Two discs of jump-up jungle where the jump-up comes from bullets brushing against your bootlaces. The Green Man is no enigma in darkness, yet there’s no denying his relish of the distance he keeps between himself and his audience.
As Heiner Kruse speeds out the driveway, spurred on by basslines ranging from widescreen coasting (the pulsating “Electronic Supersymphonic”), to full-on ding-dong (“Chainsmoker”), the lead becomes like Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino; he tries to keep himself to himself, but if looks could kill as on “Stay True”, TGM would probably be classed as a homicidal maniac (a handful of tech snarls reveal when things do unravel). Off the gas and into thinking mode, the pallor of some of the German pioneer’s 90s-bred intelligentsia and well-orchestrated alone time is TGM becoming even more tight lipped.
Ambience still showing frown lines, as if lounging on a bed of nails, the break of flow and the shrug of a five o’clock shadow can leave you feeling as empty as some of the producer’s sound beds that put genuine open space ahead of simple minimalism. His uplifting moments force a weak smile, with the closing two tracks going virtually head over heels.
While 30 tracks are a lot to take on board, it’s hard not to root for straight-talking ‘n’ bass with scores to settle and grudge matches to contest.
File under: Kahluha Funk, Ill.Skillz, DJ Die