Ha, Marsupial Star

As promised, here's another from a LFTWY annual round-up. I'm pretty happy with this piece, it makes a valid general observation, whilst still acting as a review of the record itself, and it's pretty concise (there are no word limits at LFTWY, but I still keep myself to a few hundred, I think it's better for all concerned).

KID KOALA – CARPAL TUNNEL SYNDROME (Ninja Tune) 

You all know what guitarists are like. These blokes – they're always blokes – spend countless hours arguing about technique, studying the minutest elements of their heroes’ performances and attempting to emulate them, giving ability primacy over invention, and being, you know, no fun at all to be with. But, true though this might be, it’s triply true of turntablism fans. I can think of no instrument that is so tied to a narrow clutch of stylistic tropes as DJing and no group of fans that are such a bro-centration of conservatives (listening to deckheads arguing about how vinyl scratching is better than the modern digital version for five minutes is enough to make you long for that sweaty guy in the blues jam lecturing about valve amps). Do a quick search online for great turntable performances and you won’t find sweet musical excerpt, like Eric B clinically exploring a vocal phrase whilst Rakim takes a break on the mic, you won’t find the foundational methods and creations of Grand Wizard Theodore, and you sure as hell won’t find experimenters like Christian Marclay or Otomo Yoshihide. What you’ll find is hundreds of extracts from DMC mixing championships over the years, and a slew of clips in which a DJ does exactly the same things, but just fractionally faster, slicker or, occasionally, whilst standing on their head. More than any other slice of musical life, DJing is intrinsically connected with competition. Scratching isn’t art, it’s athletics. 

Carpal Tunnel Syndrome is a great DJ record because Kid Koala has technique coming out of his tufty grey ears, and has a crate-digger's sense of a funky rhythm to loop in classic hip-hop style, but he also has exactly zero interest in showing off, and instead a huge desire to intrigue and entertain. You can definitely dance to some of this record – or, at least, nod along whilst slumped in a sofa in the early hours – and ‘Fender Bender’ and ‘Roboshuffle’ aren’t too far from the sort of grooves you might get from DJ Shadow or Cut Chemist, but a lot of the record explores abstraction in a way that’s as close to Martin Tétreault as it is to Grandmaster Flash: check the tiny insectile clicks and chitters of ‘Scurvy’ , or the tiny fludge sounds stacked up on ‘Nerdball’, which are fast as hell and doubtless mindblowingly difficult to pull off, but also a world from the clean cuts that accepted technique requires. Lots of spoken elements are sliced or sped up so intensely that they are disconnected from any meaning, untethered phonemes swarming like flying ants, and when statements are clear, they are normally comical, from the wry knowingness of a Foley artist discussing how to make different noises or a stand-up ridiculing DJs, to the outright gagginess of the two ‘Barhopper’ tracks, which act as surreal lessons in pick-up artistry by jamming together lines form a multitiude of sources.  

The funniest parts of the record require no words at all though. ‘Drunk Trumpet’ sounds exactly as you might imagine, a hilariously woozy attack on a horn sample over a stumbling double bass lope, and I can’t imagine anyone not laughing at the wonky poultry party that is ‘Like Irregular Chickens’. Carpal Tunnel Syndrome is a brilliant album to play to someone who doesn’t like hip-hop DJing so they can find out what a thoughtful and witty artist can create, but it’s an even better record to play to somebody who likes it too much, just to remind them that creativity is always more important than dexterity. 

Waterwings' Greatest Hits

In case anyone was waiting for the next update, the Fall Cup has moved to the knockout stage, and now uses 100% of our comments, so I won't post any more stuff here.  Seek it out at https://thefallcup.blogspot.com/

BARRY CAN’T SWIM – WHEN WILL WE LAND? (Ninja Tune) 

On the evidence of this debut album, Scottish producer Barry Can’t Swim inhabits a land where it’s always summer (in the “long blissful evenings soundtracked by chilled anthems” sense, rather than the "hideous climate change wasteland” sense). The unhurried grooves on When Will We Land? exude warmth, and whilst they’re not designed to incite dancefloor euphoria, there is certainly a good clutch of serotonin triggers sprinkled across the tracks. The title track typifies the album’s strengths, coming in with forceful cheeriness as chintzy piano weaves round breathy pads like a Philip Glass reimagining of the Windows 95 start-up, whilst the voice asking “What is the mind of God?” carries shades of Orbital’s 'Are We Here?' The whole experience is cardigan-cosy, with some reverby “diva stuck in a culvert” vocals hiding behind unfussily funky drums. 

'Always Get Through To You' has a rough-hewn gospel-soul vibe, tracing a direct line back to earthy, ochre deep house classics like Joe Smooth’s 'Promised Land', and 'I Won’t Let You Down' proffers strings that teeter on the edge of cheesiness, but which are nailed down by some steady, chunky drums, until it begins to sound like a Bizarro World version of Springsteen’s 'Streets Of Philadelphia', where the melancholy has been replaced by fuzzy optimism. The naively bouncy 'Sonder' might have been constructed using Fisher Price’s My First Garage Rhythm – a good thing, in case that’s not obvious – and makes use of some non-Anglophone samples which may remind aging ravers of chill-outs and come-downs in the company of Enigma, and similarly a slightly wobbly vocal stumbles above a smiley skipping noughties beat, coming off like a genial, avuncular version of Burial: less 'Night Bus', more 'Chatting To Old Ladies In The Number 47 Queue'. Speaking of public transport, 'Deadbeat Gospel' is the album’s most intriguingly leftfield track, with what sounds like a field recording of a chirpy half-cut chap dropping a boho spiritual rap to his peers in the late-night taxi rank queue, whilst some strafed vocals are reminiscent of Age Of Love’s eponymous trance monster. 

All of this is pretty joyous, and the only real criticism of When Will We Land? is that certain sounds and techniques pop up repeatedly. It’s often useful for artists to limit their palette, but one might begin to feel déjà vu from the descending piano lines, fragmented aahs and oohs, and artfully placed world music samples. Barry Can’t Swim, but just occasionally, he's been known to coast.