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Three years in the making, Apache Jackson's debut album Auto Recall is a mystifying sequences of contradictory colours and feelings - dark and lit up like a glass dome at noon, rich in internal process and roaming curious in a bracing world, epically technologised and intimate, personal. It's a heady hall of mirrors saturated by Jackson's presence and creativity, yet concealing him. His voice is augmented for height and depth until it soars in chords, and a saxophone squeals from down a skewed corridor leading back the early 80s post-punk of Tuxedomoon, Essential Logic and James Chance. Try out the muscular robo-erotics of 'Eclipse,' or the holy organ refrain valiantly trying but failing to save the damned in 'Streets of Trash.' Auto Recall is a complex and seductive array of urban psychoscapes and their jagged boulevards.
