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FatCat's twenty-third split 12-inch is another enticing addition to their already stellar series, bringing together artists for whom more is most definitely more, and preferably even more as well, thanks very much.

Last time around the label brought together the Durian Brothers and Nick 'Ekoplekz' Edwards's Ensemble Skalectrik to strike metaphorical sparks off one another. That collection combined the Durian's sense of improvised movement with Ekoplekz's haunted house art-noise; a sense of humour backed by a sense of terror.

The theme of release #23 appears to be obsession; obsessive kleptomania, the collection and collision of voice, gender, horror and ecstacy, or obsessive progression, and the thirst for newer and quicker rhythms, faster and more malleable philosophies. The artists take wildly divergent paths while still emerging as spiritual siblings.

Katie Gately's single piece, like those of release mate Tlaotlon, feels like a performance. Rather than a piece of static sound art, it has the air of spontaneity. For nearly fifteen minutes it glides through a broad landscape, evocative of tribal settlement and ancient ritual. The artist's voice morphs between sexes, suggestive of seraphims and the twinned grimace of the comic and tragic.

We begin with the atonal interplay of voices; Gately's reedy falsetto divides into jarring strands, avoiding melody. The short prelude ends abruptly with gasping croaks and stifled, hoarse gulps of air. Artaudian theatre springs to mind. The first recognisable melody appears following a moment of silence, a choral line underpinned with a low octave, and more voices begin to emerge like cherubs, coating the smooth bassline in minor and major chords.

The track again pauses - it will do so half a dozen times. This time a crashing of cymbals and noisy drums announces the emergence of a social aspect. From here onwards, we are encouraged to think of the piece as a collective experience: fresh voices protrude from repeating vocal tracks like demons being birthed from abysmal slime. The percussive explosions are welcomed by retching tribal screeches. The midway point allows us another moment's respite before a ritualistic plateau establishes peace once more.

The Eastern influences blossom into a weirdly spiritual, futuristic middle section. The infernal choirs appear again. From 11 minutes onwards, the staple elements we have become used to play out and resolve alongside some impish melodic strains. The horrific and comic stand side by side as in a commedia dell'arte touring show, leaping jesters in ghastly long nosed masks breathe fire and rub their over-inflated proboscis. The resolution is satirical, rather than blissful. It is an extraordinary, visionary journey.

Tlaotlon paints an altogether different vision of evolutionary metre. Where Gately's development is suggestive of the rhythms of ancient civilisations, rising and falling into obscurity like histories of Mesopotamian culture rife with numerous dark ages, the maximalist Tlaotlon represents the blind rush of modernity. A hundred elements lay on top of each other struggling for prescience, and the multifarious references and media of voices can be overwhelming.

So the opener 'Myriade' captures the soul of a speeding email, flashing from server to server collecting caches of useless, random information, aggregated and gowned in electronic stockpile. The idea is a common enough musical trope - configuring the impact of mass communication through messy, cornucopian flotsam - but it's also thrillingly driven and actually quite beautiful, as are all of the producer's tracks here.

When FatCat's split series draws to a close with its next release, it will have left an indelible mark on the face of modern electronica. The highest compliment we can pay is to say that the twenty-third in the series feels as vital as the first.

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