That Dutch left-of-centre garage producer Martyn (Martijn Deijkers) chose to release his second LP on Flying Lotus’ Brainfeeder label (an outfit best known to date for grabbing the wheel of Los Angeles’ off-kilter beat bus) rather than his own 3024 imprint (on which lauded 2009 debut Great Lengths was released) isn’t altogether surprising. The pair forged a mutual appreciation amidst the rampant cross-pollination of future bass strains around UK nexus Hyperdub; a minute later Martyn had set up shop out West and was spinning dubplates at FlyLo’s Brainfeeder sessions. The LA don (with whom Deijkers has already exchanged a pair of gratifying remixes) has also been on a dancefloor diversification bent as of late, twisting up his live sets with fractured fours and brazenly scooping up Mr. Oizo’s Moustache (Half a Scissor) for a stateside re-release on vinyl.

That Martyn would also look to escape the trappings of a genre gone stale shouldn’t come as a shock either (seeing as contemporaries like Scuba and 2562 were already well out the door), although what is particularly stirring about Ghost People is how it manages to remain wholly impregnable to his past and present surroundings, with nary a wonk or wobble to be found. Instead, Deijkers charts a path full bore through thick fog of low-end, funky, jacking house, along the way giving nods to transcontinental techno, early Metalheadz, and arpeggiated synth nostalgia.

In execution, the club-thumpers around which Ghost People is framed deliver: the potshot-at-poseurs first single ‘Masks,’ the James Brown stabs of ‘Popgun,’ and the title cut in particular will give DJs and floor stalkers alike plenty to chew on. Although devoid of any foul aftertaste, a fair grievance can be made that this higher-octane content doesn’t leave enough on the palate to savour – after a week’s worth of listens, I caught, of all things, a Great Lengths melody rummaging through what thoughts of mine were awake at the breakfast table.

Thankfully Martyn remains adept at building up momentum (the Spaceape soliloquy ‘Love and Machines’ and the dropless ‘Viper’ teeing up ‘Masks’ perfectly) and switching up temperaments when necessary (see the moody ‘Tule Lake’ interlude, the lost soundtrack vibes of ‘Bauplan’), even flipping the script midstream on the straight-jacketed techno closer ‘We Are You In The Future.’ All metaphysics aside, Ghost People won’t be Martyn’s most memorable album, but it nonetheless portends of further (and more frequent) bouts of brilliance.