A Guy Called Gerald
Essence
[!K7]
Rating: 5.6
No one could seriously deny Gerald Simpson's contribution to electronic music.
As a member of 808 State, he masterminded the first credible British responses
to the techno being imported from Detroit. Newbuild, 808 State's debut,
created the kind of catch-up energy that few albums have ever generated. I
would even argue that it's dance music's Nevermind: it defined a whole
new musical landscape and depicted, in huge sweeps, an entirely fresh mode of
expression. The Roland 808, the TB303, and the other rudimentary machines and
devices used to create Newbuild have all become fetish items of late,
and were it not for Simpson's departure, 808 State would have become the
pioneering electronic act without equal.
But he did leave, and has done pretty well for himself since. He wrote the
warehouse anthem "Voodoo Ray" before realizing that the voodoo within the tune
was blighting him. He turned his attention away from thrashing Derrick May at
his own game and took to the polyrhythmic expanses of jungle. Released on his
own Juicebox label, 28 Gun Bad Boy and Black Science Technology
prove that when focused, Simpson is capable of disciplined soulful electronic
masterworks.
Essence, however, showcases his distracted, settle-for-almost-anyone
self-- the one that gets record companies interested and involved. The last
time he let a company control him, they refused to release the album (High
Life Low Profile, nixed by Sony). Before that, the company had messed
around with Automannik and left a meager husk of a reportedly vee vee
special record. Studio !K7 release Essence probably with a heap of
reverence in their hearts, and that's why they can't tell him that Lady Miss
Kier doesn't belong on a cigar-lounge trip-hop album that criminally disguises
its avant-jungle artistry. They apparently also can't bring themselves to tell
Simpson that Essence actually deserves rejection.
Geffen once sued Neil Young for producing un-Neil Young albums. And while I
appreciate that artists must have the freedom in which to break down boundaries
and public perceptions, I do feel that record companies should tell revered and
honored artists when they're producing sub-standard stuff. And infuriatingly
sub-standard Essence is.
The dead giveaway is the opener, "The Universe," an awkwardly delivered spoken
word piece about the universe within our bodies and the spirituality that we
house in the micro-universes of our atomic make-up. This undisciplined,
unsubstantiated new age clap-trap would be far more at home in the coffeehouses
of UC Berkeley than they are on Essence. "Could You Understand" strives
for the emotional power of "Finley's Rainbow," Black Science Technology's
crucial reworking of Finley Quaye's version of Bob Marley's "Sun is Shining,"
which also borrows from Jacob Miller's multiply versioned "Baby, I Love You
So." Lamb's Louise Rhodes, potentially the most compatible collaborator, gives
a sterling performance of the psychobabble "Humanity," which is as galling a
session of fatuous ego-stroking self-actualization as anyone might hear outside
of an anger-management seminar conducted by a lapsed and self-loathing cleric.
Sad to relate, there are plenty more lyrics gleaned from Borders' Self-Improvement
Section. On "Universal Spirit," Wendy Page trills, "Universal spirit elevates
your soul/ When your heart perceives it/ Love is in control/ Dive into the
ocean/ Energize your love." At least when former Deee-Liter Lady Miss Kier
steps up to the mic, she's downright strange: "Something's really happening/
Smoking sassafras/ Grass is on her arse/ Wearing out her slippers." No one
can withhold the Adam Ant Award for Utter Whibble from Lady Miss Kier for such
baffling cobblers!
Throughout Essence, Simpson valiantly attempts to compensate for his
vocalists' inadequacies. The music he sets their Aquarius-Age warblings to is
invariably some of the most sincere and artful that a drum-n-bass producer has
ever committed to hard disk. Even the Bukem-ish "First Breath" remains
unimpeachable due to the accurate and faultless position of each beat and
sub-bass boom. "Humanity," lyrics aside, initially shuffles in a samba before
Simpson's heavily echoed toms prepare us for the subtle rush of his processed
breakbeats.
"Final Call" revisits rave's undeniable glories-- from the Cabaret
Voltaire basslines to the Pet Shop Boys orchestral stabs, and the jack track
hand claps and rimshots. The track is unashamedly nostalgic, but since Simpson
pretty much invented the style, it'd be churlish to reprimand him for it. If
"Fever or a Flame" were versioned (sans Wendy Page), it would doubtless reside
in junglist DJs boxes for months; cleansed of insipid vocals, the track would
be an unstoppable peaktime roller.
What makes Essence such a gadfly is that, had Mono or Hooverphonic
released it, I'd have been thrilled that they'd escaped from the Serge
Gainsbourg-sampling, goatee-stroking gulag they wandered into quite voluntarily.
But as Black Science Technology unquestionably proved, a Guy Called
Gerald is matchless in his ability to create faultless techno soul.
Essence mocks its creator's reputation. I can hear elements of an
outstanding, possibly even genre-opening album amongst the jumble of guest
vocals and conventional verse/chorus/verse structures. It's as though Simpson
needs more than to create another soulful masterpiece of machine music; he
needs the fleeting pleasure of being a one-hit wonder. If Simpson is mad keen
on collaborating, why not hook up with Me'Shell NdegéOcello, an artist who
would be equally soulful and more than capable of understanding and
complimenting his exemplary machine-soul aesthetic. Until then, we must either
use a mental filter to erase the inanities, or return Black Science
Technology to the disc tray and wait for another five years to pass before
Simpson releases another comeback.
-Paul Cooper