Please introduce yourself… Who are you, where are you and what are you?
My name is Finn Johannsen. I live in Berlin. I am a DJ, writer, co- run the label Macro Recordings and I am a booker for the Berlin clubs Paloma and Monarch.
What does your music sound like? Can you draw what you think it sounds like for us (an image from the old internet is acceptable)?
I get bored quite easily, so I have no defined sound as such. But imagine an image of happy, nocturnal chaos. Take this example from a gig in Paris some years ago:
Where was the mix recorded?
In my studio/home office.
What would be the ideal setting to listen to the mix?
Late at night, heading somewhere. Or early in the morning, returning from somewhere.
What should we be wearing?
Whatever makes you feel good.
What would be your dream setting to record a mix: Location/system/format?
I love any setting that leads to a recorded set in which you can hear the people scream on the floor. But I also like to record a mix at home. In any case my way of playing records differs quite a lot between a live or studio context.
Which track in the mix is your current favourite?
All of them.
What’s your favourite recorded mix of all time?
Klaus Stockhausen live at Front Club, Hamburg, March 11th 1987.
If you could go back to back with any DJ from throughout history, who would it be and why?
It would be some great club in the 70s, where new ideas and great people fell into place. I am so old that I was out clubbing in all the following decades, but I was too young for that.
What was your first DJ set up at home and what is it now?
2x Technics SL-1200 MKII and an Ecler Smac first mixer. Mixer finally died last year and I replaced it with an Ecler Nuo. No, I am not an audiophile.
What’s more important, the track you start on or the track you end on?
Both are equally important.
What were the first and last records you bought?
First: Blondie – Heart Of Glass. Last: Al Kent – Loving You
If this mix was an edible thing, what would it taste like?
Fish & Chips at North Sea, Bloomsbury, London. Eaten in good company.
If it was an animal what would it be?
A night owl.
One record in your collection that is impossible to mix into anything?
None. All you have to do is to find another record that fits.
Upcoming in the world of…
Spending some beautiful time with my loved ones and good friends. And spending some beautiful nights wherever my professional activities will lead me.
Anything else we need to discuss?
What the world needs now is love, sweet love. It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of.
Hello Finn, pleasure to speak to you. What did you have for breakfast today and what does an ordinary day your life look like in these times?
I made myself a sandwich with cheese and Salame Milano, with a bit of of French dressing. I did not start baking bread or similar. I am happy with what I can get at the supermarket, and I have plenty around. I am a nocturnal person, my daughter too. But as soon as she is asleep I often watch a movie or a series with my wife and when my wife is asleep as well, I head over to my study to work, listen to music or read. If I have no meetings scheduled the next day I do not have to get up that early so I mostly stay up late. Once I get up I fix myself a small breakfast, read the news and then start working again, correspondence or whatever else needs to be done. I try to have that finished until my wife and daughter come back from work and school, and then we have lunch. Then either work, homework and spending some time together. I did not get infected so far, but I am aware that it will happen eventually. I am not afraid of it and vaccinated, but I try to avoid it as good as I can because I do not want to spread it further. So apart from occasional meetings for work or with friends and getting necessary things for our household I am mostly staying in. I have read Joseph Heller’s Catch 22 yet again, and I agree with its protagonist Yossarian that there are plenty of people out there conspiring to kill me, and I am determined to not let them. To stay fit I use a rowing machine on a daily basis.
Speaking of “these times“, we are now almost two years in this pandemic, clubs open, clubs close, some have to close forever, some are able to survive, but nobody knows yet what price the scene, the clubs have to pay. How have you been keeping up with the ever-changing situation and how do you wish to be supported by the government in “these times“?
It is of course very frustrating. We worked very hard to keep Paloma alive, and when we were allowed to open again it felt like a reward for all our efforts. Then after just a few weeks it was all over again, and it was total letdown. I will not complain about the governmental support. It was kind of remarkable how chaotic it was organized though, and in many ways the pandemic also affected the previously indestructible myth of German efficiency very severely, but at least we had support, other countries were not as well off. Generally, I was not as optimistic as others about how the pandemic would progress, but I was very disappointed that this winter turned out to be even worse than the one before, especially because I feel that this situation could have been avoided by more timely and efficient measures. I was sure from the start of the pandemic that clubs would be way down the crisis management priority list, but I get angry when people not do their best to bring this to an end, and if it was only to show solidarity with others more affected by the situation. I was not exactly surprised that parts of our society would only care about their own good, but I was surprised to what extent. What optimism I had when the vaccinations began to roll out faded as soon as I realized that a good and necessary deal of the German population would refuse it. These days, I stick to the actual facts in the news that seem reliable and valid for how things will potentially develop, and I try to keep away from all the opinions flying around that do not help one bit to change this for the better. I do not want to discuss the pandemic anymore with people who mostly only display their own selfishness, or cowardice, or doubt, or fear. To fight a pandemic of this scale is a group effort, and I am really tired at this point of those that do not want to act accordingly. What effects all this will have is still speculation, as we are absolutely not through yet, but I am sure politics and the economies will eventually recover but there will remain a trauma, in terms of both physical and psychological conditions, and not anybody will be able to overcome it so soon. The price to pay? We all will pay a price. But better to pay a price than to die.
