In Blue

In Blue has tangential connections to other gauzy, drugged-out space techno such as JK Flesh or Wandl. There may even be a distant relationship to Wolfgang Voigt's work as Gas. But for all its murkiness, this is genuinely sensual listening. For all its static-swamped helplessness, it's never cold.

In Blue has tangential connections to other gauzy, drugged-out space techno such as JK Flesh or Wandl. There may even be a distant relationship to Wolfgang Voigt's work as Gas. But for all its murkiness, this is genuinely sensual listening. For all its static-swamped helplessness, it's never cold.

Dis Fig transcends In Blue's origins in genre exercise into an otherworldly fever dream, an album of tectonic bass and thundering drums that somehow feels intimate and sensual. It's as much her triumph as it is his.

Uniquely for Martin’s music, In Blue isn’t dominated by its low end – it’s the precise absence of warmth, the way Chen’s heavily echoed vocals swim in among the grainy textures and hypnotically simple melodies (so much of this recalls the dankest 1990s hiphop in vibe and directness), that makes the set so compelling, a perfect soundtrack to derailment and decay. [Jan 2021, p.70]

Martin and Chen create a world of liminal spaces on In Blue, the invitation to share them is persuasive and rewards are many. The Bug is a mercurial but known entity, his work always impressive, his choice of collaborators telling and Dis Fig shines in this setting. Hers is a voice and a vision you’ll want to hear more from.

As the title states, the tones and timbres of the album are blue. But it’s not the crushing, overwhelming darkness that you might expect. By the time you reach the final track, the sombre ‘End In Blue’, in which all beats have been stripped away to leave only Chen’s voice echoing against a background of drones, you get the sense that a hard and relentless journey is almost over and that just ahead, at the end of a tunnel that has sometimes felt like it would never end, there’s a glimmer of light.