It's hard in the internet era to recreate
that excitement of the unknown when you encounter a dusty, entirely
mysterious artifact in a record shop. There's no such thing as a
rare record these days, with the advent of eBay, and music
available in digital forms is so extensively propagated around the
internet that it's rare to encounter something you don't know at
least something about (even if you haven't encountered
it, you can often guess what it's like by a process of
elimination.... "ah! so this must be that Scandinavian skwee stuff,
as its not on one of the usual Swedish labels...").
However, Detroit producer Theo Parrish (whose Sound Sculptures Volume 1 was reviewed recently in The Wire 291) makes a fair stab at preserving that sensation in a manner that's neither drearily nostalgic nor hermetically self-referential. He's prolific but publicity shy, fiercely pro-vinyl, and shuns all genre terms. Nevertheless, you get the unerring sense in listening to his music that it could be from either the past or the future (or both). It's always familiar, interpolating disco, soul, funk and jazz, but carries only the feel of these musics - the sense of interplay, of elements engaging with each other - rarely the sort of obvious contours that distinguish each of these genres from each other.
It makes the mini-epiphany I had while watching him discuss his work online as part of the Red Bull Music Academy lectures (a strange hybrid of industry self-celebration and occasionally enlightening musician insider talk, which you can watch here) all the more pertinent. Parrish discussed James Brown's "Gonna Have A Funky Good Time (Doing It To Death)", and the track sounds startlingly like a blueprint for his entire oeuvre - elements fade in and out, a crescendo is never quite reached, but there's perpetual motion, perpetual funk. It's very much not the paradigm of a JB track, but instead the kind of thing his band played in concert when marking time – a vamp, basically.
Parrish's music has perfected this sense of always becoming, but never quite being, something fixed, defined. It's why his music has barely changed in 15 years, but when you return to it it seems to have some strange, almost chemical potential in the beats, a volatility that's not quite been resolved, like gunpowder still miraculously potent decades after it was made. Even so, it was a minor revelation to hear "Gonna Have A Funky Good Time (Doing It To Death)" next to his music: the resemblance is startling, as if he's taken the James Brown track and rearranged it for sequencer, synth and drum machine, a timeless variant of the endless vamp.
The recent Soul Jazz An England Story compilation, from some of the people behind London club night Heatwave, reminded me of some of the excellent 7"s these guys have released over the years. In particular, this ragga refix of Kelis' "Trick Me" (already an astonishingly funky track, with its rhythm that lurks somewhere between technofied R&B; and dust-caked ska), which I found while looking for records to DJ with in Brussels as part of The Wire soundsystem the other day.
The precise, gritty ruff-age of the vocals immediately raises the energy levels of the track. This melding of ragga vocals and R&B; is like that of old school rapping and disco on Soul Jazz's fairly recent Big Apple Rapping - when the rough and smooth go together so well, what's not to like? Anyway, I have such fond memories of this 7" that I actually found myself running back to the hotel to get it mid-set, and anyone who's fallen for the UK/JA crossover of An England Story should surely seek this out.
Speaking of postpunk autodidacticism,
Owen Hatherley picks up on what I too thought was of the most
interesting lines in Mark Sinker's Sight & Sound review of
Grant Gee's Joy Division film:
Sometimes the names condensed more than one reference: 'Colony'
invoked Conrad as much as Kafka's 'Strike Kolony'. Sometimes the
references were unintentional misdirections; 'Atrocity Exhibition'
is surely one of the least Ballardian tracks that Joy Division
produced. In any case, construing these allusions as 'portals' that
led somewhere – rather than as citations in a seamless postmodern
circuit – is highly suggestive. Such portals could take the
listener into formal education, but were also doorways beyond the
school and the university, an alternative curriculum.
(Also well worth looking at on Owen's site: this essay on Neu!, published in honour of the recently deceased Klaus Dinger.)
From the team that brought you this: 'Red is more like punk rock, hip hop, this should feel like hard commerce.'
