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**Garden Of Delete**
*Oneohtrix Point Never*
★★★★☆

Daniel Lopatin has always been something of a sonic alchemist, but never has his laboratory bubbled with quite such volatile ingredients as on Garden Of Delete. The Brooklyn-based producer's seventh studio album finds him abandoning the crystalline ambient territories of previous efforts like Replica and R Plus Seven for something altogether more visceral and unhinged. This is Oneohtrix Point Never as you've never heard him before – part cyberpunk fever dream, part adolescent nightmare, wholly compelling.

The album's genesis lies in Lopatin's fascination with the intersection of technology and teenage angst. Having spent years crafting pristine electronic soundscapes, he became increasingly drawn to the chaotic energy of nu-metal, gabber, and the kind of digital detritus that clutters forgotten hard drives. The concept crystallised around the fictional character of Ezra, a troubled teenager whose musical experiments form the album's narrative backbone. It's a bold conceptual gambit that could have easily descended into pastiche, but Lopatin's commitment to the bit is total.

Musically, Garden Of Delete exists in a perpetual state of beautiful collapse. Opening track "Intro" immediately signals intent with its jarring collision of orchestral swells and digital static, like Brahms being fed through a corrupted MP3 codec. This is music that revels in its own instability, where melodies emerge from chaos only to be swallowed whole by walls of distortion.

The album's centrepiece, "Sticky Drama," is perhaps the most audacious thing Lopatin has ever committed to tape. Built around a lurching, almost comically heavy riff that wouldn't sound out of place on a Korn album, it's simultaneously a loving tribute to and savage deconstruction of late-90s aggro-rock. The fact that it somehow coheres into something genuinely moving speaks to Lopatin's singular vision. Similarly, "Animals" takes the template of a power ballad and subjects it to digital torture, creating something that's both deeply nostalgic and utterly alien.

"Freaky Eyes" represents another high watermark, its queasy synth arpeggios and pitched-down vocals creating an atmosphere of genuine unease. Here, Lopatin taps into the same vein of technological anxiety that runs through the work of Burial or Actress, but filters it through his own peculiar lens. The result is music that feels simultaneously ancient and futuristic, like transmissions from a parallel universe where Y2K actually happened.

The album's sonic palette draws heavily from the detritus of early internet culture – the compressed audio of peer-to-peer downloads, the artificial sheen of early digital effects, the desperate energy of bedroom producers pushing consumer software to breaking point. Yet Lopatin never lets nostalgia overwhelm invention. These aren't simple recreations but rather reimaginings, taking the raw materials of a particular cultural moment and rebuilding them into something entirely new.

Vocally, the album sees Lopatin pushing into uncharted territory. His voice, heavily processed and often barely recognisable, becomes another instrument in his arsenal. On tracks like "I Bite Through It," his vocals are stretched and manipulated until they resemble the cries of some digital banshee, while elsewhere they're pitched down to inhuman registers that add to the album's overall sense of unease.

The production throughout is deliberately lo-fi, embracing the kind of digital artefacts that most producers spend their careers trying to eliminate. It's a brave choice that pays dividends, lending the album a tactile quality that's often missing from overly polished electronic music. You can almost feel the circuits overheating.

Garden Of Delete stands as one of the most successful examples of an established artist completely reinventing their sound. In the decade since its release, its influence has been felt across the electronic music spectrum, from the industrial techno underground to the mainstream pop charts. Artists like Death Grips, Machine Girl, and even more commercially successful acts have drawn inspiration from its marriage of digital chaos and emotional honesty.

The album's legacy lies not just in its sonic innovations but in its demonstration that electronic music could be genuinely dangerous again. In an era where much ambient and experimental music had become background wallpaper, Garden Of Delete demanded attention, grabbed listeners by the throat and refused to let go. It remains Lopatin's most polarising work, but also arguably his most vital – a reminder that the future doesn't have to be sterile.