Those who denigrate minimal techno as prissy and sterile are in for a surprise with Pom Pom, a mysterious outfit whose fondness for parity and repetition certainly mark them with the ‘M’ word but whose ragged productions are stained black with the filthy handprints of their creators. Pom Pom revel in obscurity, welcome more than ever in today’s promotion-obsessed reveal-everything world: their releases are anonymous black-on-black vinyl-only editions, all tracks untitled, defined only by (unwritten) number. It’s high time more were aware of their unique sound, and this CD should hopefully help matters: just look for the all-black text-free digipack.
Like Wolfgang Voigt in his Profan guise, Pom Pom rely heavily on samples to create woozy, disorienting textures around which loud drums are pounded in 4/4. Hiss, static and strange clunks make menacing yet entrancing cycles, created from sampled matter completely divorced from its original source, and seemingly compiled with blunt scissors and cheap glue. Rhythms are uncomplicated, favouring the distorted tones of Areal and the dark hues of Berghain, and tracks finish up pretty much where they started, but that’s not to their detriment. There’s a surprising degree of invention and variation within these narrow confines.
After a weird waltz introduction its down to business, track 2 exploring cliched minimal percussion, kicked off its dry axis by slurred programming. Track 8 cloaks a thudding rhythm in dark fog, modulating into a spectral form of trance. Highlight track 5 features a prominent synth melody, rusted and cranky, stomping drunkenly on crystal glass; truly exhilarating. Noise, dirt and gloom permeate these recordings, but despite their deliberate wackiness they’d work wonders on discerning dancefloors. Fans of techno’s dark and experimental leanings ought to pounce on this.
