990x Ruins

990x has been blurring the line between rap and ambient for almost a decade, breaking up his subby,
saturated 808 kicks and itchy percussive trills with effervescent pads, levitational loops and the kind of
ghostly contrails you’d expect to hear on a Grouper record. He’s never sounded quite as liminal as he does on
‘Ruins’, though, an album produced in recovery as he contemplated the healing process, shifting between one
state and the next.
As part of the recently formed label clique The Citadel, along with Sauron and IJI, he hones in on decentralised,
defocussed sounds linked across continents by the internet’s rhizomatic networks, repping a certain slant on
the sound that originated with Lil B and diffused via soundcloud to become a key node in the contemporary
definition of what Brian Eno termed a “scenius”; a collective intelligence that transcends the sum of its parts.
Throughout ‘Ruins’, 990x deploys all the hallmarks of the aesthetic - glyding 808 bass and sibilant trills,
vaporous pads, and noctilucent melodies - with a melancholic grip all his own.
According to classic cloud rap convention, the 8-part, 40 minute suite evinces a liminal, weightless state of
mind with immersive structures that appear to float, buoyed by subs that plunge all the way down, whilst
his ambient soul wraps the head in high tog puff stuffed with hopes and dreams. Shimmering echoes of Lil
B and Clams Casino’s early works perfuse ‘Forest of Silence’ in his use of guzheng-like string motifs diffused
to the rafters on diaphanous subs, and Yungwebster’s screwed diagonals come to mind in the vertiginous
bliss-out ‘Fallen’. A tempered ecstasy thieves thru the saturated cinematic panorama ‘June Lovers’ and gives
way to the ruder ballast of ‘Crates’ while the fractal hi-hats on ‘Sonar’ ultimately get subsumed by saturated
waves of bass and screwed ambient dub on the album’s longest cut, the subtly optimistic 8 minute parting
shot ‘Wisdom’, deploying a horizontal dembow rhythm that can’t help but remind us of Kelman Duran’s epochal
‘1804 Kids’