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Bola, "Kroungrine"
Alongside D'arcangelo's recent Eksel, this eagerly awaited new album from the well-regarded producer has rekindled my appreciation and even my passion for chin-scratching, toe-tapping IDM.
Darrell Fitton's music has always exuded an affective, pastoral beauty betwixt his skittery rhythms, somewhat akin to the work of the comparatively over-hyped Boards of Canada. It might seem somewhat vexing to operate in the exquisite shadow of an act that has achieved such an uneven level of attention despite the fact that their breakthrough records both appeared within the same year. Yet throughout the past decade, Fitton has persevered with roughly twice the output of his pseudo-cabalistic Scottish peers, maintaining as well as growing a passionate fan base that relishes said output. His continued partnership with Skam has arguably kept that label from fading into the shadows like so many others that peaked in the mid-to-late 90s. Kroungrine, his latest full-length for the imprint, shows the artist undeterred in executing his creative vision and disinterested in callous trend hopping.
"Zoft Broiled Ed" kicks off this album of mutant hip-hop with subcutaneous bleeps and caustic percussive hits. The kick-snare combo of "Noop" slams deep into the guts of the genre with an intensity that is markedly strengthened by its soothing pads and digesting bass groans. The instant classic "Waknuts" slowly builds a plodding old-school rhythm around a misleadingly simple tonal melody, building on and subtracting from the mix at all the right moments. Fitton lets his sense of humor seep into his material, as on the cheekily named "Halylooya," containing video game loops, celestial lacquer, and an enigmatic vocal sample that conspicuously straddles a not-so-fine line between the divine and the impious. His minor blasphemy is easily forgivable when followed up by the warbling sonics of "Urenforpuren" and the razor-sharp rhythms of "Phulcra." The pensive and penultimate "Rainslaight" marries a timeless tenderness with its gurgling contrivances, while the protracted closer "Diamortem" consumes itself in an ambience that attempts a balance between darkness and light, admittedly leaning towards the former, as it morphs elegantly and cinematically through its fifteen minute duration.
Euphemistically speaking, Kroungrine is like ear candy for urban somnambulists, a mesmerizing confection of enchantingly hazy atmospheres and deep brooding beats. This estimable album has so much to explore that repeat listens yield previously unacknowledged textures and layers that lie veiled in a subtlety worth unraveling. For those seeking relief from the noise in their everyday lives, but don't wish to be bored in the process, Bola's latest effort may prove to alleviate, entertain, and, perhaps, comfortably discomfort.
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