Presenting for your approval, Howlround‘s remix of a track from the new album by Devon Loch. Sleep Scale is out now on the redoubtable Kit Records, and also includes interpretations by Beams, Yaaard, Adam Ono and others:
The title ‘Howlround Follows Them Down’ stems from the fact that our quartet of tape machines were each going through a particularly ropey patch at the time and throwing some decidedly wonky shapes into the mix, a state of affairs that I was mindfully attempting to embrace, rather than submitting to hand-wringing despair. Were I permitted to don my philosophical hat, I might speculate that part of what gives Howlround’s music its distinctive savour is the knowledge that both the elderly reel-to-reel machines and the magnetic tape on which it is produced are all gradually degrading and that each turn of the loop only hastens their demise. I might then add that perhaps such ‘managed decline’, if treated sympathetically can produce music of a distinct and fragile beauty, rather like the way dying leaves change colour in the autumn, before winter comes and they turn into withered husks lying forlornly around the place, completely incapable of anything productive and just waiting for you to stub your toe.
For these reasons, and with all philosophical headgear firmly removed, I was and am determined as far as possible to follow the Revoxes down the slippery spiral to the scrapheap and hopefully create some kind of extended swan-song out of the results. After all, you can never be sure with these machines just how much time you have left, a fact that a more gifted writer would doubtless be able to wring all sorts of metaphorical postulation from. As for me, I’ll just settle for remembering that the pioneering Louis and Bebe Barron produced some of their most far-out sounds for the Forbidden Planet soundtrack by actually recording the death-throes of the primitive electronic circuits as they burnt out. The results still sound amazing six decades later and so you could say that those primitive circuits have out-lived them both. And Leslie Nielson.
All this lofty aspersion and dubious metaphor aside, however, I was a little unsure upon listening back to my interpretation of ‘Rapid’ as to whether I was actually satisfied with it. You can waffle on about the beauty of decay all you like (and I do), but it still has to function as music or at least offer a pleasing listen. My initial concern was that it made everything sound quite knackered, as though the bottom had fallen out of the track. Thankfully, when Devon Loch himself finally got to hear it his response was most positive:
Job done. So, moving on, now that the remix is out in the world, a couple of people have asked me to elaborate on the origins of the ‘ghostly and enigmatic’ voices that gradually emerge from under the sea of crackle and hiss in the opening seconds. And what a can of worms they’ve unwittingly opened in doing so, for while I’m normally hesitant in revealing my sources; on this occasion I’ve decided to allow you all a tantalising peek up my sleeve. To that effect, I can confirm that they are taken from THIS festering little object found nestling amongst the usual piles of Johnny Mathis and David Essex in an otherwise unremarkable charity shop:
A flexi-disc! With a title that unblushingly hints at sordid delights supposedly buried within it’s floppy grooves! I paid my 50p, ignored the cashier’s accusing stare, and headed straight for the nearest turntable.
If you’ve never had the pleasure of, ahem, handling one, these disposable, low-quality discs were often given away free with gentleman’s specialist magazines in the seventies and eighties, providing an aural dose of dirty smut to complement their centrefold images – or so I’ve been informed. At the same time they were also used by Readers Digest to flog their box sets of Andy Williams and James Last, though I’ll leave it to you to decide which was the more sordid use of the medium.
Anyway, for added value and because I have nothing better to do with my afternoon, I’ve taken the trouble of transcribing some of the contents of this unsavoury little disc below. Our story begins (or rather it lurches falteringly into motion) with the appearance of one Mr. Brewer, a man who sounds not unlike the Grandfather in the Werthers Original advert fallen on hard times; and who has arrived to hold up his end (ahem) of an appointment with a lady. Or has he? OR HAS HE?! Sit back and let the gripping narrative sweep you into a whirlwind of drama, intrigue and simmering eroticism:
Woman: At last, I was beginning to have my doubts about him. [calling] Who is it?
Mr. Brewer [outside]: It’s me. I mean. Mr. Brewer. Tom Brewer. I rang a little while ago and, and I made an appointment.
