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Archive for the ‘electronica’ Category

DJ Mix – Submerged: Deep House and Techno Lullabies

Monday, May 3rd, 2010
Submerged: Deep House and Techno Lullabies - cover

Submerged: Deep House and Techno Lullabies - cover

Over the years I’ve gathered a small selection of house, techno and electronica tunes that have a certain unique atmosphere about them. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but I find them utterly immersive and hypnotic. Superficially the music can appear stark, muddled or perhaps even sinister, but underneath is a warmth, richness and depth of production that makes me drift blissfully away.

Anyway, rather than attempt to write about it I thought it would be far more sensible to make a mix! So may I present for your listening pleasure, Submerged: Deep House and Techno Lullabies. Download using the arrow on the right of the Soundcloud box:

Submerged: Deep House and Techno Lullabies by thereverseengineer

Download cover art

Track Listing:

1 – 0:00 – Casino Versus Japan – Vessels that float out of metals that sink Part 3
2 – 5:00 – Vladislav Delay – Huone
3 – 10:55 – Boy Robot – Just my reflection and me
4 – 15:30 – Denzel and Huhn – Targo
5 – 17:12 – D’lubb Mecheen & Vela featuring Tara Busch – Rented Room (Swayzak’s Dwarf House Mix)
6 – 22:00 – Akufen – Even White Horizons
7 – 27:15 – His Name Is Alive – One Year (Four Tet remix)
8 – 30:37 – Electric Birds – Frames
9 – 34:03 – Aphex Twin – Actium
10 – 39:00 – Jill Scott – Slowly Surely (Theo Parrish Remix)

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Posted in DJ mix, deep house, electronica, music, techno | 2 Comments »


 

Chris Cunningham live at the Brighton Dome, 19th April 2010

Tuesday, April 20th, 2010
Windowlicker

Windowlicker

It’s been a long time since I saw any Chris Cunningham films. Like most people I was wowed by his 90’s splurge of awe-inspiring, utterly original and mostly very dark music videos for the likes of Aphex Twin, Portishead and Bjork. I also liked some of his more commercial output (Madonna, PlayStation adverts) and his uncharacteristically sedate video for Leftfield. Then there’s the curios like Monkey Drummer. But I think the last full-length Chris Cunningham film I saw was Rubber Johnny in 2005. This seemed to display a return to his dark, experimental roots, taking the unsettling horror movie vibe of Come To Daddy a stage further.

Last night I was re-introduced to the twisted world of Cunningham in spectacular style. If Rubber Johnny took the horror up a notch then his latest live show, projected on to 3 giant screens with accompanying audio, raises it so high that it blows the scale. Falling somewhere between a musical performance (featuring classic tracks and Cunninghams own remixes/productions) and live cinema, it was an hour of profoundly unsettling but arresting and accomplished work.

Cunningham’s trademark marriage of sound and visuals is still ever present but both more refined and more direct: it’s easy to miss the syncopation between the flash of a train wheel sparking and a wheeze of static, but somewhat easier to spot the association between a woman bouncing her giant breasts in time with the throbbing beat.

Much of the audio is cacophonous and lacking a regular rhythm but there is always that inseparable correlation between it and the visuals. This is where Cunningham excels (I often wonder why other video artists miss the chance to tie visual and sonic cues together to even a fraction of the degree exhibited by Cunningham). However, I preferred the more rhythmic output of his early music videos – there was something profound and organic, almost synaesthetic, about this audiovisual inseparability that I think is slightly lacking from the frenetic noise of his current work.

The performance was divided into several pieces, some with themes more obvious than others but with no overarcing narrative. In this way it was like a twisted VJ set. Proceedings started with footage moving around some kind of machine that fired green lazers. An actual lazer spat spears of light over the audience too, giving the impression that you were in the machine.