How does the uncertainty these days influence your booking behavior for the Paloma?
Well, you make the best of what you can do, and you try to act responsibly. We had to cancel a lot of dates, and when we learnt that we can open again we tried to catch up with all those cancellations first, instead of starting from scratch with everything. But we were expecting to open sooner, and when we could not do that we had to postpone and reschedule whole monthly programs, a process that we are unfortunately in again right now. But we were in constant crisis management mode since March 2020 and after all this time we would surely not give up now if we are not forced to do so. Of course there is also always some level of uncertainty when you book for a club, and now that level was quite enormous, but we are a good team and we prevailed, so far. It is frustrating that we also had to cancel some gigs again for now, but we will try to make them happen at a later point, which will be a challenge too. Other than that you also have to adapt in ways that you were not used to before. For example we priorized DJs that had no other income like a day job or similar, which was not a point before DJs had a regular income from playing out. Or we were very strict to meet all the Corona restrictions at the door, and bookings fell through because the DJs did not have the necessary documents to enter the club, and other DJs were not fully vaccinated or not intending to get vaccinated at all. The majority of DJs understood and respected that we were so strict though, only a minority did not. This also applies to our audience. Most guests were glad that we did our best to make our club as safe as possible, and brought up the patience for all the according door proceedings.
Following the question before, do you think that in general clubs’ bookings have or will change due to the pandemic and do you wish for a renaissance of the local DJs taking over club nights instead of international ones?
There was a divide in DJ culture in terms of fees and gig count before the pandemic, and I have this theory that it will grow. There are top tier DJs that fly around the world and earn silly money, mid tier DJs that can live from DJing, but with a certain level of uncertainty, and low tier DJs that already needed other sources of income before to make a living, with way more uncertainty. Now the low tier DJs switched to other sources of income for good because they had to, more than before. Either they were just starting out to get a reputation, or they were satisfied with just playing out. Of course the current situation is a blow, but they might be able to carry on, even if it requires to start all over again. The top tier DJs either did not interrupt their program anyway during the last two years, or they now benefit from the situation, because most bigger clubs are so in debt since closing that they probably play safe and book only headliners they think will guarantee a full capacity. In this case the mid tier DJs are worse off, because they are caught in the middle. They do not pull enough people to fill the bigger clubs and they are too costly for the smaller clubs. I really hope I am wrong, but as soon as the clubs could reopen last year, you could well observe this pattern. And this of course also applies to these hopes that the local scene will play a more vital role. Doors were open again, and you could often see that DJs were flown in again, the DJ middle class was kind of diminished and some local DJs did not get more than the function of a cheap filler. I do not really think that there will be a renaissance of local DJs. I suppose as soon as bookings can be regular again, most clubs will fall back to old habits, or even worse. Of course there are clubs like Paloma with a limited size and accordingly limited budget, and they will always book local talent because they cannot afford regular and costly travel logistics. But they do not determine the business, and they also might not be able to pay your rent.
When speaking of club culture in the northern hemispheres of Germany people speak of the “three Ps’ – meaning the Pudel club in Hamburg, Panoramabar and Paloma. In a nutshell, what unites these three nightlife institutions and ideally how can clubs cross-fertilize each other?
I must say that I have not heard of these three P’s in unison before, but I think it is rather flattering. Pudel and Paloma sure are comparable in some ways. Both have a hub function in their local scenes and support a local network and fresh talents, and their musical agenda is similar in terms of quality and content, the size is similar as well, as is the attitude, and both share the same graphic designer, the wonderful Alex Solman. Panoramabar sure is a different and bigger thing, and a whole other status, but I think what unites all three clubs is that they are all very special places. I had memorable nights in all three both as a DJ and as a guest and that is probably the most common denominator. The best way to use similarities is of course to work together, which we do, particularly with Pudel, with which we have regular exchange. But we do not only invite DJs from the Pudel network to Paloma, we also have nights with Panoramabar DJs, regular ones and residents. I have a whole lot of respect for both clubs, each in their own way, and I think we can all benefit from each other, and we do.
Let’s leave the club topic behind a bit. When speaking of you and looking at your vita the word versatile is basically inevitable. You DJ, you run the label Macro with Stefan Goldmann, you do the bookings for the Paloma and Monarch clubs, you used to write for various magazines and you worked at famous record store Hard Wax. How have all these different approaches to music helped you to overcome the past months and what’s your preferred field of working?
Well, music is just really very important to me. I listen to music every day, and even more in the last months than usual, which really helped me to stay sane. Everything I do for a living is connected with music, and as you mentioned I do and did a lot of different things. Music just makes me happy, and what makes me even happier is when I am able to spread music that I think is worth more attention than just mine. My preferred field of working is always the one that helps me to achieve that best. DJing was the first and is still vital in that aspect, the label allows me to explore ideas other than just my own, as does the booking. I do not write as much anymore as I did in the past, but if it is a good topic and I can find the time I still enjoy it. I could also support a lot of music at Hard Wax for some years, but I took up booking while I was still working at the store, and I had never done booking before, just getting booked myself, and at some point I realized that I could provide said support more efficiently with the booking, so I decided to leave. But it is all kind of in flux, and always has been. I have been fortunate about opening doors, so there might be another step in the future. But I am really very happy with what I am doing right now.
