In a year of riots, disorder and economic gloom, the question "where is this generation's Ghost Town?" was asked so much even Billy Bragg started to get bored of answering it. No one thought to ask where this generation's Club Tropicana was.
But one man had tuned into a different episode of I Love the '80s. Where there was despair, Rustie brought hope. Where there was discord, Rustie brought harmonies. And where there was doubt, Rustie brought rave-filling, Technicolor synth choruses so radiant and tough they would need scrubbing off the warehouse ceiling come sunrise.
Glasgow's Russell Whyte emerged from the same tightly knit Scottish club scene that produced Hudson Mohawke and Jackmaster, seminal labels and parties such as Numbers and Lucky Me, and injected a effervescent sense of fun into the club scene in England, too. Rustie's punch-drunk, bleepy take on hip-hop got him signed by Warp last year, and he used his debut album not to show how intricate his work can be, but how bold. And Jesus, it's bold.
Rustie draws on trance, funk, rave, west coast hip-hop, the Seinfeld theme tune, Grand Theft Auto radio stations, and windswept 80s power ballads, and works them into an album both futuristic and irresistibly danceable. The overwhelming feeling from tracks such as All Nite, Hover Traps and Crystal Echo is that you are watching VH1 through a massive kaleidoscope. Break it down and the composition is surprisingly complex, given you feel like you are being bludgeoned with giant inflatable glow sticks for 42 minutes.
Because more than anything, Glass Swords is the sound of uninhibited, unironic hands-in-the-air joy: banger after banger after banger. Try listening to standout anthems After Light or Ultra Thizz, with a strong coffee, and deny the smile on your face. You will fail.
