Mention Warp Records and some of the names that usually come to mind are Aphex Twin, Boards of Canada, Autechre, Squarepusher, Battles, or even Grizzly Bear: artists who in some way or another have functioned as game-changers for the label in terms of their contribution to various forms of electronic and indie music. One name that seems to slip through the cracks though is Clark.

The 38-year-old producer began making music using primitive home-built equipment in his teens and was signed to Warp in 2000 after impressing label employees when playing their Nesh party. His arrival came at the back-end of the IDM movement built around Warp's already legendary roster, so it wasn't surprising that from the beginning, the label deemed him as their next breakout artist and comparisons to Aphex Twin practically flew out of the window.

While it's easy to see why those comparisons have been drawn, especially when listening to his earlier work, they can sometimes be a little distracting when it comes to giving proper attention to his own unique approach to music making. His third album, 2006's Body Riddle, solidified his reputation and delivered on that hype, and it remains one of his best releases to date. With the exception of the excellent but utterly different 2008 follow-up Turning Dragon, his output leading up to 2014's Clark proved frustrating mostly in terms of quality, sounding at times like an artist unsure of his own direction or how exactly to adapt to the new sounds that were bubbling up around him.

All of that changed with Clark, as it saw him firmly regaining his footing and turning out some of the most unique, challenging, grandiose, and rewarding music of his career since Body Riddle. Released around the time label-mate Aphex Twin dropped his rightfully praised return album Syro, the parallels were drawn once again and understandably so as both albums saw their respective creators engaging with modern electronic music on their own terms and putting their own stamp on it, while forging sounds uniquely their own.

Technically his first proper album in three years, it seems at first as if Death Peak doesn't do much more than replicate everything that was so good about Clark, but the glistening acid-techno of 'Butterfly Prowler' and 'Peak Magnetic' make it clear that isn't the case. Both are arguably brighter and more upbeat than anything from that album, and they feel even more primed for festival tents, bursting with playful grandiosity but without all of the pretentiousness. 'Peak Magnetic' in particular feels like the first rays of sun greeting otherwise bleary eyes after stepping out from an all-night rave.

Clark has always had a flair for the dramatics, and that tendency resonates throughout Death Peak, cropping up in places like 'Hoova' and 'Slap Drones', where the otherwise upbeat exteriors are peeled back to reveal the kind of dystopian tension Clark is knowing for teasing and building. Meanwhile 'Catastrophe Anthem' and 'Living Fantasy' feel like full-blown widescreen cinematic anthems that encompass a wide range of emotions. Still, these songs allow for a little more hope, and in doing so, they give Death Peak even more layers and depth to explore than on Clark.

And that's where the success lies on Death Peak; that despite its otherwise grim title, it plumbs emotional depths even further and creates a more vivid and exciting picture of what Clark is capable of this late in his career, and why all of the hype surrounding him from the beginning was more than credible.