Steep Stims (Vinyl) - By: Clark - Model Number: THROT014LP

Description

Following the skewed-unself-help-brilliance of ˜Sus Dog™ (which marked his first full foray into songs, abetted by Thom Yorke), and its companion piece ˜Cave Dog™, Chris Clark returns to the dancefloor™s simple, but no less affecting pleasures, with ˜Steep Stims™.
I found it hard to pull away from listening to this record, hard to stop making it, I had to remove myself from the Stims and stop enjoying it at some point. The album feels like nature to me. I love it when electronic music feels more naturalistic than acoustic music, more potent, that™s the devil™s trick, the promise of electronic music.� comments Chris.
I used an old synth - the Virus on all of the tracks. I used it at Mess in Melbourne - run by my friend Robin Fox - I loved it so much I had to buy one when I got back to the UK, it took a while to find. They™re a bit clunky to program but make some of my most favourite sounds.� ˜Steep Stims™ marks a back-to-basics approach, invoking the early years of gung-ho creativity enforced by limitations in technology at the time. Most of the tracks on this album capture the spirit of making music on old samplers, which don™t have much memory time�, explains Clark. It reminds me of making ˜Clarence Park™, my first album, where I would have to finish tunes in the session, as they would be saved on floppy disks and I couldn™t easily go between tracks. This new record is just a few synths and a few choice sounds; the writing is the important thing.� Made quickly, ˜Steep Stims™ reflects the immediate rave energy of his live show, but that™s not to say it™s basic floor fodder, as it™s rife with personality, synth magic, and knack for melody. Although swift and impressionistically captured rather than laboured over, it™s still formidably deft, with plenty of oddball weirdness lurking beneath the dancefloor. Soft, orange, scorched, brutal, the opening track ˜Gift and Wound™ captures the classic dance music dread / awe / euphoria combo perfectly, before ˜Infinite Roller™ merges sparkly-minimalism with snarling bass and soft sines, which turn more dense and metallic as it progresses. The melancholic smoke belch of ˜No Pills U™ gives strong classic vibrations, which is belied by its
creation, made in just 20 minutes. I love working quickly sometimes�, comments Clark. Inspiration hits, rough and ready. It™s off the cuff but also screams ˜don™t gild the lily with nonsense, keep it simple keep it clean™�. Segueing into its elder brother, the piece becomes bigger and beatier on ˜Janus Modal™, where it permutates for over 7 minutes of fluttering, beatific club majesty. At ˜18EDO Bailiff™ you inexplicably find yourself at a clearing, things have suddenly got much quieter. You enter a decrepit and eerie old house, and as you move through its unsettling interior, you arrive at ˜Globecore Flats™. A real piano tuned to 18 notes per octave gives the pair of tracks a haunted, olde worlde feel, which promptly gets eaten by a huge tech step tearout monster, birthing a strange but exotic beast.
The white hot ˜Blowtorch Thimble™ is all hooktasm-rave-hyper-amen-energy, whilst acidic flute leaps around like Ian Anderson on pingers throughout the catchily simple jump-up lurch of ˜Civilians™. ˜In Patient™s Day Out™ is like some sort of Morricone-does-kraut-rock-with-drum-machines, but that™s probably just in my head� says Clark. I made several versions of this then went with the early mix but cranked through some choice outboard because it just had something.� Drumless, yet still full of exhilarating-big-trance-drama, ˜Who Booed The Goose™ flashes by in stroboscopic fast forward, then ˜5 Millionth Cave Painting™ gives a palate cleanser, letting the virus
with its delicious broken, luxurious reverb have a moment�, before ˜Negation Loop™ swoops down in all its glory, with Clark™s tweaked vocals leading deconstructed trance breakdowns, tape edits and brutal noisebursts. An antidote to the bombast of its predecessor is ˜Micro Lyf™, which closes the set on a poignant note, of sorts. Muted staccato gives way to field recordings that gradually put it in this outside space; alien in a meadow somewhere nameless. It feels like a sinkhole. The record kinda swallows itself up and then is gone�, ends Chris.
Label
Throttle

Tracks & Genre

SOUTHBOUND