Numbers Lucent [EP]

Last year in this publication I wrote an epic page-long review for the latest Squarepusher L.P., Just A Souvenir, in which I bemoaned the descent of my favourite musician from innovator par-excellence to derivative rock poseur. Imagine how happy I was, then, when I heard that his next release would be a psychedelic acid E.P. influenced by his days as a young raver. Finally, Tom Jenkinson was joining the mass-migration of his fellow high-minded electronic artists back to the dancefloor.

Opener ‘Zounds Perspex’ is certainly emblematic of this concept. If it wasn’t for the characteristically Squarepusher chord-progression and ridiculously intricate bassline, you’d be forgiven for assuming that it was crafted by his brother, acid-house producer Andy Jenkinson a.k.a. Ceephax. Not since some of the similarly self-consciously rave-orientated tracks on 1999’s Selection Sixteen has Squarepusher been so unapologetic with a 4/4 beat, and it also sounds like he’s dusted off the Roland TB-303 (a synthesiser instrumental in the mid-eighties rise of electronic dance music).

The E.P. proceeds in a similar kind of vein, but despite the superficial inclination towards more straightforward dancefloor music it is nevertheless all rather by-the-numbers Squarepusher: ‘Paradise Garage’ has the sort of gloriously self-indulgent basslines which only Jenkinson can get away with carrying an entire track on the strength of, and ‘Arterial Fantasy’ is a rather standard flurry of the psychotic drill-and-bass/breakcore/whatever style of music which he pioneered in the late nineties.

The E.P. closes with ‘Illegal Dustbin’, which begins so promisingly. Its opening salvo of beats trades in the amen break in favour of spliced funky drummer rhythms and a filthy low-riding bassline. Soon and quite abruptly, however, it takes a sudden u-turn into frenetic gabba territory, calling to mind Venetian Snares and Atari Teenage Riot at their most confrontational with angry kickdrums and (in its most obvious reference to Alec Eiffel and co.) screaming vocals barking out pseudo-political slogans like “Are you down with the underground?”. This is admirable territory for an album finale, sure – ending with a bang is never a bad thing (unless you’re ending a night babysitting an underage girl) – but I can’t help wondering what Jenkinson, a comfortably middle-class white man in his thirties, has to rebel against. The price of milk in these credit-crunch days of hardship, perhaps?