Belvedere Jehosophat - Sunday, April 25, 2004 - Print Version
Generally speaking, I don't have much in the way of time for drum n' bass – it can get pretty tedious and often doesn't have much going for it dynamics-wise. Also, if you listen to it long enough, it starts messing up your circadian rhythms and suddenly sleeping and eating become a chore.
However, what we've got here is drum n' bass put together by the ever talented Luke Vibert, who I may, in fact, have a crush on.
His YosepH album was sublime in every sense of the word, which, for the uninitiated, runs: "impressing the mind with a sense of grandeur or power; inspiring awe, veneration, etc."
It was YosepH which made me track down this album and YosepH which made me fork out an inordinate amount of money to procure it from a private dealer, because, of course, Amazon no longer stocked it.
This is no mere drum n' bass CD, however. The sublimity of this album lies in the details: it's in the subtle hip hop break before the hyper-speed drums kick in on the first song; it's in the little hi hat hits of the second song; it's in the spooky samples and melody of the third song, and, also, in those three cymbal hits that appear out of nowhere; it's in and so forth and so on.
It's all these little touches and flourishes that give this CD its character, that make it sound organic as opposed to mechanical. And therein lies the beauty of Drum 'n' Bass for Papa, and, indeed, all of Luke Vibert's work; his is the lingua franca of the music world.
It should, by now, be readily apparent that I am in love with Luke Vibert. Personally, I think he looks like me, so it isn't as much a case of latent homoeroticism as it is a case of rampant narcissism. However, now that we've distilled everything —you, the reader, my apparent pansexuality, and, most importantly, Drum 'n' Bass for Papa —down to their base elements, I think we can say we've come away from this review relatively untarnished – morally speaking, of course.
My particular copy of the CD came with two little holes punched into the barcode. I am indifferent towards these holes.
Also, the CD, ironically, came with a sticker that warned against resale.
And - AND - there's a bonus EP with nine songs on it, which I haven't even heard.
This CD looks like this:
"What kind of life you dream of? You're allergic to love."
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