I picked this because of the extraordinary lyrics, which reappeared eventually in the house scene. Kerri Chandler did a version of it. And there are some rhythm patterns that you use as well. It was also a hit in the gay house scene. There are many house tracks based on this tune.
Personally, I really like Nina Simone a lot. I think there have been a lot of really bad remixes done of this track. For example, the Masters of Work remake added a really cheesy synth pad over her, so it’s really been bastardized a lot. But I think that’s part of the whole schmaltz of the gay house scene as well. That it has this way of reducing things to a cheap standard.
I think there’s a way in which it’s complicated to play music that verges more on gospel than soul in the club environment. And I think that’s something that Nina herself would like in a weird way. She identified herself less as a jazz musician, and more as a folk musician. And felt that she was channeled in the jazz corner by the industry. In her biography, she talks about being—if anything—a folk musician. That kind of cross-categorization is really interesting to me. And there’s also this idea of “How could her music get worked into a DJ set?”
Especially with this contrast between the euphoria of her live performances that is associated with her work, and her audience’s reactions to her work. She’ll play something like “Mississippi Goddamn,” this sad, tragic song. And the audience is like, “I love this song!” They’re cheering like idiots.
I think the same goes for this song. The way that she sings this song is not cheerful at all. That contrast struck me in that gay house context as well. It’s not the same sort of material that you ordinarily associate with it.
For sure, that’s something that I identify with in my own music. I often produce it from a perspective that people don’t sympathize with particularly. Or they approach it from an angle that is different from where I produce it from. They want to turn it into something, despite the complaints, that is energizing for a party. For me, I’m totally not concerned with this type of energy.
I really have a respect for her. I can empathize with this idea of immigration, of leaving the United States. It was under different circumstances, of course, but as an American who emigrated to Japan I feel a kind of simpatico with her.
Would you basically say that this streak in your work, where you reference things like this, is that you try to remain faithful to the original vibe of the material?
No. I don’t believe there is an original, or that there is something to be faithful to. I don’t believe in faith at all, in any form. I think this is important to clarify. That doesn’t mean just being kind of aloof or naïve about the connotations either. It’s about thinking about them in a way that allows for complications or recontextualizations as opposed to simply doing an homage or a tribute. Nina Simone has had enough tributes, you know? It’s OK if we don’t tribute always.
Gary Numan – Cry, The Clock Said (Beggars Banquet) 1981
Your Rubato series where you do piano renditions of Kraftwerk, Devo and Gary Numan. It struck me that all three of these acts have this weird relationship between technology and humanity. Was that your purpose with it?
Yes, of course. The purpose of the series was to investigate the techno pop icons that were the seminal acts of my childhood. And to think about how it polluted or influenced or channeled my own productions, as well as my own politics. And, of course, techno pop is very phallo-centric, Mensch Machine, so I wanted to also complicate the homo eroticism of this musical world that almost exclusively prevents the entry of women. Which makes it either a misogynistic or gay space. Or both. Or neither.
So all of the piano was composed on the computer, which I felt kept the technological association with these original artists and what I feel their vision was for using technology, but also to have the result be this neo-romantic piano solo that wasn’t a Muzak version, but going towards an avant-garde piano that—unless you were a big fan—you might not be able to pick out the melodies.
Sexuality this genre seems really warped in a way. As you said, like with Kraftwerk. The only time that they explicitly dealt with sexuality was on Electric Café on “Sex Object,” which is a really weird track.
Yeah. They had it in Computer World , they also had “Computer Love,” though. But it’s always about either the machine or the woman is the object. Always objectified. “Sex Object” has a very weird elementary school approach to gender.
Everybody likes to think of Kraftwerk as being very much in control of their image, but if you look at their catalogue, it’s a total mess. You have this Krautrock stuff. The Ralf und Florian album, that was cut from the catalogue for a long time because it didn’t fit in. They are much more eclectic than they want people to think.
I think their concept is also much more open than many people think. They left some leeway.
