- There's something about Lawrence's livesets—when he's really hitting his stride—that defies easy categorization. To borrow a phrase from Rupert Brook, going onto the dance floor at such moments makes me feel "as swimmers into cleanness leaping." Peter Kersten's records have a feeling of definition, precision and gentleness that make the rave feel left behind; they exhibit an aesthetic purity. That said, Kersten is no superman. His last album had moments that can be summed up simply as "Lawrence being Lawrence." "Take Me to the Fridge," for instance, is a confection better ingested and soon forgotten.
Lawrence's latest for Dial, Miles, is not like that. Like so many of the outstanding 12-inches of the last while, this is a record that has forgotten most everything but the melody. The beats here take back stage, getting the job done but not going on about it. B-side "Icicled Dance" is a study in control, but it leaves on the same static note it came in on. More dynamic is the shortened version of "Miles" that finishes out the flip, but there's little point in including it when the sublime longer version graces the top of the disc.
"Miles" is the outright stunner here. A few shreds of synth and a few polite but poised snares preface the kick. From there, the cold, warm, intimate and breathless melody unfurls, plunging further and further into itself with luxury, never pausing but never hurrying. "Miles" is that rare track that doesn't try for a second to telegraph what it's doing by wearing a badge on its sleeve, but rather just does it. I could swim in its pool to no end.
B1 Icicled Dance
B2 Miles (Version)