I am in this business for so long that I know what you have to do right now to get gigs. I am really fully aware of it, and I do not condemn it either. I am part of it myself, unfortunately. But of course all these reels, selfies and footage of crowded floors and beautiful sites do not tell the whole truth. Every DJ once had quiet, or weird gigs. And there really is no harm in that at all. If you learn the hard way, you will probably even have more lasting effects. I am happy that this category of gigs is an exception in my years as a DJ, and I would not tell you if it was otherwise, but let me list some gigs I played that were not turning out as I expected.
My then weekly residency at Tanzdiele Club in my hometown. The Saturday before was rammed, the one before as well, and so on. I entered the club ready to top it all, and then there were about 20 people the whole night. At some point I was told that there was a huge private party in some flat by some people notorious for huge private parties. We closed the club at 2 am and went there too, but we couldn’t get in because it was so crowded that not even the police there to shut down the party could get in. Told my ego one or two valuable things, and also about taking things for granted.
Me and Lars Bulnheim were very excited about the invitation to play some Modern Soul tunes at an allnighter in the stadium. We took selfies on the terraces, admired the trophies and the main floor looked like a cruise ship ballroom. It was wonderful. But when we came to our floor there were some seasoned soul DJs playing mediocre Garage House from CDs, and nearly nobody danced. There was a sizeable bunch of old soulies at the bar, and they were cheering and applauding our records. But we waved them over to dance, and they just laughed.
Booked to play one of our then quite cherished disco b2b sets with Hunee. Hunee had suddenly decided that digital DJing was the future and so I was playing vinyl and he was playing with Traktor, or whatever. The difference in sound quality was really awkward, as Hunee’s files sounded really bad on the club’s PA. So even the 15 people who showed up left quite soon. Now his files sound better on most PAs than my records, but hey.
I entered the club and I was delighted by the sleazy and plush interior. Unfortunately that floor was reserved for a Hessle Audio night with all three of them. I said hi and then was directed to my floor, which turned out to be very small, and also served as the smokers lounge. You could say the smoking and according interaction mattered more than my set, let alone dancing.
2011 Tape, Berlin
Traxx celebrated his 40th birthday party on several floors. It was a great party, apart from the floor Trevor Jackson and I played. Which was the separate room upstairs where people went to have a chat, snog or take drugs, or to just have a quiet moment at last. And I was playing a rather advanced set of post punk favourites.
The club by the river looked like as if a spaceship had clashed into an ancient vessel and was half open air. One separate floor had walls of empty bottles. The Russian government had just introduced harsh anti gay laws and the crowd consisted mainly of rich kids more interested in showing off their wealth than in any of the music played, and handsome boys on the edge of the floor pretending to be just friends. I still feel dirty and ashamed when I think of that weekend.
Me and Anstam were the support DJs for the showing of Murnau’s Nosferatu, soundtracked live by Shed. Anstam was great with setting the mood before, the film itself and Shed’s score was impressive too. When that was over, everybody left very quickly and I played maybe half an hour to the almost empty main room. But I ended with „Bela Lugosi’s Dead“, and the staff packing up and me agreed that it was quite a moment.
I had played the same club for the annual soul weekender many times, so I thought it would be a great idea ot play a garage house set. But none of the local soulies showed up, the few people on the floor were not that much into vocals, there was heavy bass feedback on the decks, and there was a huge sold out punk concert in the main room upstairs, and when that ended a bunch of charged up and quite aggressive punks entered the floor and if looks could kill. But I was stubborn, and ready to fight, and surprisingly enough they warmed up to the music very soon. I never had a floor with equally wasted and loved up punks pogoing to Ce Ce Rogers again, unfortunately.
Mark Ernestus was telling me that the club had probably the best sound system he ever heard, the reputation of the place was astonishing anyway. What I did not know about the booking was that I was the only remaining member of a Hard Wax package, and that the gig was announced as such. It was also announced that I would be the only one playing of the former lineup, a day before. So I played a frenetic cut up disco set to a few dub techno fans. The club closed soon after.
2015 Humboldthain, Berlin
I played an amazing set, but it was a daytime open air party on the hottest day of the year, and the few people who came by were paralyzed. I also quickly realized that playing in a wooden shack without ventilation was even worse than lying around in front of it. And I played for four hours.
A wonderful party actually, but all DJs got carried away and played way longer than scheduled. When Shed and me finally started it was already dawning and a lot people had already gone back to the city, and the remaining crowd was too wasted or tired to dance. It did not help that I brought a bag of my favourite Proto Jungle anthems.
