Album Review: Jealous Guy by LB – A Genre-Bending Journey Through Sound
Released in 1998 on KK Records, Jealous Guy by LB is one of those albums that sneaks up on you. It’s not your typical electronic record; instead, it dives headfirst into abstract soundscapes, synth-pop grooves, and experimental beats with a distinctly European flair. Hailing from Belgium, LB wears nearly every hat in the studio—producer, programmer, mixer, editor, remixer, even mastering engineer—and somehow pulls it off without sounding like they bit off more than they could chew. The result? An album that feels deeply personal yet wildly inventive.
The tracklist isn’t long, but each song packs its own punch. Let’s zoom in on two standout tracks that stick with you long after the headphones come off.
First up is "Jealous Guy (Poeme Syncope)." This reinterpretation of John Lennon’s classic tune strips away the original’s raw emotion and rebuilds it as something colder, almost mechanical—but in the best way possible. The pulsing synths and stuttering rhythms give the track an eerie heartbeat, while the chopped-up vocals feel like fragmented memories. You can tell LB put serious thought into how to honor Lennon’s legacy while making it their own. It’s haunting, futuristic, and oddly danceable all at once. If you’re looking for a version of “Jealous Guy” that sounds like it was recorded in a dystopian nightclub, this is it.
Then there’s "Superbad (Digital Soul Substitute)." Don’t let the title fool you—this isn’t some cheesy homage to James Brown. Instead, it’s a sleek, glitchy banger that blends J. Brown’s soulful essence with icy electronics. The bassline slinks around like a shadow, while sharp stabs of synth cut through the mix like shards of glass. What makes this track unforgettable is how LB balances chaos and control. Just when you think things are getting too chaotic, a melodic hook swoops in to save the day. It’s like listening to a robot try to understand what it means to have a soul—and nailing it.
The production across the board deserves props. Everything feels meticulously crafted yet refreshingly unpolished, giving the album a DIY charm that fits perfectly within its experimental vibe. And kudos to Francisca Leon for the photography and Linger Decoree for the design—they nailed the aesthetic, which matches the music’s blend of futurism and introspection.
What really stands out about Jealous Guy is how LB manages to weave together influences from such diverse sources—Lennon, Sakamoto, Brown—and still create something cohesive. Sure, the album leans heavily on remix culture and digital manipulation, but it never feels derivative. Instead, it feels like a bold statement about where electronic music could go if we let it break free from convention.
Here’s the thing though: despite all the technical wizardry, Jealous Guy doesn’t hit you over the head with complexity. It’s smart without being pretentious, emotional without being sappy. And maybe that’s why it lingers in your mind days later—you don’t just hear it; you experience it.
Final thought? Listening to Jealous Guy feels like stepping into a time machine that only goes sideways. It’s not perfect, but perfection would ruin the magic anyway.
