The opening salvos immediately establish Corneau's particular genius for rhythmic displacement. His Central Falls upbringing—that crucible of Latin percussion, hip-hop mathematics, and post-industrial grit—manifests not as mere cultural tourism but as lived experience translated into digital alchemy. The beats don't merely reference breakbeat orthodoxy; they interrogate it, pulling apart the familiar and reassembling the fragments into configurations that feel both ancient and futuristic.
"Snooze Mosher" embodies this approach perfectly, its title's domestic mundanity belied by a composition that careens between panic and lethargy with the unpredictable logic of a fever dream. Corneau demonstrates remarkable restraint here, allowing the track's internal contradictions to generate their own momentum rather than forcing resolution through conventional dynamic builds.
The album's middle passage reveals perhaps its most intriguing quality: an ability to sustain atmospheric density without sacrificing structural clarity. "Moulin à Paroles Discothèque" suggests its own translation—a mill of words masquerading as dancefloor hedonism—yet resists easy categorisation. The piece throbs with the claustrophobic energy of overheard conversations in unfamiliar languages, each rhythmic phrase contributing to a polyglot babble that somehow coheres into meaning.
Corneau's "scratchpad" methodology proves inspired, allowing disparate creative impulses from different periods to coexist without the forced coherence that plagues many electronic albums. These aren't sketches expanded into songs so much as fully-realised miniatures, each carrying its own gravitational field.
"Not After Midnight" provides the album's most unsettling moment, its dissolution technique recalling early Aphex Twin's capacity for beauty and menace to occupy the same sonic space. The producer's reference to melting gremlins reveals both his pop cultural fluency and his instinct for finding the uncanny within the familiar. The track's concluding minutes suggest a digital organism in the process of either evolution or decay—a distinction that becomes increasingly meaningless as the piece unfolds.
The production throughout maintains a purposeful roughness that prevents the material from disappearing into the sterile perfection that characterises much contemporary electronic music. Tijan J Wise's mastering preserves the essential grittiness while ensuring each element retains its distinct character within the mix. This attention to texture elevates what could have been mere beat science into something approaching sculpture.
Corneau's decision to avoid explicit political statement while acknowledging the "harsher climate" of current times demonstrates admirable sophistication. The music carries weight without resorting to sloganeering, allowing the emotional undertow to manifest through purely musical means. This approach trusts the listener's intelligence while maintaining the work's essential mystery.
Phizzle Phinkle Pop confirms Blacklight Beat Patrol as a project worthy of serious attention. Corneau has created something genuinely distinctive: electronic music that acknowledges its lineage while pushing into unexplored territory, maintaining accessibility without compromising its essential strangeness. The album rewards both casual listening and deep investigation, revealing new details with each encounter.
Corneau has delivered a work that expands electronic music's emotional and textural vocabulary while remaining grounded in the fundamental pleasure of rhythm and sound. Phizzle Phinkle Pop stands as both a personal statement and a broader argument for electronic music's continued capacity for surprise. Highly recommended for anyone seeking proof that the form retains its capacity for genuine discovery.