If Kassel is known in Germany for another cultural contribution besides the art fair Documenta it is the legacy of the techno club Aufschwung Ost, and its renamed successor Stammheim. Both clubs were located in a former textiles factory building called Kulturfabrik Salzmann that served mainly as an art space. When Aufschwung Ost opened in 1994, it quickly established a national and international reputation that exceeded those of clubs in similarly middle-sized cities. The main resident DJs, the late Pierre Blaszczyk aka DJ Pierre and Mark Pecnik aka DJ Marky, built a dedicated local following with their state of the art techno sound, and managed to pull in every main guest DJ important in the techno scene, propelling the club to the level of famous clubs in Berlin or Frankfurt, until its lease ran out in 2002 and it had to close. We asked DJ Marky to recall some of the tunes that ruled the floor in both clubs.
.xtrak – Facc (Peacefrog, 1995)
This bleep track by Todd Sines, who regularly collaborated with Daniel Bell, was played a lot at our club. It is had a minimal sound but a maximum impact on the floor. The hi-hats coming in at the first minute are just a dream.
Jiri.Ceiver – Osiac (Vogel’s Funky Sola Mix) (Harthouse, 1995)
It is very difficult to develop an own signature style. But what Cristian Vogel and other artists such as Neil Landstrumm, Dave Tarrida, Si Begg and Justin Berkovi released in the 90s was definitely new and not existent before. This track stands for the Brighton sound and its wonderful playfulness which was very influential over the years for the resident DJs at Aufschwung Ost and Stammheim.
DJ Hyperactive – Venus (Missile, 1996)
Chicago techno at its best. A peak time banger that never failed to work on the big floor. You still hear it in the sets of well-known DJs.
Daft Punk – Rock ‘n’ Roll (Virgin, 1996)
You just could not pass by Daft Punk in 1996, but you did not want to anyway. Their „Homework“ album included this track and to this day it is still one of the best house and techno albums for me. Either the album or other terrific releases on Thomas Bangalter’s label Roulé were constantly played on both our techno and floors.
Wishmountain – Radio (Evolution), 1996
Sven Väth played this as a white label at our club, in early 1996. It was way ahead of the official release date, so the whole crowd was unfamiliar with it. The energy this track built up on the floor in just a few minutes was just incredible. It was a miracle that the whole place did not just collapse at the last break. What Matthew Herbert created with this track is unique and it is perhaps THE quintessential Aufschwung Ost/Stammheim classic.
Skull vs. ESP – Power Hour (Sounds, 1996)
A beautiful track by DJ Skull and Woody McBride. It came out on Sounds back then, which was a sub label of Communique Records, a very popular label with the resident DJs that had several legendary releases. I liked to play it in the early morning hours.
Green Velvet – Destination Unknown (Relief, 1997)
I could have picked „Flash“, „La La Land“ other Green Velvet classics as well. The Relief and Cajual labels were essential to any of our parties. You can witness its effect at Green Velvet’s legendary gig at our club in 2001 ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ES0ldBe4kZA).
Coldcut & Hexstatic – Timber (Ninja Tune, 1998)
This is an absolute DJ Pierre classic. There was not only hard techno being played at Aufschwung Ost and Stammheim, and this is a wonderful example. Particularly in the morning the residents had enough time to experiment with different styles and we did just that. Electro, big beat and cuts ‘n’ breaks, everything was tried and tested. That was just as much fun for the dancers as it was for us DJs.
DJ Rolando – Knights Of The Jaguar (Underground Resistance, 1999)
A masterpiece by Rolando and Underground Resistance. This track on the big floor at 10 A.M. meant instant goosebumps for everybody. The light came through the windows, and together with the music created a magical vibe each time the track was played. It will still put a smile on those dancers today.
DJ Rush – One Two Zero (Pro-Jex, 1999)
DJ Rush and Stammheim was love at first sight. The residents loved his mad beat constructions. There was probably was not one set from us big floor DJs without at least two tracks by him. And on the other hand DJ Rush adored Stammheim, it was the best club for him back then.
Aphex Twin – Windowlicker (Warp, 1999)
Aphex Twin was formative for his time, and „Windowlicker“ is just one example. I chose it because Pierre used to end long nights by playing this as his last record. It was always astonishing how much energy it could restore for one last time. So it is a classic forever connected to Pierre.
Stefan Küchenmeister – Soda Stream (Hörspielmusik, 2000)
Stefan Küchenmeister was one of the Stammheim residents and he delivered one of the big Stammheims anthems with this track. Fortunately it was released on „Hörspielmusik“, the label I ran with Pierre, and thus we had a home-made Stammheim hit record.
Labels such as Labels wie Profan, Kompakt and Auftrieb developed the sound of Cologne, that us residents really cherished back then. This remix was also one of the big Stammheim anthems.
Vitalic – La Rock 01 (International Deejay Gigolos, 2001)
What can you still say about this track? Pure energy on the dance floor! And one of my all-time favourites.
Depeche Mode – Dream On (Dave Clarke Remix) (Mute, 2001)
Depeche Mode and Dave Clarke? That is the perfect combination that could only lead to a killer track. Dave Clarke knows how to transform an already great track into his own style, resulting in something even better, without losing any of the source’s original greatness. This is a rare gift. A big peak time number at Stammheim.
You published your first book „Love Saves The Day“ in 2003, and although there had been plenty of literature on the topic of the classic Disco era of the 70s in New York City, it still stood out. What led you to write it?
I don’t know if that much had been written. Albert Goldman’s book „Disco“ had come out in 1979 and contains a small amount of information on David Mancuso’s private party, the Loft, and the Sanctuary, the discotheque where the pioneering Francis Grasso DJed, but it’s main focus is on the midtown discotheque Studio 54. In 1997 Anthony Haden-Guest published „The Last Party“, but that was mainly about Studio 54 and was largely concerned with celebrity culture. Both had a completely difficult reading of disco to the one I developed in “Love Saves the Day”, which focused on the influence of DJs on the rise of dance culture and what came to be known as Disco. I thought they missed the underlying dynamic of what made the culture so exciting.
