The lead single to Zomby’s first album in more than three years was not terribly auspicious. Sure, in the run-up to its release, the prospect sounded almost too good to be true: Zomby and Burial together at last—bass music’s two most notoriously hermetic producers emerging from their studio lairs bearing, one could only assume, fistfuls of charcoal and lightning. But their collaboration “Sweetz” sounded half-assed: desultory in spirit, scattered in form, and overlaid with an insistent vocal loop insisting, “Get me fucked up/Get me fucked up/Get me fucked up,” over and over, like the inner monologue of a user whose serotonin receptors have long since scabbed over. Heard on its own, it didn't sound like much. But “Sweetz” turns out to make a strange kind of sense in the context of the album. Its weird twists and turns draw you in; its lysergic extremes fuck you up. In its dead-eyed way, it comes alive.
Zomby has never played to expectations. From his early, squirrelly dubstep singles and the full-bore breakbeat hardcore of his debut album, 2008’s Where Were U in ’92?—an album that helped set up a broad wave of British rave revivalism from artists like Lone, Special Request, and even Jamie xx—he veered into unexpectedly sentimental territory with 2011’s expansive Dedication, his first album for 4AD. It was a promising turn of affairs, the famously cagey artist finally wearing his heart on his Balmain sleeve. But 2013’s With Love tested even his most stalwart fans’ patience. Its grim mood hung like a pall, and many of its 33 tracks felt like unfinished sketches; some of them, like “Digital Smoke” and “Entropy Sketch,” were merely variants of each other, separated by inelegant fadeouts.
But Ultra is the most self-assured Zomby record in ages, and a huge step forward from the slightly pro-forma DJ tools of last year’s Let's Jam!! EPs. Even at its darkest—which is to say, most of it—he sounds like he’s enjoying himself, from the triumphant fanfare of the opening “Reflection” to the regal tones of the closing “Thaw.” Sometimes, he’s in and out in two minutes, just to see what kind of sparks fly when one sound rubs up against another. Elsewhere, he lets loops tumble on as long as he likes. That strategy doesn’t always work: the cycling synths and voices of “Fly 2” abruptly drop in tempo some two-and-a-half minutes into the tune and then continue spinning away for three more minutes, slow and stuporous, like a battery-operated toy running low on charge. “Her,” on the other hand, is perfect—just a four-bar chord progression made of bright, gleaming synths and booming, Phil Collins-grade toms. It’s so hopeful it makes you a little nervous, because nothing in life works out as well as the utopia it promises.
Ultra is also Zomby’s most experimental record in ages. That might sound strange, given how many of his usual tropes come into play: video-game bleeps, laser blasts, gun-cock samples, and all the other accouterments of grime. But, particularly after the polished sonics of With Love, he’s letting himself get weird again. “Burst” may employ the same arcade chirps that he’s used forever, but the way the stuttering synth riff seems to slow down in mid-tumble is unusual, like grime turned gelatinous. “Quandary,” a co-production with Darkstar, pairs the pinging of tilting pinball machines with a bouncy lead that's almost Caribbean in feel. It’s a disorienting listening experience, especially the drums' mismatched, tangled reverb tails. You feel torn different ways at once—which, given the title, might be the point.
It’s not all so successful. The drab, bitcrushed “E.S.P.,” reminiscent of Actress’ desiccated atmospheres, feels longer than its three minutes; “Yeti,” an icy grime tune in the mold of Wiley’s “Eskimo” or “Igloo” is rather superfluous coming right after “Freeze,” another bright, brittle grime track that sounds absolutely fantastic. (Zomby presumably thought that placing such similar tunes together would be illuminating, and it is: He still hasn’t perfected the art of editing down his tracklists.) And some of his choices, like the gunshots and “Twin Peaks” monologue of “Reflection,” feel slightly uninspired for an artist whose public persona puts such a premium on audacity.
But those are minor quibbles, because when he's on, he’s on. The sparkling “Glass,” the sorrowful “I,” the rough-cut jungle of “S.D.Y.F.” (“So Dance You Fuckers”), a collaboration with The Trilogy Tapes’ Rezzett—all of it finds Zomby sounding refreshed and invigorated. On the closing “Thaw,” he even sets the drums aside, lavishing all his attention on an absolutely gorgeous set of chords played on an absolutely gorgeous set of synthesizer patches. You can hear his passion for fashion coming to the surface here: It resembles draping; it sounds expensive, and it suggests that he’s still got a few tricks up his sleeve.
