Experimental electronic music, in contrast to the hedonism of dance music, is oriented towards complexity and intellectuality. The beats are arranged like splashes in an abstract painting. Glitches are common. Discord is valued over melody. But in the midst of this defiant modernism, a covert romanticism lingers. It is a type of sound art distanced from the vulgar mainstream.
Jlin, also known as Jerrilynn Patton, is an experimental electronic musician whose work is brimming with abstraction. Raised in the industrial town of Gary, Indiana, she was inspired by the footwork of nearby Chicago – a frenetic style of beat-making that has its roots in dance battles. Their acclaimed debut album, 2015’s Dark Energy, took this kinetic form into a more introspective direction. However, he was still connected to a world of bodies and movement. Jlin demonstrated a rare ability to create directly appealing music from the recondite impulses of electronic experimentation.
This quality has made her a crossover artist, albeit of a very refined variety. He has collaborated with artist Kevin Beasley for an exhibition at the Whitney Museum of American Art and with choreographer Wayne McGregor for a show at Sadler’s Wells in London. In 2023, he was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in Music with his composition for the ensemble Third Coast Percussion.
Akoma, which takes its name from a West African Twi word meaning “heart,” opens with an appearance by Björk. “Borealis” was originally produced by Jlin for the Icelandic singer, but has been reworked for her own album. Björk’s voice has been processed beyond recognition – we are denied the pleasure of hearing her famous voice – but she also performs the chopped-up wind melodies that run through the track in a strangely catchy way.
The album is more stylistically varied than its two predecessors. “Summon” is an exercise in horror movie atmosphere with taut strings and sinister metallic sounds. “Open Canvas” switches moods with a playful but stuttering computerized jingle, like an announcement of a techno future that never quite arrives.
In a masterstroke, none other than Philip Glass appears on “The Precision of Infinity.” The master of modern classical music plays the piano amidst a dense pressure of percussion and carnival whistles. Jlin’s frenetic beats are placed as precisely as dots in a pointillist painting. Meanwhile, Glass’ rapidly played notes overlap and blur as if trying to break out of their repetitive pattern. Here he is treated as the agent of disruption, not experimental electronic music.
