by Dean Carlson
Ever consider that there might a few too many bands inspired by Tortoise? Isotope 217 is here to make sure you do, with every electronic shimmy up their post-rock, jazz-funk pole. At least it's easy to applaud the effort. In the same year America celebrated the likes of a Debbie Gibson silicon-enhanced replica or literally any number of jock rockers, there's something to be said for trying to update the self-important club of jazz in a restorative context. It just too often sounds like the band members are playing in different studios. The awful &Moot Ang& tries to locate that thin line between impromptu Arkestra-like passion and childish interpretations of a PBS jazz special. Somewhere else the brief &Kidtronix& manages to show an immense wealth of ridiculousness even as it implodes in on its own instruments in less than two minutes. If the band stopped trying to be sophisticated and just became sophisticated, they would cope better. As in &Meta Bass& or &Space Kirkits,& for instance, the mixture of ambient dub pneumatics and obscure melody is enchanting. The album especially shines when it takes a turn into some new French house cul-de-sac of Carter Burwell's Being John Malkovich score. For the most part, though, this third album sags on its dependence on the &jazz = intelligent& ideal. Too much, too late? Either way, Who Stole the I Walkman? is an album that often changes about 43 times in the span of a minute, but you'd usually be too lost in a numb daze to notice.