Martin L. Gore - The Third Chimpanzee Remixed (2x12") - Transparent Orange/Blue Vinyl

Martin L. Gore’s The Third Chimpanzee Remixed lands with the playful seriousness only he can pull off. It arrived in August 2021 on Mute as a companion to his early 2021 EP, and it does what a good remix set should do. It takes a tight concept, shakes it loose on the dancefloor, then leads it into stranger corners without losing the thread. The original EP drew on Jared Diamond’s book The Rise and Fall of the Third Chimpanzee, with tracks named after primates and a sound design that blurred organic impulse and circuitry. Gore recorded those pieces at his Electric Ladyboy studio in Santa Barbara, building gnarly synth textures that felt feral and methodical at once. This remix album stretches that DNA in different directions, sometimes club-ready, sometimes dreamy, often both in the same cut.

It helps that the source material has such a clear personality. “Howler,” “Mandrill,” “Capuchin,” “Vervet,” and “Howler’s End” were never simple sketches. They had muscle, grit, and the kind of melodic smudge that has defined Gore’s work since the early Depeche Mode days. You can hear decades of soundcraft in those tones, the way he bends distortion until it sings instead of screams. On The Third Chimpanzee Remixed, the producers lean into that tension. Kicks hit harder, sure, but they also leave more space for those eerie leads to loom. It is still Martin’s world, just viewed through different lenses.

One thing that makes this set work is the range. There are versions that sound like 3am at Tresor, all piston pressure and sub weight, and others that feel like a foggy walk home with the city still humming in your ears. The best remixes here don’t tidy up the original pieces. They accent what is already there, that animal pulse Gore talked about in interviews when he explained why the track titles stuck. You can sense claws in the percussion, a curious tilt in the synth phrases, a flicker of menace that never becomes cartoonish.

The sequencing is clever as well. It does not front-load the obvious club cuts, then fade. Instead, it circles back on itself, placing brutalist takes next to tracks that drift and shimmer. That keeps the record interesting as an album, not just a dump of 12-inch weapons. It is the kind of thing you can put on while flipping through a Melbourne record store’s new arrivals bin, then realise you have stayed for the whole side. On vinyl, the low-end feels particularly present, and those metallic highs carve the air just so. If you are the sort who searches for The Third Chimpanzee Remixed vinyl or hunts down Martin L. Gore vinyl in the wild, this one earns its shelf space.

Context helps. Gore has always embraced remixes, both inside Depeche Mode and in his solo orbit, and Mute has a long history of curating smart pairings between artists and reworkers. The Chimpanzee project adds another twist. The artwork across the releases features paintings created by Pockets Warhol, a capuchin from a Canadian primate sanctuary, which is a detail that feels on-brand for a record obsessed with the line between human and animal expression. It is also a reminder of the project’s playful heart. This stuff is serious craft, but it never forgets to be a little cheeky.

If you came to this via the original EP, the remixed set feels like a conversation with it. If you arrive here first, it works as a stand-alone plunge into Gore’s current headspace. Either way, the record rewards good speakers and a bit of volume. The crescendos don’t rely on tired drops. They creep, coil, and finally snap. There is a lot of techno here, but also a lot of mood. It suits late-night drives, careful headphone sessions, and, yes, a living room spin while you sort through mail-order arrivals. For anyone looking to buy Martin L. Gore records online, or to round out a run of Martin L. Gore albums on vinyl, this one sits neatly next to his MG material and the heavier corners of Depeche Mode 12-inches.

In Australia, it has been easy to recommend to customers who ask for something dark but not dour. You can point them toward it alongside other Mute-adjacent gear and watch their eyes light up when the bass lands. Among vinyl records Australia has embraced lately, it feels like a quiet staple, the sort of record that sneaks into DJ bags and stays there. No grand reinventions, just sharp ears, respectful tweaks, and a shared language between a master sound sculptor and a set of kindred spirits. It is a reminder that remix albums can feel like proper albums when the ingredients are this strong and the hands are this steady.