Boards of Canada: Geogaddi The new effort from Boards of Canada, Geogaddi, easily ranks as one of the most anticipated albums of the year, and not just because its release was pushed back again and again over the better part of two years. The duo's first album, Music Has the Right to Children, after a quiet release in 1998, slowly grew in acclaim to become a bizarre and unique classic of recent electronica. Its utterly inimitable wash of gentle, rolling analog synths, lilting cut-up beats, and strange, muttering voices - children laughing and playing, a woman counting, insistent speech samples ("Orange!!!"), all made for utterly compelling listening. Its uniqueness also made it seem unrepeatable, leaving Boards of Canada in a difficult spot. There was a great deal of speculation as to the future merits of their follow-up album (hardly lessened by the 2000 release of their thoroughly enjoyable EP In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country). What could they possibly do? If they try a repeat performance of Music Has the Right to Children, the result would almost certainly disappoint, as it seemed impossible that it could measure up to its predecessor. Plus, the sound of that earlier album, so strange and ethereal, might be hard pressed to hold up over two full-length releases; but any significant shift in their sound would bring cries of protest from their many admirers. And so it is not without some trepidation that one first approaches Geogaddi. So what is our answer? Does the new album disappoint? Well, yes and no. It would appear that, faced with their dilemma, the pair decided to hedge their bets and play it safe; Geogaddi is, in many ways, an attempt to duplicate the success of their debut. And, as anticipated, it has a difficult time doing so. All of the original elements are present once again: the same warped, flowing synths, the same strange, persistent beats, and more or less the same vocal bits - some parts of Geogaddi sound like the voices are culled from the self-same samples used previously, the children in particular; "Energy Warning" contains an energy-conservation social message, much as their first album included a strange statement on freedom of speech. But some of the old charm is missing. For example, some of their trademark washed-out synth sounds are a little too clean here, lacking the lustrous textures of some of their earlier work. Some of the beats are a little too crisp, for example, the strange percussion loop on "Gyroscope." The speech sample on "Dandelion," taken from a documentary on volcanoes, is retained more or less complete and intact, thereby losing the enigmatic quality of their best work. And some of the pieces lack the necessary textural density; they're too transparent, laying bare their component parts in a less satisfying way. Also, some of the tracks here, particularly some of the shorter, sketch-like pieces (the album is a full 23 tracks long) sound pretty much like filler, not really terribly interesting or enchanting. This is in contrast with Music Has the Right to Children, on which practically every instant was captivating, the brief interludes between songs not only terrific in their own right, but even standing out as some the album's most glowing moments. The new album is lacking the consistent level of inspiration that made its predecessor brilliant. But maybe this kind of comparison isn't really fair. We are disappointed to see that there hasn't been any growth in their style; but we would have been just as disappointed to witness any changes in that same much-loved style. Which leaves our heroes in a no-win situation. So to be fair, we should maybe try to rate Geogaddi entirely on its own merits. From this point of view, what we have remains a decent, fun, enigmatic album. While perhaps not a masterpiece through-and-through, certainly far more engaging than most electronic releases of the day. And while some of it may seem like filler, there are also a number of terrific stand-out tracks. "Music Is Math" shows the duo in perfect form, with its shimmering vocoder melody and hypnotizing twinklings. "1969," in much the same vein as the tracks on A Beautiful Place Out in the Country, is Boards at their best, with a tantalizingly indecipherable, repeated burst of lyrics, and its faintly robotic chant of "1969 in the sunshine." And "Dawn Chorus" is one of the most majestic, soaring pieces they have ever produced. The highlight, however, is decidedly "Julie and Candy," a relaxed, dazed treat, with barely perceptible voices bubbling away in the background, a huge, dripping beat, and drifting clouds of synth washing in and out - pure pleasure. In Geogaddi's defense, the first Boards of Canada album was not the sort of release you immediately declare a masterpiece on hearing for the first time. It was an album to be listened to again, and then again, and again; agreeable enough on first listen, but slowly, over weeks, over months, it began to insinuate itself, to seep through one's consciousness, until its whimsy secured itself firmly as one of the most wonderful, precious (and most played) albums ever. This new album has not had the benefit of that kind of process, of that kind of time, and so it is possible that it still contains locked mysteries, hidden treasures, waiting for the right moment to reveal themselves. For the moment, anyone interested in the band who hasn't picked up their first album should stop depriving themselves needlessly and purchase a copy immediately; anyone already familiar with the band who has been dying for more will be plenty happy to get their paws on Geogaddi. So maybe we should give this new album the benefit of the doubt, and see how it holds up over time. In the meantime it will at least provide an enjoyable, entertaining listen, and deliver ample sustenance to keep alive hope for future greatness from Boards of Canada.
Boards of Canada: Geogaddi. Warp Records, 2002.
Review by James Andean, Bad MonkeyX. 5th issue, March 2002.