UK techno has always occupied an odd space. It has little relation to the Hardcore Continuum—that line of distinctly British club music that encompasses Hardcore, Drum and Bass, and UK Garage—instead taking its cues from the rougher areas of Detroit and Berlin, minus the former's futurist escapism and the latter's hedonism. Stern and un-funky by design, UK techno is music for aesthetes, hardscrabble bangers strung together to cleanse and exfoliate. It seems designed not to help clubgoers forget their troubles for a weekend but rather to inspire those clubgoers to bloody their troubles' noses. It's a style that's seen a resurgence in recent years, beginning in part with techno high priest Karl O'Connor (Regis)'s involvement in Sandwell District—and Berlin's return to harsher clubbing realms—and growing more recently by acting as a refugee camp for dubstep orphans like Blawan and Untold.
Ali Wells, aka Perc, is at the forefront of this resurgence largely because he's been making scraping techno bangers, with little rest or deviation, since 2002. His Perc Trax label has been a breeding ground for young producers like Truss and Forward Strategy Group, serving as an inspiration to upstart labels like Avian, just as O'Connor's Downwards served to Perc Trax. Wells' debut album, 2011's Wicker and Steel, crystallized this trend, leading the Guardian to compare Wells' bleak soundscapes to contemporary Britain's flailing socio-political climate, because sometimes hissy noise isn't allowed to be just hissy noise. Because of all of this, Wells' second album, The Power and the Glory, is expected to be not just another industrial techno record, but a totem release on which this style of music can lean.
The record succeeds, mostly, inasmuch as it reconfirms that Wells is one of the style's most creative deviants. The Power and the Glory is a roiling album that feels looser and more chaotic than the rigid constructs Wells normally works within. Only a handful of the album's 10 tracks adhere to the four-to-the-floor overdriven kicks and unpitched ephemera that remain the backbone of UK techno. Like Surgeon before him, Wells understands an album requires a defter touch than a standard 12". The album starts slowly with "Rotting Sound", one of two collaborations with Dethscalator's Dan Chandler. An unbound mix of speaker static, sampled dialogue, and Chandler's echoing yelps, it's a terrible chore that mostly serves to prevent listeners from getting on with the mashing fun in a timely fashion.
The rest of The Power and the Glory fares far better. It's less strict and formalist—and better—than Wicker and Steel, making room for tracks like "Speek", an eerie, thrumming soundscape featuring Factory Floor's Nik Colk Void and "Horse Gum", a dubby, ambient collage. "Galloper", a near-breakbeat infused with a sickly organ, has enough space and pacing to spar with London's hipper house producers. Importantly, Wells also finds new and creative ways to pummel. "Dumpster", which opens with a wink—some birds chirping over seaside waves—relies, typically, on a monstrously overdriven kick drum, but also features a warped carnival melody. "David & George" is a delirious house of mirrors, featuring a nasty, snare-led beat a maniacal cackle.
Like Untold's Black Light Spiral, The Power and the Glory is an album that uses techno's scrape and burn to bring a group of disparate ideas together. Long a purist, The Power and the Glory stands as Wells' boldest and messiest work to date. It's still techno—best used for riling oneself and/or cleansing the palate—but it's techno that veers from its traditional purpose, picking at its scabs and rending its garments. Long a scene steward, Wells greatest contribution is bringing personality to a style that, by its very nature, avoids it.
