With a discography extending all the way back to 1987, Sherard Ingram’s music and life have simply seen too much growth and change to permit easy characterization. Sure, a through-line connects the span of his work, but not one that parallels any single current of electronic music history. Which is kind of funny because, telling his story, Ingram can’t help but mention the key players of Detroit’s seminal second wave. His debut solo production, “Covert Action,” originally appeared on a 12″ alongside Underground Resistance’s “The Theory” and Carl Craig’s “The Climax.” Techno proudly claims that record as its own, but listening to “Covert” today, its stutter-and-groove has as much in common with hip-hop or beatdown house. Ingram’s first full-length recording — 1998’s Collapse of Modern Culture — enlisted the talents of friends Anthony Shakir, Kenny Dixon Jr., and Carl Craig, and its anomalous collection of deep-space funk and leftfield downtempo is held as a classic by followers of multiple genres. The next chapter in Ingram’s story is no less auspicious.

Shortly before his untimely passing, Drexciya’s James Stinson rechristened Ingram “DJ Stingray,” an “assault-based DJ” for the legendary aquatic sound warriors. Galvanized by this Drexciyan connection and informed by a brisk DJing style that challenged the hegemony of the 4/4, Ingram’s latest work favors breathtakingly fast-paced techno whose wiggling keys and searing bass lines roll and weave in agitated surges, yet glide in lithe, unbroken lines. Lately he’s used his Urban Tribe and DJ Stingray monikers to disseminate this sound through Rephlex, WéMè, Trust, Pomelo and, most recently, Planet E and [Naked Lunch]. This year he also masterminded a reunion of the Collapse team, whose new long-player on Mohagani assumes a different template altogether. In April, The Wire’s Derek Walmsley took down Ingram’s story in a must-read interview. Tipping our hats to The Wire, Little White Earbuds turn to Ingram with some follow-up questions of our own.

I wanted to start with “Covert Action.” That track had sort of an interesting journey, first appearing alongside Underground Resistance, later compiled with broken beat and sort of introspective hip-hop via Mo’ Wax, and then getting a reissue on Planet E, a label we tend to associate with the dance floor. What sort of audience did you originally have in mind for that record? And what sort of listening situation did you envision for it?

Sherard Ingram: At the time within my own my mind I had placed some distance between myself and the sonic status quo. So the track came about as an expression of this mind state. I was listening to hip-hop of course and industrial, along with doing some hip-hop tracks for some younger guys. As far as the listening situation, I just saw it as something a person could sit back and chill or drive to.

Was it a record you could fit into your own sets when you were DJing?

No way could I have ever envisioned that track being played in a DJ set, and certainly not one of mine at that time! [laughs]

So DJing and producing were separate ventures for you back then?

At that time I was moving away from DJing and became more interested in production. I was subscribing to musician magazines and audio engineering magazines like Mix. I had always wanted to be an engineer. I was even in a recording school for awhile, and worked in it as well. But I must note that DJing helped me with sampling and selecting records for sounds.

I read that you worked with an Yamaha RX-5 early on. What other equipment did you cut your teeth on?

The first drum machine that I worked with was by a company named Mattel, and the machine was named SynSonic. I used the Alesis MMT-8, Alesis HR-16, Casio CZ-5000, Roland 909 and 808, Dr Rhythm — I think it was DR-550, I’m not certain — and a few more devices here and there. In fact I still have the manual for the RX-5 and a memory card with songs on it.

Wow. That’s probably quite a time capsule.

Indeed!

Several year later, you were working on The Collapse of Modern Culture. Was this always conceived as a group project?

Urban Tribe started with “Covert Action,” which was just myself. With The Collapse of Modern Culture, it was my first LP. I can say it was very nerve-wracking and it made me appreciate artists, from all genres, who put out LP after LP for years. At one point during the production I felt overwhelmed and like I needed a little help. So I called up two men who I had great respect for even before there was an Urban Tribe, Ken [Dixon Jr.] and [Anthony] Shake [Shakir]. With their advice and production skills, along with Carl’s of course, the LP got done and I really liked the sound of it.

Were there periods where you had this whole team in the room at one time? Or…?

That’s classified.

How long did it take to complete the album?

About a year. I would pull away from it for a month or two at a time, so it made it a longer process than it should have been. [Laughs] I really wanted to take my time and not feel pressured and stale.

You mentioned in the interview with The Wire that your plan at the time was to live off of your music for a while. How long were you able to do that?