I think a lot of it is due to the record company. I’m coming at Kraftwerk as an American, and which records were distributed to us there may have been different than what was sold in Europe. So things like the first ones with the pylons were never seen until I was in New York. And they were, like, a million dollars. It was Autobahn , Trans Europe Express , Radioactivity , Computer World , Mensch Machine and that was it. If you could track down the Tour de France EP, it was a miracle.
How would you place Gary Numan in this? He also played with these ideas, but it always had a bit of a tragic note to it.
I think that the Dance album… Remember when you interviewed me about the Dazzle Ships album, and I talked about it being a kind of crisis moment when an artist is trying to figure out their own artistic direction, and they’re faced with the pressures of the major labels that they’re signed in and locked into. Dance was right around the same time, and I think it was Gary Numan’s crisis with the industry. When you look at it in relation to the kind of progress of the sound of his work—and at that time he did have a very linear channeling of what he was doing—this was the album that was the peak of this weird electronic Latin percussion thing. He had people from Japan working with him. His next album, Bezerker, was this more industrial thing. It was samplers and all this sort of stuff. For me, though, Dance was the height of this certain kind of sound that he had control over, but also dealing at the same time with pressure from the label.
Image-wise, what he did up to Dance certainly served him better than what he did after. I remember this sleeve of Warriors … Maybe the image that he portrayed earlier wasn’t exactly original, but it served his voice quite well. And his persona.
For me, the conflict of something like the Warriors cover, where he’s standing in this S&M gear, all leathered up with a baseball bat as though he’s some kind of bad ass road warrior guy, is that he has this posture that is totally faggy and limp. And the bleached hair. And then he’s not queer-identified. He’s straight-identified. He plays with gender in his lyrics, but he makes it clear in his interviews that he’s not. For me, it’s this contradiction between the kind of costume play that you could find in a gay club, but for me it was also a mismatch…like the leather bottom.
It also has to do with being a nerd that is really into science fiction. He also has this nerd component. His lyrics are all about Philip K. Dick and Blade Runner . He was totally into that stuff. And I think that’s also what drew me to him. And it also made me repress the impact that he had on me. By the time you reach 18 or so, it’s too tragic to say that you’re a Gary Numan fan. People react in this horrible way. But he, more than Devo or Kraftwerk, was really influencing me.
I used to plagiarize his lyrics and enter them into the school district contest and get ribbons for it. And when my father was upset with me about music and things, it was my Gary Numan records that he would lock away in the closet so that I couldn’t get at them. There was a lot of battle around Gary Numan in my adolescent life.
I think that’s why the “Cry, The Clock Said” has such a special connection for Comatonse. Because the first EP was basically a dub remix of this song. Read the rest of this entry »
Right, we’re going to set it off with “Set It Off”. Basically with “Set It Off”, growing up in New York in the 70’s and 80’s, I grew up with my parents and my brother – my brother being a DJ since 1980, and there were a lot of musical roots in my household. I was always around music. Mostly disco and electro, stuff like that. Growing up with my parents in the 70’s, they were really big on disco and I was hearing everything from “Ten Percent” by Double Exposure to so many underground disco records, like from 76, Jimmy and the Vagabonds, or Crown Heights Affair. Old school disco. I always had roots in the family. My father also had a pretty big rock collection from the late 60’s – Sabbath, Zeppelin, psychedelic rock. That was played probably when I was really younger, but 74/75 my parents were already getting into disco at that time. The roots of the music were always there with me and I would buy records on the occasion. I remember buying Fatback Band’s “King Tim III” which was pretty much the first rap record, Michael Jackson – “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough”, “Let’s All Chant”, stuff like that. I was like 7 or 8 years old buying this stuff but I was never really into DJing at this time. My brother was the DJ. He was the one buying the records and DJing. He knew what was going on musically. I would say when I really first started to pay attention to music a lot, but I still was not a DJing, was around 83/84, and I was around 12 years old at the time and I was getting into graffiti which I was actually documenting on subway