There are a few reasons for this. In the late '90s, when big electronic acts wanted (ill-advisedly) to crossover, they made albums that complied with rock music's definition of the format. There is a similar cultural cringe going on here. The nine tracks divide into three vocal tracks, three mid-paced or ambient mood pieces and three bangers. As if Drift has been self-consciously designed for home listening. At a time when, elsewhere, techno is being used as a limitless creative platform—one vibrant with avant-garde ideas, noise, raw soul—it feels formulaic.
It is compounded by both the production (oddly glossy, everything flattened out), and also by some rather meek creative decisions. With the exception of closing track "It's a Shame," the vocal tracks are pretty wan and one-dimensional. They are not great songs. Likewise, after everyone from Gloworm to Moodymann has explored the use of gospel vocals in dance music over the last 30 years, you need to do something fresher than the hackneyed "Pblc." Ultimately, Drift sounds too much like a self-conscious attempt to render techno in an album format, falling short on its attempt to create something with an appeal beyond the genre's fanbase.