Cornelius', aka Keigo Oyamada, music inhabits a space that is uniquely his own.
Sure there are similarities in the lightness of production in places to artists such as Yoshinori Sunahara (whose studios were used to record this album). But this is one small dimension of the package; not least because Cornelius can also rock out.
His tracks continuously cruise towards a fixed genre, but never reach their destination - veering off into something too intangible to be readily defined. Few artists so successfully blend such a mixed bag of ingredients.
Verging on techno, crystal digital production is punctuated by unexpected organic instrumentation.
The bleeps and clicks of 'Point of View', for example, is centred around interplaying strum and plucked steel string acoustic guitar, while the melody is provided by broken lyrics that, spiralling around seemingly endless panning possibilities, emphasise the continually shifting patterns of the album.
'Smoke' sees rock guitar themes being indulged over clattering, jagged drum patterns and half Japanese vocals. It's a dangerously introverted game that manages too avoid self-indulgence by being supremely listenable.
The current single, the Mathew Herbert influenced 'Drop', rises out of lapping rock pool water effects to become a breezy Balearic, Latin house anthem, complete with a floating, if unfathomable, Japanese vocal. It could be another remix of a Tom and Joyce's 'Vai Minha Tristezka', but then again it couldn't.
As ever it's the detail that reveals the brilliance, including a comical cough and splutter that rises out of the lapping pool noises.
It's an album high point that you don't expect to be bettered. But bettered it is when the fire ball, electro punk funk of 'Another Point Of View' picks up momentum and wigs out in a momentous of electronic lunatic groove.
This moves seamlessly into the low-fi down beat drum patterns and drawn out keyboard of 'Tone Twilight Zone'. Organic instruments are again represented by steel stringed guitars, this time alternating between delicately resonating harmonics and occasional plucked refrains.
The strangely punctuated 'Bird Watching at Inner Forest' again returns to Latin rhythms in layers of lightly orchestrated broken Brazilian beats. All of which renders the listener totally unprepared for the savage guitar attack of 'I hate'.
The alternating glam funk come staccato guitar rock of 'Fly' is less of a shock, but it sits undeniably awkwardly under the half spoken, forlorn vocals, like two impossibly combined songs being mixed together extremely well.
The crowning point of album comes from the drunken trombone of 'Nowhere'. A slow and sweet meandering instrumental, it sounds uncannily like a lost scene from Star Trek, in which Captain Kirk is administered a highly potent drug while being seduced by a young Bardot.
Until now it's a scene Trekies could only wet-dream about. Now they can also sample its aural delights.
by Ben Osborne