Album of the Week: Mount Kimbie, ‘Crooks & Lovers’

Album of the Week: Mount Kimbie, ‘Crooks & Lovers’

23 July, 2010 | 4.10AM

• Written by: Beatportal
• Filed under: Music News: album of the week, hotflush, mount kimbie

When is dubstep no longer dubstep?

People have been asking that question for virtually as long as the genre has had a name, but it’s become more pressing in recent years. As the music has soaked up influences from techno and drum & bass, and as the rise of UK funky has offered a counter-narrative for British bass music, dubstep’s rhythmic signature has blurred and its features have become less definitive.

Mount Kimbie might be the archetypal dubstep-not-dubstep act. Signed to Scuba‘s Hotflush Recordings, their earliest releases bore obvious traces of dubstep’s DNA, particularly in their syncopated rhythms. But the timing was far more off-kilter than dubstep’s usual purpose-driven wallop; their lopsided grooves often felt like old nu-dark swing records that had been left to bubble in the sun. And instead of buzzsaw wobble and overdriven drum sounds, they utilized a soft, almost vaporous sound set—guitars, helium-bright voices, naptime rustle and murmur.

A year and a half since their first EP, Mount Kimbie finally release ‘Crooks & Lovers’, their debut album, and with it, they moot the whole dubstep question. (My colleagues at Beatport have wisely tagged the record as “electronica”, which is as good a descriptor as any in the case of a record like this, which subscribes to no particular genre.) You can compare their tics and techniques to Burial or James Blake or Boards of Canada, but they ultimately sound unlike anyone but Mount Kimbie. And, happily, rather than settling for a stock set of tricks, they’ve used the album to push themselves—broadening their sound, trying out ideas that you suspect even they don’t fully understand. It’s a wonderfully cryptic record that just keeps you coming back for more.

Check out selected highlights from the album after the jump.

It’s actually a slim album, almost unassuming in its proportions—11 tracks but only 35 minutes long—but that turns out to be just the right dosage. Rather than letting anything drone on for too long, they get in and out, teasing you with something unexpected and pulling the plug as soon as familiarity sets in. (As the old saying goes, always leave’em wanting more.) With most tracks hovering around the three- or four-minute mark, it’s not necessarily a DJ-friendly record, although more eclectic selectors will find plenty to work with here. (Though it doesn’t exactly sound like him, I’m reminded of Wolf+Lamb’s Nicolas Jaar, whose takes a similarly idiosyncratic approach to dance-music formats.) Outside the DJ booth, it’s simply a wonderful listen—short enough to play two or three times in succession without ever wearing out its welcome, strange enough to keep you guessing no matter how many spins you’ve given it.

‘Tunnelvision’

The album opens with a short, incidental sketch for voice, acoustic guitar, and hazy electronics—echoes of Flying Lotus—that eases you gently into the flow.

‘Would Know’

If Philip Jeck made dubstep, it might sound like this: a glacier of vinyl hiss carving its way down a mountain of bass.

‘Before I Move Off’

A slow-motion 4/4 beat, post-rock guitars, Todd Edwards-style vocals, all wrapped up in an R&B lullaby.

‘Blind Night Errand’

With ‘Blind Night Errand’, Mount Kimbie offer their interpretation of dubstep wobble, cut with a hint of DBX’s ‘Losing Control’. Turn it up and listen to it breathe.

‘Adriatic’

Campfire music for acoustic guitar and empty bottles.

‘Carbonated’

One of the album’s most immediate tracks, ‘Carbonated’ has the dizzy R&B vocals of Burial or Joy Orbison wrapped around an unassumingly gorgeous little chord change.

‘Ruby’

The thudding kick and rimshot ricochets make ‘Ruby’ the most classically dubstep tune on the record; it swirls with fizzy synths like those of Hotflush’s owner Scuba. For all its restraint, it’s emotionally full-on.

‘Ode to Bear’

Dub riddims meet guitar folk and shortwave sighs.

‘Mayor’

Calisthenics for a broken harpsichord and a skipping R&B CD.

‘Field’

I like to imagine that Mount Kimbie titled this one after Kompakt artist the Field; the shuddering chord bursts of its first half certainly take after the Swedish musician’s carefully sculpted, sanded repetitions; then it bursts into a kind of rainforest indie-rock, like a pocket guidebook to a village you won’t find on any map. That’s a pretty good metaphor for the whole album, really.

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