In discussion with Damir Ivic on “Criminal Justice” by D*Note (1995).
D*Note was quite an active project. What made you choose this album out of their varied back catalogue?
Varied, and not always excellent. “Babel”, Matt’s first effort as an album, was excellent, but still naive in some sounds. Breakbeats, for instance – they were quite standard and not so creative, original and classy as they are on “Criminal Justice”, and generally speaking the arrangements were quite keen to the jazzy hip-hop flavour of that era. Later, only some parts of “Fuchsia Dog” matched the unbelievable quality of the first two albums. The rest of the D*Note catalogue is… I wouldn’t say disappointing but… yes, maybe I’m sayin’ it!
On his Myspace page, D*Note’s mastermind Matt Wienevski describes his music as a “cross between Ravel, Miles Davis and Photek”. However high this self-explanation aims, would you agree to some extent?
It’s 100% correct, I think. Plus, there’s room for Michael Nyman. If “Birth Of Cool” was carrying interferences made by Photek and Nyman (and maybe Ravel, ok), we’d have had “Criminal Justice” decades ago. Hey, I perfectly realize that these words sound TOO big. But please, listen to the album… Read the rest of this entry »
In discussion with Bill Brewster on “Sextet” by A Certain Ratio (1982).
What is your personal history with this particular album? How and when was your first encounter with it?
I bought it the week it came out. I had just moved back to Grimsby (my hometown) after working in London and Switzerland as a chef for five years. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life but I knew I didn’t want to spend the rest of it sweating in a kitchen. I’d met some new people who were trying to do cool stuff with music. We’d all been punks in 1976 and 1977 but got bored of how musically limited it all was. We were searching for something new. We had a musical mentor, a guy who ran a musical instrument shop with a few boxes of records in the back, called Roy Bainton. He was 15 years older than us and knew loads about music, everything from Mike Westbrook and Carla Bley to Graham Central Station and, in particular, the blues. We were listening to all this brilliant old stuff that was new to us and also discovering bands like A Certain Ratio and 23 Skidoo who, like us, were also groping towards something different. We were in the process of forming a band when this album came out.
What made you decide for „Sextet“ instead of other of their albums?
They toured to promote this album and we went to see them at this bizarre wine bar in Leeds. I went with all the guys who were in my band. The venue was brightly lit, chrome-plated, horrible. And it was nearly empty, but they didn’t give a fuck: they were astonishing, really tight (helped somewhat by Donald Johnson’s prowess behind the traps). I suppose what “„Sextet“” represents to me is a crossroads of where I had arrived and where they were headed; a sort of Robert Johnson involving trams, drizzle and Northern misery. What is interesting about „Sextet“, listening back now, is that they’d reached a certain competence on their instruments but they still had a thirst for wayward and interesting song ideas and arrangements. Later on, when they were recording stuff like “Don’t You Worry Bout A Thing”, they ended up sounding like those pale Britfunk imitations of the real deal, whereas what makes „Sextet“ endearing is that they sound like nothing and no-one else. The world they inhabited then, it seemed to me, was hermetically sealed from outside influences. I imagined them living together in a big house in Whalley Range, a bit like the Monkees, except with acid and analogue instruments. Read the rest of this entry »
I discovered this track in one of your live sets, and I was really surprised by it. How did you get to this?
I actually heard this being played by Ron Hardy at the Music Box.
Ah, so it was Ron Hardy who inspired you then?
The people that have inspired me musically where I am now is Ron Hardy, Larry Levan, Larry Heard and fortunately but unfortunately Ian Curtis and Kurt Cobain. Those are pretty much some of my strongest influences. Later on it became people like Farley Jack Master Funk when he was really bringing it to the table musically on the radio, and from that point on it’s like my whole world expanded, it expanded to unparalleled paradox.
In regards of “Diskomo,” though, when I heard Ron Hardy play it, it didn’t make sense to me because I wasn’t on drugs. But a lot of people that were in the party scene at that time were experimenting with drugs. Ron would spin records faster, because he was under the influence. So the thing is I probably heard “Diskomo” at a faster speed. You never knew what Ron was doing at this time, so when you hear “Diskomo” and you hear these sort of patterns and tone pads and kind of modular effects like wind and stuff in this manner, it was hard to tell what was what. If you were in that time period, would you think that was Ron Hardy, or would you think that was a record?
