Cinematic. There, I said it. Without fail, every single interview, article or review of Ninja Tune’s most famed Brazilian export applies the very same adjective to describe his sound. A cliché? A crutch for lazy journalists? Perhaps. If only it just weren’t so damned apt! Amon Tobin continues to construct vivid worlds which teeter on the visual. Which begs the question – why haven’t the talents of this man been put to use in cinema before?

A little research reveals that Tobin has indeed produced the soundtrack of at least one motion picture, albeit it an obscure Hungarian surrealist film about the delights of taxidermy. Beyond that peculiar project his sonic contribution to the Splinter Cell video game remains the sole commercially available instance of his work for motion footage. Alas, the requirements of that project were distinct to the accompaniment of a linear narrative, as each track was conceived as an interchangeable theme to be triggered by certain interactions within the gameplay.

After immersing himself in these collaborative ventures, Tobin has expressed a desire to return to recording an album just for himself. Foley Room is his first studio album since those commissions, unfettered by the constraints of an external client. Consequently, one anticipates a new album would provide a more refined concentration of this artist’s inimitable style.

Foley Room sees Tobin employing a new range of approaches so as to expand upon his sonic palette. The title of the album refers to the studio in which sound effect artists of the film industry would create sounds through artifice – the sound of the light saber, the force field, the zoom of warp speed and such. Likewise, Tobin has expanded his sampling repertoire to include a hyper-sensitive microphone to record an intriguing array of field recordings. “When you listen to my forthcoming record you can sit back and appreciate that the drum parts have been made from the sound of insects masturbating and lions roaring”. Which is all anyone can ask for in an album, really.

Despite his expansive approach, Tobin has been quick to dismiss his latest as not being a conceptual album, stressing that he is only interested in the aesthetic possibilities of such techniques. Clearly Tobin is weary of his music being dubbed as Musique Concreté, and of all the baggage that such lofty tags imply. For him these methods are simply a natural progression from sampling records to sampling sounds, objects, and finally, instruments themselves. Tellingly, he has enlisted the talents of the Kronos Quartet to augment his sound with their haunting string arrangements.

Thankfully the resulting album is not mired by it’s experimental processes, which could easily have seen Tobin’s brilliance nullified by it’s inherent complexity. Foley Room traverses a diversity of vibes which are as varied as the multiple sources from which they are drawn. Tobin masterfully manipulates his raw materials to sculpt hybrid forms which defy simple categorisation. Indeed it is this ambiguity that permeates Tobin’s best work. In stark contrast to the neat segmentation of most electronic music, there is something strangely compelling about music created without a preconceived notion of the context in which it should be played.

Foley is a heady blend of mournful strings, droning organs and splintering fragments of razor sharp drum shards. A cunning mixture of sounds as instruments, and vice versa. This is unmistakably the work of Tobin, but his latest approaches have inspired new dimensions to his sound which make this album a logical progression of his earlier work, rather than a casual rehash.

Tobin has crafted an emotive album imbued with tension, dread and beauty. It is an awkward challenge to summarise the work of an artist whose virtuosity far exceeds one’s own facility for writing. Thankfully Amon Tobin articulates the nuances of his vision with an eloquence rarely heard in music today. Simply, Foley Room is as good as it had to be.