Is it true that „Loves Saves The Day“ originally started out as an introductory chapter of a book about House Music?
Yes, that is true. The book about House Music was supposed to start in mid-1980s Chicago and then move on to New York City and the beginnings of UK Rave culture. I was born in 1967, so for me Disco was the music I liked when I was a kid, because the music reached its commercial peak in 1977/78. By the time I was in my 20s I was ready for something completely different and that came in the form of House Music, thus the original idea for the book. But I ended up interviewing David Mancuso early into my research, even though he was a relatively unknown figure at the time, and when he suggested that the history should begin with the Loft in 1970 I asked other interviewees, including house legends Tony Humphries, Frankie Knuckles and David Morales, if they’d heard of David and the Loft. They all replied that the Loft had been a transformational experience and so I quickly came to understand that the history of underground dance culture—a culture that ended up inspiring Disco—had yet to be narrated. Initially I thought I’d write a chapter about the 1970s but by the time I’d written 500 pages I’d only reached the end of 1979, so that turned out to be a book in itself. I just became fascinated by the way in which the communication between the person selecting the records and the dancing crowd introduced an entirely different form of musicianship to the world.
This marked the beginnings of contemporary DJ culture and it amounted to a form of democratic music-making that was firmly rooted in the counterculture, or the social forces that were unfolding in the US of that era. Before the beginning the 1970s DJs were required to “kill the dance floor” with a slow song every five or six records in order to persuade dancers to buy a drink. But when Mancuso and Grasso started playing at the beginning of 1970 they played to dancers who were rooted in the culture of gay liberation, civil rights, feminism, experimentation with LSD, and the anti-war movement. Grasso was already playing at the Sanctuary in the late 1960s and told me it was quite boring, but when the Sancutary became the first public discotheque to welcome gay men onto the dance floor at the beginning of 1970 the dancing became much more energetic and Grasso decided to try to maintain the intensity by inventing the technique of mixing two records together. Mancuso, meanwhile, started to hold dance parties in his downtown loft on Valentine’s Day 1970 and gave the party the name “Love Saves the Day”, which referenced universal love and the acid trip. Rather than mix records together, Mancuso took his dancers on a transformational journey through the juxtaposition of sound.
There is a direct lineage from the early days of The Loft through to New York dane venues such as the Paradise Garage, because the Garage owner Michael Brody and his resident DJ Larry Levan were Loft regular. The influence extends to the origins of House Music, because Robert Williams attended the Loft before he opened the Warehouse in Chicago, where he employed Frankie Knuckles to DJ, and the coinage House Music first referred to the music Knuckles would play at the Warehouse. Knuckles was also a Loft regular. So in many paths led back to the Loft. Everything seemed to be connected.
Were the interviewees in „Love Saves The Day“ waiting to tell their story?
Yes, because up to then it had not really been told, even if their cultural influence in the 70s turned out to be enormous. By the time I got home after that first interview with David Mancuso word there were five messages from people he knew and who were ready to talk on my answer machine—so it seems as though he trusted me and that there was a desire for this untold story to be told. One of the messages was from the DJ Steve D’Acquisto, who introduced me to Francis Grasso, and so things unfolded from there. This all took place in 1997, so a couple of years, I believe, before Bill Brewster and Frank Broughton started to track down David and Francis for their book „Last Night A DJ Saved My Life“.
Did you feel it was important to emphasize the political aspects of Disco?
I would say they emphasised themselves because Disco was so obviously political. The backlash against Disco peaked with the Disco Demolition night at a baseball game in Chicago’s Comiskey Park on July 12th 1979, where a local radio DJ asked the audience to bring Disco records and then blew them up in the middle of the baseball double-header. It amounted to a Mid-Western backlash against the multicultural and polysexual coalition that underpinned disco culture and I’ve argued that in many respects we can track the rise of Donald Trump (and before him Ronald Reagan) to this moment. Disco became one of the first scapegoats for the decline of industrial culture in the United States and Trump appealed to the same disenfranchised and discontented demographic. I’m always interested in the correlation between music scenes and the wider culture in which they occur. So “Love Saves the Day” was about more than Disco, even if Disco was one of its central concerns. It’s important to remember that Disco music didn’t emerge as a genre until 1974, so the first for years of the book analyse a period when the culture was fermenting but didn’t have a name or a settled sound. It’s also important to note the version of disco depicted in „Saturday Night Fever“ had very little to do with the kind of culture that was still taking place in downtown New York, and by the end of 1978 downtown DJs were also becoming tired of commercial disco. The quality of the music had declined and it was time for something new. But the downtown expression of the culture survived the backlash. Read the rest of this entry »
Als Dein erstes Buch Loves Saves The Day erschien, gab es schon mehrere Bücher über die klassische Ära Disco-Musik der 70er in New York, aber es stach hervor. Was bewog Dich, es zu schreiben?
Disco von Albert Goldman erschien 1979, aber es handelte vornehmlich vom Club Studio 54. Es gab darin eine ziemlich rassistische Referenz über David Mancusos Club The Loft und flüchtige Erwähnungen eines weiteren DJ-Pioniers, Francis Grasso. Zudem schrieb Anthony Haden-Guest The Last Party, aber darin ging es auch hauptsächlich um das Studio 54 und deren Celebrity-Kultur. Beide hatten ein anderes Interesse an Nightlife-Kultur, und das hatte nichts mit DJs zu tun, und ich dachte, dass sie an der eigentlichen Dynamik vorbeigingen, die Partys so interessant macht.
Stimmt es, dass Loves Saves The Day ursprünglich als Einleitungskapitel eines Buches über House-Musik gedacht war?