Next came a sallow, yellowy-green mound of flesh; slowly writhing. At first I wasn’t sure if it was one body or several, but it transpired that it was a man and a woman. What could have been rough love developed into near-rape and then brutal, mutual violence in a film that pulled no punches. Explicit sexual imagery was sporadically flashed on the outermost screens whilst centre stage the man and woman, naked, beat the shit out of each other in perfect syncopation with aggressive techno. Donna Summer’s I Feel Love was slowly introduced into the mix making it all the more obvious that Cunningham was exploring the links between sex and violence.

It wouldn’t have been nearly so disturbing if it was two men or even two women fighting and I’m undecided as to whether the woman getting even in the fight justified the fact she was the only bloodied party and that, moments earlier, she was lying prone and apparently defeated as the man loomed over her, grasping his semi-erect penis. Pretty full on stuff, and whilst I felt prompted to make a moral judgment regarding man versus woman in the context of sexual dominance, I wonder in hindsight if the piece had such clear cut intentions.

I thought things were going to lighten when I heard the twinkle of a Boards of Canada tune, but it didn’t last. Neither did the ‘Intermission’ which was declared on-screen, superceeded by a few seconds of inertness, then followed by the message ‘Intermission Ends’ and an explosion of noise. Funny! (Funny ha-ha or Funny mental I’m not sure!) Some classic videos like Windowlicker made an appearance, as did the alien-looking PlayStation girl.

The final piece is the one that has stayed with me most strongly. Apparently Cunningham has been working with Gil Scott-Heron’s new material, utilising night-time footage of trains and subways to augment Heron’s from-the-heart poetry. His tired visage was overlaid on a black background as shooting lights gradually revealed themselves to be trains, stations, tunnels and track. Heron gruffly spoke/sung his bluesy lament over stark, ringing, swooping synths. With the brooding, edgy urban visuals it made for a foreboding finale. It seems that Heron’s latest material fits perfectly with Cunninghams teasing out of the modern cityscape’s innate light and sound show. For me it held the kind of detached and unsettling yet strangely beautiful aesthetic that is found under streetlamps in pre-dawn drizzle; deserted industry; places where the stamp of humanity is so saturated that humanity itself is absent.

Overall I think Cunningham has become more explicit and brash, which in some ways is a shame. It seems that pleasant and uplifitng noises, music and visuals aren’t part of modern experimental electronic discourse. Take the talks hosted by the Southbank Centre’s annual Ether festival this year, focussing as they are on the controlling, homogenising nature of urban landscapes and electronic music. I think there’s room for a more optimistic and beauty-focussed voice, myself. That said, Chris Cunningham remains an undeniably powerful and technically mind-boggling artist, still with the power to shock and captivate and still at the top of his game.

PS, I’d highly recommend sourcing decent copies of his videos if you haven’t seen them – YouTube just doesn’t do them justice.

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Posted in Visuals / Video, electronica, gig review, music | No Comments »


 

Gig Review: Carl Craig, Francesco Tristano & Moritz von Oswald, Matmos, Bugge Wesseltoft & Henrik Schwarz duo

Sunday, February 14th, 2010

The Red Bull Music Academy visits a different city each year and presents a series of gigs, lectures and workshops to promote music both new and old. This year it’s Londons turn to play host. Friday 12th February saw techno luminaries, jazz men and classical musicians collaborating for an exciting 3 hours of experimental music at the Royal Festival Hall.

Starting proceedings were Norweigan jazz musician and producer Bugge Wesseltoft and German deep house producer/DJ Henrik Schwarz. As the audience filed in the duo got off to what looked like a juddery start but soon settled into a pleasing, off-kilter rhythm – they obviously work well together and their sounds and approaches to making them are well suited.

Wesseltoft had at his disposal a grand piano and a table of electronics including a MIDI keyboard, a synth and a laptop. He stretched between the two, looping up piano melodies ranging from delicate to grandiose and applying filters and effects as he went. Shwarz, meanwhile, introduced electronic beats, textures and effects via a Macbook and an array of pro-audio gear.

