Open the curtains, open the doors, open the windows, and crank up old Jumbo, the hi-fi from another, golden, era. A low hum rattles every object that isn’t glued down, and it slowly oscillates, picking up speed like some 1940s’ x-ray machine that keeps having brief outages and short, sharp sparking fits. Soon it settles into a pattern (‘groove’ is not in the vernacular of this group) and Emptyset start to weave their evil spell.
Track after track on this self-titled debut sounds like a slight but significant variant on the last, just like a Rhythm & Sound record, and it all feels determinedly malformed and malignant. It’s a mean distant cousin to techno’s four-to-the-floor dance maxim, but no airhead house cat would ever see the connection. You could cut the tension this music builds with a samurai sword, but its electrical voltage would suck the sword into its vortex and build a Len Lye sculpture around the blade. The overall impact is of some demonic force undulating repetitively across an invisible force field, and the only interruption is a periodic fissure in space and time caused by a noxious rush of pure scree that erupts through its wormhole.