Posthuman - Monsters and Vortices EP

Setting is clearly very important to Posthuman. Having performed at a mixture of strange locations (namely a prison and an iron mine) it's clear their intention is to impose a sense of place on the listener. Their music is a sort of theatrical electronica - by layering eerie effects over a throbbing dubstep bass, it's an aggressive mechanical ballet.

Monsters and Vortices is their third EP among an extensive list of albums and singles. Though completely club friendly, there is a deep and subversive message behind the music. London's towering disillusion and self-fulfilment is exposed; truth hides in the grimy back alleyways and subterranean mazes. The residing urban dread is hard to shake off, even after 'The Karman Vortices', a comparatively down-tempo finale that could be seamlessly edited into Boards of Canada's 'Geogaddi', their most sinister of albums.

The EP opens on 'Krill' with a pounding kick drum that overflows onto the rest of the record. A pure evil bass line in 'Callisto' slowly and mercilessly crushes the spiralling, free loving synths in a death grip. A rhythmically cut female voice sample initially provides a small human element; ultimately the heroine is smothered by the smog spewing from steam burst percussion. 'Monsters Exist' takes the tone deeper into paranoia - it's like being stalked by some predatory creature.

The EP should come with a prescription warning: Not to be taken by technophobes or schizophrenics. An extremely unsettling record, totally vacant of anything human, Monsters and Vortices is a fearful drum and bass achievement. Directing their eyes to the horizon while keeping a foot in the club, they are right to be beckoned into the circle of the electronic dark arts.

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)

Windmill - Epcot Starfields

The second album release from London's singer songwriter Windmill sees his themes of alienation and displacement launched into cold, dark space to explore the empty stratosphere that engulfs our insignificant little blue planet.

Windmill, known to his bloods as Mathew Thomas Dillon, has a peculiarly characteristic voice. Cartoon-like yet on the verge of tears, it's a shot away from Wayne Coyne or Bright Eyes. The attraction is its weakness and trembling insecurity.

Each song is unassumingly simple and built firmly around the piano - an excellent instrument to convey intimate sadness and isolation (so long as you stay clear of Elton John and that sonofabitch Chris Martin). Dillon often sings in unison with a deliberately off key backing ensemble sounding like a sing-a-long in a school play. A few standout tracks such as 'Sony Metropolis Stars', 'Big Boom' and my favourite 'Photo Hemispheres' decorate the album with uplifting hymns.

One of the most thoughtful lines comes from 'Imax Raceway':

"We want our parents to live for always / they won't, they don't want us to be sad"

(pronounced 'seead' by Dillon in his pseudo American accent) These melancholy truisms remind me of the bite-sized philosophies of The Flaming Lips or Mercury Rev. In a sense, we define our lives by these brief reflections, but unlike the grand, collective unity behind The Flaming Lips, Dillon keeps us at a distance. His detachment is key to his creative individuality.

Epcot Starfields, designed around a childhood trip to EPCOT in Florida, is a beacon of hope. Hope that a future existence will have meaning - not just made up of brand names or technological faff - and that his unique voice will be heard a million light years away. There's a lot to like about Windmill. Scared, anxious, lost and disillusioned, he's one of us:

"I find it compelling that even when armed with the knowledge of our mortality, people's ideas are limitless"

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)

Telekinesis! - Telekinesis!

I remember Seattle as a solemn place when I lived there years ago, with two types of weather: rainy and overcast. Not the sort of picture painted in Telekinesis!'s debut album. If anything, it's the exact opposite, and the only possible thing they have in common with grunge is a fondness for straight-up bar chords. In any case, this just might be the happiest album you've heard this year.

Fear not. Telekinesis! isn't teenage indie, although you'd be forgiven for thinking so. Through the imagery of childhood, nature walks and picnics, cheek kissing, cherry cola and trips to Tokyo, they communicate some honest observations. The line "I want the simple life" from the brief 'We Talk Thru Satellites' aptly sums up their happy-go-lucky philosophy. Quite recently, America's obsession with quirky kook - an ubiquitous feature of 'Juno' and Wes Anderson films - has gone mainstream. Telekinesis! and their fashionable exclamation mark nudge in on it.

The record also enlists a little help from Death Cab For Cutie's guitarist, Chris Walla. His polished pop production gives it a bright and shiny feel. But therein lies the problem. No matter how hard I try to separate them, they remain too close to Death Cab for comfort.

It's hard to criticise Telekinesis! when they are clearly having so much fun. It would be like scolding a laughing child in a playground, and I'm just not that much of a bastard. But take note: If you're expecting the electro nuances of Postal Service then turn away now. But if you like the upbeat guitar based romanticism of The Decemberists or The Shins (and yes, Death Cab For Cutie) then Telekinesis!!!!111111 is worth every scrimped and saved pound.

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)