In discussion with Call Super on “My Answer” by Charley’s Vault (2000).
How did you come across „My Answer“? Was it in a record store, or in a club?
A club. The End in London.
Why does this record mean so much to you? Is this a time capsule of a certain kind? What is its appeal?
It very much is. Although it is of its time in certain ways I don’t really feel it has dated. It was a record that I heard quite a few times before I had any idea who it was. I was usually too shy to ask DJs back then and there were lots of tracks that you would hear and just know because you’d heard them before and maybe one day you’d actually turn it up in a store, or meet someone in the club who could tell you, or it got used on a mix. Which is how I found out what this one was.
The thing I love so much about it is it creates a mood that is perfect at any time of the night or morning. It has the exact balance of menace, tension, joy and release that the perfect DJ tool needs. The mixdown is really nicely done, the way it ebbs, flows and kicks at certain points. I have a distinction between what often gets called ‘tools’ which to my ear are usually just drum tracks with a stab or a pad or something and the really useful stuff which usually has a fair bit more going on and can always take you up, down, reset, roll out, maintain… anything that you ask of it. This is one of those tracks.
I guess most people stay true to their formative years in the clubs of their youth. What made The End so special?
It was a club that was very well designed. Loosely based upon The Tunnel in New York but with a crucial difference of placing the booth in the middle of the floor so the DJ was cocooned by the crowd, who were in turn were cocooned by the sound system. The fact that this set up existed in a tunnel created two opportunities. The first was that it was very easy to lose yourself at the back by the system without feeling any disconnection from the place. The second was that this architecture created a particular atmosphere that I think must have meant certain DJs would have fun in a way that more disconnected settings don’t encourage. Its obviously a truism to say that good DJs play to the setting they are in, whilst bad DJs do the same thing no matter where they are. Well, this was a space that I feel coaxed the best from people.
I went maybe twice a month on average for about two years, then less frequently for the next few years because I had relocated to Glasgow, but in that time almost every night held surprises at what had been played, or how it had been played. The video of Mills covers a little of that ground. You cannot understate the importance of having these experiences to draw on when you end up doing this for a living, your own constellation of places and people that inspired you. That’s what gives you your distinct voice and I feel massively grateful to have had that club incubating me. Read the rest of this entry »
I was there the night he played at Hamburg’s Front Club in the early 90’s, the first time you could ever see the DJ in the booth there, which was usually entirely closed except for some really small peep through holes. He entered the booth, set up a small fan, a bottle of cognac, hung a towel around his neck, and proceeded to play. He played very gracefully, letting each record play from beginning to end, at a moderate pace, but perfectly sequenced and mixed. I remember the crowd taking a while to get used to this DJing style, as the sets by the Front residents where usually comparably more dynamic and going back and forth, but it really told me a lesson how to let the music shine when it needs to shine and I was deeply impressed. And I remember that I felt very happy to be able to hear and also see him doing it. Still am. R.I.P.”
Now a year has passed, and a lot of things have happened since his passing. I was sure that I would never forget how much he mattered to me with everything he did, but I was also accepting that it would occupy my mind less and less with time passing by. Except it didn’t. I kept pulling old records with his “Classic Club Mix” credentials from the shelf, humming TUNES, and not tracks, taking a bow at the elegance and SOUL of the Def Mix arrangements and constantly wondering why there is so little left in my environment of what he established. So I decided to do pay my dues and start an irregular series of Hot Wax shows that simply ask: “What would have Frankie done?” I could only guess, so forgive any inadequacies.
This is a compilation of mostly electronic Japanese Post Punk, released in 1983. It contains a mixture of poppy and really weird music. I found it in the bargain bin of the now defunct Berlin record store Dense about 10 years ago. I am collecting Japanese 70s/80s Synthpop for quite a while, and it was a real suprise to find such an item there, because the according Japanese scene is very hermetic and local, and as a European citizen you either go there, or buy from Japanese sellers. I only got stuck while browsing through the bin as I read Picky Picnic being included, hailed as the Japan’s answer to The Residents, of which I own a record they once released on the German label Ata Tak. Second glance revealed these were all Japanese artists, all the better. But the best part was of course that the whole record was totally interesting and worthwhile. It contains everything I love about Japanese music from that period. Wild experiments, girlish charms, awkward references to Western culture, otherworldly interpretations of Eastern culture, and most of all just performances you cannot really compare with European counterparts. I’d like to discover more records like these, but it is getting more and more difficult, and costly, too.
