I'm too young to have experienced Acid when people still took whistles to Autechre gigs, so I probably first encountered its digested, intellectualised and regurgitated form through the likes of AFX and Luke Vibert just over a decade ago.
Many of the canonical 'IDM' producers had grown up dancing to Acid before reaching a more mature age, at which point they began adapting its sounds to fit a fractured and complex structure less amenable to 24-hour raves. Since then, I don't think it's had much of a real presence other than among nostalgics and crate-diggers, but enough time has passed to allow a new set of ears to interpret the genre's legacy, reintroducing the 303 to the dancefloor.
Belgians
While German sub-genres springing from the early 80s (Wave/Electro/Neue Deutsche Welle) have always been a source of inspiration for experimental producers, their Belgian generic counterparts (New Beat, EBM) have less often been credited as forebears.
These lesser known genres are currently enjoying a bit of renewed attention in the underground however; The Sound of Belgium (TSOB) - a film chronicling the development of Belgian dance music through to its acidic climax - was released a few years ago, and labels like Diagonal, Berceuse Heroique and Light Sounds Dark have championed Acid squelches with a nod to its Belgian heritage for a while now - a harder sound than other European variants of Acid with a jacking rhythm more in keeping with the original house sound of Chicago.
As a result, that Belgian lineage through Punk>EBM>New Beat>Acid is being investigated as a parallel to the well-trodden German Punk>Industrial>Techno>Acid route. Familiar Acid tropes are regularly being incorporated into contemporary left-field dance tracks that retain something of the New Beat rhythm and palette, infected with the visceral brutality of techno (a mangled style referred to by 14tracks as New Beta).
Rebirth
Listening to the soundtrack that accompanies TSOB, you can hear why we left some of that Euro-shit behind; a lot of classic Acid House (particularly from the Continent) emptied out the weird, gritty punk aesthetic that New Beat had held onto, possibly as artists sought crossover success but also, presumably, as a product of more affordable technology allowing for a glossier sheen, as well as a move towards a more melodic focus at the expense of repetitive, pattern-based texture .
The result can be a bit bland and lacking in sonic tension, as bright synth lines and soft pads merge into generic 808 beats. Now, however, new producers are isolating Acid's filthier, rhythmic, confrontational edge (try this) and merging it with a contemporary techno/wave aesthetic.
The three-headed beast
One such example is the project of Manchester's Ste Spandex, 'Cerberus Future Technologies', which has been releasing lo-fi cassette mixtapes under the title 'Frequency Adjustments' over the last few months.
The familiar 303 synth patterns and clipped, high-pitched vocals are ever-present but there's a rougher, overdriven edge to the sound and an avoidance of the dreary, manufactured 'euphoria' of build-up and breakdown that blights a lot of unimaginative dancefloor fodder.
Some of the more adventurous tracks in the recently released Volume 3 are built on a dissonant and detuned spine, peppered with abrasive stabs - the overall mix is busy, sometimes bordering on disorientating, as the ramshackle structures threaten to veer off into formlessness. It's intoxicating.
Weirdly, all this is coloured with a shimmering, almost psychedelic, glam aesthetic that fits well in Manchester's hedonistic heritage and is becoming CFT's signature.
There's a heavy use of phasing not often associated with Acid and occasional forays into the sort of whimsical absurdity more commonly found in 60s psychedelia (a track by 'Kindred Dicks' is called 'One Tree Which Ruled the Planet'), albeit backed by pitch-bent synth workouts rather than Hammond organ noodling.
It's an interesting development; as underground dance genres become saturated and commercialised, there's usually a subsequent reassessment of the style through postmodern and cerebral lenses - that is, the genre's characteristic sounds are detached from their original vital context and examined as cultural artefacts in a retrospective fashion.
This happened to Acid (and D&B) through IDM, but we're seeing a quite different reassessment of Acid here - it's almost a genealogical exercise. By going back further and looking at alternative routes to the Acid sound, producers are breathing new life into the genre situated in its original context: the club.
Thomas Brinkmann's new album What You Hear (Is What You Hear) is remarkably simple in concept, neat in construction and satisfying in resolution.
It's based around repetitious loops that subtly shift, whether through the actual modulation of effects and tone or just via the unavoidable sense of resonance and transformation that excessive repetition always generates.
It's particularly simple - quaint even - because all the tracks are simply named after colours; each ostensibly being a representation of its associated hue. This is neither a groundbreaking concept nor an ingenious application of minimalism, but there's something successful in its disarming lack of (over?)complexity, deft self-referentiality and touches of profundity.
The most ephemeral and touching piece is aptly titled Bleiweiss
...while a moment of calculated intensity is delivered by Agent Orange. The subtle confluence of the horrific title and chopping helicopter-blade rhythm arrives like a surreal intervention of reality in amidst an otherwise inward-facing and peaceful framework (albeit one with moments of abrasion).
