Crush

Crush doesn’t so much unfold as it glides — tense, twitchy, and gorgeously restrained.

After Floating Points’ lush, jazz-flecked debut Elaenia, Sam Shepherd returns here with something starker, sharper, and far more immediate. Inspired by his stripped-back 2017 live sets — performed with nothing but a Buchla synthesiser and a Korg drum machine — Crush was recorded in just five weeks. The result is a body of work that feels spontaneous yet meticulous, full of left turns and soft detonations.

Gone are the organic flourishes and live instrumentation of his earlier work. Instead, Crush is synthetic and skeletal — a record powered by voltage and impulse. From the fluttering stabs of “Falaise” to the shimmering, almost Baroque melancholy of “Sea-Watch”, Shepherd manages to wring emotion from circuitry with painterly precision. “Last Bloom” stutters and blooms like a broken transmission beamed from deep space, while “Environments” recalls Aphex Twin at his most reflective.

Despite its jagged edges and rhythmic detours, there’s a mischievous melodic thread that ties the record together. It’s playful, even beautiful — but never comfortable. You’re constantly kept on your toes, waiting for the next modulation or switch-up. That volatility is part of its charm: Crush is the sound of an artist pulling back the curtain and letting the machine speak.

Critics hailed it accordingly. Pitchfork named it Best New Music, describing it as “mischievous” and “stripped-down”, while The Independent, DJ Mag, and Mixmag all placed it among their albums of the year. For Shepherd, it marked not just a reinvention, but a reaffirmation — a reminder that even in minimalism, there’s infinite room to move.