Dance Show 3

Zirkin was one of the founding fathers of Doof records, a label who embraced the nighttime sound and made it their own. Their releases added new layers and textures, and in doing so elevated a little quirk in the scene to one of its dominant genres. Zirkin’s third artist album is technically indistinguishable from his previous two, and sounds as though all that evolution within dark psy never happened.

Frizzly Jungle Dog opens with an intro borrowed from The Cure’s A Forest and launches headlong into the messy nighttime madness which, essentially, is what this CD is all about. A thunking mushroom bottomend plays occasional host to the Cure’s melody, but it’s all rather simple and very, very pedestrian. The Bedouin Monks is stagnant, with redlined bass taking out any possibility of flow, funk, groove or any of those other things that set apart Good night music from Bad night music. Marcus Aurelius has more scope for aforementioned groove, but barring a silly shuffled section it doesn’t go anywhere. It makes me want to dig up the old Bonky stuff and whirl that instead; it sounds as though Zirkin is paying Bonky homage via a plastic tribute act. Age-Roll has some clever twists and turns but is, at the end of the day, very unsatisfying stuff that succeeds in making you stomp your feet, but nothing more.

Sonic Chant isn’t so bad: a quirky groove with an escalating crescendo of sounds rising to a peak, then dropping, then rising again. Like I said, not bad – but it’s nothing new either. Super Song has some amusing little samples, and is closer-sounding to conventional fullon psy. Otherwise, it’s that same layered crescendo that climaxes in a deliberately messy, uncomfortable tophalf, featuring a dreadful harmonica-thing that makes me want to smack the hell out of it. Burning Blue sounds like one of the tracks that was circulating on Azax’s unreleased 2003 promo, Mental House is ruined by a naff guitar and lebowski-sampling I Am The Dude Man! is best left unannotated.

All in all this is a hugely underwhelming album: forgettable, disposable stuff that’s best left to those cold nighttimes when you’re tucked up in your tent listening to something else – anything else – on your ipod.