The Inheritors builds on his remarkable debut - it's even more ambitious in scope, grabbing the listener by the throat and refusing to let go; a 75-minute epic that works incredibly well as an album.

The deception, though, lies not in juxtaposition, but in slight-of-hand – the slow build of Holden’s production is at times so subtle that he can bend reality to his will.

After dozens of listens, The Inheritors still feels like it could fall off the rails at any moment, that its wires could trip and the whole album devolve into a mess of feedback that will have you racing to unplug your speakers.

The Inheritors is a rich and vivid work that is as mysterious as it is compelling.

It is beautiful, ethereal and organic, breathing with life and is as far removed from the clean overly produced dance music which he holds in such distain. 

As tempting as it is to pooh-pooh Holden’s overblown ambitions, in The Inheritors he really has created an album of striking originality, and one whose more excessive aspects feel largely justified.

The Inheritors jumps and squeals and writhes and blossoms. It’s music that you can’t help but hear as if you were a kid again.

What you’re left with is a record just like James Holden’s machines – a glorious mix of the human and machine where you don’t know what you’re going to get until it happens.