The typical club coordinates in Hamburg in the mid-1980s moved somewhere between mod culture and northern soul or post-punk and wave – in locations such as Kir – and disco preppydom at Trinity, Voilà and Stairways. The port of call was usually chosen by whether the evening plans focused on music and dancing, women or drinking. Some locations would satisfactorily cover all these needs, but in Hamburg it’s always been customary to frequent new locations as soon as an imbalance of these factors becomes too apparent. DJs usually didn’t do any mixing in those days and the music was often quite a wild potpourri of styles, so the nightlife crowd was used to only dancing to a couple of tracks and spending the rest of the night doing other things.
However, a little off the beaten track, near Berliner Tor, there was Front, a club Willi Prange opened in 1983. In 1984, Klaus Stockhausen from Cologne became the resident DJ and like his fellow DJs in others parts of town, he played a mixture of boogie, synthpop, electro, hi-energy and Italo. However, in the eyes of the rest of the city, Front soon had a special status. The main reason for that was probably that most of the guests were gay, that is if one can believe hearsay, who didn’t mind partying the weekend away so far-off from the usual Reeperbahn and Alster area haunts. On the other hand, what was perhaps even more deciding was Stockhausen, who was miles ahead of his colleagues in many ways. I first heard about his amazing DJ skills from one of my best friends, who was a few years older than me and had been frequenting Front since 1984. One evening he’d persuaded Stockhausen to sell him a set of live recordings on tape, for quite a lofty sum – well, the man certainly knew what he was worth.
When I heard the tapes for the first time, I was pretty stunned. I’d always had a weakness for all kinds of danceable music, but what you could do with it when you mix it was totally new to me then. I spotted certain parts of my record collection, but somehow it all sounded different, more energetic and more exciting. There were many instrumental versions, laced with sound effects, scratching and a cappella vocals. You could hear different records playing at the same time, sometimes for several minutes on end, or certain parts for just a few seconds. Most of the time I couldn’t even tell the tracks apart anymore, and I didn’t have a clue how he did it. Moreover, the choice of music was always both very stylish and adventurous. Must be mind-blowing to hear him perform live, I thought.
The nights at Front were already quite a steamy affair at that time, but things really took off at the end of 1985, when Tractor and later Rocco and Container Records started stocking the first house imports. In fact, I only really noticed house when “Jack Your Body” and “Love Can’t Turn Around” suddenly became hits in 1986, but I took an instant liking to it. It seemed like the perfect synthesis of all sorts of club styles, and yet it was also really basic and direct. A promising variation in the chronology of disco music, so to speak. And according to ear witnesses, house was monopolized as of day one at Front, even though there weren’t that many records you could buy, but whatever was available, you could hear it at Front. The European club landscape is admittedly too diverse and extensive to pinpoint where things were actually sparked off exactly, but if you take a look at the musical history books of other countries, Hamburg was in there damn early, without even making a big fuss about it. The regular weekend guests from England certainly seemed to have set out to the touristic wasteland on Heidenkampsweg with full intent to dance and were not there by chance.
The first time I was actually part of the bizarre queue that lined up in good time in front of the stairs leading down to the club was in early 1987. I was almost of age and a little tense. It seemed as if the cool guys around me could hardly wait to be let in by the grumpy moustached geezer who was in charge of the cellar door. The proud majority of the audience consisted of pretty boys in glamorous outfits and half-naked muscle-packed leather types, and there were plenty of them, later to be found on the dance floor, dancing and screaming their hearts out in delight. The club itself was anything but glamorous – “bare” would be putting it mildly. There was nothing on the walls apart from a few emergency exit signs on which the word “danger” blinked from time to time and intermittent slide projections of meaningless phrases like “I mean… is he…” or “…and suddenly…”. The dance floor was surrounded by low platforms with railings which – owing to the low ceiling – meant you were even closer to the nasty tweeter loudspeakers of the sound system that wasn’t exactly good, but it was very effective and, what’s more, very loud. The light-show merely consisted of different-coloured fluorescent tubes, sporadically lighting up the dark dance floor at incomprehensible intervals. And in contrast to other clubs in Hamburg at the time, it was very dark, not to mention the incredible fug of more or less naked bodies that was dripping from the ceiling or channelled back onto the street by the ventilation system, pouring out right next to the entrance as a thick cloud of steam, as if announcing to the outside world like the smoke at a papal conclave what levels of excess had been mutually reached that weekend.
Front was a place that you’d go to in order to dance, rather than to pose, although you could of course also do both if necessary, and wander from left to right, spellbound by the booming splendour. The atmosphere was extremely physical and highly sexed: the Front kids had designed their temple, paying reverence to hedonism with unconditional allegiance. In fact, nothing mattered as long as it was fun. If you left the dance floor, not that anyone would ever want to, the only distraction was a bar with a few benches, one floor down, whose drinks taps were tipped to the beat accompanied by the sounds of partying bar staff – often dressed in torero outfits. Other distractions included the notorious toilets, which were extraordinarily highly frequented and snubbed any notions of segregation of the sexes, as well as a pinball machine that never worked. The exuberance was deliberate, controlled from a DJ area which was very different to those in any other clubs in one respect: you couldn’t see the DJ. It was an elevated dark booth that you accessed through a door from the dance floor, and the DJ – whom you could only catch glimpses of – could look out through two tiny crenels. That had the effect that you concentrated on the music and sometimes it seemed as if it was coming from another world, although you were fully aware, of course, that the master of ceremonies responsible was something special, applauded with screams of delight on the dance floor. Clearly a renunciation of the elsewhere increasingly popular trend of hero-worshipping specific DJs – a trend that was ultimately the reason why Stockhausen laid down his headphones forever in 1991 to pursue an equally successful career as a fashion editor for well-known lifestyle magazines. I only found out many years later what he actually looked like, thanks to a series of photos in a city magazine, though it didn’t really matter anyway. The same went for his highly talented successor Boris Dlugosch, who became Stockhausen’s protégé as of 1986 and took over the baton after he left, directing the next era of the club just as stylishly – as did other DJs such as Michael Braune, Michi Lange, Sören Schnakenberg and Merve Japes. In time, more and more celebrities came, but were hardly taken any notice of.
