Robbie Martin is the deus ex machina behind Fluorescent Grey and this is his second outing under this moniker, following the impossibly titled debut (let’s call it “Tijuana Motel Room”). One thing is for sure, this music is chock full of any kind of data: sounds, files, waves, rhythms, voices, noises, whatever. It might be exciting for someone, horrible for others – especially if those “others” don’t appreciate the complexity of hyperactive techno. But, contrarily to the previous release, which was literally too overwhelming for yours truly and not really “musical” (to me, it actually sounded like a crazed catalogue of studio tricks), this time Martin has allowed the creature to breathe a little more (well, sort of – the velocity is still dazzling), thus giving us the chance of appreciating the compositional techniques inside the whirlwind. And, quite often, that work is indeed good: there’s a track (short, alas) where all kinds of Celtic samples were used to engender a curious hybrid of tradition and cyber-disco, truly great stuff. Elsewhere, this writer cherished the pleasure of being completely surrounded by swarms of buzzes, clicks and purrs – not to mention altered utterances – while looking, like every morning, at the absurdly ugly faces of commuters talking about their usual shit (that means soccer or TV shows – the highest average culture level around here). Should Martin be willing to cut a few overloaded repetitions in some of his pieces, reducing the whole to a 35-to-45-minute program with the very best ideas, the next CD wouldn’t certainly suffer. This one functions better than expected, though.