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Astrix

Artcore

Hom-Mega (Israel)

Does anyone remember the drum n’bass album called Artcore that came out around 1995 or so? It sort of heralded the change from rastajugglin jungle madness to ‘intelligent’, loungeable d&b long before Bukem made it so boring that it made you want to pull your fingernails out with pliers. Yup, I know we’re supposed to be talking about psytrance; I’m ambling in the direction of making a point, which is whether this Artcore might change its style of music as much as the other Artcore did. In a word: No. Poison drops in at 145bpm and takes precisely zero minutes to drop into what Astrix does best. It’s effortless, which also means predictable, but when it drops into its main run it’s a textbook example of how Israeli dancefloor fodder works. Monster provides a case for reporting this man to the TB303 abuse line (0 800 303 303). Big acid lines, which made something of a resurgence this summer, and this is a goodun. Mix out before the “every time I close my eyes, I see pigeons” (it doesn’t actually say that) vocal and you should be alright. Tweaky takes a vaguely fresh lead groove, dips in and out sorta affair, leading into a huge breakdown and knees-in-the-air, tip-a-bit-of-your-beer stompage. Probably the best track here, Techno Widows sounds less like astrix – heavier bottomend, and the “what the fuck is going on?” sample gives it a characteristic, minty hook. Title track Artcore is decent enough until the ubercheesemen make an appearance, likewise for the guitar-driven embarrassment On Fire. Sex Style is simply atrocious, a melody that only an Israeli could write and only the most pilled-up bafoon could love. Beyond the Senses saves the day, a really gorgeous closing track with a shifting BPM and is, for my money, the best thing Astrix has done since his Crystal Skulls track – perhaps the lad is better off making music at this tempo. Anyway this is neither a classic, nor is it a pile of shit. It sits somewhere in between; but nobody can doubt astrix’s innate ability to manipulate a melody, a crescendo, and a dancefloor of stomping goons in the morning. Promise me one thing though – if you buy this, buy Talpa’s album as well. Then you might see what I’m on about.