These conditions didn’t change much in the years that followed. There were rituals like the quadraphonic test record that crackled away with the lights turned off, usually heralding in the final phase with a review of disco classics, though the Front’s sound system made even those sound like they’d been reborn in a ball of lightning. There were various wild and special events plus the annual birthday bash where, believe it or not, everything was turned one notch higher. Unforgotten is also the performance of an innocent busker who, on the outbreak of the first Gulf War, was engaged ad hoc on the high street and nervously played “Give Peace A Chance” on his guitar to an ecstatic audience.
In the developments of house music and all the various different styles emerging from it, Front served as a tough yardstick in the following years. First came the acid phase, which also conquered the rest of Hamburg in other new locations such as Opera House, Shag and Shangri-La, and the first wave of Detroit techno was welcomed with open arms. In those days, trips to clubs in other cities were often rather disappointing by comparison, and you soon looked forward to the next night out at home. In 1989 the New York hybrids of techno and house from Nu Groove and Strictly Rhythm followed, and the post-acid developments from Britain, such as Bleeps or Shut Up And Dance and 4hero, generally referred to as breakbeat techno back then, were also received to some acclaim. When techno started to increasingly define itself in terms of hardness as of ‘91, Front returned to its groove roots, leaving the speed-freaks to get on with it at locations like the first Unit. Overnight, garage and deep house were virtually mixed to new heights under the aegis of Dlugosch, without losing any of the easygoing dynamics on the dance floor: the delirious frenzy just happened to sound a little different now. Front embodied thrust and style and had brought its followers up on house to its best ability, which is why Hamburg never became much of a techno city compared to other metropolises. The club featured in Face, I-D and Tempo magazine as a world-class location and, with Dlugosch, was at least on a par with purely house and garage clubs in the USA and England, and was practically unrivalled on the continent for many years, which was underpinned by the fact that Front soon started to book big names from abroad. DJ Pierre slipped up on Wild Pitch and made up for it with acid meets garage; Mike Hitman Wilson botched up completely; Frankie Knuckles put a towel round his shoulders, placed a bottle of cognac and a desk fan in front of him and then set out to communicate just that; the Murk Boys were mutual love at first sight; and Derrick May didn’t want to stop.
But the first guests also offered insights into other scenes, which got more and more club-goers interested, and competition in Hamburg soared, generally using Front as the benchmark. The gay crowd felt increasingly more corned by prying eyes, and eventually the faces of the first generation gradually stopped coming and started going elsewhere. Not only the spirit of the pioneering age was waning but also the music began to lose its intensity. Even the 24-hour petrol station round the corner suddenly shut down. Nevertheless, like many others I felt privileged to have witnessed the emergence of house, happening live at such a special place that we all still carry in our hearts. At some point the show ran by itself and at other venues – as of ’94, I went there far less frequently, until I got a wake-up call in ‘97 when I suddenly heard about the farewell party. I preferred to remember it as it was in its heyday and decided not to go. Befitting for a truly legendary club, the deco was later auctioned like relics to the highest bidders. But I already had the perfect souvenir and it still adorns my door: the sign of the ladies’ toilets, mysteriously stuck to my T-shirt one Sunday afternoon when I woke up on the floor at a friend’s place still in my outfit from the night before. Those were the days. Klaus Stockhausen is still the best DJ I’ve ever heard and for me the club’s intensity is still unparalleled, minus a bit of sentimental glorification. It left a deep impression on me. Whenever I drive into Hamburg coming from Berlin, I always steal a glance at the Leder-Schüler building and hear music in my head. This used to be my playground.
Many thanks to Walter Fasshauer, Patrick Lazhar and Frank Ilgener.
Michaela Melián – Convention (Monika Enterprises) Dee Dee Brave – Can’t Get Over It (Champion) Stefan Goldmann – Heatwave (Victoriaville) Jackin’ Bernard Badie – Bernard’s Got The Funk (D.J.B. Productions Records) Unknown Artist – Untitled (Chicago Underground) Unknown Artist – Untitled (Other Side Records) Barry Manalogue – Koyo Front (Nonplus Ltd.) Ricky Smith – Cry Baby (Chicago Bad Boys Records)
Rückblick für das Goethe-Institut – Elektronische Musik aus Deutschland 02/11
Vorwärts immer, Rückwärts immer
“Forward Ever Backward Never” lautete der Titel der Mayday-Compilation von 1992. Man glaubte noch aus vollem Herzen an die von elektronischer Tanzmusik und -kultur ausgelöste Revolution. Es lief ja auch gut. Die Strukturen waren noch elastisch und ausbaufähig, der Pioniergeist beflügelte die Kreativität, und auch die ökonomische Kurve zeigte steil nach oben. Natürlich war unter diesen Umständen alles davor irrelevant.
