On Jamie Teasdale’s third solo album, the UK musician balances razor-sharp bass music with beatless electronic sketches that could double as science-fiction soundtracks.
Kuedo’s decade-plus as dubstep’s most devoted Vangelis fan paid off when the English producer was hired, along with Flying Lotus, to soundtrack the anime short Blade Runner: Black Out 2022 in 2017. It’s tantalizing to wonder what he might have done for the actual sequel to 1982’s Blade Runner, 2017’s Denis Villeneuve-directed Blade Runner 2049. Hans Zimmer and Benjamin Wallfisch’s score did the job it was supposed to do, but what might the movie have sounded like if Villeneuve and collaborators had tapped the wealth of contemporary electronic artists capable of summoning the mood of the original’s rain-soaked robo-jazz dirges?
The three albums that Jamie Teasdale has put out as Kuedo since leaving the considerably gnarlier dubstep duo Vex’d all follow the basic formula of throwing drums on top of synths inspired by the throbbing scores that were Vangelis and Tangerine Dream’s métier in the ’80s. His third album, Infinite Window, sounds even more like a soundtrack than its predecessors. While “Harlequin Hallway,” “Time Glides,” and “Shadow Dance” are razor-sharp UK-bass bangers with snares that glint like katana steel, most of the rhythmic legwork is done by sequencers, basslines, and assorted synthesized palpitations that build a tremendous sense of anticipation without necessarily going anywhere. Teasdale has always included short ambient interludes on his records, but this is the first time that purely atmospheric, dancefloor-agnostic music has played such a central role. The record’s second half is almost entirely drumless except for short bursts of “Infinite Window” and “Skybleed Magic,” and Teasdale bleeds the tracks together enough for it to feel almost like a “The Long One”- or “The Ninth Wave”-style second-side suite.
A lot of the tracks are short and simple, with two or three sharply drawn sounds playing off each other. Sometimes this approach is effective, as on “Encounter (Vanish),” whose melody is just a little too prickly to be reassuring, and “Cracked Panel Glass,” which visualizes a horrifying death in space through a magnificent blast of static interference. On the slighter side are “Slipping Through Our Fingers,” on which a circling sequencer is finally joined by a rudimentary melody and a beat, and the glassy rumination “Paradise Water.” It’s clear that Teasdale has chosen to use his pro-level acumen for sound design to make everything appear crisp and sharp rather than to create sounds humans have never heard before. This was also true of his previous music, but with fewer drums to play off and less time for these ideas to develop, there’s not as much for these sounds to do, and they don’t always add up to more than the sum of their parts.
This is Kuedo’s shortest album, with the fewest tracks—11 in 39 minutes. Though the titles suggest a preoccupation with time (“Slipping Through Our Fingers,” “Time Dances,” “Never (Para Sempre)”), Infinite Window might have benefited from being longer, allowing more time for the listener to luxuriate in its washes of astral sound. It feels a bit like a collection of sketches, and indeed, a good chunk of Infinite Window was culled from an earlier, uncompleted Kuedo album. As much as Infinite Window approximates the beauty and brilliance of the Blade Runner soundtrack at its best, it’s also a reminder that that soundtrack has never been released in full; even the 25th anniversary edition failed to include the unedited title theme. Even the best soundtracks tend to be a bit jerky when heard front to back, with classics like A Charlie Brown Christmas and Superfly including “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and “Junkie Chase” alongside some of the most wonderful music you’ll ever hear. Infinite Window evokes that same whiplash.
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