Western Europe has arguably had great influence over electronic music these last few years, with rebellious artists like Justice and Boys Noize legitimizing gritty, harsher sonics in stark contrast to the overexposed slickness of meathead-friendly dance. That trend makes this Spanish duo's latest all the more maddening and highlights the stultifying insulation of the current generation of industrial musicians.
Miss Kittin probably had the right idea pitching Batbox, her recent self-released long-player, as a goth album, all things considered. Knowing that nobody keeping pace with what's dominating forward-thinking dancefloors on both sides of the the Atlantic could stomach something so regressive, it must have seemed reasonable to assume that only the hopelessly coddled black-clad masses could possibly stomach it. A trip to any city's local goth and/or industrial party will likely reveal an audience enjoying songs that would have seemed a bit stale to just about anyone else ages ago. Particularly noxious is the more clubby fare, ranging from plodding dark trance with indistinguishable cookie monster vocals to oversimplified disco noise. While the latter category has produced a handful of worthy acts, the bulk of new music likely to be played to these half-empty venues hardly warrants the limited attention it receives.
Referencing happy hardcore, electroclash, and jungle, three more completely stagnant subgenres, Turn It On numbs the mind with its incessant regurgitation. Having barely progressed from a four-album tenure with Hands Productions, Proyecto Mirage operates as if stranded on a desert island since 2000. Fast-paced cuts like "Cermol" and "Piano Song" recall Hypnoskull, a far worthier though equally stunted Ant-Zen artist, while the more sluggish "Salvation" marches to the same beat as early Covenant or even Front 242. The machine clatter and bleep of "Darker Bex," the sole attempt to shake things up, lacks the spirit of its forebear, Speedy J, who nailed this style with A Shocking Hobby eight years ago.
The vocal numbers feature laughably trite lyrics that I want to chalk up to the language barrier. (I suppose if I tried to write songs in something other than my native tongue that I'd come across similarly mockable.) With a dated melodic hook that pilfers from Zombie Nation circa 1999, "Cannibal Party" has the duo's better half, Alicia Willen, absentmindedly mumbling hackneyed phrases with a trace of punk attitude. Despite implied affection towards Esplendor Geometrico and assumed appreciation for DAF, Proyecto Mirage appears aloof, altogether unaware of what made those pioneering projects so novel. Only a scene as retrograde and underwhelming as industrial could nurture a band like this for so long without expecting or demanding more.
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