In den 18 Jahren danach hat sich aber einiges anders entwickelt, als man es damals für möglich gehalten hätte.
Auf der einen Seite hat sich schnell herausgestellt, dass der musikalische Fortschritt ganz ohne Rückbezüge eine Utopie bleiben musste. Nichts entwickelt sich schneller als der Sound der Clubs, die nötige Innovation um nur forward zu bleiben konnte nie aufgebracht werden.
Und wenn forward nicht mehr so viel passiert, kann man auch backward schauen, auf all das, was im Schwung der Dinge noch nicht mal verarbeitet war.
Und so landet der Sound von 1992, vermutlich schon Ende des gleichen Jahres hoffnungslos veraltet, in Bruchteilen im Jahr 2010 und man hat sich an eine Wiederkehr dieser Art schon längst gewöhnt.
Die Zyklen, in denen ältere Tendenzen aufgegriffen wurden, wurden immer kürzer, gleichzeitig ging man auch immer weiter zurück. Die ältere Generation wurde somit mit ihrer Vergangenheit konfrontiert, und die jüngere Generation machte aus derselben Vergangenheit ihre Gegenwart, und beides geschah auf der Suche nach dem Neuen.
Folglich war 2010 ein Konsolidierungsjahr. Man wollte das Rad gar nicht mehr neu erfinden, man gestaltete es um. Wozu man in den Clubs feierte, unterschied sich nicht maßgeblich von den vielen Jahren davor, nur dass die vielen Jahre davor nun gebündelt zu hören waren, in einer modernisierten Auslegung, in der der Fortgang oftmals nur an Nuancen ablesbar war, und das auch nur mit einem gewissen Maß an altersbedingter oder eigeninitiativer Vorbildung.
Die “Krise”
Den Takt der Ereignisse gab nach wie vor die Krise der Musikindustrie vor, die viele dazu bewog, sich für den kurzen Erfolg an gängige Mittel zu heften, andere dazu, für den anhaltenden Erfolg ihre Meriten eher zu verwalten als weiterzuentwickeln, andere wiederum dazu, ungeachtet von Erfolg oder Misserfolg den ökonomischen Niedergang als Chance zu sehen, sich kreativ erst recht auszutoben.
Die Demokratisierung der Produktionsmittel in Zeiten von billiger Soft- und Hardware und verkürzten Vertriebswegen führte in jedem Fall zu einer Schwemme von Trittbrettmusik und Geringverdienern, und jeder kämpfte um die schwindende Halbwertzeit, die die Medien in ihrem proportional wachsenden Themenhunger noch zuließ.
Man konnte sich aber stets sicher sein, zu jedem erdenklichen Aspekt mehr Podcasts, Soundcloud-Sets und Webdiskussionen zur Verfügung zu haben, als man je bewältigen könnte.
Auf der anderen Seite erwies sich die Clubkultur als nahezu krisenresistent. Den Feiernden waren die zeitgenössischen Bürden der Kreativen letzten Endes egal. Sie wollten einfach nur feiern wie eh und je, und das war natürlich ihr gutes Recht. Auch wenn alle Vulkane Islands gleichzeitig ausgebrochen wären, hätten sich immer noch genügend DJs gefunden um den Betrieb aufrecht zu erhalten. Nachrichten von insolventen Großclubs wie dem Londoner Matter/Fabric blieben nur Zwischenrufe, auf die man in ebenso großen Clubs auf Ibiza oder in anderen Großstädten gar nicht reagierte, oder reagieren musste.
Die national und international magnetische Berliner Clublandschaft etwa, die Tobias Rapp 2009 treffend in seinem Buch „Lost and Sound“ einfing, verlor mit der Bar 25 einen Protagonisten, über dessen Verlust man allerdings schnell hinwegschritt. Man eroberte sich flugs weitere Freiluftflächen, etliche neue Veranstaltungsräume, und die weiterhin einströmenden Easyjetsetter ließen sich nun zum Teil nieder, und wurden nicht nur von DJ-und Produzentenseite, sondern auch als Veranstalter und Clubbesitzer aktiver Teil des Ganzen.
Folglich musste noch weiter zusammengerückt werden, und es rumorte an den Konfliktherden. Die lästig gewordene nationale Berichterstattung über die Szenerie verspielte es sich nach ersten unbeholfenen Versuchen, die Clubkultur zu verstehen, mit reflexartig auf den Sündenpfuhl zeigenden Outsider-Informationen, denn die Kultur kam mittlerweile ohne Berichterstattung aus.
Die Leitmedien und etliche sich zu Kommentaren berufen fühlende Personen des öffentlichen Lebens nahmen anlässlich des Love Parade-Desasters fast schon nachtragend und entschieden zu lange den Hedonismus der Szene an Stelle der unfassbaren Inkompetenz der zuständigen Organisatoren ins Visier und gruben den Graben damit noch tiefer.
Die Sendung mit der Maus
Nicht nur bei der Musikproduktion tobte 2010 ein Analog-vs.-Digital-Glaubenskrieg, sondern auch bei der technischen Umsetzung im Club. Panasonic entschied sich die Produktion des legendären Technics SL 1200-Plattenspielers einzustellen, des Gerätes, das Dekaden von DJ- und Clubkultur maßgeblich geprägt hatte.
Die unterlegene Analogfraktion erklärte dies mit dem unwürdigen Bequemlichkeitsaspekt und den niedrigen bzw. meist gar nicht vorhandenen Kostenfaktoren über Promo- und Filesharing-Plattformen beschaffter Musik, die Digitalfraktion erklärte dies mit dem unwürdigen Unbequemlichkeitsaspekt und den beschränkten mixtechnischen Möglichkeiten des Vinyls und der dazugehörigen Hardware.
