So we're definitely talking about an album here rather than a simple collection of dancefloor-based material. The variance in frequency and tempo complements itself very nicely even if the beats do, for the most part, veer towards the dark side. Tracks like the aforementioned 'Frau Daudle' and 'Bobadob' have a light, playful but simultaneously unsettling feel that play with the senses and seem to also act to rein in the various more uptempo offerings. There's a lot here that reminds me of Pan-Pot's Panorama, but where Pan-Pot made a track about a particular narcotic, Henning chooses to name one after a whole realm under the influence, 'Chav Land'.
There's a menacing undercurrent present throughout Jupiter Jive that comes to the fore on the more uptempo pieces. Music like this always works best when there's an undeniable hint of a threat. Henning does it as well as anyone, due to excellent sampling choices. Disembodied voices feature prominently on Jupiter Jive, only to counterbalanced by ubiquitous low-end frequencies.
The standout tracks for me, though, are what I would term 'meat and potatoes tech house.' The type of tracks made by those, whether they're holed up in a Berlin garrett or a Croydon high-rise, with the right attitude and imagination. 'Stash' is such a work. Its throbbing bass and depth-charged wobble-board-like funk—and what sounds like a 'Fabrique Belique' sample or the bassline from Elvis Costello's 'Pump It Up'—plunge it into a vortex of doom and uncertainty. 'All Star Geek' (autobiographical perchance?) and 'Moody Bastard' are both excursions into angular funk and abrasive edges; they're both cordon bleu dance floor fodder. 'Freaky Deaky', meanwhile, has its home in Detroit—rather like the author of the novel it was named after (Elmore Leonard).
No matter what the timbre of the music here, there's a surreal edge that runs through Jupiter Jive and unites its disparate elements in the name of wonkiness. It's a serious piece of work built on the foundations of a peculiar type of satire and psychogeography. A sort of parallel dimension to every slightly disturbing thought you may have experienced in a previously familiar landscape. One minor complaint though. The artwork.