Thomas Brinkmann succeeds his late-'90s "variation" albums with Klick, a conceptual project that showcases his growth as both a conceptualist and as a producer.

First of all, the underlying concept is fairly simple, derived heavily from the Mille Plateaux-helmed "clicks and cuts" movement of 2000: Brinkmann samples the noises emanated from dusty or damaged vinyl records and uses these subtle sounds as the building blocks for his tracks.

Throughout 2000, a number of producers explored this same concept, but no one has been this dogmatic in their approach to the quickly realized click aesthetic.

But there's more to the album than its concept; Brinkmann also shows his growth as a producer.

To compensate for the subtle nature of the sounds used to construct the tracks, he employs numerous layers of looped clicks, resulting in dense rhythms that extend from nearly inaudible high frequencies to subwoofer-pushing lows.

Furthermore, to justify the generous track lengths, he continually adds and subtracts loops and sounds from his rhythms, while continually tweaking and modulating the sounds -- never once does his music become stagnant.

And the way he manages to give each track its own distinct feel and sound, despite essentially working with the same limited sonic palette, is perhaps most impressive.

Overall, though Brinkmann may be working with a new language of sound here (vinyl glitches rather than analog synths), Klick is really just a continuation of his previous work, only more hypnotic and more intricately programmed.

It's really hard to say which is more impressive, the album's earthy sounds or its dizzying rhythms; either way, they're both astounding, and when you also add the fact that this album is a conceptual wonder, Klick stands as yet more evidence to Brinkmann's role as one of the pioneering experimental techno producers of his time.