Rojus (Designed to Dance)

Leon Vynehalls second album is unusually well-balanced. His drums, which sound like theyre sampled from old funk and disco LPs, are tough and muscular, but he surrounds them with soft keyboards, wispy strings, and even harp. The result is a take on deep house as dynamic and richly variegated as a slowly rolling rock tumbler full of agates. Saxony sets jazz flute riffs to sprightly bass and a skipping groove; Beau Sovereign layers whispered come-ons over dramatic chords; and Paradisea is an eyes-closed ode to floating weightlessly above the dance floor.

Two years ago I played at Studio 9 in Vilnius, Lithuania. The following day I missed my flight home and ended up spending an extra day, which gave me a chance to explore the city with my friend Linus, who took me to the Contemporary Art Centre. It was there I spotted a book named 'Rojus', that Linus told me translated as 'Paradise'. The word and striking cover of the book stuck in my mind.  A few days after returning home, I turned on to a National Geographic documentary named 'Designed To Dance', explaining the courtship rituals of Birds Of Paradise. As I watched, i jokingly began drawing similarities between these birds' attempts to captivate and impress the opposite sex with dance, and the way strangers try to attract one another in clubs and interact on the dance floor.  This gave me the idea of creating a record of functional club music, sequenced as if it were a club night, from doors to closing, using samples of these Birds Of Paradise and their habitat. Thus, Rojus.

The British house producer Leon Vynehall's new album continues in the vein of 2014's mini-LP Music for the Uninvited, but it boasts a bigger sound in almost every way, with more layers, bolder basslines, and harder-edged drums.