Trent Reznor, Mariqueen Maandig, Atticus Ross and Rob Sheridan sound like they're actually courting angels on their long-awaited debut album. An undercurrent of unease runs through the glitchy drum machines and gritty synth patches; the group's furtive funk skulks like a cat burglar who's just boosted Autechre's beats. But Maandig's voice tends to lead the music back toward the light, balancing somber production with bright, hopeful melodies. They're at their most heavenly on "Ice Age," whose folky plucked strings mark the arrival of an Appalachian spring amid the post-industrial wreckage.
No, this may not be the Apparat you know from previous LPs. For one thing, it's the soundtrack to an experimental German theater production of Tolstoy's War & Peace, and it has the swelling strings and pensive atmospheres to match. But it's also not that much of a departure; freed from pop constraints and club structures, Apparat gets to stretch out and really revel in the pensive luminescence of his electro-acoustic sound worlds. In other words, he sounds as emo as ever, which is exactly what we love him for, but even more expansive.
Jamie Lidell is a Nashville resident now, but you wouldn't necessarily guess it from his fifth LP, even though it was recorded right there in Music City. Whatever his previous fealty to classic soul idioms, this time he's all about finding his own twisted interpretation of funk. George Clinton's electro-shocked squelch carries more weight this time than Otis Redding's dulcet touch; chrome and neon edge out warmer, gentler textures, and Lidell's stylistic pile-up sounds more unhinged than ever. His voice is the axle on which everything turns, a malleable yowl inimitable and unparalleled.
There's always been a pop heart lurking inside Lusine, but he's tended to keep it hidden behind intricate techno rhythms and shifting electronic textures. Here, he is meticulous as ever and even more carefree; hence the Stereolab-meets-Kraftwerk simplicity of "Get the Message," with its koan-like couplets, or the swirl of vocals that gives "Lucky" its sense of lift. "Another Tomorrow" similarly shows off Lusine's knack for combining spongy textures with crackling rhythms that get deep under the skin, while "Without a Plan" asks what My Bloody Valentine might have sounded like with clarinets.
Recorded on a 2012 tour stop in Philadelphia, Simian Mobile Disco's Live captures the U.K. duo in powerful form. The 15-track set, presented without edits or overdubs, massages together melodies from the group's biggest tracks -- "Seraphim," "Cerulean," "Hustler" -- into a seamless whole that sweeps from peak to peak, propelled by spontaneous breakdowns and impromptu drum-machine workouts. Recorded straight from the PA, the sound is as full as it must have sounded standing right in front of the bass bins; a hint of crowd noise, picked up via additional mics, transports you there.
Once known for bumptious, jacking house music, Hervé takes a sharp left turn on The Art of Disappearing, slowing the beats to a woozy crawl and piling on layer after layer of synths, organs and reverb. (If this is a missing-persons report, M83's studio might be a good place to start the search.) Austra, Maria Minerva and Niki & The Dove guest on three of the album's strongest cuts, bringing extra drama to these cinematic atmospheres, but the melancholic instrumentals, suggesting chopped-and-screwed Cocteau Twins, are plenty gripping all on their own.
Where 2010's North saw Darkstar finding their footing as they transitioned from dubstep to a more diffuse brand of electro-pop, News from Nowhere is the portrait of a band fully in control of its vision. Imagine the Beach Boys' joyous harmonies ricocheting around a diving bell, or Animal Collective's primal pulsations delivered via IV drip (and infused with ether). African preoccupations a la Steve Reich lend a flickering sense of motion to songs that spread out like lake ripples. Profoundly chilled (but never "chillwave"), this is as buoyant as it gets.
In the '90s, Dobie played a minor role in the U.K.'s blunted-beatz scene; then we stopped hearing about him. On his first proper album since 1998, it turns out that he's way more than a trip-hop also-ran. We Will Not Harm You sounds like the work of someone who's been listening hard but guarding his thoughts; it folds together decades of dance-music modalities -- acid, jungle, footwork, hip-hop -- into an idiosyncratic, expressive sound that follows no fashion, just the intricate beat of Dobie's own (sampled, programmed) drummer. It's timeless in a way that's rare for electronic music.
Volume 3 in the Clone label's ongoing Drexciya anthology dives still deeper into the netherworld of the shadowy, Afro-futurist duo from Detroit. By turns menacing, playful, gritty and ebullient, the comp takes in the white-noise thrum of "Bubble Chamber," the militant call-to-fins of "Aquabahn" and the unhinged almost-pop of "Flying Fish." "Nautilus 12" is a no-holds-barred duet for pile-driver and dial tone, while "Red Hills of Lardossa" captures their underwater funk at its most colorfully bubbly. Like its predecessors, this comp is essential listening for students of techno's outer limits.
It's tempting to wonder whether Kansas City producer Matt Hill should have taken the alias "Umberto Echo," given how faithfully he mimics bygone sounds -- specifically, Italian horror-film scores from the '70s and '80s. His third album could easily be mistaken for a long-lost Dario Argento soundtrack, complete with ominous synth swells, tubular bells, gravelly choir patches and a general sense of lo-fi mystery. It's all underpinned by Giorgio Moroder's robo-disco pulse, rounding out the perfect soundtrack to any night drive -- zombie hitchhikers optional.