Ja, das stimmt. Das Buch über House sollte in Chicago Mitte der 80er einsetzen und dann zum New York der späten 80er übergehen, und von dort zu den Anfängen der englischen Rave-Kultur. Ich bin 1967 geboren, für mich war Disco also Musik, die ich zu ihrem Gipfel 1977/78 als Kind gemocht hatte. Als ich wirklich anfing, mich für Musik zu interessieren ging ich aus und interessierte mich für House. Aber ich interviewte für das Projekt DJs wie Tony Humphries, Frankie Knuckles, oder David Morales, und sie alle erwähnten einen anderen DJ als großen Einfluss, und das war David Mancuso. Also traf ich mich mit ihm und er riet mir, nicht nur mit Disco anzufangen, sondern mit der Zeit davor, den frühen 70ern. Zuerst behagte mir die Idee nicht, aber als Journalist erkannte ich, dass da eine Story war. Und es ist auch wichtiger Teil von Nachforschungen, den Ursprüngen nachzuspüren, und ich sah mich immer zwischen dem Journalismus und dem akademischen Betrieb. Also vergrub ich mich in das Thema für die Einleitung, und 500 Seiten später war ich im Jahr 1979 angelangt, und beendete ein völlig anderes Buch. Ich erkannte sehr früh, dass die wichtigste Entwicklung in dieser Kultur stattfand, als die Kommunikation zwischen DJ und tanzendem Publikum einen völlig neuen Umgang mit der Musik einführte. Und es war auch Teil der Gegenkultur, eng mit den sozialen Kräften verbunden, die in den USA dieser Ära am Werk waren: die Schwulenbewegung, Bürger- und Frauenrechte, LSD-Experimente, und die Anti-Kriegsbewegung.
Hatten die Interviewten des Buches schon darauf gewartet, ihre Geschichte erzählen zu können?
Ja, denn bis dahin wurde ihre Geschichte nicht wirklich erzählt, auch wenn ihr kultureller Einfluss in den 70ern enorm war. Als ich nach dem ersten Interview mit David Mancuso nach Hause kam, hatte sich schnell herumgesprochen, dass man mir trauen konnte, und ich hatte einige Nachrichten von seinen Freunden auf dem Band, unter anderem vom DJ Steve D’Acquisto, der mich wiederum Francis Grasso vorstellte, und dann ging es von dort weiter. Das alles geschah ab 1997, bevor einige von ihnen mit Bill Brewster und Frank Broughton für ihr Buch Last Night A DJ Saved My Life sprachen. Als Mancuso und Grasso Anfang der 70er anfingen aufzulegen, gab es einen demografischen Wandel auf den Tanzflächen, und beide legten den Grundstein für das, was wir heute unter DJ-Kultur verstehen. Grasso war z. B. der Stamm-DJ des Sanctuary, das bis Ende der 60er eine heterosexuelle Diskothek war, und dann die erste, die Schwule einließ. In den 60ern musste der DJ ab und zu die Tanzfläche abwürgen, damit die Bar ihren Umsatz machen konnte. Aber dann wurde irgendwann so frenetisch getanzt, dass Grasso diese Intensität hochhalten wollte, und dafür erfand er die Technik des Mixens von zwei Platten. Die Herangehensweise von Mancuso war hingegen, als musikalischer Gastgeber einer Privatveranstaltung zu fungieren, in seinem eigenen Loft, ausgestattet mit einer hochwertigen Hifi-Anlage, und seine Gäste auf eine musikalische Reise zu schicken. Und seine erste Party fand am Valentinstag 1970 statt, unter dem Motto „Love Saves The Day“. Es führt eine direkte Linie vom frühen Loft zu anderen New Yorker Clubs wie der Paradise Garage, deren Besitzer Michael Brody und Stamm-DJ Larry Levan regelmäßige Gäste waren. Auch Robert Williams ging dorthin, was ihn dazu bewog, das Warehouse in Chicago zu eröffnen, in dem Frankie Knuckles als DJ die Grundfesten von House errichtete. Alle Wege führten zurück zum Loft, es war alles verbunden.
War es Dir ein Anliegen, die politischen Aspekte von Disco hervorzuheben?
Absolut. Die Reaktion gegen Disco fand ihren Höhepunkt in der Disco Demolition Night bei einem Baseball-Match im Comiskey Park-Stadion in Chicago am 12. Juli 1979. Ein lokaler Radio-DJ hatte dazu aufgefordert, Disco-Platten mitzubringen und jagte sie dann zwischen zwei Spielen in die Luft. Es war eine Gegenreaktion im Mittleren Westen. Ich würde argumentieren, dass die Wahl Donald Trumps zum US-Präsidenten dort begann. Es ist die gleiche Zusammensetzung und Grundstimmung einer Bevölkerungsgruppe, die sich sich ökonomisch abgehängt fühlte, und Disco-Kultur wurde zum Sündenbock für den Verfall der Industrie. Ich interessiere mich immer für die Korrelation zwischen einer Mikrokultur und der Makrokultur, in der sie erfahren wird. In diesem Buch ging es um mehr als nur Disco. Disco-Musik definiert als solche gab es erst ab 1974, es gab also schon vier Jahre davor, in denen all diese Entwicklungen stattfanden.
Hattest Du während des Schreibens den Musiker Arthur Russell schon als Schlüsselfigur ausgemacht, an dem sich die Verbindungen dieser Entwicklungen aufzeigen ließen? Er wurde dann ja der Mittelpunkt Deines nächsten Buches Hold On To Your Dreams.