Woman: I’m sorry, Sir. We’re terribly busy. There must have been some mistake. Are you sure you’ve come to the right place?
Mr. Brewer [outside]: Yes, yes, I’m absolutely sure. I know I’ve come to the right address. I took it down from your advert. Please let me in. You do remember me. Please. It’s beastly cold out here. I might catch something frightful like pneumonia. Please let me in.
Woman: What did you say your name was?
Mr. Brewer [outside]: Er, Tom Brewer.
Woman: Brewer… Brewer, no I can’t say I recall that name, [and yet in clear contrast to what I’ve just said] it does sound faintly familiar. Did you say you phoned?
Mr. Brewer [outside]: I-I did. Please believe me. It was only half an hour ago.
Woman: Ah, yes, of course. I remember now. Do come in…
[This is where a more accurate dramatic portrayal might have inserted a door-opening sound effect]
Woman: Oh, you poor thing, you look so miserably cold, let’s warm you up with a nice cup of tea and take your coat off for you.
Mr. Brewer : Thank you. I didn’t expect to be treated like this. You know…
Woman: Now, don’t be like that, Mr. Brewer, if that is your name. There are some very peculiar men come knocking on the door. Disgusting men. I hate to think what sort of a place they imagine this to be. They’re dangerous too. Especially a night like tonight when I’m all alone. A lady has to be so careful.
Mr. Brewer : Of course, well, how stupid of me, I should have realised. How can I apologise enough for sounding so rude?
Woman: I should think so!
They continue on in this manner for some time. Just in case you’ve forgotten, gentle reader, that last harrumphing retort from our female protagonist has brought us almost halfway through a disc entitled ‘Uncensored Sex Party’. Do feel free to stop me if you felt any of the above was too near the knuckle for comfort, but I can’t help feeling that the title falls down on at least two counts – a third if you feel that it takes at least three people, some finger-food and the presence of a children’s entertainer to make a party.
Taking the first of these failures as an example, while this recording may indeed contain the full, unedited account of what transpired that cold evening, can something really be marketed as ‘uncensored’ if there’s absolutely nothing going on that might actually require censure? I mean, presumably programmes such as ‘Songs Of Praise’ or ‘Gardener’s Question Time’ are also largely considered uncensored (suggestively shaped vegetables notwithstanding)? It’s taking a bit of a liberty with the truth, quite frankly, even if I do find myself forced to concede that ‘Uncensored Sex Party’ does have more of a ring to it than other, more appropriate titles such as ‘Dreary Discussion Through Doorway’ or even ‘Write It Down Next Time, You Dozy Tart!’
Not that my opinion will count for much amongst all this seediness. As an outsider granted the occasional peep, the world of audio-only erotica has always proved slightly confusing to me. Remember my ‘Mucky Mixxxtape’ of a couple years back? The odds are that you do, it was by far one of the most successful endeavours I’ve ever placed a gentle-yet-firm hand upon. And after that there was my attempt to produce a short work for radio by systematically editing all of the smut out of a 1972 LP entitled ‘Midnight Cowpoke’. To my astonishment the resulting two minutes (from a forty-minute long-player) completely failed to make the final cut of a Radio 4 programme with the theme of ‘Misadventure’ – and I had been so confident they would bite my hand off (though not literally – I’m not that kinky). Anyway, on both occasions you might recall my wondering aloud just what sort of audience might actually find these records appealing? Who were they aimed at? Why would anyone want to listen to the sound of two jobbing actors faking it?
Well, as far as I’m concerned the discovery of this flexi-disc has only deepened the mystery. The only form of intercourse engaged in during this ‘Sex Party’ is mumbling through some meaningless, utterly perfunctory dialogue that seems almost scientifically programmed not to be listened to. When you further reflect that anyone as concerned about catching ‘something frightful like pneumonia’ as Mr. Brewer would surely not be partaking of any activity that involved wearing less clothes; or that our female protagonist constructs paradoxical sentences such as ‘I can’t say I recall that name, it does sound faintly familiar’ without missing a beat; it becomes yet another entry into my canon of things that shouldn’t exist, but somehow do. It’s growing to be quite an impressive list, with recent additions including John Leslie’s Scavengers (Wheel Of Fortune presenter in deep space!), the ‘Loving Remembrance Musical Egg’ and THIS*.
