good, but what happens when form weighs so heavily on content?

Still, we find comfort in real displays of skill like "Fenix Funk 5" and "XMD 5a", which together make up the whole of "Analord 10" (the other "Analord" present in its entirety is the fifth), two of the best tracks across all three hours of vinyl. "Fenix Funk 5" is classic nervy, invention-packed Afx, like the little melodic insert that sounds like it's played on a spinet, or the atmospheric synths. "XMD 5a" is even better, so rich with his understated accompaniments marching side by side over a simple rhythmic backbone. Had it come out ten years ago, that near-minimal taste and the familiar sense of estrangement would have made this track a classic.

Naturally, everyone will find some (to them) unjustifiable absence in this selection. In my case, I consider it almost a crime to have left out "W32.Mydoom.Au@mm", a kinetic arc that winked at John Carpenter's soundtracks and was perhaps the sole contender for the status of true masterpiece across the twenty-two sides of the "Analord" series.

Coming back to what is actually here, though, we can only welcome the inclusion of that distinctive vocoder forming hiccupping melodic lines, as in "Crying In Your Face", probably the record's emotional peak. As is often the case with Afx, it's an incomprehensible, dim-witted, brilliant, insinuating vocoder. We also like the drugged-up pinball-machine feel and the multicolored arrangement of "Pitcard", an Afx to whom μ-Ziq has apparently appeared in a dream. Typically old-style, starting with its title, is "Batine Acid", a track carried on the back of a solid 303 that, while always hugely enjoyable, also forces us to ask once again what room there can be today for this proud acid extremism. Even so, it's always worth clarifying that Afx's take on the genre is deeply personal and original, and his consistency, in an age of acid revivalism, surely places him beyond any suspicion of pandering, lending his stubbornness a certain value instead.

In the end, the cascade of modified sequencers, beatboxes, synthesizers, and suitably doctored vintage gear produces ten good tracks with an approach more physical than cerebral, more than one of which bears the unmistakable mark of genius. And yet it's impossible not to feel a little irritated by this record, or to switch off your brain and simply enjoy the listen without thinking: "Yes, Richard, but when's the stuff you promised us actually going to arrive?"

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27/07/2006