Following his fractious grime debut via yours truly, the Bristol-based Aphix (not to be confused with AFX, the ubiquitous braindance harbinger of auld) claps back with sophomore EP “Chemtrails”, a three-track diversification of his already-versatile palette.
Opener “50/Thrifty” is a nocturnal, languorous traipse through timelapsed urban environs, night life flashing by the listener, who moves as if submerged. Broken beat and dub take precedence here, with Aphix’s grime signatures present only in the hollow, distant ostinato and square wave bass. A haunting snippet of female spoken word interjects every so often. Sounding like (if one may) Bicep leaving their comfort zone and doing something for Keysound, it’s nevertheless completely within our boy’s comfort zone, and a hypnotic, subversive ohrwurm at that. Follower “Wester to Gold” continues down this path, albeit shifting gears into fully eerie territory.
Title track and closer “Chemtrails”, for lack of a more apt comparison, channels heyday Ramadanman via its quizzical, ever-tentative call-and-response beat and wistful melodic overlays. Nevertheless, it’s impossible to categorize… or to even deconstruct, really. With everything so perfectly intertwined, it moves as a single congruous entity, amorous and seductive, lulling the listener into a genuine sense of security and well-earned respite. Quite unlike what chemtrails are purported to do.
credits
released May 27, 2016
Artwork by J.D Doria
Mastered by Cyrcular Mastering
supported by 5 fans who also own “IM043 - Aphix - Chemtrails EP”
I fucking love this album. I feel lucky af to have snagged a copy of this fabulous album. I love all the tracks. Each one is a fucking banger. 8/8 m8 mise en drèam
supported by 4 fans who also own “IM043 - Aphix - Chemtrails EP”
Acheron's "Shalt" EP was one of the most experimental attacks on the tropes of club music it was possible to envisage so when this remix EP, which promised, with the assistance of deranged beat-mongers like M.E.S.H. and Ziur to take its militant waywardness yet further out, I couldn't wait to get my hands on it. An attempt to describe each, or indeed, any individual track on this EP would be as futile as trying to build a life-size model of Buckingham Palace out of melted butter (for instance, M.E.S.H.'s assault on the title track sounds like all the equipment in a metal foundry coming to life and attacking the city it was built near) but suffice to say this is a racket that the word 'music' barely describes. Get used to it: producers of this brand of indescribable noise are increasing in numbers. Whether that terrifies or edifies you is immaterial but I'm so sick of manufactured shite that would be better played as background music in a clothes shop, the more of these lunatics the merrier. Nic Brown