I’ve now totally forgotten why I was telling you all these things. Well, partly because I was so utterly depressed by the results of the recent election that I guess I’m looking for any excuse to lose myself in ephemera and try to forget that we’re now essentially living in a giant copy of the Daily Mail. Oh, and of course that the Devon Loch LP Sleep Scale is out now on Kit Records and a beautiful thing it is too. Limited vinyl with a handful of tasty remixes and beautiful artwork by Sarah Tanat-Jones. Buy it here while you still can and let’s put an end to all this filth!
* If you clicked here and managed to last right the way through the musical number, I’ll happily stand you a pint. You’ll be needing it.
Jolly hard work, DJ-ing, let me tell you. Back-breaking too, especially when you’re still lugging vinyl about long after your peers have embraced the joys of laptops, USB sticks, or just getting someone else to mix it for them. You need to keep your strength up if you’re going to sustain a full eight hours of being continually asked if you’ve got any Rhianna or whether you’d mind playing a song off someone’s iPod because it’s their birthday and they’re the only one dancing.
So what could be better than to take a nice juicy apple from the fruit bowl when you’re heading out the door? Perhaps cramming it into an empty pocket of your well-stuffed and spine-creakingly heavy record bag to serve as a mid-session pick-me-up? A nice Braeburn, perhaps? Delicious and full of vitamins!
Of course there’s always a risk that you might just forget about that apple, owing to the demands placed on your attention by the ageing hipster demanding to know if you have any ‘good’ music or the drunk woman who keeps asking for something ‘happier’ when you’re rocking the Prince Buster. There’s always a chance that your apple will merely end up residing uneaten and neglected in that very same pocket of your record bag. That pocket that you don’t really use for anything else and therefore see no reason to check all that often – perhaps only once every couple of years…
While we’re on the subject, I’d just like to point out that I’m still available for bookings and can be contacted through the usual channels. But for my next booking I think I’ll insist on taking carrots. As well as providing the improved night-vision so useful in darkened clubs, they’re also said to aid the memory. Though I can’t remember where I heard that…
Oh, and thanks to Victoria Forbes for the horrifically beautiful photos!
To celebrate my heroic non-inclusion in this year’s Record Store Day, due in no small part to failing to get my affairs in order, I was planning to use this week to spring something exciting onto a grateful world: namely a surprise vinyl reissue of Howlround’s third album Torridon Gate, in an edition of 100 only, complete with gorgeous screen-print of the sleeve by Hannah Brown of Modern Day Magpie and a natty translucent inner. However, thanks to the noble efforts of the good folk on my mailing list, I’m unable to do so…
The fact is, I sent my subscribers an email last week giving them first dibs on the new record and they literally bit my hand off – the entire edition sold out in less than twelve hours!
Sorry to disappoint those of you who missed out, but that really is your lot! The ‘name your price’ digital download is still available, but the number of regretful, peevish or outright inconsolable missives I’ve received in the last few days tells me it’s proving little consolation. However, the fact is that in my original email I promised it would be first-come, first-served, with no second edition and no re-reissue. And I intend to keep that promise until such future times as when it will prove especially financially lucrative to go back on my word and let everyone down – a major career retrospective, perhaps, a deluxe vinyl box set in mahogany, a nomination for the Mercury prize, that sort of thing. Frankly, such worries are quite a way off yet – not much point having a major career retrospective without having a major career first. But I digress…
I do plan to spring other surprises in this manner in the future as it’s quite an enjoyable (if not particularly lucrative) way of running my affairs and keeping my followers on their toes. If you’re not yet on my mailing list and gaining such preferential treatment yourself, why not send an email with the subject line ‘Yes! I wish to be kept on my toes re. this kind of thing in the future’ to robinthefog at gmail dot com? I will take care of the necessary and first dibs on my next vinyl surprise will be yours for the taking!
