It's a side to German techno that rarely gets discussed—the naturalism inherent in the urbanity. It's what keeps Ellen Allien's stark arrangements from being brutal, what keeps Ulrich Schnauss' sentimental shimmer from being schmaltzy and what keeps Paul Kalkbrenner's nightscapes from being snarky. You can hear the pulsing of abstract crickets and burbling of metaphoric water beneath the grid of synths. Nobody understands that rich paradox better than Dominik Eulberg—that urbane beatsmith who hails from rural Westervald and mixes actual animal sounds with kick drums that could make doves cry. It's often noted that Eulberg moonlights as a park ranger and on Perlmutt, the triumphant horns and percussion stacked to the sky is really an ode to the natural in the synthetic and a dirge to the synthetic in nature.
A-side "Daten-Uebertragungs-Kuesschen" lets a far-off vox moan collect snaps and boings until it bursts in a spray of cheerful submarine pings reminiscent of Richard D. James' "To Cure a Weakling Child." Under the whole affair rumbles a firm eight-cylinder bassline, running, presumably, on biodiesel. On the flip, "Schnertuppen-Regen," Eulberg winds up a hollow one-two beat and sends it marching into a field of Luomo organs and detuned horn stabs. Along the way, snatches of Eastern string and tabla dodge in and out, setting up a few frustrating false builds. It never takes off but it never offends either.
These are long tracks—each topping nine minutes—and neither are what anyone might refer to as floor-friendly. They're interesting, filled with hints and paths not taken, and while neither achieves (or strives for) the straight techno intensity of Eulberg's Flora & Fauna, they're more mature, more relistenable and frankly prettier. Perfect for a headphone walk in the park.