Even if you think he’s turned up at Flying Lotus’s Brainfeeder label by mistake, Mr Oizo ain’t altering his colourful, often infuriating trajectory of brute force computerisation covered in silly string for no-one.
The Parisian’s ethos remains: get to the crux of the matter quick, march listeners into his electro-techno arcade, then pull the rug. A swig of absinthe and sugar, and it’s onto the next one.
Quentin Dupieux loves techno’s nosebleed culture, but you can detect giggles in the background, itching to deploy the telephone sound effects that power ‘Machyne’. ‘Mass Doom’ is a ditty that’s cheesy even by kids’ TV theme standards, and the neon lawnmowers of ‘Bear Biscuit’ can only be stopped by another of Oizo’s French funk whistle stops, ‘iSoap’.
That arcade vibe – no fancy next-gen consoles here – houses a gamer with tongue out and knuckles turning white. Oizo is capable of finishing the nightmarish mazes he often pulls out of, with the title track an unforgiving wormhole of acid-lashed fractals and salacious vocals.
However, the standard, sustained lack of permanence and structure is of someone who struggles past level one and has to restart over and over. In turn, this adds to Oizo being happy as ever at being at odds with himself, with ‘The Church’ just another handpicking of stashed craziness.
Words: Matt Oliver
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