The New Yorker: s/t

Acid house’s frenetic 303 slurp enjoyed a brief streak of popularity on the hazy club floors of the late ’80s before moving underground, emerging here and there as a reference point in ’90s big beat and IDM programming. Lately, though, it’s seen an odd resurgence, with electronica luminaries like Richard D. James (as Analord) and Luke Vibert (as himself) picking at orphaned acid impulses for entire albums in the last few years. And with such genre flirtations nearly dissipated from the swift-moving air, here’s some actual acid house, from an original acid house producer, Tyrone Jackson, here teamed with a newer Brooklyn production team. The results? Four sparse, ominous acid tracks that snap and squeal in the right places but tend to drag on, unalterably once on course. The sense of atmosphere redeems with an early FSOL-like quality, but clumsy, repetitive vocal sample application tends to mar the effect. Acid may yet complete its comeback but it’s going to take a lot more than this.