Ima (1995) is a fantastic, reminiscent romp through mid-90s progressive house and trance. I say reminiscent because it feels very much like a late addition to the field, exploring themes and sonic textures a couple years too late. No new ideas are invented or explored here, and in some cases they feel awfully cliche'd and tried, including canned, sample playback whale calls, italo house piano lines and ethnic, breathy panflutes.

And that may be the one struggling downpoint to Ima, is that it doesn't really feel like a full-fledged album, but rather a small collection of singles and ideas remixed and rehashed to fill up all the magnetic slivers on the disc (and then on a second disc, Sasha playing a set of all the songs mixed together. So in effect, listening to this album once is like listening to this album three times). And this is BT's best effort: To take few ideas that have already been hammered out by more expressive artists, and cover no new ground with them.

And then, of course, there's the big smasher: Blue Skies, featuring Tori Amos wailing about some damn thing, which ironically is the least interesting thing on the album and totally unlike the atmospheric headspace that the other ten tracks put you in. This one radio-friendly song put BT on the map, and perhaps gave him the inspiration for probably the only original idea he's ever had: That if all it takes are sexy vocals from some poptart to give a track mainstream credibility and it was done to limited success with this dodgy, throwaway breakbeat remix number, what would happen if the same technique was applied to a smoother, more accessible four-to-the-floor groove?

A year later BT would put this scientific theory to the test in a closed experiment: Operating under a pseudonym named Libra, he collaberated with DJ Taylor and some upstart vocalist named Jan Johnston to produce the one-off Anomaly (Calling Your Name), singlehandedly catapulting the careers of all three of them. Not only was the track a smash hit and proved the validity of BT's theory (breathy female vocals + soft trance music = hit), but it also gave rise to the Second Great Law of BT: That his best tracks are either collaborations with other people or remixes of others' works, thereby absolving him of the responsibility of having to come up with any ideas himself.

ESCM (1997) is a downward spiral from Ima but at least keeps pace with what the scene is up to, as it contains some then-current ties at IDM-inspired glitch, rockatronic industrial beats ala Filter or Stabbing Westward, orchestral set pieces, and more ethnic wailing vocals and heaving, faux-angelic songstresses cribbing sappy teenage pronoun poetry that goes nowhere and does nothing. Despite this diversity, there are even less original ideas here than there are on Ima even though it sounds less anachronistic.

The problem is this release sounds awfully affected and dishonest. It's like BT doesn't quite understand what makes a good glitch cut, he just knows that, from a studio technicians standpoint it sounds like this, and then he applies the technique as if to demonstrate that he is up there with the Squarepushers and Autechres. Having conquered that mountain, he moves on to the next idea currently en vogue to emulate. All these demonstrations of studio mastery are well and fine, but in lieu of any decent musical ideas they come off like intense producer wankery.

There is lots more Jan Johnston on this album, as BT works his formula for maximum return, although you get the sneaking suspicion that he may also be unconsciously employing the Andrew Lloyd Weber Strategy For Nailing Hot Chicks here (ie: approach hot girl, use pickup line that you are music producer and need vocalist for your next track and invite her back to the studio, a time-honored technique so called because it worked on Sarah Brightman for 20 years).

It should be noted that the huge epic trance hit on the album, Flaming June, was a collaberation with Paul van Dyk, which again proves the validity of the Second Law of BT. Not that this track was ever a bastion of musical genius with Paul van Dyk at the helm. It was probably just some simple diddy he intended to put on the b-side of a For an Angel remix but never got around to it. No, that's not a compliment. Paul van Dyk is a purveyor of extraordinarily turgid and overhyped melodies. He, too, operates best when collaberating with others or remixing.

Movement in Still Life (2000) is BT's best chance at being hip. By 2000, Electronic music had exploded all over the mainstream like Peter North poolside with three eager girls. He once again plugs his idea prongs (BT, not Peter North) into the wall socket of whatever's current and tries his best to make pop sense out of it. So naturally this means more songs, more vocals, more pop sheen, and a revved-up emphasis on his image, presenting him like a forgotten member of *NSync. THey even put his face on the album to sell his image as a rave hearthrob right up there with the Oakenfolds and Tiestos.

This album can be split into two halves. The first half is somewhat of a progression for BT, as he molts the 4-to-the-floor trance groove in favour of squelching acid lines, distorted guitars and hip-hop infused Adam Freeland-style (read: Adam Freeland produced) nu breakbeats. He also makes an attempt at electro here, for once being slightly ahead of the curve. But don't give him too much credit. The relentless robot funk of Ride is yet another collaberative effort--this time with Sasha--under the monicker 2 Phat Cunts. The track is interesting, but again falls just short of being truly funky because....well, come on. A white music dork from Maryland making black funk? You're asking too much of him.

