Pitchfork

Having spent the last two years inundated with sleek microhouse and minimal techno, it's refreshing to come across a record like The Science of Breath. Polmo Polpo is Sandro Perri of Toronto, and while his music falls squarely into the techno realm, his is the loud and tattered kind that does away with clubland precision and pop niceties. There's no room on this stage for a diva; these basslines are about as sensual as rusty butcher knife. Rather than relishing the beauty of clean open space, Perri stuffs up the cracks with noise and static.

In one way, The Science of Breath is like the other side of the dancefloor glitch coin. While artists like Matthew Herbert and Luomo take the sound of digital mistakes the compress them into spaces small enough to become whatever percussion instrument suits the composition (crackling noises make good hi-hats), Sandro Perri lets the noise stay noise. All of these tracks course with persistent hiss that ebbs and flows but never disappears. The Polmo Polpo trademark may well be that a track never-- not even for a microsecond-- makes it down to 0 dB. There's always something happening, and it's usually quite loud.

Another interesting thing about Polmo Polpo is the incorporation of guitar and laptop steel into tracks with pounding beats. Perri's manner with the ringing guitar as a source of rhythm is at times reminiscent of the sampled guitar work found on Burger/Ink's Las Vegas. Indeed, the Wolfgang Voigt connection is strong throughout, but Perri remains fixated in the earlier, darker Gas material, where murky string samples and an aquatic kickdrum were all that was needed to conjure an atmosphere of anxiety and dread. No lush pop-ambient sonics to be found here.

Perri can also compose for the body. "Acqua" is the most punishing yet strangely addictive bit of dancefloor fodder I've heard this year: the snare sounds like a plumber's wrench being slammed against a 55-gallon drum; the hi-hat upbeat could well the sampled whine of pneumatic machinery; dense clouds of hiss float through the track for no apparent reason; a funk guitar riff repeats endlessly; and then weaving through the morass is a rather beautiful and snakelike melody played on lap steel. The utterly unique "Acqua" is guaranteed to get some part of my body moving every time I hear it. Three other tracks focus on the dance beats, and while none have the over-the-top drive of "Acqua," all are at least good. "Riva" has a particularly hypnotic steel guitar riff tensing and flexing like a large rubber band, giving the comparatively tame house beats a melancholy, end-of-an-era feel.

The dance tracks were previously released as twelve-inch singles geared toward the DJ set. Stitching these are a series of dark ambient interludes (all reference breathing), and here, too, Perri shows skill. The twangy guitar mixed with drones on "Low Breathing" veer toward the post-rock sound of Fly Pan Am, while the gurgling electronic throb of "Complete Breath" would make a nice piece of experimental film music. Though they came from different times and were meant for different audiences, the alternating tracks work well in sequence. The Science of Breath offers a tug toward techno's dark side that is difficult (and pointless) to resist.