What two other attributes suit your character and how do they support the before mentioned field of working?
I would say I am curious. I can be very enthusiastic, but I also lose interest quite quickly. I can be quite thorough if I am interested enough. I do not like routine. All of these proved to be quite helpful in terms of creativity.
Coming back to your versatile being, musically you are also quite versatile. Firstly, would you say that musical versatility is something that comes with age as at some point people stop being as stubborn or nerdy? Secondly, what does the first thing you pay attention to when listening to new music and add to your “playlist“?
Hm, I am often suspected of being a nerd, my glasses do not help there, but I do not really feel like one. Of course I am aware that I know way more about music than the average listener, but for me that is a natural process. I just listen to so much music that it would be plain weird if I would not gather some knowledge about it. And I like to learn about the context of what I am hearing, and I can save the information in my memory, which is the same with literature or movies. The versatility sure is a result of both my wide interests, and my longterm occupation with being out to discover. As anybody else, I have some preferences, you can identify them all if you follow me, but I could never stop with what I already knew and then just maintain it. Basically I am open to anything in terms of creativity, if I investigate it and it is not for me I just move on to the next, but so far I never felt like stopping. Maybe that is the stubbornness you were suggesting, in my case. What I pay attention to first while at it is probably ideas, and a an artistic signature. Mostly I am hoping for something completely new to me, sometimes I am content with a fresh approach to things I already know and like.
Have you noticed a change in taste over the pandemic due to the fact that clubs were closed or open for not so long?
My listening behaviour patterns kind of strengthened. Even before the pandemic I listened to less club music, because it was all around me anyway. That kind of music did not quite solely become a commitment connected to work, but it was heading there. I began to reserve my time off work for other music, sounds that do not have to fulfill a purpose of being useful with what I am doing for a living. Apart from checking music styles I had not explored before I am also always willing to revise verdicts I made on some point about music I checked earlier on, or even whole genres. Sometimes you are not in the mood to get it, sometimes you are just ignorant, sometimes it does not feel right at the time. And taste should not be too static, else you just miss out. I do not mind if music clicks with a delay of even years, if it clicks. What I also had to notice is that the older you get the more you look to your past. I revisited some music of my youth, and it still clicked too.
What have been your three favorite musical findings over the past weeks?
1) German trap or drill music is much smarter than I thought. 2) I may read as many books about Krautrock as I can get a hold of, but I will never like the bulk of it more. 3) I will probably never have the patience for ambient music.
What has kept your relationship with electronic music passionate and what was one of the tracks that made you fall for it in the first place?
I love how much music that was created years ago still sounds like the future, and is still being processed. I am convinced at some point it will all implode and make way for something completely unheard of, and I am looking very much forward to completely not getting it. But I will sure try to. As for love at first listening probably I Feel Love by Donna Summer or Das Model by Kraftwerk, off the radio as a kid. Boring as it may be, I am old enough to claim that, though it probably was Popcorn by Hot Butter. Honourable mention: LFO. I used to claim in several heated debates that LFO was the first electronic music that really sounded like the future. I still stand by that.
What’s a musical extravaganza you’d pay for if money was not a thing?
It might be more an availability issue than money, but I would love to dance to Klaus Stockhausen at least one more time, all night long. Paloma would be a fine place for that, but any place would do. He is still the best DJ I ever heard, and I heard many.
Speaking of money, a lot of renowned artists played at the MDLBeast Soundstorm festival in Saudi Arabia a few weeks back. Does money deprave some people’s character that they play for controversial governments or is this simply the price the scene has to pay due to the pandemic development over the past months/ years? What is your opinion on that topic?
I think it is problematic to single out that event as an indicator for all that is wrong in club culture. Of course that festival was quite questionable, but then again so many events are, if you take a closer look. The more money is flying around the more it is likely that the source of the money is questionable. But it is a business. As long as there is a market for it, it will keep happening, and it happened before so many times, out in the open as with that festival, or not. I was surprised by a few names on the lineup, but I think on a certain level there just are some skeletons in the closet everywhere. Not that there are necessarily no or less skeletons on a lower level, mind. I must admit that it does not bother me too much, it is like a parallel universe for me. I know some people from earlier on who achieved that status, and they made their decision for success, and now they have a business to run and the according obligations, and others may need more and more money because they also spend a lot of money, for whatever. Of course this kind of circuit is decadent and the money is obscene, but there are so many alternative ways of doing events. If you feel this is depraved, you may support the other, or do your own. But you will find depraved characters everywhere you go.
Which of your morals could you never throw overboard or are non-negotiable?
I am no saint, and I made my mistakes. But I try to neither hide nor repeat them. But I am really allergic to hypocrisy, especially if it is a strategy.
After so many years in the scene/ business what piece of advice would give to your younger self?
Do what you really want to do, but do never behave like an idiot.
What’s a superpower you wish you had and how would you use it?