2016 Acido, Salon zur Wilden Renate, Berlin
The new techno floor had just opened and I thought it was a great idea to play a set with my favourite acid house records. Unfortunately the other DJs had played a rather leftfield set that did not work, and by the time I arrived the floor was already dead. About five people were merciful enough to dance on, but they were gone pretty soon, and they did not leave to tell other people what was going on. They just left.
2018 Bewegungsfreiheit, About Blank, Berlin
When I arrived at the club I noticed that the lobby floor was sticky and drenched in sweat, but half empty. It was not brave Cinthie‘s fault, who played before me, the reason was that the whole ventilation went bust right after the party started. In June. I played my set, but nearly everybody had escaped to the garden. And every drink I had to fight my frustration seemed to dissolve instantly in the heat.
I had a marvellous time in Australia two years before, playing at the wonderful Inner Varnika festival and some accompanying gigs. When I returned in 2020, however, the pandemic had accelerated from being a distant rumour to undeniable realness very quickly, and while I was travelling down under Europe was locked down and upon arrival I had tons of messages and phone calls by panicking DJs, and I realized that the life I was happily living for over 30 years was basically falling apart in realtime. My first gig in Melbourne was a disaster, as people obviously decided to be reasonable and stay in, and apart from a few friends there hardly was anybody there. The gig in Sydney two days later was the total opposite, playing b2b in a sold out warehouse with DJ Sprinkles, but it had the vibe of the last night out possible, and it actually was. I managed to get one of the last flights back to Europe before most airports were shut down, and dear me I was confused.
In the early to mid-noughties, minimal techno and tech house were ruling most of Berlin‘s dance floors, but there also was a vital scene dedicated to playing records that were not played at most other events in town. Seasoned disco and house DJ legends were invited, and often reactivated to display their experience and skills, and local and international DJs established a network dedicated to digging deep for the more obscure and leftfield sounds of club culture, and turning them into intense and vibing events with their finds of vintage house and disco, italo, post punk, afro, latin, balearic, yacht rock and even more specialized niches. The daring and knowledgeable eclecticism of this scene established an openness that inspired more current music productions and is still around in club and festival lineups, and even led to DJs like Hunee and Call Super becoming celebrated A-listers. From 2010 to 2013 the club Soju Bar was Berlin’s main spot for this context of night life. It was located in the backroom of the Korean street food bistro Angry Chicken, which belonged to the restaurant Kimchi Princess around the corner. The club’s sound system was way above average, and the room was decorated with loving attention to detail, an impressive replica of Korean bar culture that made the room appear puzzingly bigger than it actually was. Hyun Wanner, one of the Kimchi Princess owners who was on par with his DJs in terms of music enthusiasm, booked Soju Bar’s tasteful program until the club had to close and became a part the hotel that already took over most of the building. We asked him to revisit resident and regular guest DJs via music that he associated most with their nights.
Hunee: Shina Williams & His African Percussionists – Agboju Logun (Earthworks, 1984)
This record turned into a huge Soju Bar hit. It was just the time when more and more DJs started to flavor their sets with African influences. I think it is a trademark element of Hunee’s sound these days. Another regular Soju Bar DJ called Nomad, now of Africaine 808, went completely down that road. I love this record. I bought it years before Soju Bar, because my favorite Discogs dealer recommended it to me and offered me free shipping if I buy it. I was very pleased when Hunee played it the first time. I think he still plays it today.
Lovefingers/Lexx: Carrie Cleveland – Love Will Set You Free (Cleve/Den, 1980)
My girlfriend at the time was obsessed with that song. She knew that it was on Lovefingers’ blog and made him play it at least three times. I remember Andrew playing it two times in a row early in the morning and dancing on the floor with his eyes closed. Lexx had to do the same a couple of weeks later. This was one of these classic early morning magic moments. Sometimes there was only 15 people left in the place, but they had the time of their lives!
Joel Martin (Quiet Village, Velvet Season & The Hearts of Gold): House Of House – Rushing To Paradise (Walkin These Streets) (Whatever We Want Records, 2009)
When Soju Bar started everything was really disco and balearic. Then most DJs started to pick up more and more housey vibes again. It was almost a bit like going through the history of dance music in one and a half years, and a few subsequent decades. This record contains all this history. I have funny memories of this track. For example, it was an incredible hot night and it was really empty, but the few people were dancing for hours and didn’t want to leave. Joel was the only DJ and already played 6 hours for the same 15 people. When he was playing this track a random very young girl with a record bag came up and wanted to take over. She promised us to play the same kind of music: HOUSE! We were like, OK! Well, she had her very own definition of house music I reckon! Two records later Joel and me were in a Taxi home. She went on for a few more hours, and I have never seen her again. By the way, it was first hour Soju Bar resident DJ Filippo Moscatello who introduced me to this record.