It has a really eerie atmosphere…
It’s the same thing with Ian Curtis, and what Joy Division did. The producer behind them gave that whole thing atmosphere, that sort of specialness. And that’s what “Discomo” did for me when I heard it.
This new wave post punk music is not necessarily something you would associate with early house, which is kind of peculiar, but you seem to be attracted to this kind of music…
This is house music. That’s the thing that nobody—and let’s make this clear, I am nobody to tell you what is and what isn’t the truth—but I can tell you what I know and what I saw. And it was the innovation that Larry and Ron undertook, and it’s the innovation that I have personally taken on myself. I am singlehandedly the ambassador of truth right now. I feel like I have singlehandedly taken on the roles of these artists in the way that they described their music and the way that they played their music, and I feel that I’m someone that can say that this music that has somehow been forgotten has a greater significance than people can imagine.
New Order – Video 5-8-6 (1982)
Let’s talk about New Order. This has a kind of long-jam approach to recording, but it is also kind of a blueprint, not only for later electronic developments, but also for their own developments. There are already shadings of “Blue Monday” in it, but it is much earlier, 1982.
I play “Video 586” in my sessions. I play every type of sound known, and I am probably the world’s biggest risk taker. There are probably three other people that I could say right now that are as risky as I am.
Who are they?
Mick Wills, from Stuttgart, Germany, James T. Cotton and myself. And, actually, someone who is on another level to also give full etiquette and education and experience is Jamal Moss. In my eyes, even though he doesn’t DJ, musically what he does with IBM and these other projects… it’s not the sort of stuff that you would usually hear.
But he does DJ, doesn’t he?
Jamal is one of my guys, and I have never seen him play wax. But what I have of him, the material that I have gotten from him, is still sick. It’s like another level of Ron Hardy through Jamal Moss. Without a doubt.
You seem to be quite like-minded in your approach…
Well, “Video 586” is an idea that I didn’t realize that was important until later, Jamal didn’t realize until later, that JTC didn’t realize was important later. It’s the idea of not following the law of 4/4 music, or the law of what it should be. This is what made music risky, and this is what made New Order risky.
Why do so few DJ’s take risks that way do you think?
Because they are scared. They’re scared to lose the crowd, they are scared to be risky, to do something that they have never done. That’s why you have something called the social chain, and it’s what everybody else follows. I am not on the social chain. Those people that I have mentioned, Mick Wills, James T. Cotton, Jamal are guys that I know do not play by the rules.
So is that your main agenda? To change the set of rules?
My main agenda is to change the rules to the way that they should be. The way that everybody is crying, “Why can’t it be like the days when I was growing up.” Because this is the point, think about it: Why do people play records from the old days? Because they wanna remember. Why do you always have to remember the past? Why can’t you deal with now? Read the rest of this entry »
In discussion with Philip Sherburne about “The Flat Earth” by Thomas Dolby (1984).
Why did you choose this album, and how did you come across Thomas Dolby in the first place?
