Funk Soul Brother. Naytronix, Dirty Glow.

So there are two things you'll doubtless soon learn of Nate Brenner as this album gradually attracts the attention it appears to merit on first; second; thirteenth listen. These two things are, in effect, one and the same, and this one thing concerns Merrill Garbus. It's a thing that you'll likely be told of even before being instructed in the moniker under which Brenner is currently operating. It's Naytronix, by the bye. But yeah, anyway, Brenner is both tUnE-yArDs' bassist and Garbus' boyf. Just in case you were wondering. Enough of that though, for this d├ębut full-length really ought establish Brenner as both more multi-faceted than mere bassist, and as a thoroughly provocative artist in his own damn right.

That's the first paragraph of every review of Dirty Glow you're likely to read outta the way, then. And the first thing that now needs to be swiftly dispelled is the notion of readymade referencing. What's the use? Admittedly, w h o k i l l did next to nothing for us, but with Naytronix Brenner kicks about altogether different tUnEs and yArDs. Much of this is considerably more comparable to Danish dream-pop weavers When Saints Go Machine (Brenner's gawky vocals stand out as an interpretation of Nikolaj Manuel Vonsild's Arthur Russell imitation) yet to palm off even the most complimentary of parallels on Dirty Glow is to do it something of a disservice. Nightmare does indeed sound like a restless night in the whatever-addled mind of Nic Offer, whether or not that was ever Brenner's initial intention; one haunted by both Louisiana vanguardists The Residents and Mattie Safer's ravaged cowbells. Oh, and Robotic is as though David Cross doing one of those zany reworks of Daft Punk's Robot Rock and Salt-n-Pepa's Push It simultaneously. But that's me right outta direct correlations.

'Cause this one's about as unique, and idiosyncratic as they come. And although such terms can sometimes conjure impressions of the impenetrable avant-garde, or of elite esotericism there's a streamlined pop core coursing right down the middle here. In The Summer is deranged polyphony sprinkled with twinkling cymbals and drizzled with wailing synth grooves, as Brenner juxtaposes time signatures that conflict and jar like a swatch of the uncountable shades of fairground puke. Evil Dancer isn't exactly bubblegum stuff, but it's pretty saccharine 'n' soulful – a heavily vocoded toe-tapper. (Blurts of impromptu jazz excluded. Oh, and that louche final minute of five that's almost excessively redolent of Air's Moon Safari. Apologies – couldn't help that one.) Lead The Way strikes a more bouncy, syncopated tone – unhinged, primordial pop schtick to twat they that spend lost afternoons painting faces and playing with MicroKorg presets where it hurts most.

Good Thing is about the finest white boi Motown since Phil Spector went somewhere else, whilst Elevator To Tomorrow resuscitates the theme park feel, as Ethio-jazz meets something all the more ecclesiastical vocally. But it's Baby Don't Walk Away, a bloopy-bloop smooth that sets Brenner apart as an exemplary funk soul brother and, ultimately, as more than just that bloke from tUnE-yArDs.

Jamie Holloway.