I will change. I promise.: Ideal – Schöne Frau Mit Geld (Losoul Remix) (Live At Robert Johnson, 2010)
This was definitely the residency with the best name. “I will change. I promise”. I was promising this to myself pretty much every Monday morning! This party was hosted by our friend Alex van der Maarten and was musically on a slightly different trip, but very successful and always busy. It had guest DJs like Nu and Lee Jones. This was one one of the signature tracks.
JR Seaton (Call Super): Bunny Mack – Let Me Love You (Rokel, 1979)
Call Super, or JR Seaton as he still called himself back then, played at Soju Bar many times. I think the first time he was invited by Headman who did a monthly Relish Night at Soju Bar. Call Super finished the night together with Objekt and they both blew my mind. They were playing very obscure electronic stuff and then broke it up with songs like this. 100 % early morning magic. Nobody cared which genre, which time or which part of the world the music was from. Everything melted into one amazing vibe.
Druffalo Hit Squad: Nicolette – Lotta Love (Warner Bros., 1978)
Huge Soju Bar anthem! The Druffalo Hit Squad’s residency “Love Fools” was the night where anything was possible. From pop to shock to classics and not classics! Sometimes very ironic, sometimes iconic! Sometimes hard to follow, and sometimes pure magic. At the end of their nights there was a lotta love in the air indeed.
Hunee was due to play all night but he missed a flight or something. I rammed some records in the bag and jumped in. Thankfully he arrived when I just had one record left to play.
The first time I met Hunee was many years ago, in a Berlin record store where he worked at that time. Of course. He noticed the Disco stuff I chose from the crates and soon we were talking. And also soon we were playing gigs together. I was actually looking back on many years of playing out then, and I was not that determined to keep on keeping on. But you cannot act reserved around Hunee, particularly as far as music is concerned. Hunee’s enthusiasm for music is astounding. For every special record he learns about, he will find several other special records in return. It would be a waste of time for him to feed on the beauty of sounds and not share.
And then Hunee the producer emerged, to add to all the other music around him. At first, his very own music showed the restlessness he so often displayed in everyday life, plus nocturnal endeavours. There were wonderful ideas, almost too many of them. It seemed that Hunee took in so much music that his own artistic persona had to fight its way out. But it did. Yet after a few acclaimed releases, Hunee the producer disappeared again. I do not know why exactly, he never told me, and I never really asked. Apparently a debut album was ready to go, but it never saw the light. I felt that was quite a respectable and brave move, and I was very confident that he would not give up so easily. He never does. But for an avid vinyl collector like himself, it is quite difficult to achieve that all the inspirations do not divert from your own signature, yet still shine through, and the album is still a format much superior to others. And so while he continued to drop platters that matter week in way out, he went supposedly Kubrick on his own. I am most probably not exaggerating. Why? Because I’m listening to this album while I am writing these lines.
And this album is rather special. Even the opening title is special. It does not show off some unjustified pretension, it sets a perfect mood, a misty Eastern mood, full of drips, whirls and sweet ambience. Ending in one of the catchiest melodies I heard since I first fell in love with Japanese Synthpop. Not the easiest task to transcend this blissful mystery to something you can dance to, but Crossroads does exactly that, adding a cinematic aura that feels like elements unknown are tearing the roof off the to display a panoramic view of something you have never seen before. Influx, let me touch it. It feels acidic, and it has the glory. You will consider devouring it. Desire takes up the trip, and throws it around. A mean little groover, if I may say so. Burning Flowers in all its fury may be Fitzcarraldo’s ship sliding all the way back down, with the fat lady still singing. And if they pull that ship back up, this track will send it down again, instantly. Error Of The Average follows suit adequately, like a Sci-Fi orchestra whipping a round dance of lost souls into oblivion, all swirling drama and voodoo frenzy. I’m still trying to unlock myself from it. Movement takes its time, with string melancholia unfolding into a precious downbeat stroll. And is the exotic setting in Gabun Mind really crashing into that several minute psychedelia breakdown that then finally explodes into those revolving basslines and HEAVY beats? They may plant flowers and gardens through the deep and chaotic furrows this has left behind, but the idyll will never be the same again. And it keeps going more places. The jazz-fuelled interlude that is Amo reprises the Eastern atmosphere from earlier on, but in a puzzling way. We are talking suspense. Bruisesis just baffling. Do not even try to tell me you have ever heard one of the most famous vocal samples of the Paradise Garage legacy accompanied by a heart-wrenching string quartet. No, you did not. And you will probably not hear anything like this again. And then… the End of The World, which I indeed did not know yet. If this is the afterworld, I am not afraid. It feels a bit feverish to me, even a bit uncertain. But I can hear a light at the end of the tunnel. Exaggerating? Me? No. I was just listening to this album while I was writing these lines.