With a little frugality and denial I was able to stretch things out for about a year, I would say. Naturally I had to do some odd jobs to make ends meet.

After Collapse, there was a period of relative quiet in terms of published material. Were you making much music between ‘98 and ‘06?

Between ‘98 and ‘06 I was working menial jobs and doing minimal production, but nothing that was released with the exception of a mix I did on Ken’s first 12″. It was a strange period for sure. I was a little too focused on chilling. It took the DEMF and a meeting with James Stinson to snap me out of a malaise that I was in.

Was that the first time you’d met James?

No, I had known James since ‘89 – ‘90 from working at Buy-Rite records in Detroit.

What was it about this meeting that changed things for you?

Well, this is when he brought up the concept for a Drexcyian assault DJ, based on what he heard me doing at the first DEMF.

How did you get involved with DEMF festival?

Carl called and asked if I wanted to play, and I said yes. It was my first time playing in front of such a large crowd. It had its ups and downs, but I was richer from the experience.

Do you know what it was about your set that caught James’ eye?

Of course I’m speculating, but I believe it was the overall selection. I don’t really get into trendy tracks, and I look for eclectic or cutting edge material. Not to say everything I played was mind-blowing, but I think it caught his interest.

Starting around 2006, your catalog really picks up steam, and your music takes on a more anxious, fierce quality. It’s much faster. Did your time with James Stinson play some role in this?

2006 to now is a reflection of my contact with James and my travels through Europe, along with my experiences in Detroit. Add to that a desire to liberate others from creative monotony. The tempo is a tribute to Detroit and the jitters of yesterday and today.

I see your music as carrying on a certain Drexciyan tradition. Do you feel any responsibility for furthering the Drexciyan concept and spirit?

You can definitely view it as such. Yes, without trying to copy Drexcyia, I do incorporate what I think are aquatic textures and high-tech refined funk. I don’t listen to Drexcyia and then compose, however.

I wouldn’t think. Given the differences between the music on Collapse and, say, your latest Planet E record, do you feel any pressure over people’s preconceived ideas associated with the Urban Tribe brand?

Not at all. I enjoy mixing things up. I think when an artist begins to become too concerned with branding, then things get stale. It’s okay to have a style, but as electronic musicians we have to keep pushing or we are doomed to stagnation.

How do you typically determine whether to author a record as Urban Tribe or Stingray?

Urban or Stingray? With Stingray I look for uptempo, no-nonsense electronic warfare audio. UT, I’m looking for more at-home or in-car relaxing vibes.

But the division isn’t so rigid. A good deal of the “Social Engineering” and “Loyal Opposition” records have that surging, anxious vibe.

No, it isn’t a rigid division, and when you’re involved in the creative process there are anomalies to be certain.

Do labels ever request one name over the other?

No, I usually determine that. Although I like to keep one concept with one label.

For your most recent record, you’ve reunited the Collapse team. Was this something you guys had always planned on doing?

Shake, Carl, and Ken are very busy, so I have to be the catalyst behind bringing those guys together. But they are always cool and give it one hundred percent.

How did you collaborate on this one?

This particular project came about through different methods, from FTP exchange to live mixes to pre-formed concepts that were changed or editied. Almost the full range of possibilities.

Yet it’s been characterized as a sort of “jam” project.

Interesting.

Credit it, perhaps, to the record’s loose, low-slung mood. There’s a lot of discussion about the album’s runtime. Why one- to three-minute long compositions?

It’s a break with tradition would be my best description.

Out of curiosity, whose voice do we hear on “Program 2″?

[aughs]That’s classifed too. Sorry, man.

Alright. You’ve worked with Nina Kraviz on something forthcoming. How’d you two meet?

Through Mr. [Heinrich] Mueller. I was looking for a vocalist, and he recommended her.

It seemed like maybe they’d been working together on something — but then things aren’t usually crystal clear with Herr Mueller. Speaking of whom, you and Gerald Donald (aka Heinrich Mueller) are collaborating as well, no? Can you tell us anything about that?

I’m really excited about that project and I really look forward to getting it out. I didn’t intend to let people know of his involvement so early, but I was just too hyper, I guess. You should hear something this fall.

I’m excited to hear it. Will it have any sort of conceptual frame, along the lines of Arpanet or Zerkalo?

Let’s just say that it will be a surprise to everyone, this I can promise.

Excellent. So you’re touring Europe next month, and presenting Urban Tribe live. What can people expect from those shows?

I had to tweak some parameters based on the past shows. I think people can expect a good sonic presentation along with a new face or two.

