The Chemical Brothers, formerly the Dust Brothers Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons (who met at Manchester University in 1989), debuted with Exit Planet Dust (Junior Boy’s Own, 1995 – Astralwerks, 1995) as promoters of new disco rhythms. In fact, they were pioneers in this role, working as DJs in the early-decade “Madchester” scene. The mix of rock and acid house they developed as DJs forms the backbone of this album, a primarily instrumental electronic record unlike anything since Kraftwerk.

Their new sound blends overdoses of funk, heavy metal, jazz, and hip hop, like a chaotic pop-art collage. The method repeats monotonously from start to finish: sampling hip hop beats, looping them, wrapping them in swirls of synthesizers, and seasoning them with acidic guitar riffs. Credit must be given for doing this with a surreal, almost absurdist flair, which delightfully warps the galactic funk of the new single Leave Home (destined to remain one of their masterpieces) and the driving In Dust We Trust. The album also includes their first single, Song To The Siren, built around a sampled female voice, which here pales a little compared to the more polished production of the newer tracks.
Their brand of futurism triumphs in the cosmic progression of Chemical Beats, amid Public Enemy–style cacophonies and insistent guitar riffs, and shows a hint of sophistication in the slightly more industrial and progressive approach of Playground For A Wedgeless Firm.
The album regains both emotion and intellect toward the end, with two calmer instrumentals (the almost new-age One Too Many Mornings, with angelic trills and layers of electronic textures, and the quasi-ambient Chico’s Groove, with its trance-like melody), and with two vocal tracks that use distinctive voices to create psychedelic ballads: the melancholic mantra of Alive Alone and the elongated, decadent Life Is Sweet, reminiscent of Stones-and-Roses style.
How times change: not many years earlier, Jarre would have been crucified by critics for electronic albums like this.

After the album, they also released the EP Loops Of Fury (Astralwerks, 1996), perhaps of even higher quality (certainly more relentless and violent), thanks to three irresistible tracks: Loops Of Fury, Breaking Up, and Get Up On It Like This.

Dig Your Own Hole (Astralwerks, 1997), the duo’s highly anticipated second album, picked up where they left off, continuing their fusion of danceability and rock. The single Block Rockin’ Beats delivers an explosive mix of imaginative Public Enemy–style samples, seismic syncopations, and violent noise. The harmony in all tracks is meticulously constructed, enhancing the sense of artificiality that their careful editing has always brought to their music. Guitars are front and center, and the rhythms clearly echo the early hip-hop of New York.
The eight-minute Elektro Bank is emblematic of the album’s program, featuring continuous metamorphoses of the arrangement around a complex polyrhythmic cadence. The endlessly interrupted and recycled fanfare of Piku is a study in harmonic balancing by two seasoned sampling masters. The absurd metronomic patterns of It Doesn’t Matter serve a similar purpose on the rhythmic experimentation front. Sometimes, however, the sheer density of sonic events can overwhelm the identity of a track—the title track drowns in “Hendrixian” glissandos, sirens, African tribal elements, and funky impulses.
Once again, toward the end, the album gains composure and seriousness, with a folk-style Where Do I Begin sung by Beth Orton and a monumental, driving “raga of the absurd” in Private Psychedelic Reel, a summa of their puzzle-like art (in collaboration with Mercury Rev), capable of referencing Terry Riley’s mystical minimalism and Morton Subotnick’s abrasive dissonances.

The pinnacle of the project—and perhaps of their career—is represented by Setting Sun (Astralwerks, 1996), a spectacular single featuring Noel Gallagher of Oasis on vocals, which deconstructs the Beatles’ Tomorrow Never Knows.

The dj mix Brothers Gonna Work It Out (Freestyle, 1998) photographed the duo at the peak of their studio craft, but at the bottom of their artistic inspiration. They pay homage to their influences (Neu, Kraftwerk, New Order) and their forerunners (Giorgio Moroder, George Clinton).

Surrender (Virgin, 1999) is the continuation in that direction but from an artist's point of view (as opposed to the technician's point of view). The Chemical Brothers' sound remains grounded in New Order (Out Of Control) and Kraftwerk (Music: Response), while occasionally trivial (Let Forever Be, Hey Boy Hey Girl) and daringly experimental in the instrumental suites (Sunshine Underground, Orange Wedge).

Come With Us (Astralwerks, 2002) sounds a little tired by their standards. Come With Us exaggerates the antics a bit, the collaborations (Beth Orton in State We're In Richard Ashcroft in The Test) are gracious and catchy but thin, and too many songs are just filler (Star Guitar, Galaxy Bounce and Denmark are so predictable that they are more likely to inspire yawns than all-night dances). The afro-funk of It Began In Afrika and the ethereal My Elastic Eye are not enough to justify an entire album. Perhaps the end of a (vastly over-rated) career.

Singles (Virgin, 2003) collects ten years of singles and two unreleased tracks.

Push The Button (Astralwerks, 2005) continues Chemical Brothers's slide into irrelevance. Never the ones to innovate, they are now more predictable than amusing.

The eclectic We Are The Night (2007) showed that the Chemical Brothers had listened to contemporary sounds, but also that they had always been overrated as composers.

Brotherhood (2008) is a career anthology.

They updated their sound to the generation of M83 on Further (Astralwerks, 2010).