Engineering post-industrial dub since the mid-'80s, when he founded production conduit Meat Beat Manifesto with former partner Jonny Stephens, British ex-pat Jack Dangers is a self-proclaimed, self-medicated sufferer of OCD. And it has shown, as over the past two decades Dangers has gone from cut-and-paste beat poet to quick-cut audio-visual anarchitect. He's amalgamated a free-jazz sensibility with a hip-hop aesthetic, peppering in political overtones and unintentionally helping germinate the prototypes for genres Big Beat and breakbeat hardcore along the way (an influence traceable all the way to contemporary dubstep).
On 1990's 99%, Dangers declared, “Tune in, turn on, this is a game . . ,” and the unofficial captain of the away team has been disseminating martial razzmatazz ever since, now able to claim 11 albums emblazoned with his banner. Whether listening to Meat Beat Manifesto's dense, blunted renderings, or experiencing the superimposed, repositioned visuals slathered across the live show, it becomes clear from the off-center, disparate juxtapositions that rearranging context is Dangers' hallmark. From the spectral signatures of this latest album, however, it seems improbable that Dangers will be able to escape the context that he has established for MBM.
Autoimmune's 14 tracks play out as a sort of unofficial stylistic greatest hits, with all of Dangers' tropes on display. Visceral, almost queasy bass distends, decaying oscillations ricochet from syncopated percussion, and gargled vocal samples percolate in a deceivingly entrenched, still, trenchant midrange strafed by flanged tones. On some tracks (“Young Cassius,” “I Hold the Mic!”), MCs join the bomb squad, bobbing and boastful while wrapped in muggy arrangements. Dangers manages to serrate and salve within the same track, working his spooked parlance with the assurance of a veteran orator. The accent(s) may be familiar, but Dangers still has much to say.