Until I was 12 or 13, I got most of my pop music from Top 40 radio. There weren’t a lot of other options for kid living in suburban Portland, Oregon in the late ’70s and early ’80s, and I loved a lot of things that I’d probably cringe at now, simply because they were all that was available. This is not one of them, though. Thomas Dolby’s “The Flat Earth” has remained a personal favorite for a quarter century now, and within it I can find many of the seeds of my eventual love for electronic music. I don’t remember any first encounter with Thomas Dolby’s 1982 single “She Blinded Me With Science,” which was all over the radio that year. I’m sure it was the synths and samples that grabbed me. I had discovered synthesizers through the music shop where I bought piano sheet music – Bach, Czerny, Phil Collins – and was nuts about anything with synths in it (In 1983, I’d get one of my own, a Korg Poly-800). Curiously, I didn’t dig any further into Dolby’s music at the time, but then, the song was ubiquitous, and in retrospect, it was such an odd single it probably didn’t gesture towards a form bigger than itself, like an album. It was what it was, and that was plenty. In 1984 or 1985, I went through a brief period of checking out LPs from the Multnomah County Library. That’s where I came across „The Flat Earth“. It was the cover that got me. Around that time, I would latch onto anything that had the faintest hint of “new wave” to it, and the cover’s pseudoscientific markings and cryptic photo-montage seemed like the most modern thing I’d ever seen. In retrospect, the sleeve is hardly so dazzling — a slightly watered down version of Peter Saville. (In fact, it looks a little like a cross between the Durutti Column’s “Circuses & Bread” and Section 25’s “From the Hip”, but it lacks the elegance of either.) Still, it was good enough for a 14-year-old jonesing for the New. I remember sitting on the floor of my parents’ living room, hunched over the sleeve, trying to make sense of the whole package. Not to repeat myself, but “cryptic” is the only word that fits. Everything about the music seemed to hint at hidden meanings, from the sleeve to the lyrics: “Keith talked in alphanumerals,” after all. Who the hell was the guy panning for gold on the cover? Who were these mysterious Mulu, people of the rainforest? What was a drug cathedral, and why an octohedron? (I had so much to learn.) Etc., etc. I’ve long since stopped caring much about lyrics, much less concept albums, but I was young and impressionable then, and every flip of the record seemed to offer another clue as to some strange, grownup world I couldn’t begin to decipher. The same went for the music, of course. For starters, there was the stylistic range: “Dissidents” and “White City” were recognizable as pop music, after a fashion, but what was “Screen Kiss”? It presented a kind of liquidity I don’t remember having recognized in music before that – first in the fretless bass, the synthesizers and the stacked harmonies, and even the chord changes, but mainly it was the way it trailed off into the scratchy patter of L.A. traffic reports, multi-tracked and run through delay. I’d never heard the “real world” breaking into pop music before, and certainly not spun into such a purely “ambient” sound. “Mulu the Rain Forest” was another weird one – again, an approximation of ambient, long before I’d discover it. And “I Scare Myself” totally threw me for a loop. What was a Latin lounge jazz song doing here, especially sandwiched between the humid “Mulu” and the jagged, chromed funk of “Hyperactive”? There was no doubting the continuity of the album, but the pieces felt at odds, as fractured as the cut-up sleeve imagery; the sequencing seemed erratic and the two sides of the LP felt out of balance with each other, and yet you couldn’t have put it together any other way. Just like venturing to the edge of the (flat) earth, flipping the record had a weirdly vertiginous quality to it. (I was, you may note, an unusually impressionable adolescent, at least where music was concerned.)
At the time I got this it took some time to grow on me. Was it the same with you or was it love at first sight?
A little of both. There was definitely something off-putting about the record at first, but I devoured it anyway. I’d go so far as to say that the parts that alienated me were precisely what sent me back into it. I wanted to figure it out. All this might sound a little silly now. Today, I can recognize that a lot of it is pretty overblown, beginning with the lyrics: “My writing/ is an iron fist/ in a glove full of Vaseline”? That’s… pretty awful. (Also, it may go some way towards explaining the purplish quality of my own youthful stabs at poesy.) But for all its excesses, it kept drawing me in. I still listen to the fade out from “Dissidents” into “The Flat Earth” and feel a thrill all over again, all those gangly licks and hard-edged FM tones giving way to hushed percussion and a yielding soundfield… It’s funny, too, to listen today to the title track and even hear the tiniest hint of disco and proto-house in the rolling conga rhythms, things I had absolutely no idea about then. Whatever its failures, this was the album that, more than any other up until that time, convinced me that records offered more than just a hook and a chorus, that they deserved to be puzzled through, analyzed, unpacked. That they offered up their own little worlds, worlds I would aspire to inhabit. Read the rest of this entry »
In discussion with Philip Marshall about the album “Introspective” by the Pet Shop Boys (1988).
There is plenty to choose from in the history of the Pet Shop Boys, why did you pick this album? It’s all about time, and my personal trajectory. In late 88 I was 16, going on 17… And life was unfurling before me. No longer trapped in suburbia, I was spending increasing times in London Town, growing up, and learning all about myself – clubbing and all that entails included. I dug deep into London’s rich vein of “equity culture”, and quickly discovered my late teenage was perfectly in sync with the most exciting of explosions in music culture since post-punk. At this time, lines were blurred. I made a commitment to myself, and sold off hundreds of indie vinyl down the Notting Hill record & tape exchange in order to fund my new-found love of nightlife and the music coupled to it. No mop-headed moaning guitar drivel would ever sully my collection again (or, so I thought back then…). An end to teenage angst, sold by the crate-load. Out with the gloom. In with 808 State, Electribe 101 and never ending weekends… But, the electronic pop I had loved when young stayed with me…
I think it is safe to say that they wanted to do something different from their first two albums. How do you place this in the output of the Pet Shop Boys?