trains by photographs. I was travelling from Brooklyn to the Bronx. I was going everywhere with a camera – all four boroughs that had a subway system. The records at that time were a lot of electro stuff that was being played. A lot of freestyle like C-Bank’s “One More Shot” or “Al-Naafiysh” by Hashim. I still didn’t really know who the artists were and stuff like that, but I knew the records and heard them all the time on the radio. Around 84 I went to a break dancing club at a roller skating rink to watch a bunch of people battling, and I heard “Set It Off” for the first time. I don’t know what it was with that record but it fit all the movies I liked at that time: New York movies like The Warriors, Death Wish. It was just this dark record that was kind of like the soundtrack of New York City at the time, when New York City was just like in urban decay. On my way somewhere with my parents you would see all these abandoned building like in Berlin in 1945 in certain areas. Then taking the train to the South Bronx and seeing that…I have such a vivid memory of being on the Pelham subway line going to see one of the most famous Graffiti writers in New York called Seen, who was in the documentary Style Wars, and I befriended him when I was probably like 13. He used to airbrush t-shirts in a flea market. I don’t know why music always has a place in a moment that you can remember a certain situation. I can remember being in that flea market and then playing that track. It was just like the track of tracks. It was the soundtrack of graffiti, of New York, the rawness. When I got into techno in about 1990 and I went to trace back all the records that I’d been collecting and I would go back and listen to that record it just sounded so current. Not current to what techno was, but on the production level. When you listen to other electro records or freestyle records from that time, nothing has that 808 feel like “Set It Off” does. That production is just sick. The bassline. There’s really no other record from that time period, apart from maybe “Hip Hop Be Bop” or “Boogie Down Bronx”, that should have been the soundtrack to The Warriors. It’s just an amazing track. The irony of whole record being my favourite record is that it was produced on a label located in Ocean Avenue in Brooklyn, so that record was made probably two miles from where I lived. I guess Walter Gibbons produced Strafe, but it was made in Brooklyn. It’s a 100% Brooklyn. That record… the build up, the vocals, just everything about it…I could listen to it over and over again on repeat mode.
Would you say they produced a prototype with this? It’s a lot darker than most of the electro productions around that time.
I think it’s definitely the prototype for a lot of the future electro stuff that was coming out through the techno scene in the 90’s. Anybody making electro music at that time had to know that record. You have “Planet Rock” and you have “Clear” by Cybotron but that record just stands out for me. It’s such a better record. I love the other records but when I hear “Set It Off” the goose bumps come up. It sounds like something from a John Carpenter movie. It could be from “Assault On Precinct 13”, even if you can’t mess with that soundtrack. It is in the same mode as that. It gives the same feeling, and the same vibe and mood. Those eerie chord strings in the back and the bassline. You can’t mess with it.
> Ryuichi Sakamoto – Riot In Lagos
The next one is “Riot in Lagos” by Ryuichi Sakamoto.
This is an interesting track that Bones had turned me onto in probably sometime in the early to mid 90’s. He was refreshing my memory on records that were on when we used to go to roller skating rinks, and one of the other records was Kasso’s “Key West”. I remember he was playing all these records and I was like flabbergasted by the sounds and the music and how futuristic it was for 80’/81′. The thing was when I got into techno and I realised what electronic music was, and I’m hearing Bones and Lenny Dee – this is the 808, this is the 909 – trying to get my head around all these machines, and Bones was playing me records later on saying “these are the first 808 records, or 909 drum rhythm records”, and I never looked at the music I was listening to in the early 80’s, like Kraftwerk, as electronic music or acoustic music – I never made that difference in my head. I never sat there and thought “Oh, I like music with synthesisers”. When I heard this Sakamoto record, I kind of recalled hearing it but it didn’t really ring a bell in a big way for me. But it did ring my bell. [laughs] I was like “Whoa! What the fuck is this?” because I guess it’s got that Eastern, Asian kind of melody sound to it. That is a one of a kind record. There is nothing that sounds like that. I have never, ever heard another record ever sound like that. It cannot be copied.
It even sounded different to the sound Sakamoto was doing with Yellow Magic Orchestra.
