Since Lukid is signed to Actress' Werkdiscs label, it can be tempting to see the producer (real name: Luke Blair) a disciple. While both producers are sensitive to the meditative power of repetition and decay, Actress' distillation of Detroit techno is not central to Lukid's story. On Lonely at the Top, Lukid's fourth and finest album to date, he has more in common with the teasing ambiguity of Dean Blunt & Inga Copeland and the mood-molding of Holy Other. Dub, bass, and dancefloor pressure merge with blurry hip-hop beats, and all are spliced with sweetly naive percussion and silvery melodies that seem to blow in on a breeze.
A bag of tapes found on the street near Lukid's London home set the wheels in motion for Lonely at the Top. They were a catalyst, providing the samples for the funk apparition of first track, "Bless My Heart" on what is a largely sample-free album. One person's trash became Lukid's treasure, and the same could be said of Blair's overall approach: on Lonely he finds a richness in what many distance themselves from. Contemporary culture demands we medicate against sadness and undermine the potency of playfulness. It's the ground between the two that is the source of Lonely's magnetism.
Of course there's that album title: a sobering truism presented with tongue firmly in cheek. But his sensitive handling of sonic texture is what best articulates his sad/playful stance, which the title track nails so delicately. Over a bed of rolling, mournful bass, a woozy synth line, and cheeky 2-step rattle loop and build to transcendent effect. On Lonely sorrow is a fertile opportunity and lightheartedness a vital salve.
Where Lukid's previous albums-- 2007's Onandon, 2008's Foma, and 2010's Chord-- took an elastic approach to techno and house structures, Lonely finds him blurring the lines between genres even further. This is an impressionistic album, an evocative portrait of our boundary-less times. "Laroche" hints at cloud rap and begs for a Main Attrakionz feature, "This Dog Can Swim" is a smile-inducing slab of experimental electronics, and "The Life of the Mind" is pure synth ambience.
A cohesive narrative is maintained throughout, however, with some tracks creating a sense of stasis and others snapping us back to the wakeful present. So "Lonely at the Top" is the rhythmic flowering that follows "Manchester"'s static techno rain, while the chirpy keys of "Snow Theme" suggest the clarity that springs from blunt pain. Lukid is as mindful of the spaces between the tracks as within them; some offer a gentle fade into the next track, while others provide palate-cleansing silent seconds.
A human presence haunts the the album, but it's muffled and masked, the words often indecipherable. At points, shadowy figures seem to chant a spiritual soothing-- the yawning reverb of "Tomorrow" provides a monastic atmosphere-- while elsewhere it's as if they are calling a warning. "Talk to Strangers", which verges on ambient house, builds to a call and response between one of the muffled figures and a clearer, feminine voice. "Go, go," she answers the sound-shapes the figure emits. And then two-thirds of the way through there's a bass drop that pounds the chest like heartbreak. Elsewhere, "Riquelme" channels dance floor pressure and static waves into something industrial, curiously presenting the grind of repetition and conformity as something you can find respite in.
"The Life of the Mind" is the quiet heart of the record, envisioning the no-man's-land of humanity's eternal internal battle: the pendulum swing between self-importance and insignificance, and the eventual, inescapable fade to gray. In some ways, Lonely feels like the first record Lukid has made without a safety net: He's no longer hiding in clever loops or layering. This sensual album suggests a producer at the height of his powers.