Letztlich wählte der Großteil der Clubs den Mittelweg und unterstützte digitale Abspielsysteme, mit denen man Audiodateien mit der Haptik eines Platten-oder CD-Spielers auflegen konnte. Das Potential der mixtechnischen Möglichkeiten solcher Geräte nutzten aber nur wenige DJs, was die Fronten weiter verhärtete.
Ungeachtet dessen schoben sich aber die Performer noch weiter als integraler Bestandteil in die Line-ups der Clubs, und bei ihren Auftritten spielte analoge Ausrüstung eine noch geringere Rolle. Im Gegensatz zu DJs ließen sich Live-Acts besser in die zahlreichen Veranstaltungen einbauen, bei denen sich elektronische und rocktradierte Musik im Programm und beim Publikum vermischten, wovon letztlich alle Seiten profitierten. Oft vertreten waren der zum Konsensthema hochgeschriebene Paul Kalkbrenner, Modeselektor, die national fast allein auf weiter Flur die zahllosen Bass-Bewegungen der englischen Szene einfangen und zurückzuschleudern schienen, und die Wiener Band Elektro Guzzi, die mit einem klassischen Setup aus Bass, Gitarre und Schlagzeug eine originäre Auslegung von Techno umsetzten.
Je mehr der Fokus sich von der herkömmlichen Position des DJs zum traditionellen Auftritt verschob, desto klarer wurde in der Konsequenz, dass es nahezu unmöglich geworden war, eine Karriere als DJ zu beginnen, ohne selbst Musik zu produzieren.
Was war/ist House?
Für House war 2010 ein Jahr weiteren Wachstums, wobei für das Genre die fortlaufenden Referenzen aus dem reichhaltigen Disco-Erbe eine ebenso wichtige Rolle spielten wie die Rückbesinnung auf die eigenen Wurzeln.
Die erwähnten technischen Erleichterungen in der Musikproduktion und verkürzten Vertriebswege verstärkten die Flut von Edits und Bootlegs bekannter oder obskurer Titel abermals. Als Klangbild waren House und Disco aber nicht mehr auseinanderzudividieren, ähnlich wie in den Pioniertagen, als House noch als Evolutionsschritt von Disco aufgefasst wurde, und nicht als ablösendes Phänomen.
Die entscheidenden Pole waren Deepness, Disco in allen seinen Spielarten und vorwärtsorientiertes Geschichtsbewusstsein, und sie wurden in Deutschland am erfolgreichsten von Running Back und Permanent Vacation repräsentiert, und besonders dem auf beiden Labels veröffentlichenden Hamburger Produzenten Tensnake, dessen internationaler Erfolg darauf hinzudeuten schien, dass das Potential der Sounds noch lange nicht ausgeschöpft ist, vor allem wenn man die zeitliche Verzögerung als Maßstab nimmt, mit der Minimal in vielen Ländern erst den Schwung aufnahm, der bis heute anhält.
Die flächendeckende Renaissance der Alten Schule bewirkte allerdings auch zwangsläufig einen sehr traditionalistischen Umgang mit dem Genre. Ein Großteil der letztjährigen Produktionen begnügte sich mit der Rekonstruktion bewährter Soundmodelle von US-Produktionen von Ende der 80er bis Mitte der 90er-Jahre, aber es gelang nur wenigen Produzenten, diesen Vorgaben mit modernen Mitteln die Frische, Seele, Emotionalität und Individualität beizugeben, die die ungebrochene Faszination der Vorbilder ausmachen.
Etablierte Labels wie Dial/Laid festigten ihren Status, u.a. mit dem Album von Efdemin, die Hauptstadt sorgte mit den ersten erfolgreichen Schritten von Labels wie etwa Retreat oder Produzenten wie Hunee für Aufsehen, aber vor allem die lebendige ostdeutsche Szene rund um Workshop, und Mikrodisko konnte international individuelle und kreative Impulse setzen.
Auffällig war, dass viele House-Tracks sich dezidiert unter der 120 bpm-Marke bewegten, und man sprach nun von Autoren-House, um die tendenziell introspektive Musik von erfolgreichen Newcomern wie John Roberts oder Nicolas Jaar zu kategorisieren. Eine Bezeichnung, über die der Individualismus eines DJ Koze schon hinausgewachsen ist, der mit originellen Remixen, eigenem Label und Komplizen aus der ersten Blütezeit von deutschem House seinen Spielraum erweiterte.
Triumph der Bastionen
Die Erfolgsgeschichten des Techno, die sich 2009 entwickelten, setzten sich auch im folgenden Jahr fort. Ostgut Ton verfestigte sich als international stilprägende Exekutive des Berghain-Imperiums, und trug auch weiterhin die geschlossenen Reihen der eigenen Residents in die Welt hinaus, mittels Künstleralben der Aushängeschilder Shed und Marcel Dettmann, aber auch mit einer luxuriösen Compilation, auf der alle Künstler des Labels Field Recordings aus dem Club in eigene Tracks einarbeiteten.
Dieses Bekenntnis zum aufwändigen Produkt, das auch das Traditions-Label Perlon mit seiner Superlongevity-Compilation vollzog, stand in der Techno-Landschaft einer Vielzahl von Veröffentlichungen gegenüber, die in Sound und Design den klassischen Platten aus dem Umfeld der Berliner Institutionen Basic Channel bzw. Hard Wax und den angeschlossenen Labels nachstrebte.