To Radiophrenia news now, and congratulations to Mark Vernon and his team for the culmination of a successful week of broadcasting to Glasgow and the surrounding areas on 87.9FM (while streaming worldwide online), with a wide and varied programme of original radiophonic works, lectures and performances, including a couple of new works by myself (along with the writer Leila Peacock, of course).
I’m extremely proud to report that one of them, ‘Mount Shock – Music For Microphone Cradle’ was chosen as the work to mark the final broadcast, signing-off and closure of the station at roughly ten minutes to midnight on Sunday 19th. Quite an accolade with over seven hundred pieces to choose from!
Penultimately, the Howlround tape-loop quartet finally came out of dry-dock last week when I performed a solo set (Chris still being on his arts residency in Dubai) for the music technology students of Havering College in Essex. It was good to be back behind the spools and the students responded well to my demonstration of what it’s possible to achieve without resorting to plug-ins, fx pedals and other bits of digital technology. In fact it went so well that for a moment I almost felt ‘cool’ and ‘relevant’, but thankfully those feelings passed before I attempted to get too far ‘down with the kids’. Could have been seriously embarrassing for a chap of my vintage.
And lastly, I’ve moved house too. 80+ boxes of vinyl, tape spools CDs, books and other assorted ephemera (not to mention my army of tape machines) have been successfully transferred to my new abode in Penge, thanks to the efforts of some very strong friends (both literally and metaphorically). This photo was taken at about the halfway point, when there was still some floor-space in which to stand swinging a camera. No such luxuries now. I haven’t seen the carpet since:
There are those who claim that moving house, performing a Essex-based solo tape-loop set and releasing a new record in the space of less than forty-eight hours is sheer, unadulterated lunacy. And you know what? I wouldn’t dream of arguing with such people. The upshot of all of this is that I’m currently sans-internet at the newly-appointed Fog Towers, which is why I’m writing this while day-drinking in Crystal Palace, next to two men engaged in a fascinating discussion about why it’s never a good idea to take cocaine at a funeral. If you’re thinking that sounds rather like stating the bleedin’ obvious, I should inform you that some poor misguided chump once offered me viagra at the send-off of a much-loved elderly relative, so perhaps such activities are more common than you or I might imagine. But all that’s for another time…
Anyway, for these reasons, and all of the above, it’s an exciting time. More soon, my friends, and don’t forget to subscribe if the mood takes you!
Very pleased to announce the launch today of Radiophrenia, an art radio station broadcasting live on 87.9FM for one week only (13th-19th April) to Glasgow and the surrounding areas, also streaming worldwide via Radiophrenia.scot. Curated by Mark Vernon and Barry Burns and with a programme of several hundred exclusive and original radiophonic works, including contributions from Octopus Collective alumni John Hall and Felix Kubin, Jez Butler, The Resonance Radio Orchestra and many, many more. My own submissions include another collaboration with the brilliant Leila Peacock and a brand new tape-composition using a recording of a New Broadcasting House microphone with a squeaking cradle. You’ll have to tune in to hear them in full of course, but magnanimous fellow that I am, I’ve included a sneak preview:
The schedule can be perused here and you can also follow the latest updates on Twitter. I’m predicting that I shall be listening to this a lot over the coming days, partly owing the relentlessly high-calibre of people involved, but also to attain some respite from heroically supervising the packing of thousands of records into boxes. But that’s for another time…
Another recent collaboration that I can finally reveal is Michael Garrad‘s entry to the Kings College Creative Responses to Modernism competition, a dramatized extract from Samuel Beckett’s 1961 novel How It Is. Barry Ward provides the voice and I provide the soundtrack. The results are as relentless and visceral as anything I’ve been involved with to date, and it’s about as intense and bleakly thrilling (or thrillingly bleak) as anything the great man ever wrote.
This recording is interested modernism’s concept of making it new and conversely how outmoded techniques can evoke the futuristic and etherial. A squeaking drawer is the source for the electronic sound, recorded and manipulated on ancient quarter-inch tape machines, extracting hidden sound. The reading is monotone, breathless and the digital recording eliminates dynamic with harsh sibilance, distortion and extreme compression.