I would love to be able to make everything that is fun healthy. I would use it all the time, everywhere, and for everybody.
The people of Hamburg rarely boast about their achievements, which is why you probably do not know about the club this compilation is about. But you should know about it. The club was called Front, and it lasted from 1983 to 1997, which in itself is quite an achievement. But what happened there in those years is the real treat.
Hamburg in the 1980s had a vibrant nightlife. Mod, soul and (post) punk culture had seemingly always been covered by numerous record stores, live and dance venues, such was the diversity of styles after disco collapsed in on itself when its boom was over at the end of the 1970s. A lot of people say that this was the time when things got really interesting in terms of music, and they are probably right. Klaus Stockhausen definitely knew that. He started DJing in 1977, in clubs in Cologne, Frankfurt and Amsterdam, and had already reached considerable status when Willi Prange and his partner Phillip Clarke opened Front six years later. They were very keen on laying the focus on quality dance music at their club. They knew about Stockhausen and had been travelling to Cologne frequently to hear him play. And when he happened to visit Front by chance in early 1983, Prange recognized him, fell onto his knees and asked him to become the resident DJ. Stockhausen accepted.
His new workplace offered few distractions from the music. It was located in the basement of a high-rise building owned by Leder-Schüler, a leather manufacturing company, in a rather nondescript business district near the Berliner Tor station, away from the traditional entertainment hotspots near the harbour. But in its early years Front was a strictly gay club, and its clientele made no little effort to enjoy the experience, doubtless content that the straight crowds amusing themselves elsewhere across town were shying away from it. The rooms were raw, with low ceilings and bare walls, and through a long corridor you could either descend further into a bar area, or turn right to the dance floor, which was surrounded by low platforms with railings. The quadrophonic sound system was not exactly an audiophile’s dream, but it was very efficient, and very loud. The light-show consisted simply of strobes and multicoloured fluorescent tubes, lighting up the dark at mysterious intervals, and an illuminated sign reading “Danger”. But the boldest statement was that you could not see the DJ. The booth in the corner was completely secluded, leaving the DJ to check the intensity level through some tiny portholes or, more commonly, by gauging the sheer volume of screaming on the floor (thankfully there was plenty of that). It is still unclear what led the Front owners to build the booth in that way, but it was there right from the beginning, and both the DJs and the dancers appreciated it. It meant that the music unfolded like some force from somewhere else, and it was more important than anything else in the room. Of course you can only make this setup work if you know your crowd exceptionally well and, in return, if your crowd trusts you blindly. And the music was much better than good enough, keeping the attention of revellers throughout the night.
Klaus Stockhausen got to know his crowd very well indeed. Being a resident in those days meant that he played every night from Tuesday to Sunday, for eight to nine hours that he programmed more like a rollercoaster, in terms of tempo and intensity, than a constant peak time. He loved it. He had enough time to test new records and develop a sound that fitted the location and educated the crowd perfectly. Sure, old and new disco and other subsequent sounds as synthpop, electro, freestyle, boogie, hi-NRG and italo where played by other DJs in other clubs around town, but they were not played in the same manner as they were at Front. Klaus Stockhausen had unique mixing skills, with an unerring and adventurous taste, and he worked according to his own intuition, which soon made the Front experience incomparable to other places. He had a preference for edgier, more dynamic dub and instrumental versions and utilized scratching, a capellas and sound effects (the tractor sound bookending the mixes of this compilation being a prime example), and, generally, even if you knew some of the records, at Front they never sounded like you remembered. And they were all played in a way that was so coherent that every further development to the sound palette of the time was immediately sucked into the sound of Front. Thus, from 1984 on, when well selected local stores like Tractor and later Rocco and Container Records started stocking the first house music imports, it did not feel like a major change to proceedings; it felt like an addendum.
But still, after a transitional period, the house sound gained momentum. Around the same time, Klaus Stockhausen started to have a second, equally successful, career as a stylist and fashion editor and, never having been interested in the techno craze or the cult of personality that was beginning to emerge around DJs, he felt it was time to cut down on playing out. Thankfully another, equally talented DJ appeared on the scene with whom he shared the residency until he finally quit in 1992 to concentrate fully on his work in fashion.
In 1984, at the age of 16, Boris Dlugosch educated himself on cassette live recordings from the club and began practicing his own skill set. In 1986 he handed in a demo tape and was rewarded with the job, which, of course, really says something. And soon it became obvious that he could fill the shoes of his predecessor and mentor, even though Klaus Stockhausen had shaped the needs of the Front crowd for such a long time. It certainly helped, though, that the now-dominating house music was evolving so quickly, and that the Front DJs had easy access to the newest releases. But after the early sounds from Chicago had morphed into acid house in the late 1980s, the stylistic variety for which the club was so cherished seemed to be at risk, and the Front residents decided to keep any potential conformity at bay. So when techno established itself in 1990/91, Front did not give in to the desire for harder and steadier beats but instead embraced the machine funk of Detroit, the freestyle hybrids from New York City, and sounds emanating from the UK (the latter also helped by the anglophile tradition of Hamburg’s club culture, the proximity of which had always led to a healthy exchange of ideas taking place either side of the North Sea). Still, techno was increasingly defining itself in terms of harder and faster and, in the process, it lost its groove. Thus, Boris Dlugosch switched the mode nearly overnight to garage and deep house, and mixed these sounds to such new heights that the typical Front floor dynamics were never lost, they just sounded different. The reputation of Hamburg as national and international hub for house music has its origins right there. House had been played at Front since 1984, so it was one the first clubs outside of the US to feature it, but now it was also defining it. And it was opening up. The door policy was not strictly gay anymore, and guest DJs like Frankie Knuckles, DJ Pierre or the Murk Boys from the US were invited, often playing their first gigs abroad. Nevertheless the club was, in the main, ruled by its resident DJs, first and foremost Boris Dlugosch, but also Michi Lange and Michael Braune. They all defined the ‘90s at Front, as the club managed to uphold its wild hedonism, inventiveness and versatile approach for nearly another decade.