The first time I met Hunee was many years ago, in a Berlin record store where he worked at that time. Of course. He noticed the Disco stuff I chose from the crates and soon we were talking. And also soon we were playing gigs together. I was actually looking back on many years of playing out then, and I was not that determined to keep on keeping on. But you cannot act reserved around Hunee, particularly as far as music is concerned. Hunee’s enthusiasm for music is astounding. For every special record he learns about, he will find several other special records in return. It would be a waste of time for him to feed on the beauty of sounds and not share.
And then Hunee the producer emerged, to add to all the other music around him. At first, his very own music showed the restlessness he so often displayed in everyday life, plus nocturnal endeavours. There were wonderful ideas, almost too many of them. It seemed that Hunee took in so much music that his own artistic persona had to fight its way out. But it did. Yet after a few acclaimed releases, Hunee the producer disappeared again. I do not know why exactly, he never told me, and I never really asked. Apparently a debut album was ready to go, but it never saw the light. I felt that was quite a respectable and brave move, and I was very confident that he would not give up so easily. He never does. But for an avid vinyl collector like himself, it is quite difficult to achieve that all the inspirations do not divert from your own signature, yet still shine through, and the album is still a format much superior to others. And so while he continued to drop platters that matter week in way out, he went supposedly Kubrick on his own. I am most probably not exaggerating. Why? Because I’m listening to this album while I am writing these lines.
And this album is rather special. Even the opening title is special. It does not show off some unjustified pretension, it sets a perfect mood, a misty Eastern mood, full of drips, whirls and sweet ambience. Ending in one of the catchiest melodies I heard since I first fell in love with Japanese Synthpop. Not the easiest task to transcend this blissful mystery to something you can dance to, but Crossroads does exactly that, adding a cinematic aura that feels like elements unknown are tearing the roof off the to display a panoramic view of something you have never seen before. Influx, let me touch it. It feels acidic, and it has the glory. You will consider devouring it. Desire takes up the trip, and throws it around. A mean little groover, if I may say so. Burning Flowers in all its fury may be Fitzcarraldo’s ship sliding all the way back down, with the fat lady still singing. And if they pull that ship back up, this track will send it down again, instantly. Error Of The Average follows suit adequately, like a Sci-Fi orchestra whipping a round dance of lost souls into oblivion, all swirling drama and voodoo frenzy. I’m still trying to unlock myself from it. Movement takes its time, with string melancholia unfolding into a precious downbeat stroll. And is the exotic setting in Gabun Mind really crashing into that several minute psychedelia breakdown that then finally explodes into those revolving basslines and HEAVY beats? They may plant flowers and gardens through the deep and chaotic furrows this has left behind, but the idyll will never be the same again. And it keeps going more places. The jazz-fuelled interlude that is Amo reprises the Eastern atmosphere from earlier on, but in a puzzling way. We are talking suspense. Bruisesis just baffling. Do not even try to tell me you have ever heard one of the most famous vocal samples of the Paradise Garage legacy accompanied by a heart-wrenching string quartet. No, you did not. And you will probably not hear anything like this again. And then… the End of The World, which I indeed did not know yet. If this is the afterworld, I am not afraid. It feels a bit feverish to me, even a bit uncertain. But I can hear a light at the end of the tunnel. Exaggerating? Me? No. I was just listening to this album while I was writing these lines.
I am an avid longtime collector of 70s/80s Japanese Synthpop music, and being based in Europe that always proved to be quite some task, particularly in the pre-internet shopping days. You had to start from scratch, mostly starting with Yellow Magic Orchestra and their affiliated labels like Yen, Monad or Alfa, and you studied the credits of every record and learnt about new artists, crosslinks and local scenes. But finding those records in some continental crates was a rare and lucky occasion, and then when internet offered more purchasing options, it appeared to be a rather pricey habit because of shipping costs and Japanese sellers who were perfectly aware that their items were considerably out of reach beyond their own soil. But it also became very apparent that their was way more to discover, and it was well worth trying. Still, the Japanese music scene was frustratingly hermetic. I had gathered a collection over the years, but regularly you came across sellers with pages and pages of offers, complete with listening clips, and you had to admit that you were not scratching the surface, you were not even near it. I could have bought the bulk of it if possible, it all sounded fantastic, but it was not possible, and as I tried to at least learn about the artists I read in the item descriptions via web search engines, information was very scarce. For a nation so obsessed with technological progress and cultural information, there was mysteriously little given away to the outside world, only a few hideously designed websites by American or European enthusiasts who lived in Japan and fell in love with what they heard. I was really glad they made the effort, but their discographies, as thorough as they were, offered not much beyond artists I already knew about, and sooner or later every such site disappeared from sight again, only to be replaced by, well, not much else. I’m perfectly convinced that a well researched book about Japanese music would sell profitable quantities, there must be more people like me, but it can only be written by a Japanese author.
