Elevator Bath

In line with Elevator Bath ‘s policy of packaging their discs in “elegant printed sleeves of 100% recycled paper”, the source material for this debut album by label boss Colin Andrew Sheffield consists entirely of brief segments of other commercially available recordings, “contracted, expanded, layered and/or otherwise processed”, rendering them unrecognizable and ready to use for Colin’s dilated-pupil scenarios. The result is a sort of anti-harmonic architecture comprising clustered electronics, long and winding roads to the black holes of non-knowledge and pulses from outer space. It all amounts to a pretty detached music, whose coldness works well at times but too often lacks emotional content and too closely resembles other releases of the genre. True, losing yourself in the nebulous realms of long-reverb ambience can be a blessing, but keeping the feet on the ground is also advisable, and when the sound is as muddled as this, my evil little conscience wonders if there’s any substance to begin with.