A work of strange and subtle ambition, James Holden's The Inheritors is a cosmically-minded, world beat-inflected, Space Age fever. Like an artifact from an alien civilization that has fallen through our atmosphere into the ears of unsuspecting listeners, the British electronica producer's ambient album merges the extraterrestrial with the earthly. Each tick, squeal, laser zap, organ tone, and recorded chant is crafted into a wider, sonically absorbing vision.
The frenetic drum-machine breakdown of "Renata" stands as an early album apex, bringing bursts of raging chaos that allow the ominous swell the record maintains to reach frightening, but sublime, heights. Yet even during steadier, duller, repetitive moments, as in "Inter-City," where clicking percussion marches alongside scattered horns, there is a sense of Holden as a postmodern composer with a measured approach to pacing and dynamics. The slow build of "Seven Stars" may require patience, but such patience is greatly rewarded by Holden's mindful sound-tinkering.
Although The Inheritors is ostensibly an album that warrants private listens only (unless your choice of club also happens to be an art gallery), the work's lack of public appeal is not of detriment to its inherent value. Intimate, carefully constructed, and containing fully immersive sci-fi soundscapes, The Inheritors is a rich addition to humanity's musical inheritance.
Grade: B+