I can’t claim to be much of a Beckett scholar, though from my own perspective he made a huge contribution to radiophonic drama with works such as pioneering radio play All The Fall in 1957. It’s said that he was hugely influenced by the creative possibilities of then-nascent reel-to-reel technology, a fascination that manifests itself most obviously in works such as the quietly horrific Krapp’s Last Tape. And on a more personal note, I have a print of the Beckett quote ‘Fail again, fail better’ blu-tacked to the wall of my studio next to the mixing desk. It’s been a constant source of solace, as anyone who invests their career and general happiness in the functioning of a number of broken down and erratic tape machines will be able to readily imagine. Hand-painted by Sarah Tanat Jones as a reward to donors to her recent Kickstarter campaign, it’s a quote I first read on the back of a Peanuts calendar, of all things, a surprisingly deep nugget of wisdom compared to the previous day’s entry – ‘take snacks on long road trips to avoid having to buy them’.
In the selection from How It Is, the narrator, static in an abstract land of mud, has a lucid moment, reminiscing of ‘life above’ with his wife, whose death torments him. The piece crosses futures and pasts, warmth and harshness, and in its form exists out of body, place and time.
It’s another rather hurried post from me, unfortunately, as I must return to my frantic box-related activities. But hopefully these two and the promise of many Glaswegian radiophonic delights for the week ahead will keep you sated until THIS happens:
For those of you who missed it on either The World Service’s ‘Weekend’ and ‘Newshour’ programmes, or Radio 4’s ‘PM’, here’s my report on ‘Amen Brother’, the rapidly snowballing fundraising campaign by British DJs Martyn Webster and Steve Theobald to give something back to the surviving member of the group that one day in 1969 inadvertently created arguably the most influential six seconds in the history of recorded sound – The survivor is Richard Spencer, the group The Winstons and the track… Well, if you’re reading this you probably don’t need much of an introduction, but here’s a potted history:
In further developments, the World Service’s feedback programme Over To You has now dedicated half of its most recent edition to listener’s reactions to the report and the campaign, largely because, as the producer informed me, ‘Twitter went mad over it’. Respect is also due to redoubtable presenter Rajan Datar for choosing this as his own favourite amen track of all time.
I’m pretty certain I’ve written before in these pages on the subject of my great affection for so-called ‘oldskool’ hardcore and jungle music, so much of which is based on the sampling and reinterpretation of this most crunchy and distinctive of all the so-called ‘breakbeats’. It was the first music I truly loved and early exposure to labels such as Reinforced, Strictly Underground, Suburban Base and Movin’ Shadow proved a genuine future shock to my tender teenage ears. In unguarded moments I’ve even commented that jungle was just about as funky and futuristic as machine music ever managed to get, and that the early work of artists such as Shy FX, a pre-jazzy 4Hero and a pre-Strictly Come Dancing Goldie were often as unwittingly avant garde as anything dreamed up by other more lauded pioneers of 20th century musics, your Schaeffers, your Ras and your Moondogs. While I admit that that last sentence will probably have made quite a large number of people surprisingly angry (and acknowledging that coming of age in that period is bound to have clouded my judgement on the subject), I do sometimes feel it was the last time music and technology took a genuine step forward together into the unknown. And to those who might sneer at some imagined lack of sophistication in tracks such as ‘Original Nuttah’ or ‘6,000,000 Ways 2 Die’ (and such people are surprisingly legion), I can only point out that, whatever your thoughts on hardcore and jungle, it’s one hell of a gateway drug to all kinds of weird and wonderful music. To debate this further, send a heated email to the usual address.
To the uninitiated, the 2004 documentary on the Amen Break by Nate Harrison is still essential viewing, providing far greater historical context and critical theory than I could offer here. For my own part, news of a campaign intending to give something back to the surviving member of a group responsible for the backbone of so much music over the past three decades struck a huge chord, as it clearly has to thousands of others if £22,000 worth of donations (at the time of writing) is any kind of yardstick. Online sampling database ‘Who Sampled‘ lists over 1,500 individual tracks that have “officially” used ‘Amen Brother’ in whole or part, but as someone with a personal collection of amen-sampling tracks in the hundreds (at least), I would wager that’s a conservative estimate – it could be two or even three times that figure. And the original band never saw a bean. A worthy cause indeed.
