Once Monoloc sinks his teeth in, he won’t let go. Deploying techno hostilities at a pretty casual pace, letting brooding static and industrialism seep through and flood out on the prowl, its character bundles its way off the dance floor to experience palpitations by flashlight under the covers, until the tempo is a trickle of cold sweat descending down your temple. Defined by the excellent opener “Mind” and “No Outro” stirring something monstrous before staying true to its promise of a hasty exit, Sascha Borchardt’s night vision goggles blur the shades of green with splashes of blood red.
On “Things,” Monoloc sits under the skin, patiently playing the waiting game while simultaneously putting an axe through the door Here’s Johnny-style as time ticks down. Soon you’re unsure as to what’s the harsher discipline – slower, protracted examinations, or orders of off-with-their-head in scowling 4×4 time. Suffice to say Monoloc is firing off a full stockpile.
With that in mind, “It’s Mine” is rather more compliant with its gloom-laden vocal from the controlling Daniel Wilde. On the very Shed-like “About,” Monoloc downs the stealth and sets about a kick drum like a sadistic simpleton versed on Leftfield’s “Phat Planet.” And in the context of everything around it, “Pblc” is a lesser bench-presser. Minor imperfections however, on an album of techno both manipulative and manipulated, pulling you in ears-first.
File under: Oscar Mulero, Pfirter, Tommy Four Seven