or better or worse, we here at Stylus, in all of our autocratic consumer-crit greed, are slaves to timeliness. A record over six months old is often discarded, deemed too old for publication, a relic in the internet age. That's why each week at Stylus, one writer takes a look at an album with the benefit of time. Whether it has been unjustly ignored, unfairly lauded, or misunderstood in some fundamental way, we aim with On Second Thought to provide a fresh look at albums that need it.

Coldcut were a natural choice to contribute to the venerable Journeys by DJ series. One of the leaders of late 1980s collage and the hosts of the influential “Solid Steel” radio show, the London-based duo of Jonathan More and Matt Black helped connect Grandmaster Flash-style Djing to acid house. Coldcut’s “Beats and Pieces” (included on this set) even ranks near M/A/R/R/S’s “Pump Up the Volume” as on of the best collage crossover hits of the era.

The duo’s own work—they released a couple of singles and three albums in 1988 and 1989—was frequently overshadowed by the quality of their re-mixes and radio work, so it may have been little surprise that their breakthrough was this 1996 mix.Coldcut’s much-praised mix, newly re-issued, promises “70 Minutes of Madness,” a false claim, really, for a record that blends multiple genres of music into a largely two-speed, yet still sometimes thrilling, stew. (Like the Avalanches’ Since I Left You and Primal Scream’s Screamadelica it adheres to a policy of building the beats and tempos on its first half before providing a second-half comedown.)

Unlike those other records, the first half isn’t nearly as joyous or chest-clenching,. Like much of the work on James Lavelle’s then emerging Mo’ Wax and the Ninja Tune label that More and Black helped found in 1997, this is home-listening, crate-digging, hazy/lazy material rather than a dance floor filler. Coldcut and co. were crating this sound back when trip-hop meant sampled drum breaks and downtempo jazz/hip-hop hybrids as much as vacant, breathy female vocals over spy soundtrack strings and fans of either Lavelle’s or their label will find this essential listening.

I’ve never really been a fan of either—or the crate-digging culture or one-upsmanship attitudes fostered by these labels. Musical alchemy is wonderful, recycling sounds and beats and placing them into new contexts, but something always seemed unnecessarily smug to me about the undie/trip-hop approach. Plus, turntabalism’s focus on performance leaves me cold, feeling that sometimes cross fader=whammy bar.

Thankfully, then—despite my trepidations—this record just happens to sound frequently marvelous. Those broken drums and the drum and bass and jazz influences may seem almost quaint these days, but Coldcut avoid the sluggishness of much of Lavelle’s label’s blunted beats. Thanks to a sonic sense of humor and dexterity, Coldcut wisely didn’t create a late-night head trip that feels lost in the light of day. Instead, they blended a mix not unlike their radio work, assembled for an audience tied to a radio (read: not in a club) but not necessarily home in small company.

There are, however, still some unfortunate trip-hop/marijuana trappings of poor spoken samples that either do little more than back pat (“Honey, I have rhythms I haven’t even used yet”) or should leave most post-adolescents rolling their eyes (“Anyone caught interfering with the collection of urine samples, will be shot”). It leaves me feeling that trip-hop was often as much a casualty of Portishead copycats as muddled preaching, emphasis on performance, and insularity—many of the same qualities that force me to the “stop” button whenever I try to listen to Blackalicious or any of the rest of backpacker’s favorites. (Strange then that the genre’s peak—Tricky’s Maxinquaye with its claustrophobia, Public Enemy cover, and lust-filled second-half—is closer to the mainstream hip-hop than the undie band’s that worship at the Ninja Tune and Mo’ Wax altars.)When the spoken and musical clichés are shelved, I’m drawn in. Best of all, even the lack of variety of tempo and moods doesn’t affect the record’s sharp eclecticism, blending Harold Budd, Detroit techno, drum n’ bass, electro-funk, and hip-hop over its soft dark ambient center.

With a seamless delivery and often anonymous tracklist, this is the pre-file sharing classic mix CD, slavishly devoted to the idea of listening to music one album at a time rather than one track at a time—despite the process by which it was assembled. Would I rather listen to the more upbeat, pop-obsessed mix CD like 2 Many DJs’ As Heard on Radio Soulwax, part II or DJ/Rupture’s work? Sure. Would I care more about the record if I appreciated a specific ethos with my listening experience? Probably. But will I listen? Yup—and without (my own) prejudice.