A quick scoot through nine from ninetyfour, a year packed with impressive releases. Previous entries in this series have been pretty eclectic. This one not so much, but I offer no apologies for that.
With the “Spikee” single dodgy eighties nu-funk band Underworld reinvented themselves as a sleek, mean techno machine. But the bone crushing beats on the follow-up LP were combined with reflective pieces like “M E”, and Karl Hyde’s stream of consciousness lyrics. It’s still the Underworld album by which all others are judged. “Dirty Epic” is still ten minutes of narcotic bliss.
Aside from “Blue Calx” all the tracks on this sprawling two and a half hour double (one thing that links nearly all of these albums is their length: on vinyl these would be double, triple, or quadruple LPs) are officially untitled, although all have been given titles semi-officially. This is Richard James’ ambient magnum opus. Not all is beatless, and some stretches the ambient tag a bit, but it contains some of his most emotional music. Not one to repeat himself, he’s never attempted another album like it. I expect a volume three would be lapped up by his fans (me included), but it would be a retrograde step.
ISDN only got a limited edition release in ‘94 – it was reissued in an unlimited edition in early ‘95. It was an interesting concept that predated the kind of streamed concerts that exploded during lockdown. It wouldn’t have been possible to do that in the early days of the internet with dial-up modems and floppy discs. The duo instead put on a concert where the music was fed down a high speed ISDN line from their studio where they were playing live. I’m surprised it never caught on. Autechre could do that since their penchant is to perform on a totally unlit stage. Anyway, ISDN is a much more beefy and aggressive affair than the burbling, liquid Lifeforms. Both are the sound of an act at the top of their game.
The Prodigy still wore their rave roots proudly on their sleeves with this battering, clattering set of techno-punk. But there was sufficient diversity in sound to keep it interesting through its nearly eighty minute duration. The closing “Narcotic Suite” gave a nod to the foggy dub-influenced and disconnected tunes that were being branded ‘Isolationism’ at the time. After this the Prodigy became a cartoon. An entertaining cartoon, maybe, but a cartoon all the same.
Like the Aphex double, no tunes on the 76 minutes and 14 seconds of 76:14 had any other track titles than their duration. This album is deified in certain circles as the absolute pinnacle of ambient techno. I wouldn’t disagree. In particular the ‘tick tock’ that runs through “14:31” gives it an air of mortality and the ephemerality of life. Not so much a rage against the dying of the light, but a quiet acceptance of its inevitability.
It’s probably apparent by now that ‘94 was the year that most of the big guns of dance music were at the top of their game. Sinivilisation’s place amongst Orbital’s albums has slipped over the years but at the time it was hailed as the pinnacle of their career. It extended their reach to longer (“Are We Here”), faster (“Quality Seconds”), more robotic (“Kein Trink Wasser”), and more Warp-like sounds (“Sad But True”) whilst still sounding very much like themselves. I think it still holds up as their best record.
Trip hop. The most derided and risible genre definition this side of dream pop. At least shoegaze and Baggy have a bit of humour about them. Dummy may have hip hop beats and DNA, but it’s really just a set of superior torch songs in a nineties setting. And that is in no way meant as a criticism.
Yes, there were still guitar bands about in ‘94, untouched by electronic music or the dance floor. Unfortunately most of them were anaemic rehashes of their forebears. Not all, of course. Come were an astonishing live band. Thalia Zedek and Chris Brokaw’s guitars weaved around each other telepathically to create a web of tension, never far from collapse, over which Zedek could tell her tales of dysfunctional relationships. Miraculously they appeared able to catch a good percentage of that magic in the studio. Don’t Ask Don’t Tell has moments of quiet reflection, but even those carry a threat that something is about to snap. Much of the rest is a maelstrom, but one that is intricate as it is powerful. This what rock music can do, but so seldom does.
Music Musings and Miscellany 