Es gab zahlreiche handgestempelte Platten ohne Credits und Interpreten, die anonym bleiben wollten. Dabei war nicht immer klar, inwiefern die Marketingverweigerung Überzeugung, oder wiederum Marketing war.
Der einst von Mark Ernestus und Moritz von Oswald initiierte Dub Techno-Sound, blieb auch 2010 ein unumgängliches Leitmotiv, etwa für Labels wie Prologue oder Stroboscopic Artefacts.
Ernestus selbst legte sein Augenmerk dagegen auf afrikanische Rhythmik, so wie auch das indirekte Umfeld mit T++ und Shackleton, und von Oswald brachte nach seiner von einem Schlaganfall bedingten Pause erfolgreich seinen Sound mit einem Trio auf die Bühne.
Der etwas beliebige Minimal-Techno der Vorjahre wurde bei anderen Künstlern für einen massiven und unmittelbaren Grundklang aufgegeben, der sich gleichermaßen an den dunkleren Techno-Produktionen der 90er orientierte, als auch an der Post Punk- und Industrial-Ästhetik der 80er.
So emanzipierte sich Chris Liebing mit seinem Label CLR erfolgreich von den einst selbst gerufenen Schranz-Geistern, und wo in der Electroclash-Hausse, noch Fashion- und Performance-Aspekte die künstlerischen Überlegungen beeinflussten, beriefen sich zu Teilen aus Berlin operierende Labels wie Sandwell District nun direkt auf die Klangexperimente und Artworks von Bands wie Throbbing Gristle oder Cabaret Voltaire, und übertrugen deren Vorleistungen auf ihre eigene Arbeit.
2010 war aber auch ein guter Jahrgang für die Synthese von Club- und Hochkultur.
Der von Stefan Goldmann ins Leben gerufene Elektroakustische Salon im Berghain wurde serienreif, der Produzent selbst erweiterte seinen Spielraum sowohl mit cluborientierten Produktionen, als auch einer Ballettkomposition, die im Rahmen des Time Warp-Raves am Nationaltheater Mannheim aufgeführt wurde. Ähnlich experimentierfreudig auch der Kölner Altmeister Wolfgang Voigt, der von der Bildenden Kunst zur elektronischen Musik zurückkehrte, aber nicht ohne beides mit neuen Ansätzen verbinden zu wollen.
Ebenso willkommen auch die künstlerischen Rückmeldungen von Kreidler, Oval, Alva Noto, und Hauschka, die allesamt in einem clubkulturellen Klima auf vielbeachtete neue Wege gingen, das nicht mehr derart auf reine Tanzflächenkompatibilität fixiert war wie in den Jahren zuvor.
Die Musik klang im letzten Jahr zwar oft ohne Sonne, aber andere Ideen mussten nicht mehr im Schatten bleiben.
Im Gespräch mit Klaus Stockhausen über “Party Boys” von Foxy (1980).
Wie bist Du auf „Party Boys“ gekommen? Beim Plattenkaufen für DJ-Gigs? Du hattest ja 1980 schon mit Auflegen angefangen, als die Platte rauskam.
Die Platte ist, denke ich, von 1979, aber es war wohl 1980. Angefangen habe ich drei Jahre vorher. Ehrlich gesagt war ich in Amsterdam in einem Plattenladen, Rhythm Import, und es war der Nachfolger von „Get Off“, und „Get Off“ ging relativ gut ab. Ich habe in drei Clubs gearbeitet zu dieser Zeit. Donnerstags/Freitags in Frankfurt in so einem Armee-Schwuchtelladen, der hieß No Name. Da waren nur stationierte Soldaten, sehr amerikanisch. Samstag/Sonntag Coconut in Köln, und Montag in Amsterdam im Flora Palace, was hundert Jahre später zum It-Club wurde. Und du hattest drei verschiedene Musikrichtungen. In Köln war es diese Hi-NRG-Nummer mit sonntags Schwuchtel-Tea-Dance, Poppers etc., bei den Amis hattest du funky to Disco, und Amsterdam war britisch angehaucht. Diese Fusion war ganz gut.
Wie hat sich denn das Britische in der Musik in Amsterdam manifestiert?
Es war soulig, Hi-NRG, aber später auch so etwas wie Loose Ends. Es waren Elemente von Rare Groove drin. Und bei „Party Boys“ fand ich einfach diesen Hook so toll, der eben wesentlich eleganter war als zum Beispiel „Cruisin’ The Streets“ von der Boystown Gang. Eigentlich könnte man diese beiden Platten übereinander legen, es funktioniert perfekt. Und diese schrägen Stimmen. Ich mag Stimmen gerne, und wenn sie slightly off sind, mag ich sie noch viel viel lieber. Read the rest of this entry »
In discussion with Hardrock Striker on “I’m A Cult Hero” (1989).
Do you have a past acquainted with this music? Is this the compilation that nailed down musical preferences you already had, or did you have a different background and were you just looking for something in that direction?
This is clearly the music I was listening to as a kid. Back then, my biggest dream was to be in a rock’n’roll band, no way I wanted to become a DJ (“what a joke I could have thought”) as this meant nothing to me, imagine playing guitar and being on stage screaming in front of a crazy crowd or mixing records, even a monkey could do it! Obviously, it’s only when I started DJing that I understood the power of it and realized my immaturity.
