Misery, cut ups and a bumping garage beat
Todd Edwards's Odyssey, Charlotte Bendiks, Krust and more
This week has been so busy, what with two features to write, a large ongoing project and the Radio Primavera Sound Twitch, that I haven’t had time to write a proper lead for this newsletter. Apologies. However, that does give me the opportunity to resurrect this piece about Todd Edwards’ Odyssey, an album that is as brilliant as it is overlooked.
I originally wrote this in 2013 and I stand by every word. Odyssey is a fantastic album, that keeps getting better with time. Edwards has been talking for a while about re-releasing it but it never seems to happen. I’m not sure why.
What has changed, in the intervening years, is that Edwards has spoken to the press about the struggles he faced with depression and insecurity in his 29s, notably in this interview with The Guardian, which may help to explain some of the misery inherent in Odyssey (and, perhaps, give a clue into why he hasn’t actually re-released it.)
From all accounts, Edwards is very happy now in California and long may he remain so. But don’t be afraid to linger, a little, in his Odyssey of unhappiness.
Misery, cut ups and a bumping garage beat — why Todd Edwards’ Odyssey is among the best albums of the last decade
It is quite remarkable, given the circumstances, what an underrated album Odyssey is. Todd Edwards, its creator, has played a guest role on what is likely to be the biggest album of 2013 in Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories and Burial has claimed Odyssey as an inspiration. And yet Odyssey would struggle to be even considered a cult hit.
This may be to do with when it was released: in 2006 the UK garage sounds that Edwards had inspired had ground to a lonely halt, while Daft Punk’s third album, Human After All, had underperformed. There followed some fallow years for Todd “The God”, who took on other work outside of music before storming back in 2009, just as the tide was again turning in his favour.
Whatever the circumstances, it seems criminal that Odyssey should have been overlooked. It is not just a brilliant album; it is a totally unique one.
For a start, Odyssey is Edwards’ only proper full album, rather than a collection of previously released tracks. What’s more, Odyssey’s 16 tracks are brief pop moments, rather than extended club songs, with only one track breaking the four-minute barrier. Then there are the rhythms, which occasionally abandon Edwards’ trademark swinging club thump in favour of R&B-esque drum patterns, which stray from the four / four template.
Production-wise, too, Odyssey is unique: the music is still based on the cut up style that Edwards pioneered but rather than using raw samples, it sounds like Edwards was cutting up his own digital instrumentation, giving the album an elegant robotic edge. The album also features six mysterious guest vocalists, all of whom were apparently Edwards himself, using different vocal effects.
All this would be enough to make Odyssey pretty unique. But what makes the album really exceptional is the lyrics. As a rule, I’m not too bothered by the lyrics on dance music tracks, which tend to be functional rather than revelatory, filled with references to dancing, romancing and generally having a good time. And that’s usually enough.
Initially, it seems that this is the case with Odyssey, too: Like a Fire and Next To You, which kick the album off, correspond to the fairly standard model of boy meets girl / falls in love / finds inspiration / etc etc.
But such happiness doesn’t last: by track four, Silent Prayer, things have gone seriously wrong (“No happiness, can I recall / My family said, it’s all my fault / I medicate, to numb the pain / Go out all night, and start again”). This litany of misery continues through the next five tracks, reaching a peak of sorts in Agony, which finds the singer losing his faith (“Do you hear me when I pray? / Have you turned your face away?”) and even sounding on the verge of suicide (“If I knew it would be OK / I would end it all today”), lyrics that run closer to Joy Division than Masters at Work.
From this trough, things pick up again, with the rest of the album tracking a narrative arc from the narrator reaffirming his faith (My Faith) to finding happiness and ultimately reflecting on his own personal odyssey. It is no less than a garage concept album about love, loss, faith and hope, all played out to a bumping dance floor beat.
I realise this sounds fairly unlikely. And many a time I’ve wondered if I might be over-analysing Odyssey. Normally concept albums arrive well flagged, so there’s no room for ambiguity. Odyssey, however, was released into a void, with no interviews and few reviews (Spin’s review of the album is particularly miserly). What’s more, it was released before Twitter took off and we suddenly had access to every musician’s inner thinking. That makes it a bit of a mystery.
Listening back, though, I think I’m right for one particular reason: Odyssey, both the album title and track 15. An odyssey is, according to Websters, “a long wandering or voyage usually marked by many changes of fortune”. That fits perfectly with the narrative played out over the album. And the title track hammers this home, with the chorus: “You are my odyssey / you touch the very heart of me / And I, with all my honesty / Will share your love for all to see”.
In any case, the exceptionality of Odyssey doesn’t just lie in this narrative. It is also to be found in the uniquely miserable nature of some of the music. It’s not like dance music can’t be sad — many of my favourite dance tracks combines a melancholy feel with a euphoric edge — but this sadness it typically found in a snatch of melody or a fleeting sample. It is rarely to be found in the lyrical themes and vocal lines. And even in those dance tracks that do verge towards the melancholy, few of them approach the bleakness of Odyssey’s mid section.
It makes for a harrowing listen, the misery somehow compounded by the tracks’ frenetic club-friendly bounce. Dance music isn’t meant to be like this — it’s meant to be upbeat, happy, for dancing and even superficial. But Odysssey doesn’t conform.
All this would mean nothing if the music were boring. But Odyssey shows off Edwards’ song writing — as apparent on earlier Daft Punk collaboration Face to Face and Random Access Memories’ Fragments of Time — as much as his mournful lyrics. Far Away, for example, features a lovely pop melody offset by beautiful falling harp effect, while the vocal melodies are excellent throughout.
