| Ever since Stigg of the Dump's out-of-nowhere masterpiece, the Still Alive at the Veglia Lounge EP came out on the tiny Canadian label Endemik Records, it became apparent that this shadowy character needs to collaborate with Sixtoo. Six' guest vocals on Stigg's productions made for some of the most subtly moving downbeat hip-hop I've ever heard, melancholy and emotionally frigid in the way only Sixtoo can deliver, and yet with undertones of melody and harmony that Stigg crafted seamlessly into his complex productions, and that have carved themselves into my backpacking heart forever. Hence Villain Accelerate, a sonic union of Sixtoo and Stigg of the Dump, promised to be my record of the year. It's certainly not far off! It's initially more minimal and anonymous than Sixtoo's previous instrumental project Duration, due to a lack of vocal samples and very slight turntablism. But a minimal sound does not always equal a minimal production, and that's definitely the case here, as meticulous craftsmanship has gone into every single layer of the sixteen tracks. This should have been the sound of the second Endtroducing, if only Dj Shadow hadn't gotten hugely famous, and went on to indulge his dubious humour in exchange for ca$h. This is downbeat hip-hop, recorded in hi-fi with a lo-fi mentality - tracks driven by crisply etched drums, with electric basslines played live by a slew of guest musicians, scratches worked deep into the productions, and buried by muted horns and tinkling keys. A sidestep from the clipped, IDM-embracing nature of Sixtoo's recent productions for Vertical Form, these tracks are a return to what he's musically best at - creeping nihilistic melodies and dense washes of melancholy. But wait - can you hear that? between tracks, in what initially seems like no more than negative space, there is a tonal sensitivity that makes my skin crawl. Ghostly silhouettes of the beat just gone by are like the dusty air between moving freight cars. Barely audible waves of electric distortion are like the click at the end of your phone line. Paranoid delusions when you've had too much to smoke, which are never left to linger long enough to be noticed, as the next track picks up on their subtle hints at a bassline melody. And then it's gone and the drums take over, and you're left nodding your head, wondering if there really was someone listening at the other end of the line. - Dot Alt |
2XLP/Out Of Print