Ever since I took over organizing the Dissensus Cassette Swap (AKA Ferrite Love Connection) I’ve become obsessed with updating the CSS template for both that blog and this one. The templates are now done and should be up in the (relatively) near future. More about that later; this post is about my “vacation”. Last week I took my family home to Nova Scotia over my kids’ March Break. We’ve been here in New Brunswick for several months now, and they were keen to get home and see some of their family and friends. Personally, I could care less; my parents and siblings have made a concerted effort to come and visit us since we moved. My wife’s family, however, has made it clear that they are unwilling to make the journey and, if we cared about their feelings at all, we should bring the children home to visit as often as possible. So, last Friday we made the five hour journey to Nova Scotia.
Over the course of the journey, particularly after listening to the dialogue of the Cars movie playing on the in-car DVD system ad nauseum, I made a mental note to check out my boxed up CD collection for possible return trip listening. For those who don’t know, radio stations in this part of the world play either country music, classic rock (i.e. rock music made between 1969 and 1980 with selected hair-metal cuts from the 1980s thrown in for “freshness”), or talk news/sports. The situation is desperate to say the least. Ordinarily, I would have overcome this with a couple of burned CDs made especially for the trek. Unfortunately, between work, kids, my new CSS obsession and sleep, time was limited and those discs just never got finished.
During the following week I was stricken with a virus so insidious that it laid me low for almost the entire span. While I felt awful, it did give me the opportunity to explore my CD collection, something I haven’t done since I stopped buying CDs in favor of 12” singles five years ago. (Perhaps I’ll delve more deeply into the change-over some other time.)
The most surprising find was Leftfield’s Rhythm and Stealth. I bought Rhythm and Stealth in 1999 based on the strength of Leftism’s big hit “Open Up” I was still getting my feet wet with house, trance (yes, trance!) and techno in the late 90s and was hungry for whatever I could lay my hands on. Like most of the critics at the time, Rhythm and Stealth left me cold. It’s not as flashy or synth-y as most of the other electronic CDs I had been exposed to previously. I recall discarding it with a resounding “meh”. I can’t tell you why it didn’t end up in the local used CD store. Perhaps I was taken with the cover art.
Flash forward 8 years, through a brief flirtation with drum ‘n’ bass, a passing interest in UK garage, and a continuing obsession with repetitive, filtered French house. From dub to dubstep, I’ve heard an awful lot of electronic sounds and programmed beats since 1999, and after all of it I can say with absolute confidence that Rhythm and Stealth is a classic.
The biggest critical complaint lodged against Rhythm and Stealth seems to be that it isn’t Leftism Part 2, despite the fact that Leftism was met with equal distain when it was first released. I would argue that Rhythm and Stealth’s real strength lies in its departure from the typical Leftfield framework. (Aside: Can one say “typical” when there’s only been one previous album?) Besides, neither Leftism nor Rhythm and Stealth are really albums in the traditional sense of the word. Leftism is more a singles collection with “Open Up”, “Release the Pressure”, and “Song of Life” all released prior to the album. Conversely, R&S is more of a mix-tape, with peaks and troughs just like a good DJ set, that happens to collect tracks by the same artist.
The album launches with the Roots Manuva-fronted electro-dub of “Dusted”. Manuva’s blistering vocoded flow bridges the gap nicely between the dub and Bambaataa-electro influences central to the rest of the album. On first listen, I was struck by how much darker “Dusted” is than the majority of Leftism. That’s maybe to be expected with a title most often used to describe the psychotic behaviour of a habitual PCP user. That darkness continues with “Phat Planet”, a song best known as the soundtrack to the famous Guiness surfer add, through “Chant of a Poor Man”, a song about rising up in the face of oppression and intense loneliness, and into “Double Flash”, a percussive Underground Resistance-like track which can only be described as punishing. “El Cid” rounds out the first half (side?) of the record with an ambient dream more typical of Leftfield’s previous output. Many reviewers have described “El Cid” as the low point in Rhythm and Stealth, often pointing to superior examples of both trip-hop and ambient electronic music. For me, “El Cid” is a welcome relief to the harshness of the preceding tracks. It’s the release of all that tension with something soft and beautiful, before it starts winding up all over again.
As noted above, most of the tracks on Rhythm and Stealth owe as much to Planet Rock as to the work of Lee Perry and King Tubby. So I think it fitting that the second half kicks off with vocals by the electro-Zulu himself, Afrika Bambaataa. “Afrika Shox” is probably best remembered for its banned music video depicting a homeless man who is literally falling apart. Bambaataa’s vocals are processed in a similar manner to Manuva’s, but where Manuva sounds threatening, Bambaataa’s vocal has the air of preaching to the converted. “Dub Gussett”, as the title suggests, is little more than structural undercarriage; a dub bassline and a breakbeat that varies just enough to keep things interesting.
It’s not until “Swords” that the listener gets his first indication of the aggressiveness implied by both album title and cover art. A slowburn trip-hop track buried in the middle of the second half, “Swords” is the highlight of Rhythm and Stealth. The lyrics “I have/become pure water” and “I wear my sword/at my side”, either of which could be thought of as the chorus, can easily be imagined as the mantra of the samurai warrior pictured on the cover. A simple three chord refrain repeated as both bassline and icy synth-line couple with a click-track beat looping underneath the vocals to deliver maximum drama. The overall effect of the song is profound. I can’t help but stand a little straighter, lift my chin a little higher, as vocalist Nicole Willis sings “I wear my sword/at my side”. “Swords” welcomes the battle and promises an honourable fight.
If “Swords” is the build-up to the battle, then “6/8 War” is the war. Another unrelenting rhythm track, “6/8 War”s skirmishing beats are punctuated only by the occasional icy, echoing synth war-cry. Finally the stuggle is over and “Rino’s Prayer” anchors the record with what can only described as a lament. Reminiscent of Vangelis’ “Damask Rose” from the Bladerunner soundtrack, ”Rino’s Prayer” is mostly vocalist Rino’s mournful chanting over dissonant pads, plodding bassline and click track. The effect is melancholy, to say the least. Even the marching breakbeat and Nuremburg-like crowd noise that drops in at a little over the three minute mark only serves to highlight “Rino’s Prayer”s misery. It is the perfect finale for Rhythm and Stealth, a none-to-subtle reminder that all things come to a close.
After Rhythm and Stealth’s disparity with Leftism, the most common critical gripe was that the album never develops a groove. I played Rhythm and Stealth on the five hour drive home, and because everybody was asleep, I had to keep the volume very low. So low, in fact, that at times all I could hear was the bass. As I drove I came to realize that not only was I hearing the bass, but I was feeling it through the speaker in the door.
There is a groove to Rhythm and Stealth, but it’s hidden. You won’t hear it in your headphones.
It’s visceral; you have to feel it. With your leg up against the speaker