Yeah. There is another Sakamoto record that I got a little later on, once I realised who he was, that is quite rare. Not many people know it, it’s called “Lexington Queen”. It’s amazing. It was released as a 12” and also a 45 as well. I probably should have been digging a little deeper on Sakamoto stuff, when I was doing my East kind of record shopping ten years ago, when I was looking for all this 80’s stuff. But I heard a few things by him that didn’t hit me the way those two records hit me. But “Riot In Lagos” is just a special record, what a special piece of electronic music. It’s up there with Kraftwerk.
It is pioneering electronic music, but from a very different angle.
Again, it’s got that Japanese sound to it. Whatever Japanese electronic music was in the 80’s, I don’t really know much about it, but this is a brilliant track. Read the rest of this entry »
Wie schon bei Acid House interpretierte man in England die amerikanischen Entwicklungen auch bei Deep House etwas anders. Diese EP von 1992 gehörte zu den ersten bedeutenden Versuchen, die US-Originale des sanften Sounds der frühen 90er auszulegen, die besonders in New York insbesondere von Legenden wie Wayne Gardiner und vielen anderen Hispano-Jungtalenten auf Labels wie Strictly Rhythm, Nervous, Nu Groove und zahlreichen Kleinstlabels ausgelebt wurde. Weiche Kicks, warme Akkorde, bequem identifizierbare Vocal-Samples und allerlei Zierrat im Arrangement war das Gebot der Stunde, was später oft dazu führte, das man diese Spielart von House despektierlich als Flötenhouse verunglimpfte. Adam Holden, Rob Mello und Zaki Dee waren keine Stümper auf dem Gebiet, sie brachten es später zur beachtlichen Weihe eines kultisch verehrten Gastspiels auf Prescription, und auch hier war schon alles im Lot. Die melancholische Emotionalität und Leichtigkeit im Klang der US-Vorbilder wurde mindestens eingeholt, House wurde hier gespielt und nicht zusammengebaut, und sorgte auf so mancher Tanzfläche für Momente voller selig geschlossener Augen. Im Vergleich griffen die Jungs aber auch die Errungenschaften vor der eigenen Tür auf, insbesondere Joey Negros Art Disco mit Deep House zu verbinden, scheint auch hier durch, und bei aller Tiefe haben diese Tracks auch diesen wohligen mediterranen Schimmer, den die italienischen House-Produktionen der frühen 90er auf der Insel hinterlassen hatten. In Anbetracht des übersichtlichen englischen Sommerwetters ist diese EP Eskapismus der höchsten Edelstufe, und enthält darüber hinaus mit „Explain It“ einen der erschütterndsten House-Lovesongs ever, über den die Originators in den US-Großstädten explizit und zeitlebens den Mantel neidvollen Stillschweigens ausgebreitet haben. Dem Vergessen gilt es nun wirklich entgegen zu gehen, mit dem richtigen Talent geht House immer noch überall, auch wenn die Urheber dieses Wunderwerks in den Folgejahren mit die Regel bestätigenden Ausnahmen lieber zu den Gründerväter von Boompty zählten anstatt die internationale Deep House-Bruderschaft in Schach zu halten.