I bet a lot of trance fans who fell in love with Flaming June bought this disc hoping to hear more blissed-out epic trance with cliche'd breathy vocals, only to be absolutely mortified at the change of pace. The growling basslines, the hip hop samples and stuttering breakbeats were not what they were expecting. So as to not disappoint, BT delivers in the second half one of the grossest displays of fan service this side of otakuism. He works both his and Andrew Lloyd Weber's formulas to cartoonish extremes, at this point banging Kirsty Hawkshaw, Jan Johnston and DJ Rap, probably all at the same time. There is not a single track on this disc that is not a collaberative effort. You can tell BT desperately wants to be more than this, but his creatively bankrupt musical intelligence will just not let him excel.

And when BT doesn't rely on others, he rips off himself. Godspeed might as well be Flaming June: Part Two. Using recycled patches and production gloss, it is essentially the same song, with the same acid rhythm patterns, the same synthesized, texturized plucked strings, with treated vocals to boot. The fanboys gushed over this one like Alicia Klass in mid-climax. Admittedly, this song is much catchier than Flaming June, and is quite possibly the best hook BT has ever written, earning it the coveted Ishkur.com Gold Star for Catchy Music award. So much so, that it's almost an anomaly at this point to conceive of BT doing something like this all by himself. No, really. Who was in the studio with him that day? Be honest now.

All this infamy got BT in demand. He began producing tracks for other artists (including *NSync, where his boyband aspirations finally came to fruition), scoring movies and television shows, and providing loop-roaring background fodder for video game soundtracks, which is a good fit for him, because it plays to his strengths.

At the end of the day, BT is a producer. He is not a DJ, he is not a songwriter, he is not a performer or a composer. He produces music. His job is to go into the studio with someone elses ideas and get the most out of them. BT himself has admitted that he's not a very good DJ, because to master both disciplines is like Brianna Banks doing ass-to-mouth and DVDA at the same time. It just doesn't work most of the time. Through no real fault of his own, however, BT has capitalized on the ignorance of electronic music fans by placing in the DJ Mag top 100 List several times. Without spinning a single set. Somehow.

During Christmas the next year, someone broke into BT's house in LA and stole his music. The computers, laptops, gear, everything. With that, they stole most of his next album. They could've stolen his ideas too, but he didn't have any--at least, not any that were worth taking. The news of this was pretty shocking; not that one of the most recognizeable faces in electronic music was robbed, but that one of the most recognizeable faces in electronic music keeps his entire $100,000 music studio in an ordinary house that anyone can jimmy open, and he doesn't back up his work. Several tracks were lost forever, including further collaberations with Peter Gabriel and Sarah Mclachlan. But most importantly: He doesn't back up his work!

And you call yourself a geek, BT? I'm ashamed of you.

Maybe the incident gave him time for a little reflection, because when the newly reconstituted album did come out, the track names of Emotional Technology (2003) showed that BT was thinking about a lot of things, he just didn't know what: Par for the course considering his musical pallette.

Instead of blissed-out track titles like the previous albums, this album is full of mini-statements and headscratchers that sound like highschool essay topics: "Knowledge Of Self", "The Only Constant Is Change", and "Last Moment Of Clarity". BT is a born intellectual and geek, so it's not out of the ordinary that his mind would drift to sophisticated topics, but he stops just short of going full on with cryptic, numerology nonsense that IDM artists like to play around with (I'm looking at you, Boards of Canada). This is definitely foreshadowing of some kind, but for now, we're left to wondering what the bloody hell he's going on about.

I shouldn't be too hard on this album. After all, for someone as idea-challenged as him, having his entire album stolen and coming up with a brand new one in a year and a half is pretty admirable. But as a whole, it is by far his worst effort. This album is more devoid of ideas than any other. It seems he spent more time on coming up with track names than he did writing the tracks themselves. And when BT is struggling with ideas, he overcompensates with production techniques. As a result, there are more video game sound effects and processed studio gimmicks in this album than any previous. Every song has vocals (treated beyond belief, with bonus horrendous overdubs), a weird choice of guest vocalists (including JC Chavez, Rose McGowan, and himself, who sings on half the tracks), more collaborations, and more nu skool breaks, which brings to light the Third Great Law of BT: Nu skool breaks are boring. Actually, that's not a BT law, it's just a general inalienable truth. This messy delivery is too affected, too polished, too much sheen, too much stutter, too much gloss, too much shiny, pristine sound effects, too much too much too much. By the end of the album, the studio tricks are so overused they become parody. This album is nauseating to listen to from beginning to end.