But it was also undeniable that nightlife was changing. More and more DJs entered the scene, and the identification with weekly residencies was fading. In Hamburg, as in any other local club scene, competition was soaring and increasingly crowds grew eager to catch a glimpse of the next big thing, something new, something unfamiliar (however great that was). And, feeling their club was growing apart from that with which they had once fallen in love, the original Front dancers were no longer as fiercely loyal. But pioneering is always easier than maintaining status quo, arguably better, and, true to its original spirit, the club closed its doors at a level that was still extraordinary. And it lives on – you can trace its legend in so many wonderful things.
It really is something to boast about. These mixes by Klaus and Boris in commemoration of Front are long overdue and they stay true to its legacy. Even if they represent but a tiny fraction of the whole picture, they still belong to that picture. And I hope you now want to know more.
Down in a raw basement near Hamburg’s Berliner Tor station, Willi Prange and his partner Phillip Clarke opened the mostly gay oriented club Front in 1983. The majority of nights at Front were not played by guests, but by the main resident DJs Klaus Stockhausen and his successor Boris Dlugosch, who steered the club through the most cutting edge music the disco aftermath had to offer, until it eventually became one of the first clubs in Continental Europe to embrace house music and the styles that followed suit. The club’s intense nights were built on a wildly hedonistic and loyal crowd, a fierce quadrophonic sound system, a secluded DJ booth that seemed to antagonize the cult of personality of the years to come, and thus created a legacy that lasted well beyond the club’s closure in 1997. We asked Boris Dlugosch to guide us through the sound of the pivotal years of Front.
Shirley Lites – Heat You Up (West End, 1983)
This was one of my first lasting musical impressions at the club. Klaus Stockhausen played it nearly every Saturday then. It was more of an after hours record and it fitted perfectly.
Syncbeat – Music (Streetwave, 1984)
Klaus played this record when it came out, and when I started as a DJ in 1986 it had a small revival because I rediscovered it for myself. It was one of the most formative records for me. I did not know until then what this record was. I found it by chance in the club’s own record inventory. I loved this track very much and one day I could get a hold of it in a grab bag at Hamburg’s Tractor store for import records, where I was working at the time. Those bags were sealed and contained 10 records. I actually flicked through several other bags until I had two copies of it.
Connie – Funky Little Beat (Sunnyview, 1985)
This kind of Electro was the sound of Front from 1983 to 1984. I was not going to other clubs much, I was still too young and could not get in, but I heard this record on old tapes recorded live at the club (https://hearthis.at/front/). When I started going to Front from 1985 on this sound slowly faded away and was replaced by early house music.
Harlequin Four’s – Set it Off (Jus Born, 1985)
For me this was a quintessential Freestyle and Electro record. Klaus Stockhausen used to play it mostly as a break, often mixed with „Operattack“ by Grace Jones, or with space effects records. This and the Grace Jones album were milestones for my musical socialisation and they always worked on the floor.
Adonis – No Way Back (Trax, 1986)
This record and Farley Jackmaster Funk’s „Love Can’t Turn Around“ came out in 1986, shortly before I started playing at the club myself. At Front club changes in pace and style were elementary and the according setting was sometimes prepared over the course of hours, and sometimes just introduced by a quick break. House music brought along a different structure, and there was a steady beat for hours. At that time this was the defining new feature of the genre. Music was mixed seamlessly throughout the night at Front in all the years before, but with house music the rhythm became more homogeneous.
First thing Front club in Hamburg, what made the place magical and what made you follow Klaus Stockhausen, and his way of DJing?
There were different things falling into place then. I was always interested in club culture and music, but pre-internet you could mostly only read about legendary clubs and its resident DJs. When I first went to Front in 1987 I was 18 years old, and up to then I never heard a DJ who could really mix. Klaus Stockhausen played there since 1983, several times a week, and he had built up a very loyal crowd. The club itself was a raw basement, there was not much to distract from the music, apart from the hedonistic dancers. The place was very intense, and Stockhausen as well as his protegé and successor Boris Dlugosch were incredibly good. Of course you tend to be sentimental about times and places that intiated you into something, but I still have not experienced anything close, both in terms of clubs and DJing. Of course it also helped that those years saw very crucial developments in club music. When I started going there it was the end of that transitional period between Disco and House, which was extremely exciting. And in the following years I frequently went there that excitement persisted. Those were the blueprint years for everything we still dance to now, and I had the privilege to experience it right on the floor. And I learnt a lot of things that I still use.
