The two-disc, thirty-song Drukqs doesn't quite have the swagger of a comeback. For one thing, when its release was announced last year, it was rumored to contain outtakes and old recordings thrown together by James to fulfill his contract. He has since denied the charge with some conviction, but the album itself does little to dispel such notions; it's a sprawling mess of a record, at least half of which plays like underachievement. One imagines that a musician capable of collaborating with Philip Glass would be well beyond simple rhythmic gymnastics ("Prep Gwarlek 36," "Orban Eq Trx4"), to say nothing of the Speak & Spell ("54 Cymru Beats"). (No idea about these song titles. Just none whatsoever.) But "beyond" isn't really even the issue; it's not so much that he covers familiar ground or digresses -- it's that he does neither to his usual standard.
James does trot out a couple of new obsessions, and he's predictably adept at both. The album opens with "Jynweythek," a quietly haunting number played on some sort of electronically modified piano that creates a wonderful ringing, chiming sound; it's used with equal effectiveness several times later. The other new development indulges an affection for Erik Satie: somber piano ballads ("Strotha Tynhe," "Avril 14th," "Kesson Daslef") for which the only polite adjective is pastoral. Perhaps fittingly, the album's highlight ("Beskhu3epm") combines the two directions and provides a neat reminder of what makes Aphex Twin's best work so exhilarating: the flawless combination of disparate parts. On Drukqs, James too often settles for the parts alone.