Rousing praise for Portishead's latest amidst Simon Reynolds's latest bumper pack of reflections on Blissblog. I find Simon's enthusiasm for the LP a little perplexing, although, I must confess, I've never been that enraptured by Portishead. I became quickly fatigued wading through the gloopy designer despair of their debut, and had all but lost interest by the time of the follow up. The combination of kitchen sink torch singing, vinyl crepitation, sweeping film samples and brokeback hiphop beats possessed a certain stylishness, but the appeal quickly palled. It was the 'stylishness' that was the problem, actually. Even though I don't doubt the personal sincerity of either Gibbons or Barrow, formally it all sounded a little pat, a little too cleverly contrived, a little too comfortably at home in This Life 90s Style culture. Gibbons's gloom always struck me as being more like illegible grumbling than the oblique bleakness it wanted to be. As for the new album, it screams out lack of ideas: devoid of the vinyl crackle that might have given it some relation to the 'hauntological now' of Burial or Philip Jeck, I can only hear it as clapped out coffee table miserabilism ten years past its sell-by date.
(Meanwhile, I can't help feeling that Geoff Barrow and arch smugonaut Mark Ronson are right about each other.)
Further to Derek's observations on Villalobos's 'Enfants', below ... Even though the sample is taken from a Christian Vander track, when I first heard 'Enfants' it reminded me of nothing so much as the piano on Nina Simone's 'Sinnerman'. It seems that I'm not the only one to make the association ... If the similarity between the tracks is eerie, then this only adds to the strangeness of Simone's already intensely uncanny song, which acquired even more weirdness last year when it was used by both David Lynch (in INLAND EMPIRE) and Timbaland (on the first track of his Shock Value LP).
Infinite Thought's diatribe against artspeak raises all kinds
of issues. The soporifically ubiquitous language against which she
rails is part of the reassuring background noise in what passes now
for high culture. It is the institutional artworld's revenge on
Duchamp and Dada's idea that nonsense could be revolutionary. But
the problem with this language is its oversignfication as much as
its lack of content, the excess of meaning with which it freights
objects and shows, fixing them into a pre-defined cultural place
via the use of a laudatory linguistic muzak that combines
portentous gravitas with vapid weightlessness: all those
notions that are negotiated with, those
boundaries that are blurred, and everything, of
course, is radical... This is the soundtrack to the
postmodern conversion of events into exhibits, a process so total,
so relentless, that it has become invisible, presupposed. An old
story: those who sought the destruction of the art space and its
prestige find themselves the objects of the latest retrospective
... And just wait for all those May 68 commemorations next month...
This 'nu-language' is more than a matter of institutional inertia. It is an expression of an interlock – a synergy – between art, business and promotion. At the End of History, all language tends to the condition of PR . And lurking not far behind all this is the spider bureaucracy, now rebranded as 'administration', since funding bodies require artists – practitioners - to themselves internalise and proliferate nu-language. This can't be attacked at the level of discourse alone – as IT suggests, nu-language itself puts into practice the occlusion of objects under referent-free discourse – but, by keeping faith with the events of the past and anticipating events yet-to-come, criticism can surely play a part in the attack on nu-linguistic programming.
Walking out of Kode9's DJ set at the recent
BLOC weekender in Norfolk, all of us there in The Wire's chalet
were saying more or less the same thing- noone else plays the kind
of music Kode9 currently plays out. There's very little of anything
approaching dubstep in his sets: instead, there's what sounds like
speeded up crunk, Southern hiphop reedited into ever sharper
shards, all kinds of ghetto funk given technofied refixes, neo-soul
taken at breakneck pace.
Both Kode9 and Hyperdub seem to be going in the opposite direction to what you might associate with dubstep: the music is getting quicker, sharper, more synthetic and fractured. Watching his set, I wasn't sure whether to dance or to just marvel at the way he's able to splice these musical genres together. The breadth of music traversed was enough of a rush on its own.
It strikes me that few artists are able to speed music up and retain the funk when they're remixing; it's much more common to slow beats down, to straighten them out and explore the spaces within (think of screwed and chopped hiphop, triphop etc.) It's a much more difficult feat to speed music up and yet find a way to still make it successfully mesh with other styles, to engage the body. To do so is like trying to tinker with an engine while with someone stepping on the accelerator. Perhaps understandably, remix culture is more about breaking music down than building it up. It's perhaps only Kode9 and Surgeon who've I've really felt they we able to do this the other way round.
As Kode9 himself has suggested, the relationship between dance genres (and their tempos) and the body is a deep and complex one (think of how techno and house have subtly different emphases despite fairly similar tempos, and yet they seem to 'work' entirely differently). Splicing the DNA of dance genres is a bit like playing Frankenstein. I'm still seriously impressed that it ends up creating something so graceful and exhilarating, rather than some disfunctional mutant that only a drugged-up crowd would enjoy.