As Recon, Chris Coode is playing with the ghosts of minimalism. Haunted by
reverberations of Basic Channel and the microtonal whispers of 12k, Recon’s White
Label is twelve tracks of granular textures and nearly indecipherable beats. Like
the buzz of solitary insects in a wide expanse of wind-kissed wheat, Recon begs
the listener to shut out their immediate surroundings and immerse themselves into
the gritty chatter of these miniscule environments.
Cycling on its endless Mobius strip, “Circle” hints at impersonating Pole, shyly
assumes the pop-click dub house coat of Basic Channel, and shuffles endlessly
about the room. It murmurs with static and repeatedly clicks its tongue against
its teeth as if trying to dislodge a persistent piece of food. It rubs its
fingers together, the dry scratch of chapped skin loud in the nearly-silent
room.
“Clear” hums like over-clocked machinery, a micro-machine with a dozen pistons
churning in an hummingbird blur. “Valov+” lurches in a lock-groove that has been
playing for a decade already and the needle has almost worn through the vinyl
(which, naturally enough after ten years of going round and round, is terribly
warped). It’s the sort of half-awake sound that Thomas Brinkmann makes in his
sleep. “Travel Analog” skitters with metal implements like mice rustling through
a drawer of silverware while a looped melody somnambulates in the
background. “Ditr” threatens to explode in a dance-floor frenzy, but never
manages to discover the potential energy to break free of its wallflower prison.
Recon is work in miniature like model schooners in bottles. Coode’s work is
delicate, finely detailed, and painstakingly crafted of very small parts. It’s
too ambient to be techno, too dub-inflected to be breakbeat and too rhythmic to be
microsound. White Label hovers somewhere in between, caught on the cusp of active
listening and background ambience, daring you to put on a pair of good headphones
and really lose yourself.
White Label is out now on Highpoint Lowlife.
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