Bleep

After Clark developed his lyrical and vocal abilities on his landmark album Sus Dog, his newfound passion for singing has taken on a life of its own, undergoing countless transformations like any of the vibrant sounds he has created thus far. The leadup to that record saw him leaving a “bread crumb trail to future releases” via tantalising snippets of remixes, experiments, and alternate takes, and since its release in May, these edits and versions have had time to blossom into a fully fledged album of their own.

Cave Dog amplifies the many rave energies of its predecessor, while also zooming into the immense space hiding between those frenzied moments. Clark’s vocals creep at the edges of more instrumental reworks, then surround them in 360 degree layers. The introductory pair of ‘Vardo’ and ‘Silver Pet Crank’ are a total overhaul right off the bat: the lyrics of ‘Town Crank’ are thrust into a more curious concoction of gently lacerating synth arpeggios “falling off the edge” into a thumping trancelike rhythm, thrumming with strobe light energy as punctuating breakbeats take a left turn into rich low harmonies.

The album’s first half is a display of kinetic soundsmithery, like the assembly of synth timbres and melodic pirouettes on ‘Dolgoch Dry As Ash’, or the propulsive four to the floor of ‘Medicine Doves’ tossing harp plucks hither and thither. Its cavernous reverb throws descend into the snarling depths of chamber arrangements, hinting at a comedown from the furore with Cave Dog’s latter tracks, full of rotating piano compositions and avalanches of chorally textured ambience. Dramatic freezes of strings reframe Thom Yorke’s vocals in ‘Oblivious/Portal’, while Clark’s throttle is blurred, smoked, and submerged, highlighting the deep catharsis and trust that Sus Dog was evoking all along.

Cave Dog isn’t so much a remix album as it is a further honing of Clark’s craft, and a trip through his musical multiverse.