I am an avid longtime collector of 70s/80s Japanese Synthpop music, and being based in Europe that always proved to be quite some task, particularly in the pre-internet shopping days. You had to start from scratch, mostly starting with Yellow Magic Orchestra and their affiliated labels like Yen, Monad or Alfa, and you studied the credits of every record and learnt about new artists, crosslinks and local scenes. But finding those records in some continental crates was a rare and lucky occasion, and then when internet offered more purchasing options, it appeared to be a rather pricey habit because of shipping costs and Japanese sellers who were perfectly aware that their items were considerably out of reach beyond their own soil. But it also became very apparent that their was way more to discover, and it was well worth trying. Still, the Japanese music scene was frustratingly hermetic. I had gathered a collection over the years, but regularly you came across sellers with pages and pages of offers, complete with listening clips, and you had to admit that you were not scratching the surface, you were not even near it. I could have bought the bulk of it if possible, it all sounded fantastic, but it was not possible, and as I tried to at least learn about the artists I read in the item descriptions via web search engines, information was very scarce. For a nation so obsessed with technological progress and cultural information, there was mysteriously little given away to the outside world, only a few hideously designed websites by American or European enthusiasts who lived in Japan and fell in love with what they heard. I was really glad they made the effort, but their discographies, as thorough as they were, offered not much beyond artists I already knew about, and sooner or later every such site disappeared from sight again, only to be replaced by, well, not much else. I’m perfectly convinced that a well researched book about Japanese music would sell profitable quantities, there must be more people like me, but it can only be written by a Japanese author.
And then it always fascinated me that it was well acknowledged that Japan contributed a lot to electronic music in said period of time, but once House came along in the mid to late 80’s, and Techno shortly after, there were so few notable Nippon producers reacting to it. And as the Chicago pioneers operated mainly on musical equipment built in Japan and later neglected for the international bargain market, it was even more curious that those sounds originated so far away from where they were originally developed. No matter how hard you tried, the Japanese equivalent to the early House music masters was nowhere to be found. But you had this feeling there just had to be someone.
Years later a good friend of mine, a serious Deep House completist collector, pointed out that there were some interesting releases by Japanese artists on Hisa Ishioka’s King Street Sounds, a New York based label established in 1993, which was inspired by the Paradise Garage experience. He investigated further and found Ishioka’s sub-label BPM Records, which from 1991 on showcased a small wealth of Japanese producers taking on the trademark mellow but crisp Big Apple Deep House style established on imprints like Nu Groove, Strictly Rhythm, Nervous and a plethora of smaller labels. The producer with the most credits was Soichi Terada, and he also seemed to have the most distinctive signature sound. It is known that Larry Levan toured Japan at the end of his career, and even shortly before is death, and there must have been some interaction with the local scene, as he remixed Terada’s gorgeous 1989 track „Sunshower“ two years later, as did fellow New York DJ legend Mark Kamins. So there he was at last, the House music master from Japan. He even had his own label, called Far East Recordings, and though it only had a small back catalogue the few sound bits I could track down had me locking target on every single one of them. Terada’s sound admittedly owed a lot to its US prototypes, the whole lush smoothness of it, but it also had a weirdly bouncing funk, and more importantly, it had all this charming humour to its melodies and arrangements, and this all-embracing both respectful and freeform use of Western influences interpreted with Japanese music traditions I so fell in love with the first time I ever heard YMO.
But the other parallel was that it was as hard to find as any other record I had in my Nippon wantslist, or even worse. At least the releases pre-House were pressed in suffcient runs, but these were only done in quantities of a few hundred. Enter this fine compilation, which although interest in Nippon House had increased over the years, appeared a bit out of the blue. It was put together by my friend Hunee, a DJ and music enthusiast with a fine tendency to dig that little deeper, and he managed to secure all the essential tracks by Soichi Terada and his frequent collaborator Shinichiro Yokota. And even when reissues of rare records are quite common these days, this is really something special. Now someone please do that complete collection of Koizumix Production tracks, and make me an even happier man.
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.
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