Personal is not the first adjective you’d reach for when describing techno, a genre made almost entirely out of sculpted electricity or shaped samples. Technically, it’spossibleto program slides, slurs, trills, or other affectations that give instrumentalists and vocalists a unique identity, but it’s time-consuming and a bit of a pain. Also, techno is primarily meant to be interchangeable and anonymous. It’s functional music for utilitarian times, folk music of the machine age; traditionally, techno is less about who made it and more about what it can do.
Things have changed a great deal since the Golden Days of Rave or the EDM festivals of the 2000s and 2010s, though. Electronic music hasn’t been mass-produced to generate maximum thrills for a weekend spent getting wasted in a long, long time. Dance music is just as, if not more, likely to express anxiety, alienation, and introversion over AirPods or living room hi-fis as escapism and hedonism.
Having been in the game since the mid-1990s, Death in Vegas’ Richard Fearless has explored a diverse range of styles, from moody, sophisticated trip-hop to indie, industrial, and psychedelic rock with a trancey edge. With track names like “Leather” or “Hands Around My Throat” and a tendency to namecheck necrotic pop culture icons like Kenneth Anger or Dead Elvis, his music’s always had a bit of a darker cast than many of his ravey counterparts, but it didn’t really extend to his music as much, which tends to retain an iridescent afterimage at the very least, even on tracks named “Dirge”, “Black Hole”, or “Witch Dance”.
On Death Mask? Not so much. All the bouncy basslines and rainbow guitars are gone, wiped clean in favor of 64 minutes of disorienting ambient textures, brooding industrial menace, and aggression. It’s a logical continuation of Death in Vegas’ last album, Transmission, but even more so, cranking the minimalism and austerity while removing what little remained of melody or pop song structures.
Most tellingly, Death Mask removes the guest vocalists, which may be Death in Vegas‘ most distinctive characteristic throughout their career. With no Iggy Pop, no Liam Gallagher, no Sasha Grey to give voice to Fearless’ machine manipulations, Death Mask is ostensibly a Richard Fearless solo record. It’s the most unapologetically dancefloor-oriented Death in Vegas record, while simultaneously being the most personal.
The opener “Chingola”, recreates Fearless’ birth country of Zambia in five minutes of gossamer ambient bliss, for example. The closer, “Death Mask”, was inspired by the passing of Fearless’ father. Given that it’s also the name of the album, it doesn’t feel like too much of a reach to guess that it also serves as the album’s thesis, exploring what’s left after something’s dead and gone. In this light, much of the rest of the album feels like the ghost of rave, unquiet, seeking some sort of resolution.
“Lovers”, despite its name, sounds like the Gates of Hell being thrown open, allowing a horde of orcs and acid casualties to run amok. “While My Machine Gently Weeps” feels like an automaton on autopilot long, long after its creators have turned to dust. “Roisin Dub(h)” sounds like a tarpit at the edge of the universe. “Robin’s Ghosts” feels like a knife fight between two clockwork ballerinas.
For all of its strong concepts and interesting conceits, Death Mask still has plenty of bangers, too. “Hazel” is a seven-minute cruise missile of acid-fried Techno hypnosis. “Roseville” sounds like a collaboration between Tangerine Dream and Wolfgang Voigt. “Your Love” is a light, trance-infused dancefloor romance set against a misty dawn.
Given how strong of a release Death Mask is, it seems a shame this is the first Death in Vegas music we’re getting in almost a decade. At least the timing’s right; Fearless is at his best during dark times. Hopefully, this album will mark the beginning of a new era of dancefloor-focused Death in Vegas. He’s never sounded so good.