Of course, Posthuman could have gone tres repetitive and released a series of EPs that were basically lines of code in aural form. Instead, the duo have decided to hit us with five tracks' worth of twisted mechano-funk. "Kitchen" serves up crisp electronic breaks in the beginning and a bass drop that'll make your subwoofer shudder. Surprise, they've got a mean robot voice now, mumbling cyclically that "the city's your identity everyday in the city," or something like that. Then the metal riffs enter! Except they're too subdued to serrate much, just chugging tastefully in the background with the constant cymbal taps.

"Kitchen" works as a nice appetizer, but later "Billy Bob's Moustache Day" takes the formula too far. Tough drum-n-bass pops in blisters until a bluesy garage-guitar lick rises and dominates the mix. The effect is Altogether too much like Orbital's lackluster recent efforts, and the focus of the song shifts entirely to the melody, suppressing the danceable electronic elements. "Billy Bob, Billy Billy Bob" goes the perky little sample, as it's bounced maniacally around the speakers, and there's a garbled phrase along the lines of "I want to marry my sister"...! Maybe it's Posthuman's way of beckoning, "Come to daddy."

The hints of humor continue: "It Started With a Kiss" creeps along on a double-bass lead, the kind of classical tiptoe-music you hear in cartoons. The silence gets shredded by sputtering percussion and sped-up beeps that'll have you saying IDM faster than Pam Anderson caved when she saw that rock. It's like a slow-moving cyclone, with telephasic keyboards swelling inwards to ground all the chaotic clatter. Squarepushers will love the mathematic antics, and Boards of Canada-philes will dig the warm synth colours. The abstract "Return to Map" traces a hint of the dark orchestral atmosphere of Posthuman's debut, but lightens the mood with theremin-like squoogles. Some harpsichord sounds start tingling and suddenly you're in an antechamber in Castlevania, and you know there's something not-too-nice around the corner. But it's not really a novelty piece-- it's slyly aware of itself in the beginning, then combusts in violent digital shards later on.

All of this is just filler compared to the centerpiece, though. "The Absolute" is a tale of the time electro met EBM and darkwave. It's a manifesto enough to make me beat my meat, with synths scribbling all over and this pivoting snare hiss that makes me think the boys have been listening to late-period Front Line Assembly. One of them sings a catchy new-wave vocal line, though you can't tell exactly what he's saying for all the vocals distorted Underworld-style. So yeah, I'm completely thrilled with Posthuman's appeal to the dancefloor. Almost thirty minutes of warped madness and pure electronic bliss.

-Christopher Dare, April 30th, 2002