I chose this compilation because even if it looks like a pure rock record, many of the bands inside are using electronic, though I had no clue about it while I was listening to them. I discovered house in Los Angeles in the late 90’s, I went there to form a heavy rock band but I ended up going out with some friends who were doing house, especially Peter Black who introduced me to Doc Martin, the Wax connection, DJ Harvey. We started being friends, speaking about art, music and I discovered that he was also into New Order, Front 242, Ministry, Echo and the Bunnymen, Joy Division and that he was doing house too, so I thought this music finally wasn’t that bad! I started digging, to sum it up, New Order leads me to italo, italo to chicago, chicago to techno. We did a record company called Parisonic / Square Roots where I was doing reissues (already in 2003) of obscure stuff such as It Ain’t Chicago’s “Ride The Rhythm”, Mickey Oliver “In-Ten-Si-t”, Ralphi Rosario “In The Night” etc. I educated myself through the records I was putting out.
“I’m A Cult Hero” is a bootleg compilation with 80’s dark synth pop music, originally released in 1989. Why do you think such a record was released at a time when acid house ruled the clubs? Was this a reminder to what was going on a few years before, or even a counter-reaction to what followed? What might have been the motivation of the label to do this record?
I think that even if house and acid were blowing up at that time, dark synth-pop and minimal wave were still huge. Remember in 1989, Depeche Mode was also on the verge of getting the biggest rock stars in the world with the 101 Rose Bowl concert and the release of one of the best trio of singles of the 80’s: “Strangelove”, “Behind The Wheel” (Mmmh, the Shep Pettibone Mix!) and “Personal Jesus” which was a combination of rock guitars and electronic so it makes totally sense.
The motivation of these guys was primarily cash I guess but I honestly think they did an amazing job! There are two categories of bootleggers: the creative ones and the thieves, I guess they belong to the first one. Read the rest of this entry »
Yes, almost ten years since I left England. The reason was not by my design. I was enjoying America so much that I overstayed my visa. If I was to leave, I would have not been allowed back for another five or ten years and I was planning on making my life there. And only a year and a half ago I got married and applied for my green card. And I now have the green card, and my work visa and my right to travel and re-enter the States. So here I am, back in the world. I recently completed a big tour of Japan and I’m on a major tour of Europe right now.
You got married and still it took such a while to get your green card?
Well, actually the process is a lot quicker now than it used to be. From the time I put my application in it was actually only four months until the card came through. Since 9/11 the background check is a little more stringent, but the whole process is now centralized, instead of the department in Washington, and the department in Detroit and so on. There’s one computer, and if you fit the criteria then it’s all good.
So you spent all those years of your self-imposed exile just playing in the States?
Yes, but on a regular basis. America is a big place. And I have a regular circuit. Starting on the Northeast coast, Detroit, Chicago, New York City, Philadelphia, Washington, Miami, then skipping over to the other side, San Diego, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Boulder and Seattle. And that’s not even including Hawaii. So that’s plenty of work, even if I do that once every couple of months.
But your main bases are Hawaii, Los Angeles and New York City?
Basically yes. My most regular gigs would be there.
Would you say that these are also the cities where your music fits best? Is there a better scene for what you play?
Everywhere I play people come to hear me play. I regularly play in Miami for the Winter Music Conference and Art Basel, that’s my two gigs a year mainly there. Towns like San Diego and San Francisco have a scene, too. Most of the places have a scene as such. It’s not the biggest scene, but with all the internet communication and stuff like that it’s small but healthy.
And since you are allowed to travel again, is it some kind of relief and you accept many gigs abroad?
Not really. It is nice to travel and just to have the freedom. I haven’t been around for ten years so it’s nice to pop out and go to Japan and Europe again. But I don’t plan to spend the next ten years on the road. There are a lot of opportunities, basically everywhere I ever played before plus twice as many places again.
How does it feel to get out again? Has the scene changed in the meantime?
I don’t think it has changed at all.
Is that disappointing?
No, that’s not disappointing at all. I always had a good time. There are certain focuses on particular kinds of music over the years, whether it’s Electroclash, or Minimal, or Drum ‘n’ Bass, but in general the dance music scene still goes bang bang bang between 110 and 130 bpm. And I don’t really see boundaries between the so-called genres. I play the music that I like, whether it’s a Techno record, or a Disco record, or whatever. I think more than the music has changed the people have changed. Kids that weren’t born when I was DJing in the mid 80’s are now in their mid 20’s, there’s a whole new generation of people who have come through as well as the survivors from the old school. The formula of a dance party is still very similar. I suppose communication via internet had an impact. Even though I have been away for ten years people know exactly what I have been doing. It’s not like I completely disappeared during that time. The networking has made sure that my influence via production or gossip has been maintained.
I think the internet helped to keep your status alive. All you did was thoroughly discussed on specialist websites and message boards. I guess this is quite different to how it was before.
Yeah. Scenes used to be localized, and now it’s globalized. Which is good and bad. If something fresh happens in a small area it doesn’t have time to develop, it is instantly global. Early Punk or Hip Hop had two to five years a hardcore scene as such. Whereas now, as soon as there’s a bright idea it’s everywhere in the world and everyone’s had a piece of it before it maybe manages to have a big foundation.
Nowadays it might also be easier to get influenced by another DJ, or even to imitate somebody. In pre-internet days you could maybe get your hands on some mixtape, but it was difficult. Maybe you read about DJs, but you never had the chance to hear them. And now you can download tons of sets from legendary DJs, and from legendary clubs, too.
