Jake Fairley is one of a few North Americans to figure into the grand narrative of techno over the past few years. He made his name in Toronto before moving to Berlin, where he joined hordes of expatriate DJ/producers-- is there a census yet to track such an epochal migration?-- keen to play routine gigs bigger than what would qualify as career highlights at home. In his transplanted role, Fairley was one of many, another promising player on a deep bench busy making Berlin a story. So what made him special?
Not much, at the start. Or, in another fashion: versatility. The ability to wander meaningfully between different styles isn't often valorized within the delirious techno glut, but Fairley is a prime example of the kind of artist who benefits from time on the sidelines. He made solid but less-than-starry singles for good labels (Traum, Sender, Kompakt), and in 2004 he crafted an album, Touch Not the Cat, that failed to win due appreciation even though it ranks now with the best realizations of the late glam-stomp techno style known as "schaffel."
Then he blew up. Under his guise as Fairmont, at the end of 2005, Fairley made one of those storied dance tracks that introduce a new sound (not a style, but a specific sound) to mark a time and place on techno's long-term trajectory. In the case of "Gazebo", it was an ethereal synth bauble thrown into a perpetual falling action over the span of several bars, a protracted melodic idea that suggested the structure of a "round" but teasingly refused to coalesce. "Gazebo" played as an instant anthem at the time, and its influence remains in a realm where significance is measured in terms of months more often than years.
Nothing on Fairmont's Coloured in Memory proves quite as wondrous, but the craft remains. "Fade and Saturate" opens in a dramatic mood, with series of reversed-tape smears and ashen synths building over vocals by Fairley himself. Unlike on Touch Not the Cat, which cast him as a bashful singer not quite sure how to hold a microphone, Fairley sounds now like he means it. And his hissy whisper haunts even when he's not there: In similarly keyed highlights like "Darling's Waltz" and "Mobula", suggestive shadows of songs fall over tracks made up of just washes and beats, all of which hit big but rustle or spray accents to make them register as more holistically musical.
A lot of Coloured in Memory sounds like Superpitcher and Michael Mayer, two fellow song-minded producers (and reigning icons of the Kompakt label) whom Fairley clearly reveres. Superpitcher plays out in the matter of moods-- brooding, gray, sensuously in love with sadness and detachment-- while Mayer figures into Fairley's dramatic knack for moving parts in and out of place like a DJ. "I Need Medicine", the biggest dance track on the album, showcases the latter with movements arranged around throbs, taps, snaps, and finally a beat that bangs with all the concision of a stamping machine.
The final third of Coloured in Memory downshifts into a spell of midtempo meditations and ambient murmurs. It's the kind of direction known to derail techno albums by even the best, but Fairley makes good on the habit for expansiveness he's earned. Coloured in Memory meanders, but never less than meaningfully so.
