Djrum likes to change things up. In his three-turntable DJ sets, the British musician birthed Felix Manuel zigzagging through genres, moods and rhythms, using atmospheric interludes and a sports turntable to melt his bold transitions. He's so committed to the unpredictable that sometimes he doesn't even beatmatch in the conventional way – he just drops the track, turns up the volume and sorts it into the mix. It is the opposite of seamless. (“A lot of times, the seams are the interesting parts,” he told Resident Advisor.) In the studio, Manuel is equally reluctant to stay in one place for long. Even his early pieces, which set up a thoughtful, post-funeral standard of bass music, were more like suites, sidestepping through counter-passages and jumbled rhythms. The recent remix of Objekt's classic anthem 'Ganzfeld' features two extended licks and three different beats in its 10-minute run.
But for too long, the moody sweetness of Djrum's producers has given off a false, or at least limited, impression: Record buyers drawn into the ruminative, starry swirl of his recordings may not have been aware of the mad science behind it. on the decks; Clubbers who have seen him shred the fabric of spacetime may not realize the delicacy of his ear. Djrum's new EP The edge of meaninghis first solo release in five years, it feels like a reboot and a re-introduction, finally showing us a complete picture of the artist. The EP's five shape-shifting tracks detail a ruthless rhythmic focus, shedding the over-the-top sentimentality of his early work without abandoning the nuances of his music.
The nearly seven minute long “Codex” shows how well he has integrated all aspects of his sound. Intricate drum programming, sticks dancing on snares and bells nod to jazz, but the catchy rhythms come from decades of breakbeat science. If by Photek Modus Operandi brought Oppenheimer-level innovations to drum'n'bass, the impressive complexity of “Codex” feels like Manuel has just discovered cold fusion. Two competing bass lines—one sub, one jagged—perform a low-end pincer motion, enveloping your insides and pinning you to the floor. There are echoes of Squarepusher in the acid antics of the midrange, but the track is thoroughly dancefloor-oriented in a way Tom Jenkinson never was: The jagged lightning riffs and seismic undertones telegraph the deadly seriousness of a natural disaster. All this latent violence is balanced by a rich smear of shakuhachi flute and Detroit techno synth pads, and stealthily weaves countless other sounds under the cover of flash-bang drums – chimes, violins, even the briefest snippet of what's heard like a clarinet—until the whole thing starts to look like a bird's nest outside a factory threads, its fragile branches dripping with color.
If “Codex” is bold, then “Crawl” is an alarm without an override switch. The 170 BPM groove's staccato drumming flutters like the wings of a mechanical hummingbird, the barrage coming at you from every possible angle. I can't think of the last time I heard a more dynamic use of the stereo field. The momentum of the drums can be exhilarating, like a hailstorm, and soothing, like a waterfall. But it's also unnerving: The reverberation pockets expand and contract without warning, taking you from a damp cave to an anechoic chamber and back again in milliseconds. The absurdity of the soundstage only heightens the fight-or-flight response triggered by the drumming juggernaut, leaving you on edge. Structurally, this feels like something new for Djrum: In place of his usual pretense and hard lefts, “Crawl” just rolls endlessly, like swells on the open sea, sometimes bassier and sometimes more treble, but essentially unchanged. it seems like it could go on like this forever, a nerve-powered perpetual motion machine.
