APHRODITE Aphrodite

aphrodite

aphroditeRoastin’ tech-step? Fresh-cut darkcore? Rinsin’ the dubplates, then giving them a quick wipe down with a dishcloth? Oh, don’t worry about it, because you needn’t give a damn, for drum’n’bass’ rner details all fall for the floor-melting sound of Gavin ‘Aphrodite’ King. From student union piss-ups to underground clubs, when King’s savage blitz hits the decks, you only need look at the reaction to learn why it’s called jump-up.

Made almost exclusively from hairy monster basslines, towering breakbeats and stuttering v-v-v-vocals, it’s idiot savant fare exemplired, imbued with a Fatboy Slim-sized grasp of how to unite one nation under a particularly foolish groove.

So, bar a handful of interludes to catch your breath to, Aphrodite cannonballs through the tunes which shot King to prominence. There’s ‘BM Funkster’, home of a bassline which dislodges your fillings then figures it may as well have your molars, too; ‘King Of The Beats’, the kind of stoopidly inflated frug-out which most producers are way too sniffy to make.

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Then, of course, there’s ‘Woman That Rolls’. Aided by an LL Cool J sample, lightning-bolt synth stabs and, naturally, a severely oversized bottom end, its King’s crowning glory. By and large, the fervor continues to unfold on his lesser-known tracks: dolphin sounds get murdered on the Quincy Jones-sampling ‘Rincing Quince’ and – just for fun, like – menace is piled on venom, threat and rancor on ‘Stalker’.

Even the closing song, a palpably tacky cover of ‘Summer Breeze’, doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. Next up from Aphrodite is an album proper. Somehow, chances of him collaborating with fancy orchestras or writing a grand opus about social disenfranchisement seem slight.