For added value, I’ve included a slightly truncated transcript of my Nate Harrison interview below. I started by asking him for his own take on the cultural impact of sampling:
Nate Harrison: In the late 70s/early 80s and definitely throughout the 80s sampling technology was developed. And this is not something even per se to do with pop music, but just in terms of technology, it became possible to record any sound and essentially play it back as an instrument. You could take somebody’s voice or banging pots and pans together. You could really take any sound and kind of ‘musicalize’ it if that’s even a word, by mapping it across a keyboard and playing it like an instrument. One of the first things that sampling allowed for is the re-use of older recorded material, so for example in the case of the amen break, you could sample the drums and then re-play them as if they were your own drums. And so, voilà – you would have your own drum beat under your song. Sampling really took off in the 80s, you can absolutely hear [it] in the first instances of hip hop music.
RTF: There are so many breaks to choose from and many by much more famous and ‘visible’ artists. What could have made this break, taken an obscure B-side of a lesser-known soul group such a phenomenon?
That’s a really great question – why did it become so popular, why did the Amen break become such a lynchpin? I think there’s no real right or wrong answer I would say the sample itself is very long, as compared to funky drummer, the tighten up break or the apache break, there’s a lot of material to work with in the amen sample itself. And it is not only long, but the rhythm itself is kind of syncopated, so there’s lots of variations on the drums you can derive from sampling the original break and then sort-of chopping it up and re-arranging it. One of the sort characteristics of the other breaks is that they are just one bar [in length]. You can loop it but you can’t do a whole lot [more] with it, other than get really specific and chop up just the snare and what have you. But the amen is really conducive to chopping and rearranging. It also sonically just has this kind of punch to it that I think really makes it unique. There’s something just about the groove of that break and especially the way people chop it up, of course, but there’s just something about the way the drums hit and the funkiness of it – but also the robotic-ness of it. For me, it’s this perfect blend between very organic sounding and very robotic-sounding at the same time.
Your documentary on the break is still getting a huge amount of attention over a decade later – what inspired you to first make it?
I had come from a musical background so I actually had made a bit of music myself. I was very much into UK drum ‘n’ bass culture – although I didn’t live in the UK, I lived in the US – but I was very much into that kind of music. But at the time I was also in graduate school and I was working on various projects, and I just thought an interesting project was to talk about the intellectual property issues of this particular break. I knew of the break already, I knew that it had come from a band called The Winstons, but that’s really all I knew. So I set forth and spent several months just doing as much research as I could about it. But that was back in 2004, youtube didn’t exist at that point, Wikipedia wasn’t what it is today, it wasn’t as easy as it might be today to do some of that research.
When I mention the break to people, that documentary is usually the first thing they refer to! It seems to have had a huge impact in spreading awareness of the history of the amen and where it comes from.
That’s really humbling and nice to hear, it’s also I feel a little bit uneasy about it in the sense that I think it’s really The Winstons that should, especially G.C. Coleman, the drummer, who unfortunately passed away some years ago. [I]t’s really them that should be getting the spotlight, I’m just some geeky white kid from New York! I don’t consider myself to be part of that history at all, but I definitely think it’s a history that should be known.
Apparently [Winstons frontman] Richard Spencer was completely unaware of the break’s seismic impact until the late 1990s?
Yeah, I haven’t spoken to him directly, though we did email one another many years ago about this and by that point he was aware of it and he wasn’t exactly happy about the situation, you know, he felt a little bit bitter and I can’t say I blame him. I think he was – a lot of people were – just caught off-guard as to the novelty but also obviously the economic viability of sampling. You know, it’s really the backbone of so much music. And hip hop, as an example, makes a lot of money, drum n bass music made a lot of money. So to have one of your old records blow up – anywhere from Goldie to Squarepusher to Trent Reznor to Dr. Dre, to everybody you can think of has used the amen break at one point or another, and yet you haven’t really seen any money from that, it’s a little strange.