BT's problem is he just can't leave the music alone. He has to tinker with it until it becomes akin to dangling shiny keys in front of a raccoon. He is the production equivalent of a Neil Peart 16 hour drum solo. Studio wankery for its own sake and liberal use of plug-ins and effects as a bold demonstration of "hey, look what I can do to this guy's voice". Like hurling too many lens flares at a Photoshop image. Take away the gloss, and most of the tracks sound like discards from a Mortal Kombat compilation. That would be fine, if this album were released in 1996. But it's not.

Of course, no BT album is complete without its standard-fare sultry-voiced Jan Johnston epic trance track. Unfortunately, it's not 1999 anymore, and no one cares.

And please, BT. Don't sing anymore. You sound like Bryan Adams for god's sake.

For This Binary Universe (2006), BT went in the complete opposite direction, right off the deep end, a 180 degree about face. This album is the polar opposite experimental yin to Emotional Technology's pop yang. Forsaking any honest attempt at any music entirely, pop or non, BT resisted the temptations to tart his persona and dove, head first, into the most abstract of music mathematics. There are no vocals or collaberations here. This is all Brian Wayne Transeau, at his most experimental and inaccessible, revelling in his nerdiness. He even admits on his blog that one of the tracks, Everything That Makes us Human, Continues, he wrote completely in cSound, a music programming language. For reference, here's a short snippet of what it looks like:

kfadefilter line 1500, p3, 25000
kfadefilter2 line 100, p3, 8000
kverbpan3 lfo 20, p3*.02
ileveloscs = p4
a1 hsboscil kenv*.18, ktone, kbrite, cpspch(p5+2.0), 2, 3, 10, -1
a2 hsboscil kenv2*.18, ktone, kbrite2, cpspch(p5+3.0), 2, 3, 10, -1
a3 oscil kenv3, cpspch(p5+3), 4
a4 oscil kenv3*0.01, cpspch(p5+1.6), 4
a5 oscil kenv3, cpspch(p5-2.4), 4
a6 oscil kenv3*.2, cpspch(p5-2.0), 4
a7 oscil kenv3*.2, cpspch(p5-1.4), 4
a5hp butterhp a5, kfadefilter2
amixhp1 butterhp a1+(a2*.1), kfadefilter+1000
amix = amixhp1*.1+a3+a5hp+a4+a6+a7
acomb comb amix, .007, .01, 4.0
al, ar babo acomb, kverbpan3, 0, 0, 8.39, 7.86, 40,
ahilinput = (amix+a3+a5hp+a4+a7) + (al*.3)
kfreq linseg cpspch(p6), p3, cpspch(p6)+.001
ahilL, ahilR hilbert ahilinput 

Now, what is the point of this, other than to express his latest technical feats as a music programmer? The fascination with math, advancing technical achievement, fetisization of production esthetics, writing songs in code without the aid of sequencers or instruments, and even developing his own software to produce the album (BreakTweaker....get it?). The man--despite all his pop glosses and excessive collaberations with mainstream artists--has now thrown himself at the experimentalists and said "I'm one of you."

There are fewer tracks here than on any previous album, and they are all long, unresponsive, unwieldy, and very much have an innocent, childlike "hey, remember Aphex Twin" quality to them. They alternate between extrememely quiet moments where nothing happens and loud, bombastic moments with full orchestras. Indeed, BT's aim here is to pay homage to all the pretentious elitists who advance every musical field, from free jazz, minimalism, musique concrete, power electronics and industrial noise, and of course IDM. He is no longer adhering to the 4/4 dance groove and pop sensibilities preferred by his fanbase, choosing odd keys and uneven time signatures that change pace and direction, naming tracks after mathematical concepts like the Golden Ratio (1.618), time correcting minute slivers of samples that no one will notice, slicing down 2,048th notes and micro-edits, and inserting hidden easter eggs and advanced sonic tricks (now that he's gotten his hand on 5.1 Sound). None of these will be apparent to you, however, unless you look at the source code.

Summed up, the album is fascinating and probably the second best album after Ima, but it is messy, uneven, unfocused and all-over-the-place, like wandering through a Misty Rain bukkake scene post-coitus and trying to figure out who's spooge went where. Either BT had two or three weak ideas he wanted to dwell obsessively on, or he had too many undeveloped little ideas he opted to form-fit into orchestra-like movements, hence the disjointed long track times. In essence, this album has the look and feel not as a proper artist album, but more prosaically as a film score. There is a lot of space and waiting for things to develop here, as it is simultaneously the most frantic and most sparse album he's made, which is perfect for movie scenery.

Is this genius? Is this music? Is this forward-thinking? No, this is schizophrenia. This is what the IDM-tards were doing back in the 90s, and they're all batshit insane. At the end of it all, with his emerging software company, his theories on production strategy, his meticulous geekgastic over-educated knowledge of music and programming, and on this disc especially, including DVD videos and 5.1 theatrics, it is clear that BT has never really been interested in making music, which is a good thing, since he's so bad at it.

He's making art.