There is something quietly miraculous about the way Floex constructs sound. On his latest Phonopolis (Original Game Soundtrack), he avoids every obvious trap associated with modern game music. Nothing here is trope, cliche, disposable, merely functional, or stitched together to accompany action on a screen. This is a proper album, and one that behaves like a standalone living environment, one filled with strange machinery, dusty corridors, whimsical inventions, nervous momentum, and moments of genuine emotional warmth. Across seventeen tracks, Dvořák blends electro-acoustic experimentation, braindance, downtempo abstraction, jazz touches, library music eccentricity, and playful orchestration into something remarkably cohesive. The result is not simply a successful soundtrack. It is an absolute masterpiece.
Rather than exhausting itself through cinematic excess, the album thrives on detail. Tiny percussive fragments click and shuffle beneath melodic passages. Horns drift in and out like malfunctioning public announcements. Acoustic instrumentation is bent, processed, and rearranged into impossible shapes. Even at its most experimental, the music remains inviting and human. There is humor here. Curiosity. Movement. You can hear an artist enjoying the act of construction.
“Entering Phonopolis City” immediately establishes the album’s identity through a dense electro-acoustic maze of intricately arranged IDM percussion assembled from organic-sounding samples. The track is engineered with obsessive care, every rhythmic fragment falling neatly into place like part of an elaborate kinetic sculpture. The piece especially thrilling because of the way the horns slowly emerge toward the latter half, bleeding into the arrangement and transforming the track into something unexpectedly triumphant. It feels alive and bustling, like arriving in a city powered by eccentric inventors and impossible machines.
“Felix On The Run” takes an entirely different approach, revealing Dvořák’s playful side. The arrangement carries a wonderfully cartoonish atmosphere, filled with the sort of sounds and textures associated with late 1950s and early 1960s Space Age Exotica. There is a strong sense that Juan García Esquivel would have appreciated the sheer inventiveness on display here. The track constantly shifts and pivots while maintaining a breezy sense of fun, recalling the adventurous sonic collage work of Tipsy and even Quietworld’s Relaxalot. Beneath the humor sits an astonishingly intricate arrangement full of tiny production decisions that delight again and again.
“Railway Electro” may be the album’s strangest and most fascinating hybrid. It opens with a bizarre electro acoustic bass texture resembling a heavily detuned horn being electrically amplified far below its natural range. When the laid-back drums enter, the percussion unexpectedly settles into something faintly reminiscent of late 1970s Motown rhythms, those sort of flat ’70s drums, though filtered through a surreal experimental lens. The detuned horn elements frequently border on cacophony, yet the composition never loses control. Dvořák somehow balances tension and groove simultaneously. The vibraphone appearing near the end subtly introduces more hints of Space Age Exotica / Bachelor Pad without allowing the piece to drift fully into Jet-Set nostalgia. It remains proudly strange from beginning to end.
“Inside the Leader’s Monument” moves into far moodier territory, embracing a faded, dusty analog atmosphere strongly reminiscent of Boards of Canada. The slowed breakbeat, lo-fi snare pop, and warm degraded melodic tones feel uncannily close to a lost cassette demo from the Scottish duo’s archives. Yet Dvořák is not imitating a style; the addition of delicate xylophone melodies gives the track its own peculiar emotional character, adding childlike wonder beneath the haze and decay. It is one of the soundtrack’s most emotionally affecting moments and easily strong enough to function independently as a standalone single.
“Cooking Machine” closes this selection with pure playful energy. The track embraces braindance eccentricity without becoming cold or overly technical. Synth lines bounce against acoustic and analog sampled textures in a way strongly reminiscent of Freeform aka Simon Pyke at his most carefree and inventive. The arrangement constantly mutates while remaining irresistibly catchy, balancing experimentation with genuine accessibility. Few artists can make music this structurally complex sound this relaxed and entertaining.
Phonopolis (Original Game Soundtrack) is utterly remarkable in its refusal to remain still. Every track introduces some new texture, rhythmic trick, melodic flourish, or unexpected instrumental color. Despite this constant movement, the album never feels chaotic for the sake of being chaotic. Floex (Dvořák) has mastered restraint, pacing, and atmosphere at an extraordinarily high level. This soundtrack succeeds both as accompaniment to an imagined world and as a deeply rewarding standalone listening experience. It is imaginative electronic music crafted with patience, intelligence, and enormous personality.
Phonopolis (Original Game Soundtrack) by Floex was released 20 May, 2026 on Minority Records