We’re talking potentially thousands and thousands of tracks. You’ve talked about entire scenes being based almost solely on this drum loop. I think it’s that aspect that fascinates me particularly
Yeah, in terms of how the scenes developed around the amen, it’s a really amazing trajectory, where we have rave music in the mid to late 80s, then the tempos of the music start getting faster, and then gradually breakbeats, again because of sampling technology get introduced, so rave music kind of morphs into what you might call hardcore techno or hardcore breakbeat music, then the amen is introduced and that kind of morphs into early jungle, then that gets maybe a little bit sanitised, some people might say, and turns into drum ‘n’ bass music, and then that splinters off into all sorts of places like drill n bass and breakcore and even today’s dubstep. There’s so many permutations at this point, it keeps subdividing into little genres.
I was trying to think of other examples of this phenomenon in modern culture, the only one that sprung readily to mind (more so, even, than other breakbeats) was The Wilhelm Scream?
Absolutely – it’s the Wilhelm Scream of breakbeat music!
To the extent that it’s became almost expected of any contemporary producer, a sort of tipping of the hat?
One of my favourites is Luke Vibert’s alias Amen Andrews. [The name] is obviously a take on [erstwhile This is Your Life presenter] Eamon Andrews, but it’s nothing but music composed with the amen. And he made those [records] later, a few years ago, but they reference early rave music, they sound like they should like they should be from the early 90s, when in fact they’re from the early-mid 2000s. But he’s intentionally making this kind of old, nostalgic amen rave sound. So there’s definitely this kind of self-consciousness about it. The US musician Keith Whitman aka Hrvatski made an entire album basically with nothing but the amen, Squarepusher, I would say, about 80% of his music incorporates the amen in some way. So there’s definitely this sense of – on the one hand, maybe, over-use, but on the other such an over-use that it becomes this right of passage, you have to if you’re serious electronic musician, you have to do an amen track if not an amen record.
What are your thoughts on this campaign to give something back to the surviving original member of the band?
I think it’s great! When I saw it – a friend of mine forwarded it to me – I kind of kicked myself for not having the same idea! I think it’s really great, I think it’s awesome that they’ve raised … what is it, over £16,000 now? [NB – currently over £22,00] As much as that’s awesome, I think it’s super awesome, that’s really pennies compared to how much the track has been used. And if Richard Spencer and the rest of The Winstons had actually collected royalties in the first place, it would have gone way beyond that. But at the same time, it’s this kind of paradoxical situation, it’s precisely the lack of control over the amen that allowed for it to spread and mutate and to develop into all these sub-genres. That’s the argument for this kind-of ‘copy-left’ argument, that if you regulate all this stuff, if you make it so you have to get permission all the time, that kind of impedes the progress of culture. And in some ways the amen story bares that out, it’s precisely because no-one stopped anybody from using it that it grew so much and it’s become such a huge thing in culture today.
It appears that a lot of DJs and producers who achieved success using the break have also been helping to spread the word and also donated themselves.
Absolutely – as they should!
I was also going to include a longer interview with Steve Theobald aka DJ Deluxe, the campaign’s co-founder, but we ended up talking for over an hour on the subject, and I was hoping to have this cranked out by teatime. Besides, actions speaking louder than words, I thought it might be a better idea to share a couple of his own productions with you, released on legendary hardcore label Knite Force and – of course – with chopped up amens proudly in place. Ear goggles at the ready:
Pretty banging, right? Have another: With so many hundreds and thousands of tracks out there, picking the ultimate ‘amen roller’ would leave even the most devout junglist scratching their head, but here’s my personal favourite – Shy FX’s ‘Simple Tings’ from 1995, in which Andre Williams slices G.C. Coleman’s legacy into ribbons before recombining and twisting it into wild yet intricately syncopated patterns without losing any of it’s robotic funkiness. Play loud:
And finally, if you haven’t donated to the campaign yet, might I urge you to visit http://www.gofundme.com/amenbrother and just do whatever feels good and right?
