German DJ and producer Zedd hasn’t released a full album since Barack Obama was president, but his ambitions have hardly been kept in check. “The Middle,” his 2018 collaboration with Maren Morris, sharply declared his crossover aspirations (even if its followup, "Make You Say," dissipated into a puddle). And now his long-overdue third album, Telos, similarly builds on his EDM foundation but aims to construct a more expansive sonic playground for himself.
Telos has its share of what Zedd has done best, which is concocting a pulsating, incontestable dance track and having pop singers, known and unknown, sail over them. Here, he knows how to recruit the likes of Bea Miller and Dora Jar, artists known for pleasant if not instantly identifiable voices, and encase them in big-beat pop that lends them a little more muscle; "No Gravity," featuring Bava, the Haitian-American singer, truly shimmers. But Zedd's focus here is bigger swings, with more mixed results. His fascination with world music emerges in “Shanti,” a dance chant featuring an Indian choir, and “Sona,” which merges massive club beats with traditional Irish instrumentation. Ultimately, though, they feel more like soundtracks for travel documentaries than fully realized tracks.
In the past, Zedd’s star-turn collaborations have always reflected the pop zeitgeist. Nothing says “early 2010s” now like previous cameos by Ellie Goulding, Echosmith and OneRepublic’s Ryan Tedder. In that regard, Zedd's choice of Telos guests says something about both his goals and a possible new barometer of cool: They’re all rock dudes.
Muse, who've never shied away from the land of the overwrought, are a perfect match for the cinematic soundscape “1685.” Even better, “Dream Brother” takes the Jeff Buckley recording, now 30 years old, and jacks it up with new beats and strings. (Zedd's use of orchestration throughout the album is another sign that he seems himself as more than a DJ.) What could have been cheesy feels like a lost, and haunted, club mix from the Nineties, one that also allows you to hear more of the aching subtleties in Buckley’s delivery.
On "Automatic Yes," John Mayer, Zedd's least likely collaborative partner probably ever, tries to coax an ex back into a relationship reunion tour. The blend of Zedd's slinky bop, Mayer's verbal come-ons and some of his serpentine guitar had all the makings of a sonic train wreck. But Mayer, always something of a pop chameleon, slips naturally into EDM-lite mode. With it and the other rock-geared tunes, Zedd may have found his true calling: an auteur for tormented guys seeking redemption in a rapturous beat.
