Recloose: Honey Rocks

I think I liked music better when I came at it blind, as just another shithead on a dancefloor that heard a handclap without knowing what made it and possessing only the vaguest idea of when one song gave up the fight and faded away into another. You can’t unlearn what you know (and probably wouldn’t want to) but a record like this brings me back to that feeling of undifferentiated joy, unexplained excitement, utterly ignorant bliss.

The last time I spoke with Recloose was also the first – about a year and a half ago when he’d relocated back to the States from New Zealand. He mentioned then that with the move behind him and his family coming along, he better get to work on some goddamned music. If Honey Rocks is what came about, I’d like to propose the formation of an international committee dedicated to pissing him off. This is a phenomenal record. The title track is crammed with so many moods and grooves it feels like it’s ready to bust forth and spawn an album all by itself. Eyes closed or eyes wide open, you can get lost in the labyrinth of abrupt shifts, resets and layered glimpses of the maniac world inside Recloose’s mind. The other tracks hardly let up – “Sidewalks” is an appropriately title for a low tempo hi fidelity grinder, with disembodied voices guiding you by the hand.