Roisin Machine

In the years between 2007s Overpowered and 2015s Hairless Toys, Roisin Murphy issued a string of singles that were as excellent as her albums. Simulation, a 2012 collaboration with producer Richard Barratt, was a particularly glittering highlight of that era. A swirl of mirror ball sparkles and dry ice fog, it spoke to Donna Summer and Giorgio Moroders transporting version of disco as well as Murphys skill at sweeping listeners into a world of her own. It was a potent start to her collaboration with Barratt, who went on to craft similarly elegant music steeped in house and disco traditions as Crooked Man. On 2020s Roisin Machine, he and Murphy continue to bring out the best in each other. It only makes sense to start the album with the beginning of their long-simmering partnership: eight years later, Simulation remains as stunning as when it first appeared, with reflections upon reflections of Murphys voice unfolding over its steady beat and pulsing synths. Though the track sets the tone for what follows, Roisin Machine never feels predictable. More than on some of her previous releases, Murphy winks at the playful artificiality that has been her trademark since the Moloko days. Shes often seemed like she could be an android with her shape-shifting vocals and unexpected songwriting choices; only she would name a sultry track Shellfish Mademoiselle, and only she could get away with it. Fortunately, this more straightforward approach doesnt detract from the power of her illusions. The gradual smoothing of her style that started on Overpowered and made Hairless Toys so gorgeously sophisticated attains a fittingly mechanical perfection on Roisin Machine. Its as seamless as a mix album, with a haziness that calls to mind the magic of the dancefloor on tracks like the ghostly Game Changer. With Barratts help, Murphy dives deeper than ever before into the disco and house roots that make up the foundations of her solo career, but even with a narrower focus, she finds a wide range of expression. On Kingdom of Ends, she ascends to her rightful position as the empress of dance music on steeply rising synth strings that feel infinite. On Narcissus, those strings become a nervy, restless loop as Murphy riffs on Greek mythology, one of many moments on Roisin Machine where she melds fantasies and club culture into songs that are as artful as they are kinetic. Shes never sounded as velvety as she does on Murphys Law, her version of the classic disco trope of dancing through heartache, while the emotional complexity she brings to Incapable and Jealousy works with their driving beats, not against them. From start to finish, Roisin Machine is cohesive and spellbinding. Murphy truly is a machine in her consistent creativity, and this is a particularly well-oiled example of her brilliance. ~ Heather Phares