Review Summary: Better off dumped in the space chute.
Experiencing the massive sense of euphoriant triumph after 2011's jazzy, bursting Hurry Up, We're Dreaming - French EDM music-producer duo M83 launches themselves from one dimension to another with a less-than-unsurprising out of the blue essence. Quietly strutting along with the incarnation of blusterous material into blockbuster soundtracks since, they enter into their latest, spacey venture Junk with a bursting sense of wit, glam and prosciutto. Fleecing once more again into the fuzziness and fizzle of the 80s with some well-known outside influences prominent inside. Freckling into a blastful, creamy realm of clean-esque synths and booming bass lines, M83's latest effort fixates itself upon the same typical, nostalgic concept by relegating some into the kiddish, cheesiness of the cartoon phase in its age. The sadistic comparison in which is what distances itself from their past lauded effort is that it feels all too familiar to what we've heard from a similar duo, and those same cheesy, kiddish vibrances end up diluting the compositions smothered in like a grilled cheese that got too much cheddar breaded inside.
In a bland effort to substantively broaden the horizon of the guarded, colored walls of their upmost devotion to the fling and flair of 80s-esque pop/dance composition, frontman Anthony Gonzalez looked to rise to the occasion of emulating grotesque, arty compositions like their fellow counterparts like robotic Daft Punk conceived. The damning, yet unfortunate fact that bestows upon Gonzalez's attempt to revitalize the abstract beauty, in which already had been revived like featured in Daft Punk's Random Access Memories, is that it feels too similar enough to its premise that there wasn't a loophole in which they could mash up their own distinctive, interesting ways to it. The faltering showcase persists itself in the dark, featherweight motivation ode "Do It, Try It", waxed with ultraviolet synths and thumping, pulsating bass that doesn't disappoint, but also stumbles to impress in contrary to Gonzalez's robotic, awkward vocal points. Those vocals, which once fallowed with true, awe-inspiring emotion on sublimed epics like "Midnight City", now crumble into despair like the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street when his consumption of chocolate chip cookies leave grainy crumbs on the carpet. His deafening, annoying synthetic voice spreads across the futuristic composition like a plague, infecting and overtaking a fun, yet unimpressive precedent. Not to mention the god darn awful lyricism lingering on, with average, pointless lines like "A dance/on repeat/a trance/on a heartbeat" that fail to lack any sort of depth or seriousness befouling upon it.
The eloquent following of its dorky, silly vibrations continue to ooze across the brightened landscape with almost no distinctive elements, sheerly making due to its almost too-familar looks to what Daft Punk showcased in their reanimation of music's retro golden age. It is dignified further when you extradite crazy, silly yet uncomfortable compositions like the cartoon-like "Moon Crystal", garnished in nerdy keyboards and gauging bass that hilariously stumble into a fragmented mess in its coagulated atmosphere. The album's elegant pop ballads, however feature enough pack though to put up a great, compelling fight as they scatter throughout, like in the exotic epic "Solitude" - the kind of precedent that should've been featured more often. Fitted with tearful, powerful strings and stringy synthesizer, the sun-bathed essence of this feature, in addition to Gonzalez's piercing, glowing vocals, feels like a badass song made for an action-packed thriller a la Miami Vice or a sexy spy film like 007. These dreamy, polished hues that scattered across the platform should've been given more punch, as they weren't enough to poison the geeky, freakishly awkward sides of the vintage kaleidoscope that exists within.
What saw M83's last critically acclaimed effort as a major step forward in their stacked careers, their newest compilation Junk made for in serious regression. Continuing to profile the same, now dated concept they plastered in their last effort made for also, in the bulk of the record in a lack of deep musical depth and composure. Not to mention the overload of lathering, dry silliness and cringeworthy fun this effort tried to convey, with this bungled attempt to bring their own version of the golden age to light. As Gonzalez told the folks at Pitchfork regarding the mainstream music state as he promoted Junk, "What’s played in the mainstream is just awful, it makes me want to puke." Well, the hypocrisy couldn't be more alive than before if your own "musical junk" can validate such a visible regression like this! Oh, the sheer irony that creeps out from this.
