Trip-hop is one of my favorite genres, for which Maxinquaye is the crème de la crème. Darkness seeps into every corner of this album with static popping and cracking underneath Tricky and Martine’s contrasting vocals. Most of these songs crawl lethargically, dripping like molasses with a sort of sticky dampness. This is ugly beauty, sweet dinginess, an album of contradictions. In fact, trying to describe is infuriating because it is so complex, distressing, and confusing. I believe that the underlying attraction I have to this album stems from the sheer amount of unusual sensations it offers.