There's so much about this that reminds me of William Basinski: the loops, the melancholy, the simplicity of concept, the unfussy execution, the oblique but all-too-real interjection of horror. Sometimes these stripped back, uncomplicated pieces of quasi-commentary achieve more than they set out to.
Talking of William Basinski, he's released some new things - once more melancholic, once more fuzzy and bright, once more repetitious. A meta-repetition if you will. It's nice though; built around an indistinct piano figure that repeats and - not so much disintegrates - but flickers.
Overdrive is an excess. Overdrive.
But it’s often used on purpose in music, making it not an excess, but an effect
– a deliberate distortion.
A distortion is a deviation from verisimilitude or an
expected, comfortable shape. This makes immediate sense in the context of a
distorted image – when one can recognise the deviation from a ‘natural’ form – or
in the case of a distorted sound that is equally ‘natural’; a field
recording or a note from a canonical instrument.
A voice, for instance.
(This Obnox track doesn't really have overdriven vocals, but fuck it. Most of them do).
The overdriven sound in garage punk has the effect of illusory
amplification. The music always sounds loud, even when it’s quiet. Giacometti
sculpted his figures to always appear distant, eluding proximity – you can’t
get up close no matter how much you try. On the contrary, you can only be up close to this music. It’s
invasive, confrontational.
It’s interesting when the sense of something pushed beyond its limits is applied to
something that doesn’t have established or intuitive limits. Such that we
recognise the exertion and distortion, without knowing what it is that has been
altered. Or, more accurately in this case, we sense distortion when there is no
real distortion at all, but simply an original sound with morphological
similarities to distorted ones.
Abstract, artificial sounds rendered tangible by association
with the concrete. A shadow cast by a 3D wireframe.
I suppose it's a part of the lo-fi aesthetic that’s appeared in various
forms in recent decades, but Beau Wanzer, Container, Nick Klein and others
don’t appear to harbour the nostalgic yearning of lo-fi’s indie pioneers, nor
the overt political subversion that punk’s DIY aesthetic symbolised.
Nevertheless, authenticity, anti-commercialisation, purity
and directness are all impulses that a certain strand of the underground share.
These artists – although borrowing from vintage electronica
– face forward, with a futurist low fidelity that’s more like scratchy
broadcasts from space than found tapes from the past. The brutish ugliness of
their palette and electronic primitivism suggest a society rebuilt after dystopian
end-times in contrast to the high-gloss futurism of Quantum Natives, Fatima Al
Qadiri and James Ferraro.
The latter artists’ dig at commercialism lies in a strange,
disorientating appropriation that’s equal parts satire and celebration. They
recognise the inevitability of technological change (like the original
Futurists) and play around with the glitchy, shiny, intangible quality of the
contemporary digital landscape.
Maybe it’s in opposition to the fragility and disposability
embodied by software, digitalia and internet muzak that overdriven electronic distortion
finds its rationale. Bulk, heft, overuse, degradation – dwindling
characteristics.
I find myself with less time to write and, worst of all, think these days. Or maybe I just lack the inclination. Or the ability.
In short: I'm dying.
As if the words on this blog or any other weren't already desperate scratches at the edges of mortality and loneliness, now I can't even be bothered to pretend.
Anyway, what I mean is, the rather neatly composed and thoughtful (not my words*) micro-essays haven't been flowing of late so I think I'm going to start utilising this blog to share music. Something I find comes naturally and easily. When I remember.
Where I can, I'll fit things into some sort of logical/impulsive grouping and say something interesting about them. Otherwise, I might just post a track without comment.
*My words
Horns
Horns are much maligned. They invariably ruin dance tracks and loads of people (/lesser species) hate jazz. Why? It might be something to do with their ostentation. There's no burying them in the mix - they're shrill and clear and vocal in their range - and I think this offends some people. They're so fucking chirpy.
On the contrary, horns can, of course, be all sorts of other things - from the percussive, rumbling tuba of Oren Marshall to the swirling, scattered saxophone of Stockhausen's Spiral.
Here are two recent things - from brass veterans - that do great things with horns. The first is from John Butcher. The piece I'm thinking of is at the end of this radio show - it's called Hamon from his Nigemizu recording. The sax isn't too high in the mix here, because there is no mix. It's just John frantically squeaking notes that veer in and out of the sonorous and the dissonant. It's busy and disorientating and beautiful.