Definitiv. Während der Gegenreaktion wurde es offensichtlich, dass sich die Disco-Szene, wie sie im Film Saturday Night Fever dargestellt wurde, weit von ihren Ursprüngen entfernt hatte. Sie explodierte zu einem Lebensstil, und selbst Disco DJs hatten es satt. Die Qualität der Musik hatte stark abgenommen und es war an der Zeit für etwas Neues. Steve D’Acquisto stand Arthur Russell sehr nahe und schlug mir vor, ein Buch über ihn zu schreiben. Mir wurde klar, dass ich nicht wie automatisiert Chronologie und Themen abarbeiten wollte. Mein Lektor war zuerst besorgt, dass sich nicht genug Leute für Russell interessieren würden, denn seine Musik wurde zwar noch gespielt und gehört, aber nach seinem Tod 1992 verschwand er als Person aus der öffentlichen Wahrnehmung. Aber 2003 schrieb David Toop einen langen Text über ihn in der Zeitschrift Wire, da zwei posthume Veröffentlichungen bevorstanden, und das Interesse lebte wieder auf und machte das Buch möglich. Natürlich war er ein interessante Person, aber ich hatte mich nie wirklich für die Gattung der Biografie interessiert. Ich interessiere mich für Szenen, die nach dem Mitwirkungsprinzip funktionieren. Arthur Russell hatte sich aber immer für Kollaborationen begeistern können, und die sozialen Erfahrungen, die durch Musik ermöglicht werden, und er war von sich aus offen für verschiedene Arten von Musik. Daher wurde er zu dieser Schlüsselfigur, die sich durch verschiedene Szenen von Downtown New York bewegte, wie etwa Orchestrale Musik, Punk, dann Disco und Hip Hop sowie Folk und Dub. Und er bewegte sich nicht der Reihe nach, und wechselte eine Szene durch eine andere aus, er machte es ohne Priorisierung und ohne hierarchisches Denken. Er wollte, dass die Szenen eine simultane Konversation haben, und er war sehr mobil. Read the rest of this entry »
April 1996. Seit seinem Eröffnungs-Wochenende vor einem Jahr bin ich Resident-DJ in einem Kieler Club namens Tanzdiele. Ab und zu lege ich mittwochs auf wonach mir gerade der Sinn steht, oder donnerstags Soul, gelegentlich springe ich auch freitags ein, wiederum Soul und Disco. Musik, mit der ich in den mittleren 80ern als DJ angefangen habe. Hauptsächlich bin ich aber für den Samstag zuständig. Dann spiele ich in erster Linie House und Techno, gerne mit Ausflügen in deren Vorgeschichte. Resident-DJ heißt die ganze Nacht auflegen, allein. Unter der Woche von 22 Uhr bis 3, am Wochenende von 22 Uhr bis 5. Eigentlich gibt es eine Sperrstunde, aber das sieht man in der Stadt nicht so eng. Es dauert also oft auch wesentlich länger. Ich spiele jeden Samstag, und manchmal an den anderen Tagen noch dazu. Das macht es mit dem Studium etwas schwierig, aber noch kriege ich es hin.
Der Club war schon vor sehr langer Zeit ein Club, dann ein Billard-Salon mit Spielautomaten, dann eine Cocktail-Bar. Es hängen zwei wuchtige JBL-Boxen über der Tanzfläche, mein Arbeitsbereich ist daran angrenzend in den Tresen integriert, der sich ungefähr durch die Hälfte des Ladens schlängelt. Ich verfüge über zwei MKs und einen etwas überdimensionierten Ecler-Mixer. Es gibt keine Monitor-Boxen, ich mixe halb über die Tanzfläche, halb über Kopfhörer. Der Club fasst ca. 100 Leute und es gibt jede Nacht Programm. Der Freitag läuft gut, deswegen muss man Samstag zeitig kommen um erst einmal wieder aufzuklaren, da die Ausrüstung in Zeitraffer altert, die Instandhaltung hingegen in Zeitlupe. Ich habe ein paar hundert Platten hinten im Büro deponiert, um weniger heranschleppen zu müssen, bringe aber trotzdem immer zu viel mit. Es gibt Slipmats und Kopfhörer, aber die taugen nichts, bringe ich auch mit. Ich wohne nicht weit weg, aber weit genug, ziehe aber trotzdem alles mit einer Sackkarre aus dem Baumarkt und einem viel zu schweren Alu-Flightcase hierher. Zurück nehme ich dann manchmal ein Taxi, je nach Erschöpfungszustand.
Meine Gage bewegt sich etwas undurchsichtig zwischen Eintritt, Umsatzbeteiligung und Getränkeumsatz und ist ziemlich elastisch. Der Eintritt liegt bei 5 Mark, das finden viele Gäste ziemlich übertrieben. Mein Rekord liegt bei 400 Mark für eine Nacht, aber da war es auch wirklich voll und ging sehr lange, ansonsten eher 100 bis 200 Mark, manchmal auch weniger. Das Publikum ist etwas unzuverlässig. Meistens ist es gut bis sehr gut gefüllt und man sieht vertraute Gesichter, die jeden Samstag wiederkommen, weil ihnen die Musik gut gefällt, und weil es gut bis sehr gut gefüllt ist. Zur Zeit gibt es keinen Club mehr in der Stadt, der bewusst eine Nacht einem Musikstil widmet, und das mit amtlicher Auswahl. Dieses Missverhältnis hilft, aber oft reicht auch eine private Veranstaltung, auf die sich alle einigen können, und das Publikum und die Gage dezimiert sich erheblich. Es gibt auch keine richtige örtliche Szene für die Musik. So ungefähr 20 Leute in der Stadt kennen genauer, was man auflegt, dem Rest gefällt es einfach, und man tanzt gerne dazu. Die Angst, alles könnte nächsten Monat wieder vorbei sein, verübt daher stetigen Druck.
Das Publikum setzt sich aus Studenten und Individualisten zusammen, letztere zum Teil noch nicht so lange nachts unterwegs, viele aber auch schon wesentlich länger. Der Zulauf von Leuten aus den anderen etablierten Clubs der Stadt und den Touristen von den Fähren ist übersichtlich, wird aber toleriert. Das Verhältnis auf der Tanzfläche männlich/weiblich ist ungefähr 50/50, beim DJ- und Tresenpersonal ungefähr 30/70. Die Schwulen in der Stadt gehen mehrheitlich auf schwule Veranstaltungen, Afrikaner kommen meistens sonntags zum Reggae, Türken und Araber meistens wenn Hip Hop läuft. Es werden viel Alkohol und Drogen konsumiert und manchmal gibt es Ärger, aber nicht zu oft. Sobald es draußen wärmer wird, halten sich viele Leute auch vor der Eingangstür auf, oder beim Döner-Imbiss gegenüber, aber in der Gegend ist nachts eh viel los, und Nachbarn, Ordnungsamt und Polizei lassen uns weitestgehend in Ruhe. Noch.
