A Closer Listen
The beats seldom stop on Zoë Mc Pherson‘s latest record, and the energy never flags. And yet the artist has more on their mind than dancing; Mc Pherson also calls out stark indictments of the “neoliberal war machine” and the culture of narcissism. On the cover, the artist stands resolute and upright, continuing to favor green, offering a natural visual counterpart to the horizontal Pitch Blender, as if saying, “I have not given up hope for change; neither should you.”
Amazingly, at nearly 200 BPM, opening track “Not on Display” is even faster than the artist’s Chaos 3.0 Live EP, on which every piece unfurled at 185 BPM. One might infer from such acceleration a commentary on the rapidly increasing pace of politics and technology, the primacy of sound bite media, the rush to adopt new ideas without due consideration. Sped-up syllables race like cars on the slippery electronic track, ready to race off the rails.
The album is packed with such club bangers, although in comparison, even the fast seems slow. “Salted and Sweet” seems destined to become a candy commercial, although we hope Mc Pherson will hold out; we suspect the artist would never allow such a thing to happen, save perhaps as an ironic statement. The drum ‘n’ bass insertions keep the track on the periphery of the mainstream. Not so “Together We Ride,” the artist’s most commercial offering to date and one of the LP’s early singles. As far as we know, it’s not slated for Fast X: Part 2, but its inner propulsion, coupled with references to sunsets and rear view mirrors, makes it the perfect song for highway racing.
The artist’s greatest strength continues to be instrumentation, and on the instrumental and near-instrumental pieces, Mc Pherson shines. “Bang Bang” starts slowly before accelerating into a clash between rapid-fire beats and sensuous pads. “Ambient Snake” takes the scenic route, focusing on texture and flow. Album highlight “Is This Real” begins with alarm signals and develops into an impenetrable, industrial beast, as if an A.I. system has gone awry and is incorporating an entire network whose human watchdogs have been fired. The ghost in the machine surfaces with an unearthly howl.
The album technically ends with an instrumental version of “Narciss Century,” but “Farewell” is the better closer, shifting from metallic breath to speeding traffic, another wordless commentary on rapidity. Syllables bubble like protests, drowned out by engines. Is this a farewell to civility, a recognition that the loudest voices get the attention? A farewell to words, giving way to sounds? A farewell to humanity itself? A prophecy or a phantasm? The beats pummel; the beats motivate. Which way will we turn as we dance? (Richard Allen)
Mon Mar 10 00:01:55 GMT 2025