Rather a treat for lovers of banging tunes from The World Service this week, as the latest instalment of it’s on-going Global Beats series is now available for your listening pleasure – and this time I’m pleased to say it was my hands on the faders. In this edition, DJs from Denmark, Brazil, Russia, Thailand, Spain, Lebanon and Kyrgyzstan share their stories, clubbing tips and their current favourite floor-fillers, with quite a few surprises along the way. First broadcast last Sunday, those who missed out have some 28 days at the time of writing to listen again.
The programme is presented by 1Xtra’s DJ Edu, hastily juggling his voiceover duties around his current job of travelling all over Africa sampling some of it’s finest nightclubs and actually getting paid to do it, which sounds like a fantastic job, though I’m informed is actually quite tiring. It was produced by Catherine Fellows and mixed and edited by myself in a marathon, 15-hour, caffeine-fuelled, deadline-thrashing super-session. In fact, far from travelling to Africa, swanning around in nightclubs or hobnobbing with our global selection of tastemakers, Catherine and I barely got to leave the studio or see daylight for about three days, except to fill up on coffee and crisps. I realise that it is possible to shave a few hours off these sessions by just doing basic fades in and out of the music, but as you’ve probably worked out long ago, that really isn’t how I roll.
Anyway, we we’re both very pleased with the resulting programme, which we’ve tried to make sound as close to a DJ set as possible, with all the music punching through nice and loud and neatly slotting together – with perhaps the honourable exception of the bouncy techno from Bishkek, which is in a class all of its own. I certainly picked up on a few fantastic tracks that I otherwise would most likely have never discovered and am at this moment seriously considering emigrating to either Copenhagen or Bangkok; torn as I am between the strident electro of the former and the vintage Thai funk of the latter.
It would hardly be necessary at this point for me to launch into some sort of rapture about the glories of music bringing people together, but I will say that it’s a truly great thing that even in these straightened times there is still room for this kind of cultural feast on the World Service. Where else am I going to find out what they dance to in the clubs of Kyrgyzstan? Long may it continue.
Just in case you haven’t had enough of my recent demands for fundraising cash, what with the Resonance FM auction and all (with thanks to Mr. Nick Stone for a very generous winning bid on my tape-loop editing workshop), I’d like to draw to your attention another most worthy cause; this time set amongst the seedy underbelly of Los Angeles, California (rather than just opposite the Pret-A-Mange on Borough High Street). You may recall a few weeks ago my mentioning the publication of Drink The Rest Of That, a collection of short stories by Foggy-collaborator and genius raconteur Guy J. Jackson? Well, a few weeks is a long time in Hollywood, possibly the only city in the world -as I discovered last year- where you can be heckled for walking; so now Guy has another project on the go, as the writer for a contemporary film-noir currently in development entitled ‘Day For Night':
(Obviously this video is embedded from the Kickstarter page, so instructions to scroll down and sideways should be taken with a pinch of Hollywood salt)
If Alfred Hitchcock, Raymond Chandler, and a desperate actress/waitress had a love child, it would be Day For Night. A tightly wound psychological thriller set in present-day Hollywood, this film examines the fine line between nurturing a dream and fueling an obsession—and what happens when you cross it. Populated with distinct and dynamic characters, Day For Night comes from an award-winning team of filmmakers who have been inspired by the L.A. Noir genre.
Fans of Guy’s amiable surrealism and dark, twisted comedy will already have a pretty good idea of what to expect of this collaboration with Tasmanian director Michael Chrisoulakis. Those wishing to learn more can find further information on the film’s Kickstarter page, as well as Facebook or Twitter accounts. The film is already partially shot and has reached 50% of it’s funding target, but there’s still quite a way to go on this ‘all or nothing’ Kickstarter campaign and just over two weeks to reach their goal, so please go to their funding page and just do whatever feels good and right.
OK, that’s the hard sell over. Here’s another story from Drink The Rest Of That as a reward: