Monolith Cocktail Blog

ALBUM REVIEW/ANDREW C. KIDD

Ital Tek ‘Timeproof’

Timeproof is a soundtrack of our time: sobering; fierce – Hitchcockian. It is the seventh album of Alan Myson, better known as Ital Tek. Early Ital Tek was different. Cyclical (2008) was under-appreciated and served as a fine example of expansionist dubstep. Midnight Colour (2010) was two-/dubstep heavy with a blurrier focus on bass; it crossed the melodic line into intelligent dance music. Nebula Dance (2012) was pure footwork at a time when his label (Planet Mu) were dropping their hugely influential Bangs and Works Volumes. He took an abstract view of drum n’ bass on his sub-half hour mini-album Control (2013): the amen break was observed through broken glass. It was maddeningly chaotic. Conversely, the rhythmless Zero was the highlight on that release – shattering mellow synth and choral notes were released like steam from a venting fumarole*. Ital Tek’s sound changed dramatically thereafter. In Hollowed (2014) he actually entered the fumarole. He continues to inhabit this lightless space. His explorations have taken him through the metamorphic mantles, onwards to the metallic core. I recently revisited some of his previous extended plays. Dissonance featured heavily on Seraph (2020): an example of this is the opening chords on Granite & Glass. The choppy snare drums on the title track recalled his dubstep origins; its back-lit harpsichords ripped the whole sound open. Throughout Seraph I had visions of water. It was as if I was listening to something immensely epic that had been fully submersed. The melancholic Hazed cascaded like a waterfall: I watched its waters pile over a precipice in real-time – in my mind, the water reversed back upwards. After on The Speed of Darkness EP (2017) had brought me to a similarly restful space.

In stark contrast, Timeproof seeks to discompose. Ultimately, it is an aural observation on that great unknowable construct: time. The glass-seated chair that sits in the centre of the accompanying album art is hallucinatory. The chrome finish reflects inwards rather than outwards. Time is clearly considered to be recondite here, and surrealist (like the accompanying art). To the music! Granular subterranean tones flow beneath Phantom Pain. Ital Tek has opted for a different drum programme from what I can discern: early Skull Disco label meets the machinations of The Bug meets even earlier John Carpenter. It is as mettlesome as anticipated; son futur, musical noir played through voltage-controlled filters and a sustained envelope. The synth-glory that sonically needles its why into one’s ears was there in 2016 when he released his Beyond Sight EP; specifically, the final piece, Until The End Of Time. The opposing mellow hues split across a sunrise on Staggered. The two-keyed notes ascend before being called back in semi-tonic descent. It is monastic and fleeting – catharsis after the opening assault. Heart String is suspenseful with a locomotive-like opening as the chords are played through pulsing low-rpm drums. It beckons a deeper sub-melody that is improvised (rather oddly, I am reminded of Keith Hopwood and Malcolm Rowe’s score to the 1989 film adaptation of The BFG here, particularly the dissonant dreamcatcher sequences). It ends in an ascending tremolo to anti-climax. Darking proceeds and is empirical. Its movements blindside the listener. The synthesiser melody almost tears through the headphones to reveal a mathematical harpsichord melody is akin to ‘future baroque’. This Bach-like and cyclically-variable approach is evident on the hymnal Open Heart on his Outland LP as it switches to a quasi-organ sound around its midpoint. There are elements of Underworld and Jon Hopkins here (particularly the waltzing treble kick that staccato into an off-beat which is a signature of the latter artist). Ital Tek has been here before: listen to Time Burns Heavy on his Dream Boundary EP (2020). Similarly, on this LP, counterpoint synthesiser melodies play out on One Eye Open and Zero Point. As its title suggests: Darking is to be listened to underground. Hear, hear! to Ital Tek the fatalistic.

Zero Point is another good example of Ital Tek’s mastering of suspense: off-cut synths and synth waves pulse and swell; distorted sawing gnaws away to eventually overwhelm; a clever cut reveals a lithe, two-tone sub-melody. The rhythm section muscles-in as an early double-kick, part-syncopated and cyclical 4-4. Fourth dimensional bells are dissonant – they jangle, elevating the piece. The sub-bass is given momentary reprieve to breath. The latter has become a signature of Ital Tek: musical deconstruction in an act of self-interrogation followed by a systematic reworking that leads to reimagined drops or a cleverly concealed false summit as is the case on Zero Point. The tracks Endless and Oblivion Theme on his remarkable Outland long play (2020) also embody this metaphor of compositional disintegration.

Timeproof offers moments akin to a dystopian mass for modern times. Listen to the modular sequences that cascade on the The Mirror. Synth-swords are sharpened. Its beat is hi-hat-less grunge – trap for the modern era. Peremptory and leaden, the kick drum batters at the walls. On Cold Motion Ital Tek sustains the notes like the ambient-noire of Vangelis. It would suit the slow-shot of a Tarkovsky film: think the railroad sequence on Stalker (1979), or the Earth scene from Solaris (1972). The aesthetic is cataclysmal: slow-build; bittersweet melodia; major and minor progressions. The album becomes canonical at the juncture of its final two tracks: The Next Time You Die and the title track. The former opens with arresting vocals sung in strange triads. The melody is inconsistent and broken. The synths offset this, but only a little. It is a chorus of the two worlds that Ital Tek inhabits. The motif played on the organ at 2-minutes 34-seconds is progressed slightly until we are guided into the crypt. It is stony and marbled and mottled, yet in the same breathe, life-giving. The final (and title) track opens with low-frequency strings in a similar mode to the double basses that build upon the Aeolian scale of the opening movement of Henryk Górecki’s Symphony No. 3, Op. 36. The organ-like movement from the preceding track reappears; except, this time, it is held longer. The keys are pressed harder. They sustain and are sustained until they cannot sustain any more. The cacophony of sounds are pained. It grimaces at you, and eventually, a sardonic smile appears. The body of sound is then laid to rest. I think of many things when listening to this album. The sound is cathedralic. At points, it is cinematic. Ultimately, my thoughts rest on a chrysalis. From its ominous opening to hymnal finish, Timeproof grows inside a cocoon of polyrhythm and sub-melody until its wings eventually open to close, making a final and magnific opening in conquering glory.

*a fumarole is an opening in the Earth’s crust through which steam and gases are released

ANDREW C. KIDD