Die Flyer für meine Veranstaltungen fertige ich mit Fotos aus Büchern und Zeitschriften im Copy-Shop an, ökonomisch schwarzweiß. Montags mache ich mit dem Fahrrad eine Runde durch die wenigen Plattenläden der Stadt und verteile sie dort. Ein paar großformatige Exemplare hänge ich dort auf, wo schon seit Jahren die Leute nachts vorbeiziehen. Meine Platten kaufe ich, wenn es das Monatsbudget erlaubt, bei Wochenendausflügen in Hamburg, oder telefonisch bei Hard Wax in Berlin. Den Rest des Bedarfs versuche ich mühsam in den lokalen Shops zu decken. Das mit dem Internet gehe ich vielleicht später im Jahr noch an, aber noch beziehe ich alle Informationen über Musik über den Besuch anderer Partys, Bücher und Zeitschriften, Radio oder Tipps von Freunden.
Februar 2017 bin ich seit 14 Jahren in Berlin, und immer noch DJ. Ich schreibe selber über Musik, ich betreibe ein Label mit, und ich arbeite bei Hard Wax. In den Jahren dazwischen hat sich so ziemlich alles verändert, was meine Tätigkeiten ausmacht.
Aber erzählt mir bitte nicht, dass früher alles besser war. Es war bloß anders.
It is the last day of the year. You came home from the supermarket which looked like it was looted before the apocalypse actually happened. Well, you too could have bought your beer yesterday, but you didn’t. You could even have bought some good stuff instead of the cheap stuff that was left. But then again, it is the end of the month, and you know you will need all the money you have left for tonight. You stood in the queue listening to experienced grey-clad tourists who have been here for days, shouting proud advice to inexperienced grey-clad tourists who have been here since today, on how to get in. You do not care about where they want to get in. You know where you will be heading to, and it is a place where everybody looks different, even though it does not really matter how you look. But once back home, that does not stop you from pondering which shirt to wear for way too long. Your shirt is going to be up against a lot tonight. It has to be smart, effortlessly stylish, casual even. It has to complement your personality, and attitude. But it also has to look sharp after spending hours on a very crowded floor. So you take some more time thinking about it. And you have not even started with your footwear. Or your hair. You hum and groove along to the music while you are taking care of that. You put on crackling records that you bought in sleeves that smell of moist basements. Some of them have stamps from old clubs, long gone, with exotic names. Most of them were probably located in some outskirts, and not very glamourous. But if the music you got was played there, it probably helped the dancers to forget about that. You like the thought, because you first heard some of this music in the place you are going to tonight, and it is not exactly glamourous either. And it always helped you to forget almost everything that you wanted to forget.
Soon you are on your way. You decided you do not want to be on your own any longer. Not tonight. You have sweet vocal harmonies in your head, kicking rhythm sections, and swooning orchestras. You sing some refrains out loud, and people in the streets look at you. Some seem to understand. You hope for some of your favourites being played later on. You hope for some favourites you do not even know yet. Where you are heading to, that has happened before. You walk because the cabs and trains are not running, but it helps you to sort out what lies ahead. So soon. You fuel the anticipation further with probably at least one drink more than necessary along the way, but you know when you will arrive, everybody will have done the same. As you approach the area, you probably walked through the time it needs to play ten 12“s or long album tracks, or twenty 7“s or radio versions. But frankly it could have been even more, or less. You do not really know how long it took. It does not really matter. You know you shortly will arrive at a place where time dissolves.
You hear fireworks going off near and distant. You heard them going off for a while now, but the intervals are getting shorter. You know when the real hell will break loose, you will watch it from above, dancing on that floor, embracing those friends, singing along to that music, hoping that everything will be better. You look up to the club, and the windows are already steamy. You see arms raised. The mirror ball is revolving and shining bright. You cannot tell who of the Druffalo DJs is playing at that very moment, but that does not really matter anyway. But you see somebody is holding that microphone, and you can hear cheers. And you want to hear what they are cheering for, and you want to join in, at last. And you rush up those grim stairs towards the love awaiting you.
In discussion with Lerosa on “Electric Café” by Kraftwerk (1986).
There was „Computer World“, then the „Tour de France“ single, then a silence of several years. I was impatiently waiting for their next move, and it kept getting renamed and postponed. Then the first thing I heard at last was „Boing Boom Tschak“. I thought that was pure genius. I suppose you were already a fan before, too. How did you experience that comeback and what did you think of it?
My first encounter with Kraftwerk was when I was 14, the video for „”Musique Non Stop”“ premiered on MTV Italy, with its groundbreaking CGI it was unique at the time. The only similar music I might have had come across then was probably Art Of Noise’s „Close To The Edit“ and Herbie Hancock’s „Rock It“. I didn’t have access to a lot of music as I had no older clued-in sibling nor were my parents into music, perhaps bar my mom who loves her Charles Aznavour and Lucio Dalla, so to be honest I had no idea who these guys were but I was blown away. To me this was new music from a new band! Sometime later I made friends with a guy from Bolzano who told me to check out the „Breakdance“ movie to see Turbo do a routine to „Tour De France“, a freaky song with electric pulses that sounded like a bike chain. After a few months of looking for it I watched the movie, and heard that, too. A year later on holiday in Rimini I shoplifted „Autobahn“ and „Radio Activity“ and I loved both but also not understood them very well as they packed a lot of references to more experimental music I wasn’t quite well versed as a 16 year old. It wasn’t until much, much later that I finally heard „Computer World“. I don’t think I have heard the first two albums yet. I think for a lot of kids back then “Musique Non Stop” was their first meeting with Kraftwerk. Like a lot of people I was a bit disappointed with „Electric Café“ at first. I thought the A-Side was a wonderful statement, but the B-Side lacked the same consequence. I liked the sounds, but I was not that impressed with the tunes. But it has grown on me immensely, starting only shortly after.
Is this album perfectly flawed, a good example for an album that does not lose its impact due to shortcomings?