It’s all about timing – “Introspective” was released that November, when my introspection first ended. A thread – from a pop past, to a future life. For them, it was a definite embrace of the then fresh house culture that Europe had plunged into – a relatively brave move for an established pop act and before others, such as ABC, jumped that train… As far as placing in their personal timeline, well one of the things I love about this album is its single-minded stance. Although the songwriting and lyricism is as strong as what went before and what was to come, its formatting, arrangement and structure was wilfully, almost arrogantly, other. Here was a group having number one hits in Europe and the USA, coming off the back of two consecutive number ones, and returning with a release that 1.) was six tracks long, 2.) comprised of extended mixes, 3.) didn’t have their image on the cover, 4.) was oblique, lyrically, in parts… The confidence and, presumably, freedom from EMI’s meddling that their earlier success lent them, afforded them the space to make an other statement. A few weeks ago, I was tearing through the English countryside with Jon Wozencroft , on our way to a Suffolk performance. His car had a cassette player, and we were rifling through his old tape collection. “Introspective” was played. We agreed; it is the “Sgt. Pepper” of house – the sound of a band at the peak of its popularity stretching and flexing its remit without fear of a crash. Read the rest of this entry »
In discussion with Terre Thaemlitz about the album “Dazzle Ships” by Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark (1983).
A lot of interesting electronic music was produced in 1983, the year “Dazzle Ships” was released. What drew you to Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark, and this album in particular?
To be honest, I don’t recall exactly how I came to own this record. I think it was probably the usual budgetary situation where I had heard about OMD, I wanted to buy a record to check them out, and “Dazzle Ships” was the cheapest album to buy. As a teen, my record collection was built on unpopular records from the $1.00 bin. This was economically unavoidable. It also meant my point of entry for a lot of bands was through their “commercial flops”. And as an “outsider” who did not fit in with others and was therefore a flop of sorts myself, I found resonance with these failures at assimilation. Gary Numan’s “Dance” is a brilliant example – thinking back, to be 13 years old in Springfield, Missouri, and really into that album, it really signifies a kind of social isolation. A “normal” or “healthy” 13 year old could not be into that album. Impossible. So I believe this entire process of arriving at an album like “Dazzle Ships” must never be reduced to a simple matter of taste. It’s tied to issues of economics, class, socialization… in the US it is also tied to race and the divide between “black music” and “white music,” etc.
With this album, OMD experimented with elements beyond their Pop abilities, like shortwave recordings, sound collages and cold war/eastern bloc imagery. How would you describe the concept of this album?