How did you become part of Hard Wax, was it hard to get that job?
No. Seven years ago all my freelance activities and the according deadlines began to collide with being a father. My wife suggested some more steady work to complement and that I could ask for a job at the store, as I was a very regular customer anyway. Coincidentally Achim Brandenburg aka Prosumer quit working there at that time and they were thinking about asking me to replace him. So within a short time I sat down with the owner Mark Ernestus and the store manager Michael Hain and got the job.
I know you like to write about music, but why do you hate to write reviews?
I actually do not hate writing reviews at all. But after doing that for several years at de:bug magazine I felt I was increasingly running out of words to accurately describe the music I was given the task to review, and I think keeping a fresh perspective is mandatory in that aspect. But more importantly writing reviews does not work too well with running a label yourself, and working at Hard Wax. On the one hand I wanted to avoid allegations of being biased, on the other hand I had to keep potential implications of my writing commitments out of my other work. So I began to lay my focus on features and interviews, mostly from a historical perspective. I am not afraid of discourse and speaking my mind on certain topics if I feel it is necessary, but I am very cautious to remain objective.
Can you tell us what is Druffalo?
Druffalo is a semi-anonymous collective of six seasoned DJs and writers living in Berlin, Mannheim and Cologne, and was founded in 2007. It used to be a rather notorious web fanzine celebrating aspects of culture we felt were worth celebrating, and we were pretty merciless in pointing out aspects of culture we felt were not worth celebrating at all. The web magazine is defunct for a while now, as at some point the server we were running on mysteriously disconnected us and we thought it was a good statement to just disappear. The whole archive is backed up though, so nobody should feel too safe. Attached to it was a DJ collective called the Druffalo Hit Squad, consisting of the same six editors and likeminded guests. We did an influential mix series that is archived on Mixcloud, and we were constantly throwing parties that were pretty anarchic. Since the end of 2015 we took up a bi-monthly residency at the club Paloma Bar in Berlin, where we mostly define our idea of a modern Soul allnighter, using our vast archive of Disco, Soul and Garage House records. But there are also plans to return to the eclecticism of former years.
Do you think your Macro label is becoming a genre in itself, like RE-GRM, ECM, L.I.E.S., or Blackest Ever Black?
No, I do not think so, nor were Stefan Goldmann and me ever interested in establishing a certain trademark label sound that we have to fulfill with every release. We are more interested in working with producers that have developed their own signature sound, as long as it fits in with our own preferences. Our idea of running a label is very open, it is only determined by what we are interested in, and we are both very different individuals. We only release what we both agree on and that, combined with the consistent collaboration with our designer Hau, resulted in a certain coherence, although our back catalogue is rather diverse. We were also always aiming for the long run, and we both feel that you only can achieve that with a healthy amount of leeway and fresh ideas. Of course it is also important to have an identity, but we much prefer that to be based on reliable quality than sound aesthetics that create or reflect trends but are likely to end up as mere expectations. I do not think we are really comparable to the labels you mentioned, too. We had some archival releases, and we might have influenced some musical developments, but neither are essential to what we do.
I set up this archive of live recordings from Front club with the help of Boris Dlugosch and some former Front kids. This is quite a legacy to listen to, fill your boots.
Moral – Trees In November
Ajukaja & Andrevski – Mesilind
Walt J – Horns Of Plenty
KB Project – Feel It
Universo – Yebo
Lowtec – Man On Wire (Reconstruction)
K.A. Posse – Shake (Joe Smooth Mix)
Geena – Tone Loc
Mosey – Live A Little
Luca Lozano – DJ Fett Burger – Telegronn
PLO Man – Type Damascus
Shanti Celeste – Moods
Chaperone – All Your Emergencies
Boo Williams – Freaky
Donnie Tempo – Tazmanian Virus (Sims JFF Edit)
Harmonious Thelonious – Industrielle Muziek
Minor Science – Closing Acts
DJ Stingray 313 – Acetylcholine
KiNK – Vodolaz (Elektro Guzzi Version)
MD Jr. – Survival Of The Richest
Unspecified Enemies – Ms. 45
Merle – Mimi Likes 2 Dance
House Of Doors – Starcave
Superpanzer – Die Tollen, die nicht so Tollen, und die Häßlichen
Finn, what memories do you have of your first DJ set?
It was mostly playing records at school and private parties from the mid 80s on, playing a variety of Disco, Soul, Synthpop and Post Punk. I’d like to remember that as eclectic, but probably chaotic would be the more apt description. Actually my memories of my first forays into playing out in public are bit hazy by now. After all, that was nearly 30 years ago. What I vividly remember was a Soul allnighter in a basement club of my hometown of Kiel, in ’86 or ’87. Actually it was a whole Mod Weekender, with several events all across town. My friend Ralf Mehnert, who became a well respected Rare Soul collector and DJ, and me took over the Soul part of the proceedings, playing records for a crowd that consisted of mods and other hip folks, but predominatly drunk scooter boys. Somebody saw them standing outside, mistook them for skinheads, and alerted the most notorious local Turkish street gang. They arrived not much later, crashing the door and storming down the stairs, only to face quite a crowd of completely unimpressed heavy parka-clad folks. Ralf and me ducked away in the DJ booth and things got really messy. About 30 minutes later there was no intruder left and the party continued as if absolutely nothing had happened. There were numerous other similar experiences. Kiel was quite a tough city, probably still is.