I think after getting the 12“ for “Musique Non Stop” and eventually finding the LP I too might have been not very enamoured with B-side with its cringey songs (in English, that’s the version I had). It was too much like the music on Italian commercial day time radio and I was being drawn to these new sounds, Hip Hop and early House, that were starting to seep in through the late night radio stations and occasional afternoon clubs we had in Italy for 14 to 17 year olds. I wanted to hear this new Rap music and these new weird electronic House beats, I had no time for the „Telephone Call“ etc. Nevertheless I was charmed by them as the melodies and arrangement were very catchy.I am not sure if I ever thought of it as flawed; it felt like a cohesive whole, just one where I failed to connect the dots, which is how I normally felt whenever I heard something new that really alienated me, say Peter Gabriel „IV“. I just always thought I didn’t know enough to understand it rather than thinking, „oh this is a bit shit“. I think it is insecurity that made me look at it with respect rather than try to judge it as an album. I don’t think I owned many albums back then at all.Whichever way it is, the B-side songs eventually have become the ones I play most often, especially „Telephone Call“, which I love very much. And likewise I love a lot strange pop albums like Peter Gabriel’s „IV“, or Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s debut album or indeed „Who’s Afraid Of The Art Of Noise“.
Ralf Hütter had a severe cycling accident that slowed the work on „Electric Café“ down considerably. Do you think the flaws of the album are there because they rushed proceedings to not lose more momentum?
Who knows. I’d like to think that this was delivered the way it is quite intentionally to showcase the connection between the new sounds and beats of the A-side and the more traditional songs on the B-side, all held together by the electronic sounds. I think I always looked at this record like that; as a sort bridge between the old and the new.
The working title of the album was „Techno Pop“, and they even renamed the album later on. But isn’t the B-Side more Techno Pop than the A-Side? Could’t they have made one album that was pop, and one that was pure rhythm?
Well, I am sure that back then I probably wished the same, I would have loved more of the A-side but in hindsight maybe that would have really made it too niche and austere an album to their ears, coming as they were from a mixed background of musicality and experimentation, I suppose they were trying to find a balance on one record rather than being too pragmatic and split it into two separate entities.
I once imagined that „Sex Object“ was actually a first glimpse of a whole other concept album that was neglected, just for the lack of a better explanation why it was included. Especially the lyrics seemed to clash with their usual man machine infatuation, they are very human. As are the lyrics of „The Telephone Call“. How human are Kraftwerk?
I think they are very human and that’s why they are so popular to this day. Their appeal goes way beyond the mere “electronic music” tag, it doesn’t rest on the laurels of introducing a lot of complex machinery to music. They articulated the new relationship between humans and the technological world with sounds that managed to be extremely human and extremely non-human. Quite the trick. Read the rest of this entry »
We should probably start at the very beginning. What were your baby steps as a DJ, what led you to being a DJ in the first place?
I think in the first place was the love for music. And I can remember when I was really, really young, with a babysitter, and we’re talking about the days of 45s. The first record that I actually remember and I was spinning was „Spinning Wheel“ by Blood, Sweat & Tears.
Good choice.
You know my family was from Puerto Rico and there was no American music in my house.
It was mostly Latin music?
Only Latin music. And we’re talking about Merengue, Salsa. Folk music from Puerto Rico. And I didn’t like it. And it’s funny because today I appreciate Latin music. Since I became a producer, now I appreciate Latin music for the production, the instrumentation, the musicians, because Latin music is not machine-made, not at all. So the first 45 that was in my house was “Jungle Fever” by Chakachas. My parents had this fucking 45 that was this erotic fucking record. And we’re talking about these stereos that were like these big fucking wooden consoles with the big tuner for the radio and the thing with the record where you put some records in the thing and it dropped one at a time and when it ended the thing drops. It must’ve been when I was about six or seven there was an illegal social club. You know I was living in the ghetto. So there were illegal social clubs that were like a black room, with day-glo spray paint, fluorescent lights to make the paint glow and they had a jukebox. And they’d play the music back then. „Mr. Big Stuff, who do you think you are“. It was all about the O’Jays and that kind of music. And I liked that. I used to sneak downstairs and such.
So when was that?
It was like the late sixties. Because I was born in ’62 so by ’70 that makes I was 8 years old. So it was before that because then I moved. Anyway, so fast forward the first 45 that I liked was the O’Jays. The first 45 I actually bought. And I remember playing that record I a hundred times a day. Putting the bullshit speaker we had in the house outside the window, we lived on the first floor. I played the record to death.
So you played it to the whole neighborhood?
The whole neighborhood. The only record I had really. So then when I graduated elementary school, I used to be into dancing, like the Jackson 5 they had “Dancing Machine”, there were The Temptations and Gladys Knight & The Pips and I liked that music. So then when we got into Junior High School – when I was like 13 years old, I had a girlfriend and we went out when the first DJs came on in the neighborhood, which was like the black DJs. I saw the first two Technics set up and a mixer in someone’s house. I was like “Wow! That’s interesting.” I saw somebody doing this non-stop disco mix and I never knew what that was all about. So, I used to hang out with all my friends. I was a dancer, we used to do all this what we now call breakdancing. We would do battles. So, I had one turntable and my friend would say “David, we hangin’ at my place” and I would play some music for us. So I just was a kid that sat by the stereo with the records and put on the tunes, one at a time. Because back then that’s what it was, you’d play one tune at a time. If it ended, the people clapped and you’d play the next tune. And it was all songs.
How did you proceed from there?
I was one of those kids that used to go to the record store even though I had no money. Just to look at the records. To walk by a store that sold turntables and a mixer and be like “one day, one day…” And I’m not working so I can’t afford to buy anything. My first mixer was a Mic mixer. 1977 there was a blackout in New York and there was a lot of stealing so I came across a radio shack little Mic mixer that I set up to make it work with two turntables. You had to turn two knobs at the same time and it was like mixing braille because there was no cueing. My one turntable had pitch control, the other one had none. I was too young to go to clubs, so I never saw a proper DJ mixing. I only saw people outside, we would have block parties and people would be mixing. And I was one of those kids that was just standing there, watching. The first time I went to a club I was 15 years old, it was Starship Discovery One. It was on 42nd street in Times Square, and we got in. We shouldn’t have got in, but you know it was the end of the club, I was 15 and I got in. The DJ had three Technics, the original 1200s, and a Bozak mixer. The booth was a bubble, and I had my nose at the fucking bubble and I was just mesmerized. The first time I actually played on a real mixer I went to a house party at my friend’s brothers apartment. And in those days, most of the DJs who were really playing were gay DJs. “San Francisco” by the Village People was the big record. But I was into The Trammps, I was into James Brown, I was into Eddie Kendricks, Jimmy Castor Bunch, “The Mexican”, Sam Records and of course Donna Summer and all this kind of stuff. So I went to this house party and he was the DJ, the first proper mixer I saw – this was before I went to that club. And it was a black mixer, it had two faders and it had cueing. So I see the DJ there, he’s using headphones to cue. So my friend says “D, you wanna play some music?” and I’m like “Yeah, sure.” I grabbed the headphones, put them on and I hit the cueing, because I was watching the guy, and I’m hearing some music and and I was like “Oh shit…” When I played at that party, I’d still play how I know how to play, which was braille. Intro, outro. And it wasn’t about mixing. All the new bars at that time were advertising nonstop disco mixes.