Die Faszination der Labels Prescription und Balance ist weiterhin ungebrochen. Erfolgreiche Reissues, irrsinnige Online-Marketplace-Preise und zahllose Versuche des internationalen Nachwuchses in unterschiedlicher Fallhöhe, die Magie der klassischen Veröffentlichungen für das eigene Profil abzuwaschen, künden immer aufs Neue davon und selbst das lange Schweigen von Chez Damier und Ron Trents fortwährende Abstecher ins jazzig-spirituelle Dudel-Muckertum ließen den Glanz ihrer Großtaten nie verblassen. Es erscheint mir etwas sinnlos aus dem Katalog eines der klassischsten Deep-House-Labels den definitiven Klassiker zu bestimmen, da hat jeder seine eigene Geschichte (wen es dennoch interessiert, bei mir wäre es “Forever Monna“, aus verschiedensten Gründen). Also soll es hier um “The Nature Of Retribution“ gehen, aus dem einfachen Grund, dass diese Platte zum Zeitpunkt ihres Erscheinens 1995 eine Art Rückschau auf die eigenen Karrieren war, und gleichzeitig alles aufwies, was diese zumindest im Kanon von Deep House für immer andauern lassen wird. Alles was des Afficionados Kultdetektor fuchsig macht, ist hier vertreten: Die Platte verzichtet vollkommen auf Credits. Keine Titel, keine Autoren, nix. Wozu auch, es ist offensichtlich wer und was hier dahinter steckt. In neuen Versionen schaut Chez Damier noch mal bei seiner legendären 49 auf KMS und Chuggles vorbei, und Ron Trent bei Nagual. Dazu gibt es noch einen für sie typischen, luftigen House-Gospel, der vermutlich eine Gemeinschaftsproduktion ist. Was sich hier wie eine relativ profane Vorgehensweise einer überschaubaren Werkschau liest, versammelt jedoch eine Ansammlung von Tracks, die bis heute alles in den Staub schmettern was ihren Weg kreuzt, in Neuversionen, die mindestens in der Lage sind das Gleiche anzurichten. A1 ist eine geradezu frustrierende Lehrstunde darin, mit wie wenig man wie viel erreichen kann. Ein Beat, ein paar Akkorde, ein versprengtes Vocal-Sample. Fertig ist das Meisterstück, auch wenn es, wie auch schon bei früheren Tracks der Labels der Fall, hier in einer Kürze zum Verzweifeln fast nur skizziert wird. A2 ist der wilde Ritt zur Disco-Himmelspforte, bis zur Atemlosigkeit vorangetrieben, de- und rekonstruiert aus Sample-Versatzstücken des klassischen Disco-Erbes und den Insignien des eigenen Stils. Auch eine Lehrstunde, nur mit anderem Inhalt. Wo tue ich was hin, damit es wie funktioniert? Im Ergebnis wieder ein Meisterstück. B2 ist dann schließlich die noch eine geniale Lektion, und zwar in Sachen hypnotischer Eindringlichkeit. Wild Pitch trifft auf Dub trifft auf Chicago-Bounce, keiner der drei war danach wie er vorher war, und der Hörer, glücklich verloren im Sog, schon gar nicht. All das veröffentlichten Damier und Trent in einem ausgesprochenen House-Krisenjahr mit wenig Konkurrenz auf Augenhöhe, was die Wirkung und Verehrung folglich noch erheblich potenzierte. Und so rechtfertigen sich auch mindestens die nächsten 14 Jahre Kult- und Legendenstatus.
Das Label von Danilo Plessow alias Motor City Drum Ensemble und Sebastian Gaiser alias Mujaba meldet sich zurück, und das mit einer EP, die dem ollen Deep House-Klepper einen ordentlichen Stock zwischen die Beine wirft. „Whichflower?“ ist ein eigenwilliger Groover, der mit dem klassischen Logic-Acapella Vertrautheit antäuscht, um sich dann über verdrehte Beats und ungewöhnlich geschichtete Flächen in andere Gefilde davonzumachen. Als hätte man zeitgemäßen Deep House mutwillig ein Bein gestellt und beim Versuch den Unfallhergang im Studio nachzubilden wäre etwas ganz Anderes entstanden, das viel faszinierender ist. Das gilt auch für die B-Seite „Aclaime“, aber hier werden die tradierten Strukturen noch ein Stück weiter lädiert. Dubbige Ansammlungen von Flächen, die sich wie feiner Nieselregen festsetzen und einzelne Spuren von erheblichen transformierten Instrumenten ziehen versonnen aneinander vorbei, und entladen sich plötzlich in einem psychotisch summenden Zwischenfall. Wirklich ausgezeichnet.
