Daniel Avery occupies an odd spot amongst underground dance producers: he values largesse. Aspiring to the kind of big-room, anthem-wielding sound the Chemical Brothers perfected in the mid 90s—and, one presumes, their career trajectory—Avery eschews the hyper-rhythmic minimalism and throwback New Jersey garage sound that currently power UK club music in favor of soupy, riff-driven compositions that borrow from UK fetishes past: burbling acid house, elegant Detroit techno, big beat.
Don't mistake Avery's ambition with that of big-tent super-producers. With the blessing of UK legend Andrew Weatherall—who once summed Avery's sound as "gimmick-free machine-funk of the highest order"—Avery cut his teeth as a resident DJ at London's Fabric, an epic, expertly tuned soundsystem whose main floor is outfitted with bass transducers for a more immersive experience. The tracks on his debut LP Drone Logic feel tailored to this kind of high-end environment: crisp, thrumming tunes that proudly prance over a wide spectrum of frequencies. The album feels decadent, like one-percenter techno: rave music made for the best systems, to be played by the most talented DJs, drawing only from the purest eras of British dance exceptionalism.
Avery keeps his rhythmic patterns simple, drawing most of his drum sounds from pre-approved house and techno palates, and he does this to better showcase his big, groovy synth riffs. Drone Logic is overlong at nearly 70 minutes, but at no point does Avery want for melodic ideas. He loads the tracks full of acid-dusted basslines and stabbing synths, occasionally punctuating key moments with short vocal samples. Tracks like "All I Need" can feel a little cluttered, not because Avery overstuffs them but because they he never just lays in the groove; ideas and melodies are constantly being advanced. Drone Logic smartly reprises successes from Avery's early EPs, opening things up with an "album version" of the deep, hypnotic "Water Jump" and later delving into the springy sci-fi of "Need Electric".
Avery's avoidance of breakbeats and his heavily melodic approach means there's a lot of Detroit in his sound, especially second-wave stalwarts like Anthony "Shake" Shakir and Carl Craig, the first generation of producers with the luxury of building on a template already defined for them. Avery's at his best at his most tuneful and romantic. "These Nights Never End" compliments a roiling 303 bassline with a lapping, progressive synth melody and hissy strings, occasionally pulling back to allow the bassline room to tickle your hips. The crisp, sugary closer "Knowing We'll Be Here" drops a candied vocal sample among fizzing keyboards and a simple, hypnotic chord progression. Avery's lush psychedelics flirt with trance music, and Drone Logic often plays like a more urban version of James Holden and Nathan Fake's pastoral sprawl.
It's not hard to spot Avery's influences, and while his sound is by no means modern, it's a different kind of retro than that being proffered by his peers. Add to that its pristine production and Drone Logic feels modern, but miles away from the zeitgeist. Avery owns this space, and there's a refreshing self-assuredness to Drone Logic, which, combined with Avery's careful hand and his connections, can come off as predestined. You might find it too retro, or just not hip enough, but there is zero second-guessing on Avery's part: never does he glance over his shoulder with a nod to UK bass culture or a capitulate to a straight house track. Avery's singular vision might've left him a man without a country, but Drone Logic's undeniable heft and silky craft ensure he'll have plenty of takers.