And then it always fascinated me that it was well acknowledged that Japan contributed a lot to electronic music in said period of time, but once House came along in the mid to late 80’s, and Techno shortly after, there were so few notable Nippon producers reacting to it. And as the Chicago pioneers operated mainly on musical equipment built in Japan and later neglected for the international bargain market, it was even more curious that those sounds originated so far away from where they were originally developed. No matter how hard you tried, the Japanese equivalent to the early House music masters was nowhere to be found. But you had this feeling there just had to be someone.
Years later a good friend of mine, a serious Deep House completist collector, pointed out that there were some interesting releases by Japanese artists on Hisa Ishioka’s King Street Sounds, a New York based label established in 1993, which was inspired by the Paradise Garage experience. He investigated further and found Ishioka’s sub-label BPM Records, which from 1991 on showcased a small wealth of Japanese producers taking on the trademark mellow but crisp Big Apple Deep House style established on imprints like Nu Groove, Strictly Rhythm, Nervous and a plethora of smaller labels. The producer with the most credits was Soichi Terada, and he also seemed to have the most distinctive signature sound. It is known that Larry Levan toured Japan at the end of his career, and even shortly before is death, and there must have been some interaction with the local scene, as he remixed Terada’s gorgeous 1989 track „Sunshower“ two years later, as did fellow New York DJ legend Mark Kamins. So there he was at last, the House music master from Japan. He even had his own label, called Far East Recordings, and though it only had a small back catalogue the few sound bits I could track down had me locking target on every single one of them. Terada’s sound admittedly owed a lot to its US prototypes, the whole lush smoothness of it, but it also had a weirdly bouncing funk, and more importantly, it had all this charming humour to its melodies and arrangements, and this all-embracing both respectful and freeform use of Western influences interpreted with Japanese music traditions I so fell in love with the first time I ever heard YMO.
But the other parallel was that it was as hard to find as any other record I had in my Nippon wantslist, or even worse. At least the releases pre-House were pressed in suffcient runs, but these were only done in quantities of a few hundred. Enter this fine compilation, which although interest in Nippon House had increased over the years, appeared a bit out of the blue. It was put together by my friend Hunee, a DJ and music enthusiast with a fine tendency to dig that little deeper, and he managed to secure all the essential tracks by Soichi Terada and his frequent collaborator Shinichiro Yokota. And even when reissues of rare records are quite common these days, this is really something special. Now someone please do that complete collection of Koizumix Production tracks, and make me an even happier man.
I really don’t like all these convenience product edits of rare or popular Disco and Synthpop material. With a bit of experience and practice you can learn the skills necessary to handle the original irregularities of drummers or sloppy rhythm programming, and maintain the already well executed aspects of the original arrangement over the DJ service straightness of most edits. I like people who deconstruct the source material and turn it into something else, even if it is only a respectful variation. I just do not see much merit in keeping the original and just streamlining it for better mixing. I am perfectly aware that this criticism may seem pointless, as most of today’s club setups for mixing are designed to have the choice what to play next as the only task left for the DJ, if at all. I have Zager and Evans’ In The Year 2525 in my head, predicting “some machine is doing that for you”.
When DJs began to make their own edits of tracks they liked to play in the late 70s, better mixing purposes admittedly played a role. But mostly the editing process was determined by personal preferences concerning the arrangement of a track, not determined by the aim to reduce every track to the same groove and functionality, regardless of arrangement. So they took out tape and scissors, and made intros end up in a kick drum in time, extended or cut breaks and other parts, dropped instruments or vocals they did not like, and often improved the source with individual versions and interpretations.
Many daring edits of that era were officially released, but the most radical approaches were to be found in the catalogues of the remix services. Disconet led the way in 1977, and soon all over the US and Europe DJs and producers were splicing reel-to-reels to let a certain track shine in the best possible way, and the remix services like hot Tracks, Razormaid, Ultimix, Art Of Mix, C.S., Landspeed and countless others gathered the results and distributed them back to the clubs. The records compiling the edits often contained original tracks and medleys as well, and tracks were segued to make the work for the DJ easier, who often played for hours on end in those days, several nights a week. The selection of the tracks per release was often frustrating. With a few sublime reworks there were also tracks included that were well cheesy to begin with, and did not get better after being worked on. Eurodance cheese, weird rock songs trying to cross over to the dance market, and lots of one hit wonders, with questionable hits. There was no other reason for the tracklisting than songs being pushed regardless of quality, and of course the individual taste of the editor at work. The edits also varied in quality, a lot were even rather crude, or as forgettable as the original material. But there were also a lot of edits that reconstructed what they were given to work with to a whole new level. Take Razormaid’s edit of the Pet Shop Boys’ West End Girls for example. The intro is easier to mix in their version, but were the official Shep Pettibone remix arguably sacrifices the song’s special appeal for dancefloor credentials, Razormaid manage to keep the tension by rearranging the elements and still achieve a track that works a treat in a club context.
