It’s been a couple of days since the bomb dropped. In many ways, the smoke has cleared and we’ve been given a glimpse into the madness of Levon Vincent, but there is much left to decipher from the NYC-bred DJ’s recent self-titled LP. The whole experience plays like clockwork in an old, mysterious, dilapidated grandfather clock setting a mysterious tone over the whole project; the time ticks by and by until suddenly something springs to life. In this case, much like My Bloody Valentine’s return last year, Mr. Vincent took to social media and Resident Advisor to announce that his latest LP would be released digitally for a short period prior to the vinyl pressing’s release. And now that light has been shed onto his newest efforts, what is there to be said.
It’s grand in scale and ambitious. Much like the work of Hans Zimmer or John Williams, the scope is miraculous and ventures beyond borders of house music to invent something symphonic in nature. Instead of beats composed to work a dancefloor, Vincent has managed to make movements, suites, and overtures that work best as a whole piece of music. In its grimiest moments, the LP dips into a 1980s, John Carpenter-esque vibe as pads and throbbing, heavy synths challenge us to visit and accept the darker recesses of dance music (specifically on the track “Junkies on Herman Strasse”). There are a few tracks, however, that could perceivably work on their own: the winding “Launch Ramp to Tha Sky”; the Human After All-era beat machine of “Small Whole-Numbered Ratios”; and the moody, Blade Runner-esque synthscape of ‘The Beginning” all work on a singular level.
But the true experience lies in listening to the record from beginning to end. Much like Daft Punk’s opus Random Access Memories, this album’s beauty is derived from its work as a whole. It’s a calling to an older era of music where the journey was the entire point – not the drop.
You can download his self-titled album on Novel Sound here.