The production, too, is second to none. This has always been the way with Edwards but on Odyssey his cut up technique serves a unique purpose, creating distinctively alien melodies that throw the vocal lines into sharp relief. The result is baffling, painful and uniformly excellent. An Odyssey indeed.
Some listening
Charlotte Bendiks - I'm Home, I'm OK
Sometimes electronic music can be deceptively simple: I’m Home, I’m OK, the new single from Norwegian producer Charlotte Bendiks, consists of little more than a beat, a wavering synth melody and some interesting noises. But what a beat! Like an ever-so-slightly awkward campfire drum circle snapped to a loose electronic frame. What a lovely melody! One that perfectly captures the nervous anxiety implied in the song’s title. And what gorgeously odd little noises, which burp and rumble like a benevolent ghost bear politely keeping his distance, late at night.
As regular readers will know, Krust is one of my favourite jungle producers, equally at home with a filthy bass line tear-out as with a jazz roller. After some years of relative inactivity, 2020’s excellent album, The Edge of Everything, signalled a return to the fray for the Bristol producer, who has also branched out into motivational speaking. Now he has unleashed the Irrational Numbers series of EPs, packaging up some of the best music from his past, alongside unreleased VIPs and dub plates. Volume 2, which is out now, includes the all-time classic Warhead (Steppa Mix), a tune that ignited the great bass line wars back in 1997. But you’ve already heard that - at least I hope you’ve already heard that - so why don’t you get your teeth around Blaze Dis One, a slinky, minimal jazz funk-inspired roller? (And you can listen to my 2021 interview with Krust here.)
Lucagotbbm - Stay Up (CLIPZ remix)
… and talking of Bristol producers and their squalid bass lines, Clipz has remixed the latest single from London’s Lucagotbbm, adding an absolutely impolite low-end pressure to the song, all fizzling, rotting frequencies of the Full Cycle vintage. Lucagotbbm ends up sounding like a reluctantly guest on his own record. But you don’t go to Clipz for polite business, now do you?
Drum & Bass of an altogether more ethereal shade dominates on Lightness, the first new EP by Rob Andrews, aka Airhead, in five years. Andrews has some serious post dubstep credentials to his name, recording for R&S and Hemlock, and he also shares production credits on James Blake’s recent album Playing Robots into Heaven, which I reviewed here. And yet, in my stupid head, I have always veered away from Airhead for the fact that it shares a name with a seriously terrible Madchester indie band of the early 90s, who haunted my youth. (Look them up. Or better: don’t.) Anyway, the fault is entirely mine and Lightness is a beautiful work of jungle-not-jungle, which barrels along at a D&B-ish 174 BPM with the lightest shade of a breakbeat wrapped around gorgeous melodic runs and Durutti Column-esque guitar. This would have been lovely in summer.
Atlanta multi-instrumentalist Jeff Crompton, who forms half of Anagrams, likes their debut album because it’s not jazz; Shy Layers’ JD Walsh, the other half of Anagrams, likes Blue Voices because it IS jazz, which just goes to show you can’t take musicians anywhere. I weigh in heavily on the side of Blue Voices being jazz and all the better for it: the record sees Crompton play alto and tenor saxophone, clarinet, electric piano and organ in a distinctly jazzy fashion over Walsh’s electronic-ish base, in a way that reminds me oddly of Nina Tunes stalwarts Cinematic Orchestra. I’m a sucker for a bit of jazz with my electronics, particularly when done this well and Blue Voices might be my favourite release on Balmat to date. Birds on Clifton, the album’s opening track and lead single, is particularly luxuriant, like stretching out on a hammock under a light Mediterranean breeze.
What does it all mean? The dancing, the raving, the getting together on a dance floor and all the subsequent fun? This is the territory explored by Octo Octa on the DJ extraordinaire’s first solo EP in two years - and the answer, the record suggests, is it means quite a lot. The whole EP explores togetherness. But it is the record’s opening track, Late Night Love, that really digs into the subject, capturing “the subjective experience of dancing together, but also what happens after the party, making love and holding her partner close”. Would you know that, if not told by the press release? Maybe not. But you might intuit it, from the record’s towering, quivering emotion and great romantic synth sweeps (à la Underworld’s eternal Rez). It is a song that renders going for a night out in the epic brush strokes of Homer’s Iliad, a song to sweep away the Tuesday blues and make you look forward to life. Late Night Love - much like the rest of this EP and, in fact, Octo Octa’s work in general - isn’t that original; you can hear dance music history wrapped up snugly in its curves. But it is all done with such loving emotion and craft that it matters not one bit.
Things I’ve done
We started the Radio Primavera Sound Twitch show this week, featuring interviews with Squid and L’Beel on Tuesday and Adriano Galante on Wednesday. You can check them out on the Radio Primavera Sound Twitch and also tune in next week, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays from 11am to 1pm, CET, for more of the same. A lot of it is in Spanish. But the Squid interview is in English. So hopefully you’ll enjoy that. I also interviewed LFO’s Gez Varley and American singer, dancer, musician, actress nd activist Camille Yarbrough this week, although you’ll have to hold on to enjoy the fruits of those particular labours.
Things other people have done
“Goth is about being in love with the melancholy beauty of existence.” Thank you Lol Tolhurst, whose every interview is a joy. And thank you Julian Coman for teasing the best out of the former Cure man. I also love the fact that Tolhurst tried to title his new book “Post punk” only for his editor to insist it be called “Goth”.
I thought I was being so clever, re-arranging this playlist so that the new additions go to the top. But, apparently, that only works for me. Still, you can always flip it around yourself. So give it a follow.