ex_libris
003
Self-released
In what I can only describe as an unacceptable oversight, I somehow forgot to write about the new ex_libris record in the days immediately following its release, which is strange because it’s such a phenomenal record. Regular First Floor readers might already know that the newsletter has been teetering dangerously close to “Dave Huismans fan club” territory ever since the Dutch producer formerly known as 2562 and A Made Up Sound suddenly re-emerged last year, but how many other widely respected electronic music artists have effectively disappeared for the better part of a decade, only to return with even stronger material? Add in the fact that said material is also significantly weirder and harder to define than the old stuff, and Huisman’s current run looks even more impressive.
It remains a mystery what exactly is fueling that run, or what prompted the long absence that preceded it, but if Huismans has elected to let his music do the talking, there’s little question that it’s telling a fascinating story. The first two ex_libris releases, 001 and 002, openly defied and subverted genre norms, flirting with deep house, ambient and dub techno but ultimately sounding like none of them. There were rhythms buried in the compositions, but they would routinely stop, start or evolve into some mutant form, paying zero attention to the dancefloor despite clearly taking inspiration from it. In a sense, the records represented a kind of headphone music, but they steered clear of the overly insular aesthetic that descriptor usually implies, as the songs were, quite simply, far too alive to be confined to the bedroom or a dozy late-night bus ride.
The same could be said for the contents of 003, and especially the standout opener “#6-27 (untangled),” a 10-plus-minute epic where shimmering, quasi-Balearic synths give way to a surprisingly stompy beat and the same sort of bassline one usually finds in a vintage electro-funk tune. Luxuriating in its slow burn, the track chugs its way into a cloud of plush strings before wrapping up its run in a gleaming pool of bliss. Things take an odder turn on “#7 (cosmic ripples),” a warbling, borderline seasick tune where Huismans gradually whittles down a bevy of busted drum patterns and then settles into a hypnotic, slow-motion groove. Closing out the record is “#31 (reprise),” a beatless (but not quite ambient) concoction where twittering birdsong and fluttering synth tendrils engage in a kind of subtly cinematic ballet. Aside from ending 003 on a more subdued note, there’s nothing orthodox about it, but at this point, that appears to be Huismans’ m.o. More importantly, it’s what has made listening to his latest offerings such a genuine delight.