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The debut solo album by experimental composer Claude Speeed delivers scale and broad vista ambience that belies its approachability. The only thing that feels miniaturised is the identity of its creator.

Speeed is the very embodiment of the modern experimental artist. Rather than inhabiting a specific genre, his work has tended to involve him dipping into areas of interest and responding to them. American Men, made up of other members of the LuckyMe collective he helped to found, achieved notable critical acclaim. He has spent recent years travelling the world, gathering an archive of sound field recordings in India, before re-locating to Berlin to work on his first solo effort. It arrives informed by the giants of electronic composition, and is most fulfilling when it interrogates these familiar idioms.

'Tiger Woods' appeared online recently, a Reichian construct with closely mic'd snatches of breath and snoozey ambience. It is a moment of pure extravagance in amongst the delicate architecture of the record's spine. There is grandiosity on display. Emotional connection is gestured towards on tracks like 'Spectral Choir', but it can occasionally feel like the kind of panentheism Sigur Rós shovel, skin-deep and apolitical. Artifice in the mixing and blending of the acoustic and electronic elements is not always backed with a narrative drive, other than in the atypical album closer 'Hold On', for which guest vocalist LW channels Tracey Thorn of Everything But The Girl.

Rhythm is sparsely employed, and often in a circumspect way, in the form of sound field loops that click and gasp for breath. 'Tiger Woods' does not stand alone in its evocation of hopeful innocence. 'Taj Mahal' replaces the grace that is so perfectly captured in his video to the former with the most successful attempt the artist makes at tenderness. Speeed has an effective voice, but seems unsure as to how to employ it, here stacking layers of bright, generic synth above it. Later in the album, he returns to his strongest suit, landscaped electronica that harks back to the short stories of Ballard and Bioy Casares. His worlds are suggestive of a heightened plain of reality inhabited by translucent figures, inhuman but possessed of emotional traits.

Vangelis casts a long shadow over much of My Skeleton. His 'Heaven and Hell' double album is a touchstone for the colonnaded, choral walls of synth that Speeed describes in the album's early moments. Speeed is a brilliant landscape artist, but can be less confident when working with a more humanistic pallet. The artifice extends into marketing: the physical release of 'My Skeleton' includes a 12-inch with accompanying zine, sheet music and guitar tab - a very contemporary commodification of art. It seems that no artist dares to release anything physical these days without a dozen unique trinkets. That isn't a criticism.

My Skeleton is a logical piece of work, which is another way of saying that Claude Speeed has put together a working example of a machine, with glimpses of sophistication. Where the soul is supposed to emerge, I'm not so sure. Perhaps it suggests that artificial intelligence is one thing - artificial emotion is quite another.

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