lthough it’s been five years since the last Plastikman recordings Consumed and Artifakts (BC), Richie Hawtin has hardly been missing in action, with Decks, EFX & 909 and DE9/Closer to the Edit released in 1999 and 2001 respectively. But while the extroverted DJ recordings are more accessible and have broader mass appeal, it’s the more introverted Plastikman series which possesses greater conceptual depth. Certainly the Plastikman concept sees Hawtin admirably stretching techno’s boundaries by pushing it into more experimental territory. In contrast to the celebratory mood so fulsomely captured on the aforementioned DJ releases, Consumed finds Hawtin fashioning glacial, womb-like soundscapes, while Artifakts (BC) sees him donning a comparatively less submersive though still dark style. Donning the Plastikman moniker enables Hawtin to alternately enthrall thousands in a clubbing context when performing under his own name and then turn psychically inward to pursue the insular, barren atmospheres of Plastikman. Aficionados will know that Hawtin originally intended the Plastikman project to constitute a single release (Sheet One), and yet here we are with number five, suggesting that Hawtin cathartically needs the series as a way to explore darker dimensions that aren’t addressed adequately by his DJ persona. Ultimately, however, the key issues for Closer concern the degree to which the Plastikman sound has evolved since the ultra-paranoiac depths of Consumed and whether Closer matches the lauded peak of Consumed.

To begin with, Closer is certainly generous, with ten tracks totaling seventy-five minutes and six in the eight- to ten-minute range. The longer durations enable Hawtin to stretch out, but this doesn’t mean that the tracks are mere run-on grooves. Instead, they evolve organically and episodically, ensuring that the listener’s attention rarely flags. The pieces segue into one another in a seamless flow, enhancing the album’s hallucinatory qualities, and turn Closer into a literal trip. The overall mood is much like Consumed, with words like somber, nocturnal, and sickly springing to mind. In fact, there’s little that’s different from before, the obvious exception being the addition of Hawtin’s vocals on numerous tracks. A slightly less obvious difference is that the ambient interludes, techno and house rhythms, and minimalistic experiments cumulatively establish an impression of notable stylistic diversity. Consumed, by comparison, pursues its introverted, cavernous mood more singularly, making for a less expansive stylistic range but one that compensates for it by pursuing that mood so relentlessly. As before, Hawtin embraces the principle of minimalism, reducing the techno tracks to at times stark, skeletal structures. And yet Closer is often maximalistic too, as Hawtin boldly exploits dynamics and electronic textures.

‘Ask Yourself’ initiates Closer portentously with a barely audible voice articulating thoughts both self-reflective and uncertain (‘I guess it’s a good place to start’), but it soon fades out, replaced by an accumulating cloud of hiss and synth drones, and then dark, atmospheric melody lines that hover ominously. Everything until now suggests that Closer will pick up where Consumed left off, but then Hawtin’s voice enters, imputing a markedly unsettling feel. The voice, deep, hoarse, and almost threatening, makes pitiless utterances (‘Why listen to me?/I’m just a voice inside your head/I can’t help you/Help yourself’) while disturbing tearing noises and textural clicks punctuate a dub-techno rhythm. While the mere presence of vocals on a Plastikman release is startling, Hawtin’s decision to present them in a clichéd sci-fi style is at least initially off-putting. Imagine the sound of a taped message of some slowed-down, electronically distorted kidnapper’s voice and you’ll have a pretty good impression of the vocal effect Hawtin applies to his voice throughout. Although ‘Ask Yourself’ unfolds slowly, it’s an auspicious and dramatic beginning. Following ambient sounds of distant footsteps and unlocked doors, ‘Mind Encode’ makes an overt connection to Consumed by borrowing the pulsating melodic cell from ‘Contain’ and then adding to it air valve sounds and a tech-house rhythm. ‘Lost’ begins as a beatless exercise in foreboding atmospheres with melancholy strings giving way to woozy bleeping sounds which segue into the incredible ‘Disconnect.’ Waves of hiss and a deep, insistent bass line establish a base on top of which the fluctuating, off-key bleeping noises alternate with Hawtin’s distressed, disturbing vocals. The shifting pitches induce a psychotic and sickly feel which perfectly complements the lyrical content of masochism and disorientation (‘I’m starting to enjoy the pain’). Following the verse, the music builds briefly to a merciless synapse-frying crescendo, before ending with the repeated refrain ‘Disconnect.’ ‘Slow Poke (Twilight Zone Mix)’ registers as a master class in electronic textures. Gaseous accents flutter about, while percussive pings and pinched whooshing and whooping textures constellate around the narcoticized rhythmic base, pierced unexpectedly midway through by what sounds like a cell phone ringing in the background. Although the track ends entropically with its rhythm winding down to a state of collapse, ‘Headcase’ reanimates it with a relatively healthier sounding techno rhythm. Over a simple throbbing bass and drum techno pattern, slippery, elastic bass pops bounce haphazardly about like pinballs. While the piece is ten minutes long, it retains interest throughout due to Hawtin’s skilful dexterity in generating maximum interest using a minimal number of elements. ‘Ping Pong’ follows uninterruptedly, a fascinating fusion of primal drum patterns and electronic manipulations wherein Hawtin shifts the drum pitches up and down, giving the music a sickly, unmoored feel. Above a simple two-step drum pattern, distant curlicues of percussive clattering, and fusillading hi-hats, the vocals on the dirge-like ‘Mind In Rewind’ sound anguished and exhausted, at times on the verge of expiration. Closer ends with the epic ‘I Don’t Know’ with Hawtin expressing the same kind of confusion and disorientation as before (‘I don’t know what you’re looking at/What you’re listening to/What you’re thinking about’) while shimmering swathes of reverberant hi-hats and snare hits pepper the propulsive rhythm.

Certainly Hawtin’s choice of titles is not incidental. The term ‘consumed’ suggests internalization and self-absorption, while ‘artifakts’ (sic) alludes to the collection of older materials. Does Closer therefore dissolve the cold impasse so thoroughly instated by Consumed? Is the sound warmer, more enveloping, and does he expose himself more vulnerably? One might argue that the presence of Hawtin’s voice introduces a humanizing element absent before, but the distorting vocal effects hardly allow his natural voice to appear. In fact, Closer only superficially brings us closer to Hawtin. While the vocals offer a glimpse into the Plastikman mind, they do so rather perfunctorily by essentially namechecking symptoms of disorientation and confusion, and thereby render literal what the music can otherwise convey so effectively on its own. In fact, the vocal treatments arguably cheapen the music by treating the threatening qualities in the music literally. On the other hand, the lyrical content does bring Hawtin closer through his humanizing admissions of confusion and uncertainty. Ultimately, Closer doesn’t disappoint and represents a legitimate fifth installment in the Plastikman series, in spite of the fact that it breaks little new ground beyond its predecessors. But that’s not necessarily a major cause for complaint when Closer measures up so well as a legitimate follow-up to Consumed.