Blawan - SickElixir Review

Blawan channels burnout, sobriety, and self-interrogation into SickElixir, a brutal yet deeply human album that turns personal collapse into raw creative power.

Fusing the words “sick” and “elixir” for the title of his debut album could be Blawan’s way of acknowledging the contradiction at the heart of this work. A contradiction that possibly lies at the heart of the creative process in general, and embodied by the fact that when Jamie Roberts was feeling at his lowest - physically burnt out and depressed psychologically - his creative juices would flow stronger than ever, allowing him to produce his best music. Sickness giving rise to elixir, that spark of inspiration, arriving from nowhere and fueling the mysterious process of creativity. 

With dozens of EPs over the last 15 years, Blawan has more than assured himself a spot at the vanguard of UK techno. Crucially though, he's honed that essence which is hardest to define and yet most envied by all producers - a sound. Roberts’ first instrument was the drums and he’s played in a metal band as well as being Blawan. Two factors that heavily influence his noisy, percussive and instantly recognisable take on techno, characterised by distorted melody, industrial-strength bass and his idiosyncratic approach to kick-drum rhythm. 

This sound was debuted in full in 2018 on Wet Will Always Dry, his first LP as Blawan. Which is confusing, as SickElixir has been described as his debut album, but as Roberts himself clarified, he sees techno as too linear a genre to express what he describes as the “emotional representation of the person”. So it’s clear he wants us to take SickElixir as his first and most authentic statement of himself as an artist.

Releasing a debut album 15 years into your career may seem a little late, but this record is borne of some personal trauma, and a new perspective gained by getting sober and taking himself off the relentless treadmill of touring, partying, gigging and repeating, that cannibalises so many musicians. Given that context of rebirth and release, you might expect SickElixir to be full of sunny melodies and easygoing vibes. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

SickElixir is a dank, dark, claustrophobic and at times downright unsettling listening experience. But for all that, it’s also a startling bold and original piece of work. One that sees Blawan evolve and elevate his sound to a place where he’s pretty much alone, influence-wise. There isn’t much out there that sounds like this record. As a whole, the album feels like a conversation between Roberts and himself. But rather than a long night staring into the mirror, he’s locked in dialogue with the gestalt entity personified by his formidable arsenal of modular gear. 

The opening three tracks, The GL Lights, NOS and Weirdos United set the scene, introducing the tone and atmosphere of what’s to come: noisy; distorted; the throb of industrial percussion, not so much rhythmical as visceral; a heavily masked voice intones gutturally in a way that’s hard to discern if the exclamations are incantations or yelps of encouragement. 

Blawan increases the energy level with each cut so by the time Rabbit Hole drops at track 4, the pitch has reached that queasy sense of foreboding that comes with ingesting a large dose of chemicals that are yet to kick in. Vocals supplied by Monstera Black, the only voice other than Roberts’ on the record, repeat the phrase “I’m in a rabbit hole, just keep dancing” like a mantra, with a plummeting sense of helplessness that clearly implies not raving, but drowning.

The rest of SickElixir is a breathless journey out of that rabbit hole. Few tracks top 3 minutes, and only one nudges 4, with Roberts blazing through ideas like he’s got creativity to burn. Rhythms syncopate and basslines wobble in a way that’s frequently suggestive of the post-dubstep and UK bass scenes that Blawan has been associated with, but the approach is deeply experimental. As if Roberts is crafting his own musical language to give voice to the trauma and grief that forged these tunes.

But make no mistake, there’s no shortage of sick beats. ‘Casch’ has a whipcracking snare and fizzing synth that talk directly to the gut and spine and is impossible not to move to. The appositely titled ‘WTF’ sounds like Autechre and Godflesh teamed up to form a UK Bass outfit, and ‘Style Teef’ regurgitates footwork and electro through a modular mangle of burbling bass and jackin’ 909s.

Upon ascending from the rabbit hole, one might expect some relief but the record climaxes with the title track ‘SickElixir,’ which rather than strike a redemptive note, blazes out on a note of searing horror-movie tension. The piercing synthetic squeals wouldn’t sound out of place on a Venetian Snares album, and leave you not wanting more as such, but wondering WTF just happened.

Going solely on Blawan’s sound palette, it’d be easy to see his music as an expression of macho aggression. But having read him talk openly and at length about the personal toll taken by the lifestyle which is necessitated by his career, it’s abundantly clear what an articulate and sincere human he is. SickElixir is the work of a brave artist. Brave and daring in its aesthetic, and courageous for allowing vulnerability and honesty to fuel the creative process.