Rhys Fulber (best known as the number-two man from Frontline Assemblyand Delerium, and as the guy who brought the grindy thrash of FearFactory into the 21st Century by way of industrial breakbeats and synthproduction) may be a better producer thansongwriter and a better engineer than singer, and it just may be thecase that he's got more to offer the world by enhancing the work ofothers than by creating his own.Conjure One is Fulber's latest solo project and enjoying itrequires taking everything I’ve ever known about Fulber and tossing itout the window. In fact, even if I were able to do that, I doubt that Extraordinary Wayswould have more than one track that I would consider dumping into mymp3 player if I just needed to fill it ip.
Fulber has traded in hisindustrial dance and rock cards here and he’s striving for that mostawful of all concoctions: the self-important studio pop record. With ahost of guest vocalists—all female and none as interesting as thepeople he’s managed to rope into working with the barely passableDelerium—the record rolls out a handful of tightly composed andover-produced songs. Every song is so reigned-in that nothing has theemotional resonance or impact that Fulber is no doubt hoping for.Instead, the album offers up a few tracks with passable if notmemorable vocals that will probably be remixed for club play and willprobably go on to be hits with the dancing-not-thinking crowd.
ThatFrontline Assembly or Delerium ever made a splash is a bit confusing tobegin with, as both of those projects were always also-rans to theirmore accomplished, better-known peers. Fulber’s reinvention withConjure One then, might be a more honest reflection of the kind ofmusic he wants to make, but it sounds so manufactured that it eludesany authenticity. The beauty of good pop music is that it’s disposablebut somehow also inescapable. Extraordinary Ways fails to makean impression of any sort and thus becomes the worst kind of popmusic—that which is disposable but also forgettable.
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