Only a month into 2006 and Coldcut’s ‘Sound Mirrors’ gets my vote for album of the year. Seven years between drinks Coldcut return showing that they haven’t been resting on their laurels, but prove again that the duo of Matt Black and Jonathan Moore have been perfecting their art to the Nth degree.
It begins with the amazing single Everything Is Under Control featuring Mike Ladd and Jon “Blues Explosion” Spencer, a slamming big and beautiful beat fest with screaming guitars and potent vocals. True Skool features Ninja Tune prodigy Roots Manuva in a standout hiphop, bouncy dancehall number that is a joy to listen to. Man In a Garage brings the tempo down, with a bluesy, broken beat journey through beautiful lyrics.
Robert Owens lends his stunning voice to Walk a Mile, a fabulously powerful soulful ballad that rivals anything done by contemporary R&B singers Kayne West or John Legend. Mr Nichols is a wonderful, wistful number featuring Saul Williams’ brilliant poetry about the condition of modern urban man. The title track, Sound Mirrors, shows Coldcut still likes to experiment with sound and space, creating a haunting, cinematic and somewhat psychotic instrumental piece, akin to UNKLEs dalliances into the weird.
Boogieman returns us to the Jamaican riddim influenced beat of True Skool, although far darker in tone. It is especially fun to listen to in headphones, and the beats, rhythms and samples are expertly manipulated to scatter across your headspace. This Island Earth similarly features the Jamaican influenced beat, although it breaks down into a fabulous house inspired chorus, reminding us that Coldcut were indeed responsible for classic ‘girly house’ such as Yazz and Lisa Stansfield. Just For the Kick is a storming club classic with a phat beat, in some parts not dissimilar to New Order’s Blue Monday, covered by an uncanny vocal by Annette Peacock that should make sense, only it doesn’t.
Aid Dealer shows Coldcut are just as political as they’ve always been, serving up a stinging indictment against State-sponsored Aid agencies, under which Coldcut’s signature sound cuts from quickly across styles, up there with Jello Biafra’s Every Home is a Prison and Saul Williams Not In Our Name. Ninja labelmate Fog contributes a nasally melancholic vocal over some wonderfully odd music full of theremin and whistling on Whistle and a Prayer, conjuring the ghost of They Might Be Giants or early Ween. Colours the Soul ends the album on a gently psychedelic note, breezy and dreamy.
It’s a big call to say this is Coldcut’s finest work to date, as they’ve achieved so much, but when the world’s best producers outdo themselves with purely outstanding production on memorable, lingering tunes, it becomes simply a given.