It was even mentioned on the record sleeves.
Yes. And all that meant was that the music never stopped. Because before the music used to stop before the next record came in. So now it was continuous. That worked, so here came the name nonstop disco mix. And then at that time all these records started coming out. The disco 45 record. At my junior high school prom “Doctor Love” by First Choice was big. And I remember the guy playing it about four times. So my first 12″ of course was “Ten Percent” by Double Exposure, on Salsoul. Another record that I played to death out the window.
You were still doing that?
I was still doing that. I used to live to just play music. I loved it. I would leave in the morning to go to school because my parents would go to work. I would buy a bag of weed, buy a quart of beer and I would go home. And you know in the old days we had all those buildings where you could really play loud music and I had these stupid double 18 boxes in my fucking bedroom. Before I’d take a piss, I turned my system up. My mother used to be like “turn that music down, turn that music down, turn that music down!”
Did you begin to play out around that time?
Yes, and playing at parties in those days meant you carried your records. Because you didn’t play for two hours, you played the whole party. And the thing is, if you owned 5000 records, you took 5000 records to the party. And in those days we carried milk crates. So here I am carrying eight to ten milk crates to a party. Getting in a car, getting a cab, you have all your friends who would help you going there, but when you’re leaving there is nobody to help. And you had to take the stereo system with you. So you carry the sound system and you carried your records. You took everything. It wasn’t like going somewhere and you just bring your records and they have everything. You had to take everything. I did parties for 15 dollars, for 25 dollars and you had to chase people down for your money.
What kind of events were you doing?
I played in clubs, I did Sweet Sixteens, I did weddings, I did corporate events. I did anything. I also did parties in high school. I would advertise a party, we would bring the sound system to some kid’s house, the parents left to go to work, we’d bring the sound system fast, and I would advertise free beer and free joints. Even 50 people is a lot of people in somebody’s apartment. Imagine we’d take over the apartment and it’s like 10 in the morning and we’d be fucking banging it, banging it, banging it — and we’d get out by 3 in the afternoon before the person’s parents come home. God knows the mess, whatever the case, baby. And in those days the sound system was in the living room, the DJ booth in the bedroom. No monitors, it was just bang bang bang. As I started doing parties at an apartment I used to charge a dollar to get in, decorate the apartment, put up balloons, and it just started with friends. Obviously still free beers, free joints, the whole thing. And like I said, I just loved the music, it was just everything for me. I wanted to play every single day. Even when I didn’t have the equipment, I knew friends that bought decks and a mixer and a small sound system for their house and they weren’t DJs and they used to say “David, come to my house and play music for me.” And I would just die to play, it was just everything for me. Read the rest of this entry »
In discussion with Trusme on “Forevernevermore” by Moodymann (2000).
I doubt that „Forevernevermore“ was your first encounter with Moodymann. Did you eagerly await his third album, and how did it grab you?
100% I didn’t know who Kenny was till I found a copy of “Forevernevermore” in my friend’s record bag. He had left his records at my house and I was doing the usual noseying though the records when I found this CD. I was completely into Slum Village, MadLib and Jaydee collecting the samples from Jazz to Disco. When I first played this CD, everything just became clear in my mind. This is the sound I was looking for, from Hip Hop, House, Jazz, Soul and Disco all rolled into one. I became obsessed, wanting to understand the production techniques and went on to discover the whole world of Detroit right after this. Three years on, Moodymann was playing my first LP launch in a pub on Oldham street, home to where I had been buying his records for the past few years. KDJ and Theo were just No.1 at that time in Manchester and I couldn’t help but be influenced by the whole sound.
It seems that Moodymann matured up to the release „Forevernevermore“ in terms of the album format. „Silent Introduction“ felt like an anthology of 12“ material, even though it worked as an album. But with „Mahogany Brown“ he already aimed at a listening experience more true to the format. Would you say he topped this with „Forevernevermore“?
Yes, for sure. The whole LP worked as a cohesive hour of music yet there was something at every turn that was unique and compelling to me as a listener. I related to this LP in more ways than one, due to it’s almost Hip Hop nature with intros and outros connecting the tracks and glueing the whole piece together. There are so many seminal tracks on the LP that are still played out in the clubs today, yet they are tracks that remain LP cuts and for home listening only. This ideology is what I have embraced in all four LPs that I have produced over the last 8-9 years, with something for the dancefloor, something for the car and wherever else that one listens to LPs these days.
You told me that you wanted to talk about the CD version of „Forevernevermore“, which has lots of interludes and skits, and hidden tracks. Do they form an alliance with the music that almost works like a radio play? What is the special appeal of it?
When I think of an LP, I think of A Tribe Called Quest, Marvin Gaye or The Verve even. All these LPs are constructed to be a continuous piece of music, in which the listener is taken on a journey from the beginning to the end. With the CD format, there is extra playtime in which intros and outros can give a context to the background and making of the LP. On the “Forevernevermore” CD you are taken into the home of KDJ, as he sits playing with ideas on the piano with his child, to the studio discussions and even to listening to his local radio for inspiration. Hidden right at the end of the CD is a live recording of three hard-to-find cuts from the KDJ label, mixed together after 2 mins of silence. In many ways the CD provides the platform for further expression as an artist in the format of an LP.
