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Cex - Starship Galactica

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Dusted Reviews


Artist: Cex

Album: Starship Galactica

Label: Temporary Residence

Review date: Apr. 24, 2005


Starship is a reissue from IDM’s Eminem, Rjyan Kidwell, AKA Cex. Originally released in 2001 on infinitesimal Brit imprint 555 Recordings, Starship received a few curtain-calls from the usual critical suspects, allegedly because it fused a nexus between Boards of Canada warble and Kid 606’ tendency to dissolve into dissonance.

Bold claims aside, a squinted gaze allows a conditional agreement to selected bits of the aforementioned: Sure, Cex often scrapes sounds from the same sonic palate as those luminaries, but he constructs his art in such a lackadaisically arrogant way, that any flash of talent that emits from Starship is just that: Vapor.

And then there’s the “humor.” Remarkably, the track “Hi Scores” bottles the essence of Cex in a mere 48 seconds: Bed’s springs signify movement; female moans signify ecstasy; Cex’s masculine exhortations signify (coital?) engagement; and then the video-game jingle intrudes – all while the female cooing continues. So, coital’s question mark falls away, and listeners are left wondering why they assumed that Cex was “tapping that ass” instead of mouth-breathing over a PlayStation.

“Hi Scores” is Cex as clever “culture jammer,” as self-congratulating egghead subverting established paradigms. Jim O’ Rourke has had mixed success with his foray into assaulting the polis’ conceptual hardwiring, but his music-as-thinkpiece is disseminated with way more wit than wank.

The most substantial track on Starship is “Bunky,” a 12:34 study in influence. The borrowed Kraftwerk click beats of Trans Am are removed with a (literal) flip of the dial; Cagean silence then sprints into a handheld recording of Kidwell ripping some hecklers. This, too, is subjected to the short attention span surf, with a “punk” rendition of “Starship Galactica” fronted by what sounds like an inebriated frat-boy slurring over a Sham 69 cover band.

Apparently, Starship is what happens when chutzpah is mistaken for the cerebral: With so many music writers heralding Kidwell as a laptop “magician,” stale gestures and derivative drivel is correlative to avant sonic sorcery. And with a seemingly endless spool of Cex imitators spawned from this mess, those in the know are left wondering when the spell will wear off.

By Stewart Voegtlin

Other Reviews of Cex

Tall, Dark, and Handcuffed

Read More

View all articles by Stewart Voegtlin

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