JACKSON AND HIS COMPUTER BAND - Glow

Do you remember that curious character named Jackson Fourgeaud? That Parisian who, right in the middle of the french touch explosion, decided to chase after the sweetest side of Squarepusher, catching the attention of none other than Warp, with whom he would release – eight years ago now, and seven years after his first EPs – a debut as ambitious and explosive as it was, in some ways, redundant. It was 2005, and this blond producer with the androgynous gaze came out with "Smash", parodying none other than Freddie Mercury by belting out "Radio Caca", and truth be told he drew more attention for his eccentricity than for the actual worth of a well-built harsh-IDM blend that didn't particularly care to push beyond itself.

Since then, nothing more has been heard of Jackson and his computer band, apparently put to rest but probably holed up in the studio working out as many solutions as possible to a creative impasse that was bound to become inevitable. Eight years later, here he is again, when nobody expects it, with a noticeably thinner mane of hair and a "Glow" that calling surprising would be a serious understatement.

Gone are the d'n'b recycling jobs, gone most of the bridges to the Nineties: in their place, a massive surge of that roaming psychedelia which Animal Collective have turned into gospel, various passages akin to dubstep's weave but charged with TNT down to the marrow, a prevailing underlying anarchy, and a setting straight out of a glittering technological megalopolis, complete with surgical precision and the sinister coldness that comes with it.

Again, nothing seminal, in other words. Or maybe it is, actually it certainly is. But when the swirling echoes of "Blow" nod to the latest Darkstar before exploding like a hand grenade, the feeling is that, without reinventing anything, Jackson has this time hit on a far more visceral and engaging blend, even amid his unrestrained showmanship. That impression is confirmed within minutes by the psycho-dramatic brostep of "Seal", by the raw, mantra-like alienation of "Dead Living Things", and by the soft yet vibrant carpet of sound that is "Orgysteria".

The love for sonic games finds its definitive fulfilment in the vintage sparkle of the march “Arp #1” and in the dark counterpart of the mechanical “Pump”, before settling into song form on the excellent “Vista” and into blazing dancefloor territory on the closing “Billy”, all things considered the best track on the whole album. But the computerized orchestra led by its conductor refuses to set itself any limits: so we find ourselves caught up in the hyperbolic chaos of “G.I. Jane (Fill Me Up)”, or in the 200bpm rave storm of “Blood Bust”, or again grappling with a twisted soft-ballad like “Memory” – a sneer at a poppier Trentemøller? – and with the robotic hell of “More”.

These last tracks sound like they've overstayed their welcome, and end up undermining the quality of an album whose evanescence could have been an enormous strength. Much like what happened with Squarepusher and his “Ufabulum”, “Glow” is a record bound to delight those who love being shaken up, caught off guard, led through a trip and then suddenly dropped in the middle of a strobe-lit dancefloor with music impossible to dance to. It remains a work able to offer more than one interesting idea, easy enough to listen to that it makes any form of stillness – mental or physical – impossible, and, above all, one that never truly grows boring. But it carries with it a sense of the unfinished, of the imperfect, with the attendant regrets. And eight years of gestation are decidedly enough to make those hard to forgive.

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20/09/2013