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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Entertainment
Tayyab Amin

Minor Science: Second Language review – expectation-defying beats

One of electronica’s more peculiar and curious albums ... Minor Science.
One of electronica’s more peculiar and curious albums ... Minor Science. Photograph: Cecilia Corsano-Leopizzi

The inspiration behind Minor Science’s debut album is one that’s sure to resonate with many of his fellow English-speaking electronic music artists and peers who have relocated to Berlin over the years. Second Language is the result of the producer and DJ’s fascination with language and translation, a byproduct of picking up German (and perhaps his own extensive work with words – many in the scene may first have known Minor Science as dance music journalist Angus Finlayson). He’s been communicating his ideas through sound for some eight years or so, breaking through with off-techno 12-inches for quirky, peripherally club-oriented labels the Trilogy Tapes and Whities. With writing on the backburner and DJing paying the bills, he has one of electronica’s more peculiar and curious albums to show for his transition to the studio.

Minor Science: Second Language album art work
Minor Science: Second Language album art work Photograph: Publicity image

Second Language sheds expectations almost immediately, eschewing dance music’s traditionally rigid structures to instead pack three different beats into second track Balconies. The record’s at its best when it’s morphing and momentum-building, such as on For Want of Gelt and Blue Deal – the former a tumble through sweeping spacecraft synths and overclocked bass rumbles, the latter a marriage of breakbeat swing and funky percussion. Drum’n’bass, chillout and so-called IDM serve as stylistic reference points, means through which to articulate complexities and artefacts while maintaining a clarity of sound. Intriguingly, the record manages to wield this extended 90s palette without becoming encumbered by nostalgia, and its uptempo passages enter warp speed without slamming into undue intensity. But it’s held back by the moments in between – the troughs, where bluesy pads plod in unmemorable cadences and obscure the clarity of vision elsewhere.



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