His songs are the archetypal male-alone-in-a-room-with-lots-of-electronic-boxes music, and his website has lots of videos of him performing such rituals. His music is life, animated.
Take Fractal: a quiet cacophany of clicks, found sounds and clips of everyday noises – spinning a coin, picking up some keys – all suddenly take on a huge importance when exposed to the punishing glare of a song that is as sparse as it is brightly lit.
What is most impressive – a word which is not always a compliment, but is so here – is that the song follows then usual structure of build-hold-release-big finish, even though this is quite purposely not house music in any way.
It’s a sort of exercise in Ctrl+F Find-and-Replace for sound: Twangs replace synth sweeps, tinkles replace keyboard stabs, and the sound of your dad dropping the contents of his toolbox replaces the rest.
Memotone’s songs are the streams of consciousness from a gaggle of his machines daisy-chained and set free. The man himself merely corrals the sounds into a shape.