I think the sound of „Forevernevermore“ was a step forward in terms of his distinctive sound. It was still dense and immersive, but also more refined. Do you think Moodymann’s sound evolved on „Forevernevermore“ in comparison to earlier works? And was it for the better?
This was for sure in an LP sense his best work. It is what most people say as their favourite work, when talking about Moodymann. He carved a sound out all for himself and also derived a unique long player format that until then was not seen in the dance scene. Most underground dance LPs were merely a collection of 12” tracks but this felt more like a well thought-out process, something like Daft Punk would execute. I believe Peacefrog Records also helped in this process and pushed KDJ, as they did all their artists to reach even further. In many ways, earlier LPs were a collection of his previous works but “Forevernevermore” was an LP made from beginning to end with a single LP idea and it feels very much that way.
Tracks like the Disco led „Don’t You Want My Love“ display a confidence to transcend mere club credentials for traditional songwriting, a path he followed ever since. Is there a side to Moodymann the producer you prefer to others, or is it not necessary to differentiate his persona as an artist?
The marriage between your typical MPC studio production and live instrumentation was what set out Kenny on his own. Working with local artists like the percussionist Andres, bass with Paul Randolph and keyboards by Amp Fiddler, on top of that raw production sound was just so unique. The juxtaposition of quantised groove and loose musicianship created a genre of its own and is still being replicated today. This LP was the beginning of that sound and Kenny is still using this formula very much in his productions today.
How do you rate the albums Moodymann released since „Forevernevermore“? Were they up to par with your expectations?
“Black Mahogani” is on par for me if not more refined than “Forevernevermore” but maybe it’s the rawness of the LP that better relates to me. With the following LPs I have enjoyed the productions but felt slightly less connection to the music I listen to and make today. Not that it’s not great music, but I started to feel that the tracks in the EP releases didn’t have that Peacefrog touch of which I’m such an admirer. The LP process began to evolve towards the creation of a new sound where he begins to sing and perform more as an artist and less in the background as a producer. Read the rest of this entry »
The next instalment of Acetate will once again exhibit selectors of world class calibre. David Kennedy aka Pearson Sound, who organises the night, errs towards the DJs who dedicate their time to collecting music, infrequently booking those who attempt to spin plates and produce music at the same time. The DJs’ heightened awareness of the vinyl record landscape seems to breed a uniquely rich atmosphere during the club night.
Alongside long time dubstep colleague, and one of the world’s most sought after selectors, Ben UFO, Kennedy has invited a bona fide head out to play in the Wire basement: music critic and Hard Wax staff member, Finn Johannsen. The German also runs Macro Recordings, Stefan Goldmann’s primary production outlet.
Finn is rarely seen by Brits out of his natural habitat of the Berlin record shop, and is normally only spotted in the by-line of an online electronic music article. So we thought we’d do a bit of investigative work and reverse roles. Here’s our interview with him:
What is the application like for a job at Hard Wax? How did you come to work there?
We get a lot of mails every week by people looking for a job at the store, but all current staff members were already regular customers or otherwise affiliated with Hard Wax before they started working there. Same with me. Six years ago I became father of a wonderful girl, and I realized that all the deadlines involved with freelance work did not work well with that. So I was thinking about adding some steadier work to my weekly schedule, and my wife suggested Hard Wax as an option. I tested ground and what I did not know at the time was that Prosumer was quitting the job, and they were looking for a replacement anyway. So I had a meeting with Michael Hain, the store manager, and Mark Ernestus, the owner, and started working there, all within a very short time.
It’s every young DJs dream to work in a record shop. Did you always know you’d work in one? What would you be doing if you weren’t there?
I worked in a second hand vinyl store when I was studying in the early 90s, but that was more to fund my own vinyl purchases. When I started DJing in the 80s I was not trying to get a job in a record shop, I only liked visiting them and it was that way for years. My focus at university was actually on film history, not music. But apart from a brief stint reviewing movies for De:bug magazine I never really did anything with that, nor did I really intend to. I also worked as an editor for art books a few years ago. But at some point I realized that it always fell back to activities connected to music, because it probably is what I know and do best. So I stuck with it. If I would not be there I would be doing something else, but it probably would have something to do with music as well.
What do you look for in a record when buying for Hard Wax?
Something new, or at least different. A personal signature. Ideas. Integrity. Attitude. When the record is referential I check if the references are used in a smart way, and if aspects are added that were not there before. I also take a good look at the proportion of value and money. I adjust my level of support for a release according to the level of how these criteria are met.
What led you to buy your first vinyl record? And what was it?
I started taping radio shows in the mid 70s, but I did not have enough pocket money to afford buying records then. But I already had a record player and I used to play records from my parents’ collection. When I was 9 years old, in 1978, I recorded Blondie’s Heart Of Glass and decided to buy it on 7“. When I entered the record store I just knew that I loved the song and her voice in particular, but I did not even know what she looked like. I was probably assuming that she had blonde hair, but not really that she looked that fabulous on the cover, and what she really was about. I probably learnt quite a few lessons about pop culture at once with that purchase, and soon I started spending nearly all the money I had on records.
We’ve just had record store day in the UK. Do you have any comment on it? Do you see it as a celebration or capitalisation of record buying culture?
It is the same in Germany, and I think it is the same all over the world. Which is why the recent negative implications of the event weigh in so heavily. Hard Wax decidedly never took part. We stated from early on that for us every day is a record store day, and that is basically it. But we feel the fallout from RSD as anybody else in the business nonetheless, especially the delays with the pressing plants, which affect our distribution as well, for example, and the releases we buy from other distributors. That has improved a bit lately, but it is still a tremendously hypocritical event, and that does not seem to improve. Nearly everybody’s trying to cash in now on a format that was willfully pronounced dead before, and nearly everything is blocked by back catalogue you can find around every corner, just in different layouts and for a much lesser price. Old wine in new skins. And the new grapes cannot be harvested because of it. It is totally absurd. There may have been some respectable thought implied with it once, but as soon as the major labels entered it predictably withered away into nothing. They want to gentrify vinyl into pricier artifacts instead, for customers that care more about the item itself than the music it contains. Read the rest of this entry »
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