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JPLS, "Twilite"
Always content to play by its own rules, M_nus takes a chance on a virtual unknown with this dizzying set of melodic yet dissonant beeps and beats. Although adherent to the prestigious imprint's ethos, the artist twists and deforms his unstable tracks in a manner that connotes a possible evolutionary direction for the label's sound, assuming listeners can even detect it.
Minimal techno can be extremely difficult to fully enjoy on headphones or even a home stereo, as like most dance music subgenres it is by-and-large produced with the dancefloor in mind. Its very appeal depends on the impact the track's sparse ingredients have within the space of a venue far more spacious than my apartment. Of course, one has to consider that most minimal techno is made on laptops or home desktop computers, with only headphones and studio monitors serving to guide in each track's creation and development. In a sense, then, hearing this music at home facilitates something best described as an empathetic listening experience. Considering that JPLS produced his debut album during that woozy, intimate time post-nightlife-yet-pre-dawn, the principle perhaps applies even more so.
While Twilite is hardly the first effort to be recorded exclusively and intentionally during the wee hours (Adrian Klumpes' spectacular Be Still being a relatively recent example), at least it feels and sounds true to the artist's self-imposed constraints. Although its tracks are numbered, the final order is disorderly and willfully contrary, with some noticeable gaps implying that this album does not fully document these sessions. "Twilite 1" delves cautiously in a subtly dubby style distinct from more overt producers like Basic Channel or Rod Modell, germinating springy spaced-out sprouts over the 4/4 framework. Although set in a mold of crisp percussive minimalism, "Twilite 8" brings forth thunderous stabs, engulfing every couple of bars and leaving a bassy film in their wake. The plink-plonk rhythms and melodies of "Twilite 4," indicative of fellow M_nus acts, swell and disintegrate of their own accord. "Twilite 6.2" builds to an unsettling final minute where the elements rebel against each other and, finally, against a beatless auditory canvas. Closer "Twilite 9" is similarly defiant, its sounds appearing and disappearing inopportunely, with impractical and inconvenient near-silences peppered in some places to further confound and challenge.
Fellow techno producer Skoozbot makes two fine appearances here, practically upstaging JPLS with his syrupy grooves. The first of these, titled "Green 01," features a warped, loopy bleep as its leitmotif, while the second, a version of "Twilite 1," bobs and weaves with gelatinous manipulated squiggles. JPLS and Skootbot haven't yet broken any new ground for minimal techno with Twilite, though the album's intricate shifts disrupt the standardized template just enough to stay captivating. Unquestionably, these are artists to watch.
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