While there were times when the combined sounds built steadily to impressive and interesting peaks, each musician also had time to shine individually – Wesseltoft’s incredible jazz piano being given dominance before Shwarz’s gradually building 4/4 beats took over and had the audience (or me, at least) wishing I was on a dance floor instead of sat in a concert hall.

As the set proceeded Weesseltoft employed various unconventional means to produce his sounds including plucking the internal strings of the piano and squatting in front of an African glockenspiel-like instrument. The set ended here, infact, with Shwarz joining him at the front of the stage armed with a Novation Launchpad (one of my favourite MIDI toys and interesting to me as it implies Shwarz is a fellow user of Ableton Live) for an improvised avant-glitch-rock-out!

Next up were Baltimore experimental duo Matmos. Introducing themselves as ‘the comic relief’ and explaining how they’d fought through the worst snow storm in 90 years to be there, they proceeded to build a slightly menacing soundscape with found objects (whistling through a biro lid, shaking childrens toys previously dug out of a plastic baggie), a high-hat, the obligatory macbooks and various other bits of kit. I was under the impression that they were primarily sound artists so when a seriously fat techo beat dropped I was pleasantly surprised, as were several other audience members who whooped and cheered in true dancefloor style. I liked that they spoke to the audience as well – too many electronic and experimental musicians hide behind an aura of mystery or geekery and remain quite faceless. Matmos were engaging and amusing as well as playing a blinding set.

The main draw of the evening was the collaboration between Carl Craig, Moritz Von Oswald and Francesco Tristano. Carl Craig needs no introduction, being a figurehead of Detroit techno and recently working on increasingly diverse projects. Moritz Von Oswald represents the Berlin side of the techno coin and is a pioneer of the more minimal style. Francesco Tristano is a classical pianist but is also heavily involved in contemporary experimental music, too. Joining them was a fourth musician on saxophone – unfortunately his name escapes me.

Seeing such a diverse ensemble in such a setting (the huge, revered space of the Royal Festival Hall) was quite something and it was thrilling to hear the blending of the elements that each musician brought to the table. For me, Tristano’s piano was the most exciting, particularly because he was armed with a laptop, too, and seems to instinctively think outside the classical box. The addition of the saxophone gave proceedings an earthy soul. In fact the piano and brass sat in perfect harmony with the techno beats that Craig and Oswald laid down, Detroit techno being particularly drenched in soul as it is. To hear it as a live element rather than a sample was fantastic.

Speaking of those beats, again I wished I was on a dancefloor (as did the guy in front of me who got up to boogie by the speaker stack) as Craig skillfully wove waves and washes of rhythm through the live instrumentation, which periodically dropped out for bouts of hard, 4-to-the-floor action.

While this performance was probably the most rounded and polished, it actually lacked something for it copmpared to the others which had an element of rough-and-readiness about them. Varying the strict 4-to-the-floor beats would have been a nice touch and made the electronic elements more dynamic. This would also have been the case if Moritz Von Oswald actually moved during the performance. Stood motionless behind his computer as he was, it looked like he was doing his accounts.

Overall, though, the evening offered up an exciting and inspirational array of music and it was a pleasure to see such diverse musicians coming together. The boundaries between live and pre-recorded, classical and dance, continue to be blurred. On this subject, interesting questions about context were raised in my mind, but I’m going to save those for another post. I’m going to see Steve Reich’s Drumming performed at Royal Festival Hall’s sister venue next week and I’d like to compare the 2 gigs before drawing any conclusions.

I should also mention the visuals that accompanied the concert. A huge screen formed the backdrop to the stage, on to which were projected various visuals from the bizarre and slightly disturbing brain-like ripples during Matmos to the perfectly judged pixel-like blocks and 3D lattices during Carl Craig et al. Since live electronic music is prone to being slightly dull to watch, the projections added a visual energy that matched the music.