Can you re-engineer what influence being a small town boy – born and raised in Kiel, in Northern Germany – had on your musical education?
I did not really feel limitations. There were record stores as Tutti Frutti or Blitz which were very well selected with electronic music of the 80s, Punk, and experimental stuff. And quite a number of second hand stores to choose from, where I mostly bought Soul, Disco and obscure 60s and 70s records. Some of those acquired bigger record collections from Danish libraries and sold each record for 2 Deutschmarks, regardless of format. I purchased the bulk of my Disco collection in those years, for example. You did not have to spend much, so you would explore what you would have otherwise not listened to. I had a lot of friends who were very interested in music, and there was a constant exchange of knowledge, good and bad finds. It was all very social. I made regular record shopping trips to Hamburg, too. There were plenty of excellent record shops there, for everything of interest to me. I always looked for dance music of any kind, and Hamburg had stores that were importing records since the Disco era. They had the contacts and the knowledge.
And as for the clubs?
I did not mind being in a smaller town either. There were quite a few. The DJs mostly did not mix much and played all over the board stylistically. There was a tendency to play music in topical blocks. A 30-minutes block of Disco, followed by a 30-minutes block of New Wave, then Hip Hop, then some Rock, then Soul, then slow songs, then everything all over again. Once a few tunes worked together and on the floor, the DJs tended to rely on the according selection and did not change it for what seemed to be years. That drove me mad, but in retrospect I could hear lots of different music in one single night, and that left a mark on me. You learn about the contexts of what you hear, and how they relate to each other. I still make use of that. I travelled a lot, and I have been to a great number of clubs in my life, but when I moved to Berlin I was already in my early 30s. I spent my formative years up North. I did not move because I had to get out either, I left because the job situation was difficult for me. If I would had found an interesting job at that time, I probably would have stayed. I still go back regularly, I have family and friends there, and I still miss the sea.
You were born into club life by the sets of Klaus Stockhausen at Front Club in Hamburg, when you were dancing the nights away at the age of 18. What made this experience so fundamentally alluring to you?
I started going to clubs in Kiel in the early 80s, 12 or 13 years old, then to Hamburg clubs only a few years later. Most clubs in Hamburg were not as different to Kiel as they maintained to be, but the people had arguably more style and the music was more specialized. You went to certain clubs for a certain kind of music. I had been to some gay clubs in Kiel before, but they seemed to be stuck with a soundtrack that had been tried and tested for years, classic Disco anthems and the occasional Schlager drama excursion, and the scene was not that open. You often felt like the stranger entering the saloon, and the crowd often was more made up by people with a common taste in music and fashion that just happened to be gay. A lot of 80s fops and some sugar daddies. It could be fun, but more often it was not. These people had to live with other prejudices and repressions than just getting beaten up for the style of the subculture you had chosen for yourself, like I did, and you did not belong.
And Front Club was different?
Absolutely. When a friend took me to the Front Club in early 1987 that was dramatically different. The crowd was predominantly gay, but if you were not, like me, nobody seemed to care. I was aware of the major role gay subculture played in the evolution of dance music, mostly by reading features about legendary Disco clubs in magazines, but they were about Bianca on that horse for instance, and not about what was booming from the speakers as she rode in, which was exactly what interested me most. Front was the first club where I could actually experience it, and even be a part of it. And Klaus Stockhausen was the first DJ I ever heard who did not only play records, he mixed them. Like no other I heard ever since. It was not that I did not know any of the music before, but he was transforming the records into something else. And the club itself was incredibly intense, I have never witnessed something like that again either. A dark, gritty basement filled to the brim with extravagant people who completely lost their minds on the floor. And my first visits were coincidentally a good timing, because it was the transitional period between the music played there from 83 on, and House. House was introduced there much earlier, but it still was not ruling the playlist. It was brilliant to hear Stockhausen play favourites I loved from the years before, and more often records I never heard, and then the added early Chicago House sounds that seemed to have swallowed decades of dance music history only to spit them out as this raw, primitive version of it. It fit the club perfectly, and soon I was heading over to Hamburg on weekends as much as I could, because I simply could not get enough of the experience. That lasted until around 1995, and then I took up a residency in Kiel for almost ten years, and it kept me well occupied. But just think of all the incredible music released between 1987 and 1995. It really were the blink and miss years of what we still hear today, and I could be witnessing all crucial developments right on the floor, played by the best DJs, and dancing to it in the best club with the best crowd. Good times.
When did you start collecting records? During those blink and miss years?