“Travel The Earth” ist im Original ein nächtlicher Zen-Garten im Wolkenbruch, in dem sich im Hintergrund die Mönche in höhere Bewusstseinszustände trommeln, Claps peitschen unvermittelt quer in die Idylle, irgendjemand tupft anmutig eine traurige Gitarre dazwischen, und darüber sirren fremdartige Sounds wie übergroße Insekten. Alles fließt, tropft und prasselt ineinander. Der totale Trip. Labelchef John Dalys Remix klingt vergleichsweise mächtiger und lässt dunklen Bass und Acid durch die meditative Szenerie schlingern, erzielt aber ebenfalls diesen fahlen Sog. Gegen das hier sieht der monatliche Deep House-Durchschnitt in der Tat wie mickerigster Krüppel-Bonsai aus.
Anfang der 90er Jahre hatte man in Kanada eine Weile aufmerksam den internationalen Entwicklungen von House und Techno zugehört und machte sich dann daran, selbst wichtige Beiträge zu leisten. Richie Hawtin und John Acquaviva versuchten sich mit Plus 8 erfolgreich an englischen Bleeps, kontinentaleuropäischem Rave-Krach und den Vorreitern aus dem nahen Detroit, das Label Hi-Bias hingegen orientierte sich vornehmlich an englischem, italienischem und New Yorker House mit Pianoschwerpunkt. Und dann gab es noch das von den Produzenten Hayden Andre Brown und Ron Allen gegründete Label Strobe, dessen Programm all diese Stilelemente aufnahm und zu einem eigenen spezifischen Sound umformte, der jahrelang einzigartig bleiben sollte. Zwar veröffentlichte man auf Strobe in drei Jahren nur ein gutes Dutzend Platten, aber jede von ihnen richtete sich auf ewig im legendären Teil des globalen Deep-House-Gedächtnisses ein. Wie Brown und Allen dabei vorgingen, lässt sich auf dieser Platte ihres Gemeinschaftsprokets Infra-Red von 1991 eindrucksvoll nachhören. „Love Honey“ ist introspektiver Deep House, der sich über ein emotionales Spoken Word-Intro und das Accapella aus dem Paradise Garage-Evergreen „Love Honey, Love Heartache“ von Man Friday ganz der Wehmut nach der verflossenen Liebe hingibt. Die Melancholie, die hier auf jedem Klavier- und Vibraphonakkord und den archetypischen Flächen liegt, konnte man zu der Zeit auch auf vergleichbaren Deep House-Platten aus New York hören, aber nicht oft in solcher Intensität und Schönheit. Lover, die eine derart grundlegende Verwirrung und Enttäuschung sowie auch sonst nur Schutt und Asche hinterlassen, können nur in erschütternden musikalischen Denkmälern verarbeitet werden, wenn überhaupt. Wie man solche komplexen Gemütszustände auch mit anderen Mitteln transportiert zeigt „The Verge“, das andere Meisterwerk dieser 12“. Die wuseligen Rhythmen und Klänge zeigen klar gen Detroit, aber dort setzte man sie selten zu so einer tiefenhypnotischen Nachtfahrt zusammen. Als würde man von einer mysteriösen Tonfolge dazu getrieben, abwechselnd in der Mitte der Stadtautobahn zu rasen oder deren Leitplanken zu streifen, und den Fahrern, die im Rückspiegel flackernd hinterher schlingern, scheint es mindestens genauso zu gehen.
