Chris Clark - Body Riddle (2LP)

There’s a moment on Body Riddle when the drums feel like they’ve been lifted from a rehearsal room, then sliced into tiny glassy shards and set back down in a completely different gravity. It’s a heady sensation that runs through the whole record. Released on Warp in October 2006, Body Riddle was the point where Chris Clark tightened his name to simply Clark and sharpened his sound into something both tactile and tender, a blend of bruised breakbeats, saturated synths and melodies that feel half remembered from childhood. You can hear the lineage to his earlier records, but this one breathes. It feels lived in, like a studio strewn with cables, toy instruments and mugs of cold tea.

The opener, Herr Barr, sets the table with clattering percussion that never stays still, rushing into a pastoral theme that keeps threatening to float away. Then Ted arrives with a hook that sticks for days, a bittersweet earworm that’s somehow both crunchy and light on its feet. Body Riddle is often pigeonholed as IDM, yet there’s a warmth that cuts across the usual genre lines. The textures have grit. Keys creak. The bass has a fuzzy smear to it that suggests tape saturation rather than gleaming software polish.

On Roulette Thrift Run, Clark lets the rhythm jitter and chatter like a sewing machine, then pulls focus to a melody that feels almost folky. Springtime Ephemeralism is true to its title, all flicker and bloom, a short piece that still manages to sketch a world. And then there’s Herzog, which moves with a stalking patience, the drums shouldering forward while synths swell like a storm seen from a distance. Dew on the Mouth might be the most quietly beautiful thing here, its harmonies peeking through the percussion like sunlight across blinds. Matthew Unburdened offers a gentle comedown, proof that he can step away from the churn and still hold the room.

What makes Body Riddle special is the way it fuses chopped, hyper-detailed programming with a sense of human touch. You can imagine Clark building these tracks late at night, nudging hi-hats a few milliseconds, leaving in the tiny scrapes that give a loop its feel. The record is sequenced with a dancer’s instincts. Peaks and valleys make sense, yet he dodges the obvious drop, preferring dense crescendos and sudden clearings. It’s a sound-world that rewards close listening on good speakers, but it still slaps on a small system or in headphones on the tram.

Warp’s catalogue is stacked, but Body Riddle has earned its quiet legend over time. Fans often talk about it as a turning point, the moment he found a language that was wholly his. If you came in through later work like Turning Dragon or Iradelphic, doubling back to this album is a joy. You hear the seeds of those records, but you also hear a unique mood that belongs to 2006, when laptops were powerful enough to mangle audio in wild ways, and producers were taking full advantage while still keeping an ear out for melody.

If you’re crate digging, Body Riddle vinyl is a strong play. The low end breathes, the higher percussion has space to tickle your ears, and the artwork looks ace in a sleeve. Chris Clark vinyl usually gets snapped up fast, so if you see a clean copy at a Melbourne record store, don’t hesitate. And if you prefer to buy Chris Clark records online, keep an eye on shops that specialise in Warp and other UK electronics. There’s steady demand for Chris Clark albums on vinyl, not just from collectors but from anyone who wants these tangled rhythms to really bloom at home. For listeners in vinyl records Australia circles, it’s become one of those records people recommend with a knowing nod.

Body Riddle isn’t flashy about its innovations. It just keeps revealing them with each listen, like a friend who drops a new story every time you catch up. Even now, Herr Barr and Ted light up a room, while the quieter cuts sneak under your skin. It’s a record that invites you to lean in, to hear the way a hi-hat rubs against a chord, to notice the air around a snare. That care is why it endures, and why this album still feels like an essential piece of the Warp puzzle, a rare blend of brain, heart and battered drum skins.