I think “Architecture & Morality” already introduced a lot of those elements. I don’t know for sure, but as a producer myself I imagine this is partly related to the emergence of better sampling technology. They could use samplers to play back all kinds of sound elements, rather than being limited to synths and multi-track recording. I also imagine, drawing from my own experiences, that “Dazzle Ships” (like Numan’s “Dance”) represents a crisis in their relationships to their record labels and Pop music generally. A crisis with capitalism, the demand for sales, demand for audio conformity… and in this way the socialist imagery of the album is perhaps a reflection of their struggling against these processes. I remember reading some article – which I have no idea if it was trustworthy or not, but – it talked about the tremendous pressure labels put on OMD to become more Pop. I believe they were asked to finally decide if they wanted to be the new “Abba” or not, and if so, to change their style accordingly. This was a brutal trend in UK new wave. It destroyed the Eurythmics, The Human League, Gary Numan, OMD, Depeche Mode, and on and on… These are all UK bands, all extremely influential, and all totally boring in the end. Very few groups came out of these struggles for the better – one exception being Talk Talk, who did abandon their synth sound but became something marvelously unmarketable in another way. All of these New Wave bands had to become Rock bands capable of penetrating the US market, blah, blah – dumb American Dreams. Techno-Pop was dismissed as a fad by industry, and the artists seem to have gotten swept up in the hype of possible “success”. Ironically, of course, even if they got a brief flash of super-Pop success they alienated their core fans who had been drawn to them as other than Pop. I know I felt extremely betrayed. I still do, at age 41. When I was young, it was a personal betrayal, now it strikes me as a cultural betrayal. I could be totally wrong, but I guess for me, all of this feeds into the concept of “Dazzle Ships”, the title being a reference to massive battle ships. The idea of sending this album afloat in the marketplace, poised to attack and conquer as the label wants – but stylistically it also clearly sabotages any prospect of popularity. I think it was OMD’s attack on the labels that released it – a final kick in resistance before transforming into the Pop band that produced “Junk Culture” (although it could have also been a tremendous extension of A&R pampering in which the label let their artists run amuck – but that is so much less inspiring to me). And you have to forgive me, coming from the US, I have no idea how these records operated in Europe. I can imagine they got radio play. But not in the US. So my view is slanted by this. In the US these were all anti-Pop albums with no airplay, except in a few major cities. They had to be hunted down. And this camouflaged cover, in a way, also carried this metaphor of a product hidden in the marketplace, hard to find, elusive. But present. I like this metaphor – it predates the queer motto “We are everywhere” by a good number of years. Read the rest of this entry »
In discussion with Jorge Socarras about “You Forgot To Answer” by Nico, from the album “The End” (1974).
What makes this song so special for you? Are there personal experiences involved or is it more a decision of musical taste?
For me a song that is truly special effects a seamless conflation of aesthetic and subjective elements. The combination allows me, as listener, to at the same time admire and experience the song. We could say that it blurs the distinction between objective and subjective, balances the either/or of the question. This is precisely what I find so special about “You Forgot To Answer”.
Nico seemed to be very determined and uncompromising with what she wanted to do as an artist. How would you place this song in her musical history?
I see this song as representing the pinnacle of her musical achievement. The artistic promise that she showed on “Chelsea Girl” and “The Velvet Underground with Nico” is at “The End” stage fully realized. Not to say that these early achievements aren’t beautiful and worthwhile – on the contrary. But her artistry is most unmistakably individuated and formidable on “The End” album, especially in “You Forgot To Answer”. That uncompromising quality you mention is so articulated and refined in this song that one could almost interpret it as a refutal of her earlier, more celebrity-identified persona (or personas). John Cale, of course, played no small part in Nico’s coming to artistic maturation. Their creative relationship was so evidently mutually inspiring – she playing muse, he Svengali. She was the ideal songstress and he the ideal arranger for the quite serious music they envisioned. Read the rest of this entry »
> Love Unlimited Orchestra – Welcome Aboard (1981)
I found it interesting that this record sounded already a bit like what Metro Area were doing later on.
It is a very unusual track, especially for the time it was produced. There was not a lot then sounding like this. It almost has a housey touch, and a very beautiful atmosphere.
The track title is very telling, it is the perfect way to start a set.
Exactly, we did a show for betalounge.com once with Smith N Hack and used this as the first track.
The sound is very romantically space-like. Is this something you look for in disco? Some kind of futuristic touch?
Well, here it is a feature that definitely attracts me. I also like that it is so reduced. I like tracks that are special and unusual, like this. It is very straight, there is not too much happening in it.
Barry White kind of transformed his symphonic kitsch into something completely different with this production.
The beat almost sounds like it was sampled, very strange. I think it is a warm up bomb.
Your productions are normally not associated with sounds this mellow.
Yes, but this has this certain straightness to it, and I always like that. They hold this sequence for the whole track and just add strings and vocals, and the beat just goes on.
> El Coco – Cocomotion (1977)
This goes right back to your first Sound Stream 12”. I found it interesting that you just used a tiny weird loop, instead of its catchy bassline.
Yes, I often just get hooked on single parts and sample them. “Motion” was more like an edit. It is just a loop which then gets chopped up a bit. I like the loop because it holds the tension for so long, it’s very trippy.
But it is a very special approach to editing. You certainly were not aiming for authenticity or better DJ use.
