One of music's best qualities is its talent for escaping description. Critics, because we lack the vocabulary to verbally illustrate what we hear, approximate our explanations with obtuse metaphors and imprecise comparisons. As a relative greenhorn in the Pitchfork camp, I don't have much experience crafting the sort of riddles reviewers always speak in, so maybe it's time I got some practice. And where better to start than with Plaid's latest musical conundrum, Double Figure-- an album whose ostensible theme is mystery, and an album for which few words are suited? So, if you'll permit me a moment of intellectual masturbation:
Plaid's first LP, Not for Threes, was to M.C. Escher as their second, Rest Proof Clockwork, was to Roy Lichtenstein. On Double Figure, intended as the final instalment of this IDM trilogy, Ed Handley and Andy Turner match the mind-bending intricacy and academic precision of Threes with the vibrant palettes and playful sensibility of Clockwork. The result is an aesthetically diverse gallery of songs that, in its finest moments, calls to mind the paintings of Wassily Kandinsky and Rene Magritte-- immediately intriguing and immaculately produced, always with a cryptic sense of inexplicable urgency.
Where continuity is concerned, Double Figure reminds me of a salad made from candy bars, or a library where the books are actually ant farms-- neither of which I've actually encountered, but in literary circles, we call that poetic license. The disjointed juxtaposition of styles on this disc is so pronounced that it feels intentional; like The White Album or Jega's Spectrum, this record underscores its versatility at the expense of consistency.
While all of the tracks-- even the minute-long Tak snippets-- are autonomous, ambitiously complex entities, each of the 19 songs bear the duo's unifying, idiosyncratic stamp. And the absence of tangible themes lets listeners filter the gems from the garbage (the album doles out a healthy balance of both) without losing the plot.
When this album fails, it's not for want of trying. Handley and Turner seem to be pushing the envelope beyond their previous efforts, grafting more difficult harmonic arrangements onto the densely layered beat construction that characterized Not for Threes. But they often bite off more than they can chew. On "Light Rain," the melodies run amok and lose cohesion, and "Silversum" falls prey to the detached focus on percussive structure that plagued Plaid's debut.
Double Figure strikes gold, however, with songs like "Zala," a frenetic melange of off-kilter string synths and atmospheric melodies, punctuated by brisk snares and cymbals. "Eyen" kicks the album off in the right key, building steam from a flamenco guitar sample, wistful strings and a soft, flat bassline. Elements of chaos cautiously creep in on the instrumentation, then wash out the melodies entirely. The light drum breaks and Ennio Morricone leanings touch on the sound of "Pino Pomo" from the pair's last album, only with a less panicked and more tranquil outlook.
Plaid attempt the Funki Porcini sound with the onomatopoetically titled "Ti Bom." Jazzy breaks with clipped cymbal hits (bom-bom-ti-bom) keep the tempo while distorted horns flirt with airy hand drums in the song's upper registers. "Squance" reveals the duo's dancefloor viability with a disco-tinged drum-n-bass foray into the possibilities of stereo.
Handley and Turner flaunt their range all over this record, laying on the brooding gravity of "Sincetta" only moments before igniting the 8-bit electro of "Porn Coconut Co." But Double Figure suffers from an excess of ambition, and when Plaid aim too high, they miss the mark. This album features some of their best work to date, but also some of their greatest failures. Rest Proof Clockwork may not have tried as hard, but it worked brilliantly within its limits. Double Figure takes Plaid through a tract of uncharted territory, and their ship sometimes runs aground.
