CrewdsonGravityReview

With its Peter Saville-designed cover and a seal of approval from Radio 1’s Gilles Peterson, this debut album from London producer Hugh Jones, aka Crewdson, seems to be the business before pressing play. And the set makes good on any pre-listen promise, darting between frenetic beats and Bass Clef-like parps of brass, eerie post-dubstep atmospherics and disfigured vocals, and jovial motifs that recall early Four Tet if Kieran Hebden had written 1999’s Dialogue album while immersed in a replaying of LucasArts’ 1990 video game classic The Secret of Monkey Island.

What Gravity isn’t, though, is an album geared for optimum dancefloor abandonment. Yes, its twitchy rhythms and insectoid chatter are certain to move an individual in a physical sense – but probably not to the extent where they’re getting sweaty under disco lights. It’s more a cerebral treat, really, which files its maker beside such acts as Gold Panda, Boxcutter and TOKiMONSTA: ostensibly electro artists, but who steer clear of the clutter of chart-bothering beat-junkies. Much here would sound at home on the more weird-and-wonky end of the Planet Mu catalogue; at other times, it’s like a Burial-y solo-flyer came home before night buses started running, and as a result sat down at the laptop without feeling like their world was closing around them. It’s upbeat and optimistic, never languishing in introspection – where so many peers explore shades of grey, Crewdson (as this album’s cover makes clear) sets about bursting a series of brightly coloured balloons full of dazzling glitter.

But while the listener is likely to leave these 11 tracks with a smile plastered across their mug, Gravity isn’t without emotional weight – plenty here stirs the insides with a delicate touch uncommon in debut albums of this genre. Closer Cascade is one such cut, and the outro to Full Force Shuffle carries considerable warmth beneath its skittering micro-beats. The looser-of-feel arrangements have a live-like quality to them which, to some, may recall the digi-jazz masterpieces of a certain Californian producer, but Jones is not setting his stall out to attract the sparking attentions of the Brainfeeder crowd. Esotericism is all well and good if your market is already sizeable enough to equal a decent return on playful experimentation; but with Crewdson’s audience in its early stages, he wisely covers stylistic bases without alienating any newcomers whose tastes are still being shaped by this ever-expanding universe of synthesised sounds. The skill with which he shifts mannerisms is exemplary, though – it’s no surprise to learn he’s worked with chameleonic auteur Matthew Herbert.

A fine gambit where potential is boomingly declared beside excellent right-now work, Gravity should open doors that Crewdson needs to step through to further his cause. There’s no doubting the man’s talent – here’s hoping that it’s rewarded, and he follows so many of the aforementioned artists to bigger things.