This timid compilation suffers from the eternal failing of dance's left field in mistaking an imitation of Eno, Reich etc for a genuine response. And where Herbert is a maverick provocateur, making music from McDonalds wrappers or lurching into revisionist big band music, his prodigies are more faint-hearted. The majority of cuts (including those from Herbert himself) are sleepy and heavy-lidded-boring, even. There's nothing wrong with this LP if you like smoochy post-dance or cocktail jazz, but it's hardly sensual or murderous. Only three of the tracks really kick: The Soft Pink Truth (half of Matmos) produces a purposefully silly take on electro-house, Matthias makes efficiently narcotised post-rock, and Mugison's "Sea Y" sounds like Robert Wyatt with a laptop. The rest is stillborn.
This timid compilation suffers from the eternal failing of dance’s left field in mistaking an imitation of Eno, Reich etc for a genuine response. And where Herbert is a maverick provocateur, making music from McDonalds wrappers or lurching into revisionist big band music, his prodigies are more faint-hearted. The majority of cuts (including those from Herbert himself) are sleepy and heavy-lidded-boring, even. There’s nothing wrong with this LP if you like smoochy post-dance or cocktail jazz, but it’s hardly sensual or murderous. Only three of the tracks really kick: The Soft Pink Truth (half of Matmos) produces a purposefully silly take on electro-house, Matthias makes efficiently narcotised post-rock, and Mugison’s “Sea Y” sounds like Robert Wyatt with a laptop. The rest is stillborn.
