Protoculture

Circadians

Nano (UK)

After Refractions, where next? Well, judging by the various compilation tracks, it looked like Protoculture was heading towards becoming a parody of himself, as though he was his own tribute band, trying desperately to reach those heady heights again, like a pill-monster double-dropping on a sleep-deprived Monday morning. Circadians sees this transformation complete.

Out Of Reality is firmly in Protoculture territory, sheenily produced and with a layered melodic midsection driving it along, before some saccharine but effective topend melodies come in and do their bit. It’s nothing particularly special, but it is a nice little track that sounds as though he’s reminding us who he is, what he does, and that he’s back. Sweet Fine Crystalline has more to do with the lower half of the spectrum, and as such doesn’t really have much room for Nate to do what he does best: so it gets a little lost. Breakout is overflowing with melodic chumminess, nicely-done but somewhere around the middle of the second, hugely over-long breakdown you’re sort of wondering what happened and why are you listening to Robert Miles.

Circadians builds atmosphere well, before a ninety-second breakdown (long enough to curl one out on the dancefloor) signals the commencement of the Great 2006 Keychange Battle – the chords here are singularly sickening, unfathomably fluffy, and a great way for DJ’s to meet chicks. Make of that what you will. Innit sees the change shift: we’re less concerned with the melody and more concerned with the groove. Which, unfortunately, means there’s not much going on at all. Too many old tricks with not nearly enough substance: likewise Hitched, which has some nice touches with a warped vox moving around the place, but it sounds so limp and uninspired that it’s an effort to listen to.

Back onto melody central, Driven is great fodder for those just discovering psytrance. The singular point of interest here is a ten-second glitchy section which suggests that there is something interesting in this man’s brain after all; the remainder of the track is like the sonic equivalent of completing a tax return. Terratonic is strong, but generic – it sounds like anything off the second half of Refractions, only with a certain additional obviousness about the melodies. Finally there’s a washed-out breaksy chill number called Halo, which sounds like it’s just pretending.

Which I think is the central problem here: in this universally uninspiring artist album, there’s nothing here that appears to challenge either the listener, or especially the artist himself. I think this is the point here. Even in its more melodic moments, Refractions had a believable sense of passion flowing through the music. Circadians has nothing.

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