Among the artists who helped give shape to the many-faceted entity that was Brooklyn techno in the early 2010s, Blondes always felt somehow separate. Sounding less stylized (whether intentionally “raw” or self-consciously digital-native-slick) than many of their peers, Sam Haar and Zach Steinman make improvisation-driven mini-epics that are equally invested in sanguine textures and the imaginative worlds made possible by their hardware. Thanks, in particular, to the former, their music can conjure the ecstatic energy of early 1990s rave hits, albeit reconfigured to feel more relaxed and more introverted.
For Warmth, their first full-length since 2013’s Swisher, the duo parted ways with RVNG to join the Belgian label R&S. They were seeking, they said, proximity to a more dancefloor-oriented roster. The record is a little higher in energy than their older offerings, a little more forthright with its driving rhythms, but it maintains the dreamy, inward-looking quality that’s always characterized Blondes’ work. “OP Actual,” the album’s first track, lays the ground for their process. Subtle melodies float in and out of a slow-building chorus of synthesizers; some are full and tuneful, like organs, while others are mostly sticky texture. Somewhere underneath is a four-on-the-floor beat, but it’s almost an afterthought. All build-up, the track washes away without cresting.
Just as its individual compositions follow an internal narrative logic, Warmth’s track-by-track development has all the bends and arcs of a live set. Following “OP Actual,” most of the album is quicker to get to the point, letting beats develop before unfurling a mesh of interlocking melodic and textural elements. It might be this directness, rather than a shift in BPM or style, that makes this more of a traditional dance record: These pieces are designed to be felt by the body before the brain. Haar and Steinman’s impulse for grandiose melodic developments (think of previous standouts like “You Mean So Much to Me” or “Elise,” which were so memorable that neighboring tracks paled in comparison) is toned down, and individual tracks are that much less distinguishable. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, given the way the 65-minute set blends into a holistic experience.
Once the listener is physically engaged, Warmth wanders into near-psychedelic terrain. The duo’s impulses are too subtle to be fully hedonistic, but Blondes are pleasure-seekers all the same: When a rich ambient progression soothes a shivering patch midway through “Stringer,” or when single “KDM” locks into a swelling aqueous groove, it’s hard, quite simply, to not feel good. Such moments are still punctuated by tense interludes: “All You,” for example, is built from sawing tones that ricochet as if locked in a claustrophobic, subterranean space.
Blondes have often sounded like a project that’s in dialogue more with itself than with exterior influences; Haar and Steinman look less to their record collections than to their live sets as a jumping-off point for new material. Even as they bend aspects of their intent, the duo’s voice maintains a distinctive clarity, and their style of production maintains its vivid palette. Warmth stands to resonate with those seeking a transportive experience whose peaks and valleys never overwhelm.