Once the concert itself had finished, DJ Sprinkles (aka Terre Thaemlitz) DJ’d some fantastic house music in the Southbank Centre’s Clore Ballroom. An initially trepidatious audience soon gave themselves over to the atmosphere and it was good to see a wide age range getting down to some proper house music in a classical venue!

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Posted in electronica, gig review, glitch, music, techno | No Comments »


 

Perfect Tunes 2: Boards of Canada – Telephasic Workshop

Sunday, February 7th, 2010

Music has the Right to Children

Do you have records or songs that are responsible for revealing to you an entirely new sonic world? A piece of music so different to those you’ve heard before, or so in tune with your head that it feels like it’s composed from the same impulses and waves? I do, and I treasure those rare but tangible moments.

Back when my obsessive drum & bass days were waning I was dabbling in more chilled styles of music and electronica peaked my interest, almost exclusively down to a Bomb the Bass mix recorded from BBC Radio 1. While it featured no Boards of Canada, I visited my local record shop (Rounder of Brighton in this case) and dug through their electronica section. This is where I pulled out the mottled green, slightly sinister sleeve of Music has the Right to Children, BOC’s first album for Warp. The write up on the front implied it was one of the best albums ever recorded. With such an accolade my decision was made – I took it home, stuck it on, and the way I listened to music changed.

The whole album is a sublime experience of hazy, nostalgic childhood summers – if a recording can have the aesthetic of Super-8 Cinefilm, this one has it. But the track that really stands out for me (and has done since the very first listen) is track 4: Telephasic Workshop. Unlike many of BOC’s tunes, this one is deeply funky and totally danceable. Like most of their tunes, it is wonky and saturated in glitch and ambience. Starting with a muffled hint of the beat and a pretty synth line straight from an 80’s school science program, the beat soon fills out with a heavy kick, an integral vocal snippet and a crisp snare.

Just as you’re grooving along to the shuffly rhythm, a strangely cut up vocal steadily fades in on the left channel, soon joined by the right. Increasing layers of male and female voices taken completely out of context and unintelligable for the most part stutter and splutter along with the beat. The resulting groove is perfectly programmed but still organic and natural. The fact that you can’t tell what the voices are saying makes you listen more closely and adds a delicate air of mystery or suspense to the track. I have a theory that such tricks are what give this kind of music it’s nostalgic air, the half-information without a definite source open to infinite interpretation reminiscent of a childhood state of mind, but that’s for another post!

Telephasic Workshop also features another of my favourite musical phenomena – that of the ’single, perfect sound’. Again, I don’t get this often, and for some reason it usually concens a snare (Underworld’s Pearls Girl has possibly the most perfectly placed snare drum I’ve ever heard) but in this tune, it’s one of the vocal snippets. It occurs but twice, lasts less than a second, is a kind of high pitched hiccup, and marries the beats preceeding and proceeding it so perfectly that it makes me shudder. It concludes and anticipates in equal measure. Perhaps it was a complete accident rather than planned production – if so, I think I love it all the more!

Once it’s established its dual hooks of fat & funky beat with stuttered voice samples, the tune rolls on for a few minutes before petering out to the original synth line. It’s deceptively simple but feels far more complicated. For me, it also feels ‘important’. I don’t really know how to explain it, but this and some other pieces of music somehow have a certain gravity or urgency that make them feel important (in a metaphysical way rather than in a current affairs way).

I still remember sitting on my bed as Telephasic Workshop floated to an end for the first time and staring open mouthed at the record deck. I had literally never heard anything like it. It introduced me to a world of intricate but effortless production that sounded at once futuristic and antiquated. It did away with conventions (admittedly inventing it’s own, but thats what innovation does) and took risks. It was playful but serious. Most importantly for me, it was the opening of the door to genuinely emotional electronic music, a door that had previously been nudged ajar by the likes of DJ Shadow, but Boards of Canada managed to push it wide open.

Listen to Telephasic Workshop

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Posted in Perfect Tunes, electronica, music | No Comments »


 

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