It is kind of how it started. The first re-edits in Chicago for example. They looped bits and extended them until they developed a hypnotic quality. I think Ron Hardy initiated that. He rode a loop for several minutes and after a while it just sucked you in. This repetition also goes back to James Brown. His band played a riff for a while, then a break came on, and then it started all over again.
So you decidedly edit music to achieve a track-like quality?
Yes, definitely. With nearly all my productions I try to last long with little, and it is the same with other music I like. Simple tracks that don’t need much to hold attention for quite some time, instead of losing that after half a minute.
I remember hearing a Ron Hardy set a while ago, where he extended just the break part of Isaac Hayes “I Can’t Turn Around” for ages.
Yes, they reissued that tape edit recently. It sparked early house, like “Love Can’t Turn Around”. It is basically the same, they took the tape loop and replayed it with synthesizers, and some additional bassline and piano.
What do you think of edits that keep the arrangement of the original and just tweak the beats?
No. Something new has to be created in the process of editing. And as a DJ, I’d rather take a real drummer and fight my way through the timing. It’s funkier than a streamlined edit. That makes no sense to me. It’s okay if you have track with a wonderful part in it and then a break follows with guitars or something else you just don’t want to have. But an edit ultimately has to lead to something new.
Peter Kruder – The Law Of Return (Macro) Red Sparrow – That’s The Way Of The World (United States Of Mars) Santiago Salazar – Arcade (Stefan Goldmann Mix) (Macro) Technose Distrikt – Untitled (Rush Hour) Katelectro – Plug (Ultradyne Remix) (Mighty Robot Recordings) DJ Sneak – Fear The World (Defiant) Reggie Hall – I’ll Keep On Workin’ You (Urgent Music Works) The Pig – Are You…? (Rush Hour) Aaron Carl & Benjamin Hayes – The Struggle (Remix By The Plan) (Wallshaker) DJ Sprinkles – Sloppy 42nds (Glorimar’s Deeperama) (Mule Electronic) Raudive – Tul (Macro) Pépé Bradock – 100% Coton (Kif Recordings)
As a respected journalist, in many ways you educate your readers. Would you say that this comes across in your DJ sets as well?
To a certain extent. In the days before the internet made all sorts of musical knowledge easily accessible it was more important, because apart from what you could gather in the print media and some specialist TV and radio programs, the DJ at the club was the one to offer the glimpse of what was going on. I have benefited a lot from the skills and taste of DJs like Klaus Stockhausen and others back then, who knew what music really mattered and who also knew how to best spread their knowledge as an intense party experience. If that works, it is the perfect way of learning about music. I was always interested in the historical context of culture and I like to connect the dots between prototypes and later developments and so in the past I felt the need to adopt that, playing a lot of records I felt missed out on the deserved recognition along better known stuff, in order to make people wonder and dance at the same time. I still do that, but now a lot of the rare records I would say are worth discovering are very likely to be discussed on specialist boards anyway, and you can easily gather the information with a few clicks that once took quite a while of digging and research. But this inevitably led to DJing with a mere collector’s approach, which often results in a showcase of rare items and not in a good party. I also don’t like when such sets are presented like the real deal and authentic, as I have been around clubs for a long time now and DJs playing whole nights of just obscure music were the absolute exception. I am very aware of the privilege of having been there when some the music people still dance to today was in early progress, and so I like to play older records like I remember them being played at the time they were introduced. And of course I use the web myself to learn how pioneering DJs played certain records in certain clubs. That is not obliging for how I choose the records for the night, but it satisfies my curiosity. I always make a few steps forward and a few steps back with what I play, and I reserve the specialist program for radio shows and mixes I make or get asked for. For gigs, the way I put my record box together has always been the same, I just pack the tracks that I would like to dance to if I was attending the club the same night, and that’s it.
Tell us a bit about Macro and the label’s plans for the future.
Macro was conceived by Stefan and me to be both a platform for his productions and other music we like, with no artistic and stylistic restrictions apart from a high quality standard. We just wanted our label releases and identity to stand out via artwork and concept from other output we deemed interchangeable and risk-free. Thankfully our ideas caught on so quickly that we got approached by other artists and producers we admire who like the idea of releasing on a label that is laying emphasis on individuality and some lasting impressions instead of just exploiting the trends of the season. You can hear some of the results in this mix. There is a track from our first release this year by Oliver Ho as Raudive, Stefan’s stunning remix of Santiago Salazar’s “Arcade”, which is about to hit the shops, and a track from the forthcoming 12″ Peter Kruder produced for us. Furthermore Stefan’s edit experiment with Stravinsky’s “Le Sacre du Printemps” is going to be released in early June and later this year we will unleash a very special album project with an accompanying series of 12″s, the preparations of which have kept us well busy and buzzing with anticipation since last year. We think it is quite a sensation.
