Mall

Philadelphia-based producers, Mall opens with several voice samples making pseudo-philosophical and spiritual remarks then veers into synth-line sweeps followed by an electronic instrumental take on slow jams, or so it seems. Mellowed, tripped-out techno, sometimes sounding like science documentary music for a high school physics class and other times as a playful video game soundtrack, yet sometimes still and cleverly layered in a manner comparable to the Orbital. The producers made a point of informing the listener in their liner art that they used "cracked programs, unauthorised samples, fucked equipment and illegal substances," the latter could explain the constant derailments of perfectly good rhythmic and sound progressions, which dissolve into synth-ambient deconstruction or noise. There seems no plausible reason for this, other than it might sound cool if you're on something. There are some good ideas on this album, if only the producers were sober enough to see it through.