When I read about Berlin group Brandt Brauer Frick’s music, described as “techno with the technology,” I was dutifully intrigued. Optimistically anticipating some sort of new-found instrumental techno magic, I plugged my ears into the opening track of their new album Miami only to discover a strange mode of experimental orchestral sound. Heavy on plinking piano keys and groaning strings, the music was dark, long, and arid. At times it felt like a haunted lullaby, veering towards psychedelia with uncanny, strange textures. The next track “Ocean Drive” drove hard with frenetic piano play, quick-struck strings, and dampened drums; it was more engaging than its predecessor but felt at best like the soundtrack to an avant-garde action film.
Around this point I realized there’s not much sense to the descriptor “techno with technology.” All music evolves from what preceded it, and performing new musical genres through older mediums will simply place you at the doorstep of your musical progenitors. Thus Miami doesn’t achieve any new sound, but rather the album works as a deconstruction of techno’s various influences. “Plastic Like Your Mother” builds around primal percussion and African rhythm. “Broken Pieces” is part jungle dance heavy with elements of soulful funk. “Verwahrlosung” grooves with a funky house feel and “Empty Words” pushes into Detroit-style jazz and funk.
The rest of the tracks land somewhere between those in terms of style and feel. Otherwise the predominant craft of the album is experimental. The intro to “Miami Titles” comes closest to mimicking the feel and build of techno but soons falls off into a sort of dead energy and discordant textures. Many of the tracks lack melodic themes, and their styles seem to alter capriciously. By the end of the album I had the predominant image in my head of singular instruments being played by ghosts in an empty house – there undoubtedly exists myriad characterizations of this group’s sound but for me that’s the one that stuck.