You are known for fusing Disco and Classics in your DJ sets. What changed in your approach for the Sweatlodge set?
I still play a lot of sets where I combine Disco and other related older genres with modern electronic music, but I don’t want to do so per se. I like to treat every set as a new position, be it topical, stylistically or based on a certain purpose. This is basically an excerpt of some favourite sounds I play at the moment as a DJ representing Macro. A hopefully coherent mix of old and new. On another day it could have turned out to sound completely different, but this is how I felt it should be at the time I dropped the needle on the first record. Generally, I have a lot of records to choose from and I try to make good use of that.
Where have you played in the past that you would really want to re-visit again?
We just had our first label night at Panoramabar, and that was predictably an experience I very much look forward to repeat. I also did a nine hour plus back-to-back Disco set with Hunee last Summer at Picknick’s yard which was quite immense and shall happen again. Berlin is buzzing with great clubs, partys, DJs and devoted dancers at the moment, but I have no preferences but a good night out, and I have no doubts I will have some of that for the rest of the year. I’m also looking forward to some gigs lined up beyond Berlin, because I like to travel around and witness some other cities and the according scenes. We’re also working on taking the label out for some dates, and I happily await some fine experiences lying ahead of me with that.
> Backroom Productions – Definition Of A Track ( New York Underground Records) 1988
A rare tune from 1987. Indeed nothing but a track.
I knew this from the vinyl edition of the DJ-Kicks by Terranova. At that time it fit right in with what they were trying to represent with that compilation. I used to play this track regularly back then, it was very good for warming up.
So you actually know this for quite some time then.
Yeah, of course! I was not into Terranova that much, but the compilation had some brilliant tracks on it. East Flatbush Project and such.
This has some kind of Hip Hop vibe to it, too. But it does not exactly sound like 1988.
No, and I didn’t know that (laughs).
Would you still play it?
Definitely. I don’t know when and for what occasion but it is a class track.
It somehow reminds me of the bonus beats they used to have on the flipside of old House records.
Yeah, but bonus beats have gone out of fashion a bit, apart from Hip Hop. Argy had some for that Sydenham track “Ebian” on Ibadan last year. But I think it is not really relevant anymore for the current generation of House producers.
The percussive elements really distinguish the sound of that era from today’s productions. Lots of handclaps, or here it’s rimshots.
My problem is that I don’t really like all these percussion sounds from drum machines. I prefer sampled real instruments. This is probably some classic Roland drum machine, like a 606. I would take the bassdrum and hi-hats from somewhere else. The toms of these old machines are always cool, but the bongo sounds for example are not for me. I wouldn’t use that for my productions. I couldn’t do these 100 % authentic references. I think it’s supercool to listen to in a Prosumer record for example, but I couldn’t do that.
You got qualms about doing something like that?
No (laughs)! I’m just working on a new track for which I sampled an old Amen-break. I don’t care, if I like it I use it. This kind of break is in 90 % of all Drum and Bass tracks and nobody cares, so I don’t care either.
> Phortune – Unity (Jack Trax) 1988
This is an old track by DJ Pierre, from his Acid House days. But it is different to most tracks he produced back then. It is pretty deep.
It’s great. Awesome vibe for 1988, I could listen to this all day. It doesn’t tranquilize my feet, it’s not boring, it’s perfectly right. And I would grin from ear to ear if I would hear this in a club.
Some of its sounds have aged really well.
I really like this. I think it’s a pity that there are not so many tracks with great basslines at the moment. There are a lot of simple, functional basslines without much of a melody. Of course it’s effective and some current tracks need some of these dominating, functional elements, but a track like this for example needs a bit more, and I miss that. It’s also simple, but it has more and different harmonies. I like that, it gets me hooked. I would love to buy this on Beatport (laughs)!
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