Johnny Dynell war als DJ in den 80er Jahren eine Schlüsselfigur der Downtown New York Szene. In legendären Clubs wie Area, Mudd, Limelight, Pyramid und der Danceteria dirigierte er die Hipster-, Künstler- und Fashionista-Parade durch die Nacht. Danach trubelten House und die Club Kids durch die Stadt, und Dynell eröffnete 1990 mit anderen geschlechtlich undefinierten Glamgestalten den Club Jackie 60, der irgendwo zwischen Drag, Performance Art und reinem Wahnsinn die Vorlage für die Dekadenzkultur und Verhaltensabnormen der Großkathedralen späterer Jahre wie Tunnel, Sound Factory und Limelight bildete, und sich mit einer kuriosen Eigentribut-Deep-House-Conferencier-Platte namens „Jackie 60 Hustle“ und in Bälde auch mit Jackie 60: The Movie zelebrierte. Diese Platte hier ist aber nicht die vielleicht zu erwartende völlig überkostümierte Do’s and Don’ts-Liste mit viel zuviel Make-Up, sondern ein hymnischer Popstarversuch. Eine herzzerreißende Deep House-Ballade mit wahrlich fulminantem Personal: Arthur Baker produziert, Eric Kupper spielt, Victor Simonelli editiert, Jocelyn Brown, Connie Harvey und Tina B singen mit, und David Morales defmixt in seiner unverkennbaren Red Zone-Phase, die mit dem dicken Bass und den kühlen Flächen. Dynell füllt die Crooner-Pose überraschend gut aus, und das Ganze ist auch mit dem nötigen Ernst dargeboten, nur am Ende kommt ein gesprochener Part in dem der Sänger die Liebe seines Lebens zum Bleiben beschwört, und diese nur unbeschwert und gewissenlos in Richtung des nächsten Typen stöhnt. So war es damals, große Gesten und exaltierte Hinterhalte, aber man war von den ganzen Behauptungskämpfen noch nicht so abgestumpft, dass man nicht auch eine Platte wie diese hier in den Szeneklatsch werfen konnte.
> 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)!
This is a 70’s reggae track by Jackie Mittoo. It’s almost Minimal, very basic.
True. It’s got some Techno appeal, it’s just rhythm. That’s what I like about this Dub stuff, there are so many things you can recognize that were used later on in electronic music like House and Techno. Dub was so important for that.
So these ancient production techniques are still valid? There seems to be a direct line from Jamaica to today’s productions.
Yeah, I listen to Dub. I don’t listen to a lot, but I like some of it. But I like to use the state of mind of Dub in my music. It’s more a musician thing. I like to use the techniques of it. I’m getting more into the music, too. It’s amazing, the way they were mixing the bass and the drums in the 70’s. Really crazy.
They also put some emphasis on just doing tracks, not songs.
It really is the basis of what came afterwards, from Hip Hop to House to Techno. Drum and Bass also, of course. They all took elements from Dub, that’s really interesting.
> Yukihiro Takahashi – Walking To The Beat (Pick Up Records)
The next one is by Yellow Magic Orchestra’s Yukihiro Takahashi. A Synthpop track.
It is interesting. It has this kind of proto-House feeling. What I really liked was this crazy soprano sax solo at the end. It is almost like Free Jazz, for 30 or 40 seconds, and then it stops. That was quite bold.
I think he actually wanted to do some kind of pop hit though. The singer on this record is the one from the 80’s pop group Icehouse for example. But for a pop hit it is probably too weird.
I think the harmonies are built up quite traditionally, but this solo part really surprised me. It is almost like New York ‘s Post Punk era. Trying some new crazy stuff.
Maybe you should use some sax solo in a House track.
Well, I used to play sax in the past.
Really?
Yeah, for a long time. But I kind of really got tired of the sound and I don’t think I’m going to use it. But you never know. I started playing Alto Saxophone when I was 13 years old. I had tried piano a few years ago, but I wasn’t so much into it. I don’t remember why I chose saxophone, but I remember I wanted to do a wind instrument. With the saxophone, I learned to play jazz and I absolutely loved it! I began rehearsing with a few bands, mostly Jazz or Funk groups. When I discovered DJing, I was instantly hooked and I started playing less and less saxophone, until I quit around 2001. DJing, collecting and discovering music became more important for me. I dabbled into production around 1996, but got a home studio setup two years later. I remember that my main reason for producing was that I found that certain records were lacking something or were arranged in a way that I thought was not so effective. I was thinking “Hmm, the producer should have put this part first” or “the chord there doesn’t sound nice although the beat is dope”. After a while I just thought I should make my own tracks.
I remember that a lot of the early Deep House tracks used the same sax sound. Really flat and synthetic. They seldom used a real saxophone, always this cheap sound effect.
Recent Comments