Full-on Florentine Phonat has the jerk cognoscenti flocking to him, it would seem (‘jerk’ referring to that certain kind of night club dancer, you understand - I’m not in the habit of using American insults).
They are attracted by his ability to stitch up ‘every vein of dance music’ into ‘a panoply of chopped up riffs swirled around murky basslines.’ Yes, I am quoting verbatim form the press release - what of it? It speaks the truth, here - Phonat does like taking his chopper to his beats, so to speak. Perhaps a bit too much. Indeed there is so much chopper beating off this album that the effect isn’t startling (as it should be) but rather more like a toddler fiddling with a digital radio inside a washing machine.
This reaches its apotheosis (or nadir, depending on your viewpoint) with Learn to Recycle, which manages to compress an entire all-dayer into five and a half minutes. Ever had one of those days at work where you never want to see another Powerpoint presentation? Well this is the same, only with music. The final track is, at least, a fair approximation of London; loud, abrasive, generally obnoxious and full of itself.