In 1998, I branded a Skam Records compilation as the successor to 1988's "Techno! The New Dance Sound of Detroit", Virgins' seminal (yes, that's the correct word) collection of Detroits' seminal (yes, again) godfathers and innovators. Boards of Canada, Jega, Bola, and the rest of the Skam crew had made the most original, fascinating, and emotional leap forward in the recent evolution of the techno music form, as different from what came before it as the original Detroit compilation was from the house and electro music of its day.

It wasn't too long before I realized that I had been wrong. Bola's "Soup" was jaw-dropping in certain places (the beginning and the end), but tended to meander toward electronic funk with uninspired results. Jega decided to become the next Aphex Twin, releasing albums of scatterbrained ambition with the main intent of creating genres that hadn't been invented yet -- shave off half the material and you may have a great album. Boards of Canada released a good, but far from great debut (a fixation with the moodscape of Kraftwerk's "Radio-activity" cost them much in the inventiveness category). Now, Skam unleashes acts like Team Doyobi, where yet again, the overwhelming emphasis is on quirkiness, instead of the understated soul and warm soothing dronetones which led me to sing their praises four years ago.

"Geogaddi", the new album by Boards of Canada, is similarly problematic. True, there's an unmistakable beauty in everything they do, as comfortable as a warm hug on a soft rug. But it's often schizophrenic. Of the album's 23 tracks, about half of them are gorgeous, melancholy interludes. But interludes are all they are allowed to be, for they don't allow the heaviness to fully develop into extended tracks. The beats are heavier and funkier than on the debut, but lack the inherent playfulness that made it such an enjoyable listen. I'm certainly not one to complain about heavy music (of volume, mood, or density) but if that's what BoC were striving for, then they didn't fully commit. They'll get funky, and then lighten up a bit (as if to say, "don't get all depressed and upset now, we were just trying to spook you a bit"), and then go dark all over again with an interlude before turning back toward more forceful beats once again. Their overall message is fuzzy -- like the Mona Lisa, are they smiling or serious? Did they decide beforehand? Or are we supposed to do it for them?