I’ve been collecting remix service records for quite some time now, and starting with Hot Wax 026, I would like to dedicate an irregular series of shows to my personal favourites in that field.
As I checked Hot Wax 025’s tracklist for a record to highlight I couldn’t help noticing three records of Japanese origin. All three are very fine examples of artists with their own signature sound. Soichi Terada was doing House in Japan from the late 80’s on, when there very few cohorts around him. It is quite strange that the country that developed so much equipment that House and Techno were based on in their respective pioneering days, led to such little output in that field, whereas from the late 70’s to the late 80’s there were almost too many great artists to follow track. And for a music enthusiast outside of Japan, information and actual releases were always hard to come by, too. Now Terada’s rare back catalogue will be compiled to shine a light on the small but very fine according Nippon House scene, which unfortunately did not develop much further from those years. A good part of the local scene was wholly absorbed by the international success of the glossy Nippon version of Lounge, Acid Jazz and New York big room House, and it seemed not to be a fertile time for subtleties (and if Japanese culture adapts foreign culture it adapts it thoroughly, and it may last a while as well). So there surely are some gems to be found, but there is also a bulk which is a charmingly weird interpretation of Western club sounds of the boisterous and booming era as House entered the big rooms and became widely recognized in the mainstream stakes, and the tons of styles that were recycled, sampled and mutated in the process only added to the confusion.
Shinichi Atobe on the other hand landed a record on Hard Wax’s seminal Chain Reaction imprint just a few years later, and it certainly had its kudos, but then it was also perfectly available for years, and only became a rare item as the interest in Japanese electronic music was on the rise again more recently. So a perfect timing to release “Butterly Effect”, previously unreleased recordings that display a fine talent for deep atmospherics and which do not seem to care what happened in all those years. And even in times where many labels, producers and their respective fanbase do not care much either, this release stands out from the rest, and the praise seems well deserved.
Takuya Matsumoto started his career around the same time as Atobe, but he appeared on my radar only a few years back, when I coincidentally stumbled upon a few releases on the Iero label. At first I thought he was taking a decidedly psychedelic look on the Detroit House legacy, but I soon learnt that he was aiming elsewhere really, and he might have the potential to become a property for some time to come.
I hope that there is much more to discover where all of the above came from, and I hope it does not sound as what is happening elsewhere in this world. We need that!
At this point I like to imagine Jeff Mills’ ongoing mission to explore space as if it actually happened.
With each concept album he ventures further out into the vast unknown, and what once mattered – clubs, skills, origins, traditions, cities, people – becomes less important the more he gets away from his own planet. There are times when contact with him is interrupted for longer periods, but he is a reliable traveller most of the time, sending home reports of his encounters on a regular basis. Not every discovery on the way is equal in status, some was already suspected, some is in line with what was known already, has parallels in the inventory, is history repeating. But often enough, there is an unexpected transmission that rearranges your perspective of what might still be possible, what wonders are lurking out there, yet unreached. And then you realize you wish he may travel further away, even if he could be too distant at some point to send the transmissions to where they belong.
Yeah, you might think this a tad ludicrous. But show me yours, and come again
Do you remember the scene in “The Terminator” where the dogs in the dark tunnel go mad, indicating that something is not quite right among the rebels hiding out there? Just a few moments later shots are illuminating the room like deadly strobes. And the shooter has no mercy, killing everything that moves. And soon enough not much is left moving. And then one of the few survivors is staring into the dark, watching the machine in the shape of a human that is causing all the mayhem. And then the machine turns around, and in the dark chaos its lifeless eyes glow, flashing melting metal like beams like a lethal laser pointer towards more potential victims, as the smoke of its heavy gun barrel mingles with the smoke of the slain bodies on the floor.
Sometime in 1990, I was among the crowd in a dark basement club at peak time, and the DJ dropped this track.
It felt exactly like the film scene above. But it was real.
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