On the other hand, here's something much less sweaty and frantic, but no less brilliant, from Jac Berrocal in cahoots with David Fenech and Vincent Epplay. It's a new release from Blackest Ever Black and, as the label continues to surprise and diversify, so it continues to improve. Being ostensibly an old school trumpeter's album, it seems far removed from the disquieting clatter of Cut Hands or Vatican Shadow. But there are obvious continuities - BEB have re-released classic Ike Yard cuts and Berrocal played with No Wave / Post-Punk royalty like Lizzy Mercier-Descloux and James Chance.
The trumpet is here weaved into a smudged soundscape of distant shouts and buzzing electronics, with a foregrounded sparse guitar line. It's like some sort of No Wave Western.
I'll have something on Overdrive, Repetition and...stuff in the coming days.
For her starter, Pernicious is cooking black mermaids
covered in mustard.
Her main consists of chargrilled elephant bladder with
confit oesophagus, a train ticket puree and Coors Light jus, accompanied by
breaded glove on a bed of Brita-filtered marrowfat peas.
Idea 2
Delacroix is cooking a handful of earthworms, marinated in
safety pins with chervil and linseed,
boiled in One Coat gloss emulsion from
B&Q, and served with loaded dice, ground horse teeth and confit of the
nipples.
To start, he’ll serve corn on the cob flung out of an
upstairs window, onto a watercress and West Wing box set salad.
Idea 3
Allspice is constructing some meat steps, with a tweed
bisque, a dead skin tuille and Pocky bannisters.
Idea 4
Orrery is cooking a fennel insurance scheme, marinated in a
cervix and cement reduction, served with diced porcelain, salted benefit
claimants and a hot crab.
For dessert, he'll whisper quietly into your ear while
spooning individual skittles into your mouth.
Idea 5
The population of Winchester is cooking a large bat in
between two heated tube train doors, served on a teleported onion, Pogs three
ways (melted, whole, blessed), and suspicious fish eyes, all drenched in an
imaginary jus with silly croutons.
For dessert, the entire town will perform Les Miserables
with home-made shortbread.
Idea 6
Slippery Pete is ignoring his parents’ advice, while
fishmongers perform an ancient fertility ritual, a dirty boy rolls freshly dug
beetroots across a lubricated surface, and Jenna Jameson plays drums.
For the main course, he’s constructing a scale model of the
Dorchester hotel out of Hydrogen molecules and serving it on a slab of reformed
ham.
Idea 7
Everyone you know and love is projectile vomiting into an
airing cupboard, while Ringo Starr narrates porn through a loud-hailer and
Jilly Goolden maintains eye contact with your Dad. To accompany, they’ll be
breading golf balls and driving them from the 9th at Gleneagles,
served on a bed of dead kestrels.
For dessert, you can’t look directly at anyone you speak to
for the rest of the week, with custard.
As promised, here is part 2 of my 2014 underwear drawer.
Part 1 was a more sombre affair (listen to it here), full of melancholy tunes, eerie electronica and avant-garde noise. This creature brings together a bunch of last year's more dance-floor friendly lingerie, including some amazing second-hand tights from Bourbonese Qualk and Liaisons Dangereuse.
It's mostly machinist techno and no wave from the likes of Silent Servant, An-I and Kangding Ray but there's also a squirt of rock 'n' roll panties from Perfect Pussy; some day-glo electro knickers from Maria Minerva and Peaking Lights; downbeat garters from Swans and Tony Allen; and misshapen sports bras from Actress and Hieroglyphic Being.
Sniff them, hold them close, think of your loved ones.
I played a lot of this stuff at various Kling Klang nights throughout the year, so you may recall some of the musty odours and unsightly stains if you were in attendance.
As with Part 1, the mix closes with my absolute special favourite little pink pants that make my bum look good. Shackleton's Freezing Opening Thawing never failed to excite, with absolutely no VPL.
In place of an end of year list, here's an end of year mix.
This is part one (of two).
Do you like dust? Have you ever licked a battery? What does the sound of a helicopter mean to you? Empty submarines, spiders on keyboards, the light on your laptop blinking.
The mix is punctuated by excerpts from Marc Baron's Hidden Tapes, a fine collage of unearthed cassettes, and ends with a track from The Lowland Hundred's astonishing self-titled release; it sounds like a dream about Robert Wyatt singing in the Welsh countryside, and it's one of the most beautiful things I've heard in years.
There are also some noisy bits from Valerio Tricoli and Stefan Jaworzyn, nice songs from Peter Escott, Dean Blunt and Amen Dunes and a reissued gem from Woo.
Electronics are provided by Alessandro Cortini, Hands and Ron Morelli, among others, and there are even more things that I haven't mentioned (that you might recognise).
Keep your nips peeled for part two, which will be full of funky, dancy, sexy stuff - a lot of which has been making people smile/bleed at Kling Klang this past year.
A brilliant year for new music, as this selection hopefully testifies.
__________________________________ I'll sort a tracklist out soon