No, much earlier. The little money I had I spent on records since I was about 6 years old. My parents gave me a record player, and the Forever Elvis compilation, plus radio and cassette recorder and they were my favourite toys by then. Especially the radio was very important. I spent endless hours recording music from the radio, cursing presenters for talking too much over songs I liked. And the hit music played on the radio in the mid 70s was just great. Chic and Roxy Music were probably my favourite bands. And all those weird and wonderful Glam Rock acts. But luckily enough I had also a chance to catch the music from early on that was not deemed fit for airplay. I had an uncle who had the idea to buy record collections at judicial sales, and he often gave me the records he did not like. Thus I could become the proud owner of Can’s Monster Movie or the first Suicide album and several obscure Soul albums when most of my classmates were still just listening to the charts. I know this sounds terribly made up, but it is the truth. And at a very young age you tend to play your favourite records over and over and over, your relationship to music is very intimate and deep. Soon I felt quite confident in my taste, and I was spending more and more time and money on music. But I actually had not the faintest idea how much great music there really was out there to discover, and I had yet to meet the right people to share my passion for it. That changed as soon as I could sneak my way into clubs. Read the rest of this entry »
Auf der ganzen Welt sind unzählige Clubs gekommen und gegangen. Es gibt aber nur wenige, die gehen und trotzdem bleiben. Hamburg hatte so einen Club. Und was für einen. Die unleugbaren musikalischen Impulse (von Disco ausgehend alles was auch heute noch zählt), die dafür zuständigen fantastischen DJs (und zwar alle, plus illustre Gäste), das unfassbare Publikum (alle alle alle sind gemeint), der ganze wöchentliche Wahnsinn (an mehreren Tagen der Woche), das ganze mythische Gesamtkunstwerk (jede Devotionalie ist ein Zeugnis ablegendes Artefakt geblieben).
Im Keller des Club im Heidenkampsweg 32, nähe Berliner Tor, sind mehr Erinnerungen geprägt worden als in anderen Clubs anderswo im Land, und anderswo sonst. Wahrhaftige Erinnerungen, gestützt von Worten und Taten derer, die dabei waren, und alles was erlebt wurde gerade deswegen weiterbestimmen, weil sie selber so davon so nachhaltig bestimmt worden sind. Wodurch eine Geschichte geschrieben wurde und wird, die wichtig ist, wegweisend, schillernd, imposant, neiderregend auch, und auch einschüchternd.
Die Erinnerungen sind tatsächlich immer noch so detailliert und unmittelbar da, als wäre in all den Jahren seit der Schließung dieses Clubs 1997 gar nichts weiter passiert. Natürlich ist eine ganze Menge passiert, aber nicht genug, um diese Party in den Köpfen der Augenzeugen von einst mit einer anderen Party zu ersetzen. Und viele dieser Augenzeugen haben danach nachweislich alle möglichen anderen Clubs ausprobiert. Aber dieser eine Club, der ist immer noch die erste Wahl, auch wenn er sich realistisch gesehen gar nicht mehr wählen lässt.
Je länger diese Erinnerungen zurückliegen, desto sentimentaler werden sie, und unsachlicher. Und sie werden immer unwirklicher für diejenigen, die den Club nur aus Erinnerungen anderer kennen. Daraus kann eine besserwisserische Haltung auf der einen, und eine ablehnende Haltung auf der anderen Seite entstehen. Das wäre aber niemals im Sinne des Clubs gewesen. Und darum gehört diese Legende auf den Prüfstand. Und zwar im vollem Umfang, und zwar möglichst bald.
Das aber ist nicht so einfach. Das Publikum von einst ist in alle Winde zerstreut, und auch wenn es nur diese Ankündigung braucht um sie wieder zu sammeln… Die Räume des Clubs, sie sind in der Zwischenzeit anders, zu anders. Es darf nicht versucht werden, das Spektakel dort zu rekonstruieren, weil es nichts mehr zu rekonstruieren gibt. Alles wurde mitgenommen, aufbewahrt, oder auch entsorgt. Oder schlimmer: umgebaut, entfremdet, entweiht.
Gleichwohl ist der Club noch so präsent, dass er durchaus wieder aufleben kann. Es müssen nur die dabei sein, die damals dabei gewesen sind, und zwar möglichst viele, und möglichst viele, die endlich dabei sein wollen. Und sie müssen die Legende gemeinsam prüfen.
Fast das komplette Personal von einst tut alles, damit das geschehen kann. Die DJs, Tür, Garderobe, Bar. Und: eine beachtliche Menge der Platten von damals warten ebenfalls auf ihren Einsatz. Nur die, die den Club 1983 gründeten, sind nicht mehr da. Weil sie nicht mehr leben. Sie können es nicht mehr erleben, was jetzt passiert. Was sehr sehr traurig ist, aber auch erklärt, warum sich alle Beteiligten so verdammt viel Mühe geben, dass diese einmalige Auferstehung des Clubs dreißig Jahre nach der Eröffnung sich des Anlasses würdig erweist, und hoffentlich darüber hinaus.
Und können wir jetzt endlich mal einen Namen hören?
Der Name ist Danger!, wie die Schilder die dann aufflackerten, wenn die Ekstase am größten war.
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.
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 »
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