In the 14 years between his first and second solo album, James Devane completely reshaped both his sound and the methods he used to achieve it. Where in 2008 album/s-t” class=”external-link” data-event-click=”{"element":"ExternalLink","outgoingURL":"https://jamesdevane.bandcamp.com/album/s-t"}” href=”https://jamesdevane.bandcamp.com/album/s-t” rel=”nofollow noopener” target=”_blank”>s/t made swirling drones out of looped guitar, the sequel to 2022, Beauty is worthless combined dense, soupy synth touches with taut techno beats. With the much faster sequel Researcher, it's starting to look like Devane has a habit of reinventing his approach with each release. Exactly how he made the music is unclear. the label records vaguely hours of source material (obviously the artist's own) run through custom software and shaped into tracks that play fast and loose with musical key, rhythm and tempo. All this complexity seems to sit beneath an unusually simple interface: in Devane's words, “a search button and a save button.”
When an artist hands over the reins to software—almost an uncommon practice in 2024—it's not always clear where technology ends and human creativity begins. However similarities between Beauty is worthless and Researcher—which Devane frames as a companion piece to its predecessor—helps locate the individual in the process. On both records, a smoky, clandestine quality clings to synths and hazy rhythmic elements, recalling the dazzling air that permeates the work of Kassem Mosse and other artists on German label Workshop.
If Beauty is worthless largely driven by a steady 4/4 pulse, Researcher ditches that frame for a much more jarring listening experience. The more fully formed tracks have a meandering, unstructured quality interrupted by abrupt endings and short sketches—unsettling 10-second bursts of noise that sound like the digital equivalent of cleaning up the recorded tape as quickly as possible. It's a playful analogy that foregrounds Devane's conceptual process, with its apparent emphasis on cycling through found sounds.
Even in the circular ambiguity of techno, the lack of formal structure can be dangerous, and Devane leans towards chaos. On Researcher, crunchy percussive sequences play off each other with mismatched time signatures, yielding a kind of mutated funk. However, the forced reset of these contrasting musical elements—particularly noticeable on “One Place”—harnesses even the most disjointed rhythms into surprisingly fluid grooves. Aided by the sickening comfort of machine-soul flourishes, the insistent loops are seductive in their own strange way, even without the comfort of a conventional toe-tapping or travelogue.
The jarring effect of the rhythmic disturbances has its own charm, but the more stable moments on the record are easier to sink into. The haunting melancholy of “No More No Less” recalls the luscious, hazy quality of the actress's breakthrough albums. Similarities to Darren Cunningham's off-center vision of techno abound in Devine's warped beat and low-res aliasing.
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