Misery, cut ups and a bumping garage beat — why Todd Edwards’ Odyssey is among the best albums of the last decade
It is quite remarkable, given the circumstances, what an underrated album Odyssey is. Todd Edwards, its creator, has played a guest role on what is likely to be the biggest album of 2013 in Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories and Burial has claimed Odyssey as an inspiration. And yet Odyssey would struggle to be even considered a cult hit.
This may be to do with when it was released: in 2006 the UK garage sounds that Edwards had inspired had ground to a lonely halt, while Daft Punk’s third album, Human After All, had underperformed. There followed some fallow years for Todd “The God”, who took on other work outside of music before storming back in 2009, just as the tide was again turning in his favour.
Whatever the circumstances, it seems criminal that Odyssey should have been overlooked. It is not just a brilliant album; it is a totally unique one.
For a start, Odyssey is Edwards’ only proper full album, rather than a collection of previously released tracks. What’s more, Odyssey’s 16 tracks are brief pop moments, rather than extended club songs, with only one track breaking the four-minute barrier. Then there are the rhythms, which occasionally abandon Edwards’ trademark swinging club thump in favour of R&B-esque drum patterns, which stray from the four / four template.
Production-wise, too, Odyssey is unique: the music is still based on the cut up style that Edwards pioneered but rather than using raw samples, it sounds like Edwards was cutting up his own digital instrumentation, giving the album an elegant robotic edge. The album also features six mysterious guest vocalists, all of whom were apparently Edwards himself, using different vocal effects.
All this would be enough to make Odyssey pretty unique. But what makes the album really exceptional is the lyrics. As a rule, I’m not too bothered by the lyrics on dance music tracks, which tend to be functional rather than revelatory, filled with references to dancing, romancing and generally having a good time. And that’s usually enough.
Initially, it seems that this is the case with Odyssey, too: Like a Fire and Next To You, which kick the album off, correspond to the fairly standard model of boy meets girl / falls in love / finds inspiration / etc etc.
But such happiness doesn’t last: by track four, Silent Prayer, things have gone seriously wrong (“No happiness, can I recall / My family said, it’s all my fault / I medicate, to numb the pain / Go out all night, and start again”). This litany of misery continues through the next five tracks, reaching a peak of sorts in Agony, which finds the singer losing his faith (“Do you hear me when I pray? / Have you turned your face away?”) and even sounding on the verge of suicide (“If I knew it would be OK / I would end it all today”), lyrics that run closer to Joy Division than Masters at Work.
From this trough, things pick up again, with the rest of the album tracking a narrative arc from the narrator reaffirming his faith (My Faith) to finding happiness and ultimately reflecting on his own personal odyssey. It is no less than a garage concept album about love, loss, faith and hope, all played out to a bumping dance floor beat.
I realise this sounds fairly unlikely. And many a time I’ve wondered if I might be over-analysing Odyssey. Normally concept albums arrive well flagged, so there’s no room for ambiguity. Odyssey, however, was released into a void, with no interviews and few reviews (Spin’s review of the album is particularly miserly). What’s more, it was released before Twitter took off and we suddenly had access to every musician’s inner thinking. That makes it a bit of a mystery.
Listening back, though, I think I’m right for one particular reason: Odyssey, both the album title and track 15. An odyssey is, according to Websters, “a long wandering or voyage usually marked by many changes of fortune”. That fits perfectly with the narrative played out over the album. And the title track hammers this home, with the chorus: “You are my odyssey / you touch the very heart of me / And I, with all my honesty / Will share your love for all to see”.
In any case, the exceptionality of Odyssey doesn’t just lie in this narrative. It is also to be found in the uniquely miserable nature of some of the music. It’s not like dance music can’t be sad — many of my favourite dance tracks combines a melancholy feel with a euphoric edge — but this sadness it typically found in a snatch of melody or a fleeting sample. It is rarely to be found in the lyrical themes and vocal lines. And even in those dance tracks that do verge towards the melancholy, few of them approach the bleakness of Odyssey’s mid section.
It makes for a harrowing listen, the misery somehow compounded by the tracks’ frenetic club-friendly bounce. Dance music isn’t meant to be like this — it’s meant to be upbeat, happy, for dancing and even superficial. But Odysssey doesn’t conform.
All this would mean nothing if the music were boring. But Odyssey shows off Edwards’ song writing — as apparent on earlier Daft Punk collaboration Face to Face and Random Access Memories’ Fragments of Time — as much as his mournful lyrics. Far Away, for example, features a lovely pop melody offset by beautiful falling harp effect, while the vocal melodies are excellent throughout.
The production, too, is second to none. This has always been the way with Edwards but on Odyssey his cut up technique serves a unique purpose, creating distinctively alien melodies that throw the vocal lines into sharp relief. The result is baffling, painful and uniformly excellent. An Odyssey indeed.
