10 December 2012
|Multiverse (Original Mix)||Jaytech||6:53|
|Multiverse (Club Mix)||Jaytech||6:53|
|Multiverse (Audien Remix)||Jaytech||7:45|
|Multiverse (Mimax Remix)||Jaytech||7:46|
Multiverse (Original Mix)
Jaytech's final single from his second album is spillingly sanguinaceous, & singling it was a very rewarding oblation. Cayzer's 2012 style held fast for a few years afterwards. But even 2014 has slight differences. The instant recognition and homeliness of this song's particulars rubs me the right way before the tune even crystallises. The little zips, the paleofuturist bass, & the vocal slices all hit me as JC's without a speck of confusion. This metauniverse has design & purpose, but not predictability: the piano is as historic for music as humans are for Earth, from the warning ascent, to the bucking, post-jalapeno slow-rollicker. "I care", she says, & so does Jay: the simplest part of these unrelated tunes is the facile tetrad of piano upslopes that ends in a teasing and introductory recalcitrance that inspires a quizzical piquing that satisfies nothing. The real peaking is the unforetold smart quantum bomb that is Multiverse's stake on fame, the crown jewel of the album, that unpairable intracardial injaculation, Jaytech's ultracontrarian strike against order & oraclism, predictablility & indictability thrown away at 3:13 & 5:12 for an unpreceded & irregular smatter of sonorous & belllike notes that play off each other & the backing melody aggressively funkily. This irremovable tattoo is irresistable & strangely structured, the keys falling in places unheard of. This needed more of this & less of the microelectric buildup.
Multiverse (Club Mix)
This exists. A perfect trio is sadly associated with this rebortion of a bad idea. This gunk stuck under the Anjunaseat is just the OM without a tuneful climax. In its place is slightly harder bass than before. That's all. Cayzer should never have tried to outdo himself, because he indid himself worse than anyone else could. What could this have been made for? What or who does this satisfy? What purpose could this serve? How could anyone stand this decrepit shell of a song, breathing in the fumes & dust, & hacking up their tainted blood? This should never have happened.
Multiverse (Audien Remix)
Nathan asserted himself at a superhelm from the first split moment with his uncopied funkbounce, each flippy bounce the softest balloon pop that ears can be graced by, & the resulting breeze a blueberry perfume sonorific. Taking the time to distinguish each minute from the rest, NR befruited the most vibracious & fluid bounce upon us. Throughout his remix, the bounce never flattens. There is no simple lead-up: an unimitated paragnosis one minute in separates the previous sound from the latter through a panomphean sheen of anticipation & fulfillment. But all of this icing is cake for Rathbun's cherry: recounting the OM's first, simple introductory tune, NR departs to his own overshining intortion, an undegrassed path that sticks to his personal style, loud, powerful, & made of notes that don't change in any hurry. This tune per se is a repetitive, yet horizon-breaking jump into destructive forthrightness, that descends into sweeter brashness & takes what it wants. No prisoners left alone, this tune in se is a filling disparting of softness & grace, giving us hard action instead. The reboant guitar twing playing off the titanic smashes restores the other side of musical indulgence, & even the OM's weak intro amalgamates well enough with the new to not ruin it. The second climax's delay is another way Audien strenuously & thankfully proved uniqueness, as if it was needed after the first brusque love.
Multiverse (Mimax Remix)
Максим Михайлов (Maxim Mikhailov) & sadly never returned for a second hit, but this is more than enough to remember him by. The lead-up is no throwaway styrofoam dragged from a gutter. The beat is a deathhammer made of electrical typhoons; no resistance to this lightningsaw. Yet, it is as stripped as such as a bloodshock can be. How can something be so bare, & yet so maniacally charging? The occasional fiery shreds of the OM, now tantalising instead of yawnworthy, are thrill-o-the-wisps now made incorporeal & spinegrabbing. Each small part part, from the colubrine cycle-markers, to the main swinging drums, to the primal, junglic calls & much more is its own conquest of the luridly dark human soul. 3:26 is the fruit of this journey. First, a single unspoiled, untouched, antiquitous pitchblende creek fills a new lake at the heart of this fluoric ocean. Garnished with a trainly spindle-bell creak and a morbidly damning piano, this stream snakes into a thicker prehabilitation for the prostruction to come, blossoming & gossamering with the OM's toothexpeller, now recast as an unutterable aeroplanebow ghost set against the new stardissolver that is this bottomless hole joy cannot escape from. Have you ever been in an electric thunderstorm so thick & unsizeable, a starless, moonfree night has come early? The only time you can see anything is when the lightning melts the ground again & flashes our sight back open again. In that moment, the briefest break from this ravagery allows a microscope of magnarok.
This climax is more devastating than the Carrington Event, more electric, and more historic. This Russian should be proud of himself forever. I am.