Nedry - Condors

It’s not surprising that it’s taken this long for Dub Step to be adopted by the arty crowd. The scene is an obstinate one, made up of dedicated zealots and purists; people who would rather put a bullet through their own head than see it corrupted by the fools at Radio 1. The popular London trio Nedry is so far the finest example of this Art Dub hybrid seemingly hailing from an alternative universe where Brighton based Natasha Khan was swept up the local Dub Step scene.

The argument as to whether or not the genre has suffered from increasing exposure is an argument I’m steering clear of, mainly out of fear. I know some long-time orthodox followers who would have my balls for listening to this kind of ‘betrayal’. So let’s keep it quiet shall we?

Anyway from where I’m standing, it’s a win-some-loose-some situation. Softening the mood and adopting more recognisable structure and instrumentation may stifle the unpredictability and danger of Dub Step – taking it out of the club is like ripping the heart from a wild animal. On the other hand, what we gain is emotional depth and, just as evolution has been proven key to survival, a longer life span. This takes us back to Nedry. A little like Bjork’s silky whispers in Vespertine (2001), Ayu Okakita’s voice cries out over the grimy and alien synths provided by knob gnomes Matt Parker and Chris Amblin. It’s these contrasts of sparkle and grime, man and machine that is Nedry’s most formidable weapon.

Proving much in the first two tracks (‘A42’ and ‘Apples & Pears’), Condors' perfect flow screams at me for a detailed analysis: in the awesomely named ‘Squid Cat Battle’ they borrow from the 90’s electro of Garbage, then ‘Scattered’ kicks it away with a violent riff over a sprinting break beat. ‘Condors’ brings in some Math-rock guitar duels while ‘Swan Ocean’ drifts along like water in a Hokusai painting. The gloaming texture of ‘Where The Dead Birds Go’ signals an end instilling in the album’s briefness a yearning for more. Their pipeline tour of Japan (a country already at one with the future) sheds a light on their ambitions.

Nedry may be more accessible than pure cut Dub Step but the characteristic skin crawling nastiness has lost none of its potency. Just don’t expect to skank to it, that’s all. For me, Condors is a sort of futuristic prophecy depicting the slow choke of dehumanisation, coming down as soft and as cold as snowfall – as well as, on a more universal note, substantial evidence of Dub Step’s versatility.

(© Copyright 2010 Brendan Morgan)