Yeah. I think that’s good and bad, too. These days I don’t let people record my sets. I suffered from heavy bootlegging. And a lot of the time when I play it’s for that moment. Maybe you’re sitting in your car, listening to a set, but you have no idea of the atmosphere or the climate at the moment when the record was being played. The tape might sound bizarre or disjointed or strange and it might not particularly work in the car or the boutique or at home. But at the particular moment, that was the right thing to do. So I try and keep my sets for the people who were there and it’s for memory banks only.
So you think it gets watered down?
It’s a double-edged sword. Sometimes there’s a little bit too much access. Some of the mystery is gone. If you think of DJs like Ron Hardy, I’ve only see one small grainy photograph of him, and you wonder who this guy is and what his character is. If you want to find about me, just hit Wikipedia, DJ Harvey images, and you know what I look like, my style. But there is a little mystery to who or what I am and I quite enjoy that. Luckily the personal appearance still counts for something. Because they have had absolutely everything besides me physically. And here I am, in the flesh, I actually exist. I’m not just this digital entity. Read the rest of this entry »
Im Gespräch mit Marcel Dettmann über “Ich und die Wirklichkeit” von Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft (1981).
Die entscheidende Frage zuerst, wie bist Du zu DAF gekommen?
Ich komme aus dem Ostteil Deutschlands, und nachdem man zu DDR-Zeiten nur Depeche Mode, Madonna oder Prince hatte, die richtig dicken Pop-Acts, kam kurz nach der Wende ein ganzer Schwall von Musik, wie z. B. auch DAF, Throbbing Gristle oder Front 242, später auch Nitzer Ebb. Der Bruder eines Freundes von mir hat uns ständig mit CDs ausgerüstet, da war ich 12, und habe das erste Mal DAF gehört und fand das total verrückt.
Du hattest vorher nie von ihnen gehört?
Nein. Ich hatte vorher Ultravox, Erasure oder Depeche Mode gehört. Poppige Sachen. Und dann kamen DAF oder auch Nitzer Ebb, was ja artverwandt ist, sie waren ja quasi die englische Version von DAF. Wir hörten „Der Räuber und der Prinz“ und „Der Mussolini“ auch im Jugendclub, der von vier Uhr nachmittags bis abends um zehn offen hatte. Dort wurde in Runden gespielt, eine Runde für die Hip-Hopper, eine Runde für die Elektronikleute usw. Read the rest of this entry »
Im Gespräch mit Boris Dlugosch über “Dance To The Music” von Junior Byron (1983).
Hast Du Junior Byrons “Dance To The Music” zum ersten Mal gehört, als Du anfingst ins Front zu gehen?
Ich glaube, ich hatte den Titel zuerst auf einer Front-Cassette, die ich von einem Freund bekommen hatte. Also nicht ‘live’ im Front.
Du warst ja damals noch ziemlich jung. Wie bist Du eigentlich darauf gekommen dort hinzugehen? Hattest Du von Freunden gehört, dass man dort Musik zelebrierte, die Dir gefiel?
Also es war 1984, ich war 16 und die Schwester meines besten Freundes kannte den Kassierer des Front, Boris Breit. Er gab uns Front-Cassetten und hatte zwei Plattenspieler und ein Mischpult. Bei ihm zuhause verbrachten wir dann die Nachmittage nach der Schule und versuchten uns an seinen Plattenspielern und dem Mischpult. Er hatte vor allem Disco-Platten, kaufte aber auch fleißig aktuelleres Zeug bei Tractor-Schallplatten, dem damals besten Laden in Hamburg für Dance-Musik. Er hatte also die Musik, die im Front lief, bei ihm hörte ich die Sachen zuerst und dann wollte ich natürlich unbedingt einmal dorthin. Read the rest of this entry »
Im Gespräch mit Tobias Freund über “Take Away/The Lure Of Salvage” von Andy Partridge (1980).
Auf Deiner Myspace-Seite steht, dass Du seit 1980 Musiker bist, das Jahr also, in dem “Take Away/The Lure Of Salvage” erschien. Ich nehme an, Du warst schon früh ein Fan von XTC?
Die erste Platte von XTC hab ich 1979 entdeckt, „Go 2“. Ich lebte damals in Frankfurt am Main und bin mit meinem Freund öfters nach der Schule in einen Plattenladen nach Offenbach gefahren. Es war einer der einzigen Läden zu der Zeit, der neue außergewöhnliche Platten verkaufte. Ich erinnere mich, dass es immer total spannend war in den Laden zu fahren, man hat immer irgendetwas Neues, Unbekanntes gefunden. Neben XTC hab ich unter anderem das „Black And White“-Album der Stranglers entdeckt, auch eine meiner damaligen Lieblingsplatten. Mich hat immer sehr das Artwork einer Platte angesprochen, ich hab mir des Öfteren platten “blind” gekauft, allein weil mir das Cover gefallen hat. Meistens bin ich nicht enttäuscht worden. Bei „Go 2“ war es genau so, das Cover hat mich gleich fasziniert, noch heute finde ich es eines der besten Artworks, simpel und effektiv. Weiße Schrift auf schwarzem Untergrund über die ganze Vorder- und Rückseite. In dem Text wird das Artwork erklärt und der Leser wird manipuliert die platte zu kaufen. Ich habe die Idee des Covers für die nsi.-Veröffentlichungen auf meinem Label Non Standard Productions aufgegriffen. Allerdings nur das Layout, Courier ist seitdem für mich der Punk unter den Fonts.
Waren XTC eine typische Band dieser frühen Post Punk-Phase, oder waren sie einzigartig?
