Review: Gabe Gurnsey - Physical
The debut from Gabe Gurnsey might be called Physical, but its intention is highly sexual.
‘Physical’ is dripping in chemicals. Let there be no doubt that Gabe Gurnsey wants to take you clubbing before he takes you home for sex, chem sex to be exact. Those hazy moments that create cosmic connections, a fleeting and synthetic version of love.
It’s a high that can get addictive, an adventurous glow which eventually distorts. After many sleepless nights the neural circuitry becomes fried and the controller becomes the controlled. Those human clubbing connections become toxic, the need for chemically induced relations become essential as other spiritual and emotional avenues to reach the same state disintegrate. The playful urge for a good night out turns into a ruse, a rotten and well played excuse with no other purpose but to chase the goal: to connect and to feel. The music trails into a distant second.
Clubbing: It can take you to unlimited levels of freedom before crashing you down to frightening levels of despair, and this is its soundtrack…
Before we reach the comedown, opening track ‘Ultra Clear Sound’ offers a good time.
‘Rhythm’ is the first words uttered on the track (and the LP) - and what a ploy it is. Its infectious refrain of ‘Crystal. Give me Algorythm. Ultra. Give me Algorythm. Clear Sound. Give me Algorythm’ hypnotises you into believing that ‘Physical’ is all about the music. That Gabe is all about the music. He even asks you ‘to dance with me’, and you believe him because the beat is so fkg beautiful. I mean, how can it not be about just the music? After all, this is the start of the night, that very moment when the world is your oyster. Anything is possible.
On ‘You Can’ the rhythm is even more of a jazz hands illusion. The track itself powered by a fun(ky) running bassline that invokes images of a smoky, hazy basement with a small stage. On it: a big man in a striped suit with a thinly rimmed hat, dark sunglasses and a long cigarette hanging out of his mouth, skittishly plucking his upright bass. The real intention takes shape here, and it is starting to feel less about the rhythm:
’You can dance while I get high’ he casually announces, more of a demand than a question.
You get physical, while he does chemicals. You might not know where this is going, but he does: he has been here before. This is a nocturnal pattern that repeats itself every weekend. Eventually, the track admits that ‘you can dance while I get low’, and a slither of self-loathing appears. He is aware of his behaviour - he knows this isn’t normal.
On ‘Temazzy’ the sleaze is palpable, it oozes out of the speakers. Inside the rubber band rhythm lies a playful state of mind that is anaesthetised by the track’s subject: Temazzy = Temazepam. Benzo’s to soothe the soul and numb the constant battles of #life - and this track is filled with its tranquillising effect. A female voice has now replaced Gurnsey’s vocals, and it’s just indecipherable, probably due to the waves of drugs washing over you as you try to make sense of what she’s saying. You squint your ears, and you settle on what you think it is. (‘In my mind, I’m sold’).
There are plans to continue the party as she checks in to see if the temazzy has worn off, imploring ‘Are you happy to go hard again’? Or should that be ‘Are you happy going high again’? Just indecipherable, but any worry that you might have gotten yourself in over your head is caressed away by a soothing coo right at the end: ’So sweeeeet baby’ she purrs, lulling you away from the anxiety. This is all sorts of fukt and awesome at the same time.
On ‘Harder Rhythm’ any fear as to how this is all wrong is temporarily replaced by the refrain ‘Harder love creates a harder Rhythm’. The temazzy has worn off, he is ‘feeling good’ again, and the libido is back. And of course, all of this plays out to a rhythm best described as a 'sweet flow'.
From here on in things get unsettling, and the deeper we go, the more it feels ominous.
You can smell the MDMA on ‘Eyes Over’, the hypnotic beat ushering in waves of rushes: ’And now my body’s shaking over, and now your eyes are seeing double’.
A synth does its best call-and-response imitation with a quivering sequence to challenge the body shakes, and a drunk pad is stretched to within an inch of its life keeping up with the waves. You sort of feel good, but you took too much of whatever this is.
Just hearing ‘Sweet Heat’ will have you shout out for security. The saxophone on it sounds violating; it conjures up memories of that clip from The Lost Boys with the sax player on repeat. It makes you feel weird, but you can’t look away. You need to take a seat. It is hot and very sweaty, this high is an intense mess.
‘Heavy Rubber’ might or might not be referring to condoms, but the highly charged beat will leave no doubts as to what is going on here. Sex, but not the good kind. ’Do you lie to me lover, you know I hate being good enough’. This is the self-loathing kind, the minute an orgasm explodes you will be out of there. The act only a means to feel something, briefly tethering to another human for a hot second of love.
One last burst of energy gives way to ‘Night Track’, the LP’s biggest dancefloor moment, and an energetic slice of electro tech. Gurnsey’s original dream of clubbing bliss teems back to life, an early morning dancefloor cut that exhibits the spirit of everything that is good about drugs and dance music. Here it finally combines in a triumphant rush of endorphins and beats.
‘Physical’ should come with a warning: This will trigger flashbacks. However, who cares. This album is fucking fantastic.
Physical is out now on Phantasy