Then the vocal creeps in, an extended "I'm a sinner"-style preacher sample. Over on the mml ssgs blog a recent post was dedicated to the recent uptick in such "preach-a-pella" tracks, and how the use of preacher vocal samples jacked into deep house's two emotional poles: joyous, collective celebration on the one hand, restless soul-searching on the other. But the attraction of using a preacher sample isn't only that its passionate confessional intersects with reasons why people want to get together in a dark room and move around. A preacher's voice is also a magnificent, versatile instrument, and Guillaume puts it to serious work here: it speaks but it also hums and sings, rolls and wavers with stirring, dynamic vibration. In the instrumental spaces, the filtered oscillations of the vaguely acidy synthesizer that floats over the drums seem not that dissimilar from the idiosyncratic warbles of human speech.
The preacher winds up his rollercoaster sermon by calling out "I need someone to deliver me!" which is kind of a wonderfully paradoxical thing to hear in a club, where chances are you're doing at least one thing that your Sunday schoolteacher would disapprove of. But that's always been the alluring danger of music in general, one that dance music is pretty good at utilizing. You can never completely make music into a therapeutic cure-all, because it's a drug no one can control. So while you're hearing a self-proclaimed sinner urgently cry out for release, at the same time beneath it you're getting an aural dose of something which may do the trick, or it just may make things worse.
The flip, "Can't Argue with Silence," is a much-minimized counterpart to the big-boned, swivel-hipped A-sider. The drums themselves are chilled and passable, with sixteenth note shakers and a clipped clap. The beat's job here is to provide a restrained backdrop for the tracks' centerpiece, a fantastic, deeply ethereal string section with strong Indian-classical inflection that wafts in and out like a lost ghost. It's quietly counterbalanced by weird burbling ephemera that resemble cassette flutter, and which reinforce the orchestra's murky, hauntingly imperfect fidelity, a spectral emanation from some dark and distant plane.