Für mich waren XTC einzigartig, sie waren frischer, witziger und haben sich nicht zu ernst genommen, außerdem sind es unglaublich gute Musiker. Sie haben sich mehr getraut gewohnte Strukturen aufzubrechen, auf ihren Platten gab es immer Experimente. Zum Beispiel konnte Andy Partridge seine Stimme wie ein Instrument einsetzen, er hat versucht jedem Lied eine eigene Note zu geben, zornig, verrückt oder hysterisch. Read the rest of this entry »
In discussion with Dave Mothersole on “Techno! The New Dance Sound Of Detroit” (1988).
You wrote in a recent article about the roots of the music played in Goa that you came back to the UK from there and found acid house in full swing. Did that connect with what you heard in India, or was it something else entirely?
It was the very start of acid house. I got back from India in March 1988 – Shoom was still at the fitness centre in Southwark (although I never went) and a month or two later Spectrum opened at Heaven on Monday nights.
It was different from what I’d experienced in India. In some ways it was more tame as people had to go back to work or college or whatever after the weekend or on a Tuesday morning after Spectrum, where as in Goa partying was a full time occupation for most people and therefore more extreme. Goa was like Mad Max with palm trees and techno – almost totally lawless in those days, so nothing compares to it really. I’d been there the previous season (86 / 87) too and I’d come back with all these stories about freaks dancing all night to music that sounded like one long track – like all the best music you’d ever heard with all the crap parts taken out. How it didn’t stop all night and how everyone was freaking out to it on acid and on this new drug called ecstasy. I think my friends back home all thought I was mad, but when acid house came out they were like ‘ok, I get you now’. So I was pleased that they finally knew what I was on about. There were things I didn’t like though, like the MCs. Partying in Goa was like a mystical, very psychedelic experience. Almost a spiritual thing and it was all about getting inside the groove and letting the music take over, so to have some guy shouting ‘hands in the air’ every few minutes as everyone faced in the same direction was a bit distracting. So in that way it was different.
The music was totally different too. The influence of the soul scene (where most of the DJs came from) was very strong so there where a lot of song based tracks with very soulful vocals. The themes were different as well – the famous Martin Luther King speech over Mr Fingers; Ce Ce Rogers ‘Someday’; ‘Promised land’ – these were all Black American themes – songs about the struggle for liberation and freedom. They translated perfectly to multicultural, 80’s England though. Before acid house black and white kids didn’t mix so much on the dance floor, there were exceptions but on the whole the clubs were either separate or divided. Acid house changed all that overnight and these songs, with lyrics about reaching the promised land and living together as one family had a very powerful resonance with the audiences. I think it was a tremendous relief for my generation to finally come together in this way. And this applied not just to the divisions between black and white, but also to class divisions and those that separated the various different youth cults. It was an amazing time – an entire generation taking the same drug at the same time. Listening to the same music, feeling the same emotions. My friends all went from wearing designer clothes and hanging out at the pub to clubbing every weekend in dungarees, purple kickers and long sleeve tops and hoodies with peace signs, smileys and flowers and stuff on them. Some of them even quit their jobs and started throwing parties, selling drugs, DJing – anything they could do that would let them carry on partying. It was a huge change and it happened really fast. By the summer of 88 loads of people were into it and come the summer of 89 it was massive. Huge parties, every club in the country playing house music, office workers out on Friday shouting ‘mental’, mainstream compilation albums full of acid house hits and 10 year old kids dressed like ravers.
Was it like hearing the roots in Goa, and then back in the UK, acid house seemed to be the next step musically?
I wouldn’t say the next step from Goa, as the scene in Goa existed in it’s own little bubble. Culturally, I was very pleased that we were the first country to take the concept of dancing to electronic music on ecstasy, and push it straight into the mainstream. This wasn’t a new concept – people had been doing it throughout the 80’s in Chicago, New York, in Dallas (at the Stark Club), in Ibiza and of course in Goa – but we kind of democratised it. You didn’t have to be a freak in India, a New York club kid or a jet set Ibiza type anymore. You could be an ordinary kid, you know, from pretty much anywhere in the UK. That was really cool.
Musically, house had been popular in England since 85 / 86. ‘Jack Your Body’ was number one in the pop charts in 86 for example, and ‘Love Can’t Turn Around’ was top five in the same year. So I was already familiar with house music and indeed it’s roots as I’d been into the soul scene before and had grown up dancing to records like D-Train’s ‘You’re The One For Me’, ‘Beat The Street’ by Sharon Redd and Sinnamon’s ‘Thanks To You’. And then the whole electro thing hit big in England, so yeah, it was the next step musically for sure, but it was ecstasy that made it explode in the way it did. Much as I was familiar with it though, house music could still be shocking. I remember standing in the queue outside Spectrum for the first time and hearing this thunderous acid track booming out of the club and thinking ‘fuck me, this music is dark’.
On the whole though, the music in Goa was far more foreign to me. I lived in Italy as a boy and went on holiday there most summers right up until I went to India, so I was familiar with italo disco, but that was my only reference point. That an a few Front 242, Yello and Nitzer Ebb records my brother had. It might sound strange but until acid house broke, European club music was very rare at parties in England. After acid house that all changed, first with stuff like A Split Second and Code 61, then later with all the R&S and Music Man stuff and after that the Frankfurt stuff and whatever. Pre acid house though, only a few gay clubs played euro beat (as we called it) so hearing it in Goa – particularly in the psychedelic way they played it there – was a complete revelation to me. Read the rest of this entry »
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