So you won’t necessarily be up there alone?

No I will not, and anyone you see on the stage is a person who has or will be contributing to the Urban Tribe project.

Will all parties be masked? …Sorry, silly question.

That’s okay. I’ll save that for the cam phones and YouTube.

On that topic, though, can I ask you about the mask? Is that a part of your persona today because of Drexciya, or is there more to the story? I’ve heard Mike Banks talk about it as, in part, a reaction against a nasty side of the commercial music business they saw in Detroit.

You can thank Mr Stinson for the mask idea. I just decided to keep it going. I think it is a byproduct of the UR paradigm, however.

On a sort of similar topic, I was also interested in the name “Urban Tribe.” This concept of an urban tribe as a small counter-cultural group built around shared interests and a common ethos. Would you say that this applied to your time working at Buy-Rite Music? Or, at least, to the creative community you found with guys like Ken and Carl?

I think that’s a fantastic description. My time at Buy-Rite was a learning and growth experience, and the owner Cliff Thomas was a tough mentor and teacher. His store provided the environment and opportunity to meet a lot of cool artists and DJs and people in general.

Do you see communities or meeting places (whether a record store or what-have-you) of that sort today?

Yes. Facebook… Myspace! [Laughs] Seriously, other than seeing cats at a party or social event, I personally don’t know of any places like Buy-Rite anymore.

So for your work relationships today, do you rely more on face-to-face, or online interaction?

Broadband is a must!

Your track titles suggest a dystopian vision of contemporary technology, but you seem to have come to terms with the (I’m kneading here) post-Collapse landscape.

I think that with maturity comes perspective. You can look at something as holding you back, or you can turn it into an opportunity. I think we are at the very beginnings of some major global sociological shifts. Here in North America one can look at the Hurricane Katrina response and the Gulf oil spill blunder as examples of outdated modalities.

Do you think that changes will be made, that those errors won’t be repeated? It’s hard not to wave those things off as beyond our control, even hopeless.

Accidents do happen but in the cases of Katrina and the Gulf spill, reactions were insanely slow. Humans can control how they prepare for events beyond their control, which should directly affect reaction time. The current model for energy is surely out of date.

And surely there’s opportunity in that. It sounds like you look on the future of these situations with hope.

With the right people and thought patterns, humans can do almost anything. I do see hope if we can move aside certain negative and destructive forces.

It’s hardly been a year since Christopher Rau’s name first appeared in LWE’s pages. At the time, we made a note to watch for more of his looping, wintry house tracks and, well, we didn’t have to wait long. In no time, the Hamburg-based DJ/producer’s woozy sounds were weaving their melancholy magic for such keenly-followed local publishing houses as Smallville and Laid. Working alone or, as on this year’s “Cloverleaf Days,” with Jacques Bon, Rau’s staked out an affecting sound that marries cotton-packed miniature melodies to gently determined rhythms. Lovely on headphones, tracks like “My Lesson” and “Soulful” are fully bewitching in the right club environment. Little wonder, then, that you’ll find Rau’s work sandwiched between tracks by John Roberts and Fred P. With his debut album due to arrive on Smallville this fall, we wanted to shed a little light on the man behind the music, and Rau was good enough to field a few questions for us. More exciting still, he’s also put together our 56th exclusive podcast for us, extending the “bluesy, calm atmosphere” that is his metier over a selection of tracks from STL, Efdemin, Break SL and more.

Download: LWE Podcast 56: Christopher Rau (57:44)

Tracklist:

01. Break SL, “Kids” [Philpot]
02. Reggie Dokes, “Black Thoughts” (Dubbyman Remix) [Deep Explorer]
03. Quince & Benny Rodrigues, “7 Up” [Smallville]
04. Efdemin, “There Will Be Singing” [Dial]
05. Ricardo Miranda, “Urbanism” [Hour House Is Your Rush]
06. STL, “Radionoize” [Something]
07. Orlando Voorn ft. Blake Baxter, “Love Break” (Afterlife Dub) [Divine]
08. STL, “From A Distance” [Smallville]
09. RVDS, “And Love” [It's]
10. Camp Lo, “Sparkle” (Mr. Midnight Mix) [Traffic]

Please tell us about your podcast mix. When/where was it made, and what’s the general theme?

Christopher Rau: I recorded the podcast in end of May 2010 in my parlor using vinyl records. I was trying to build a smooth ‘n mellow structure just for relaxation.

I first heard your music last year, but how long have you been making tracks?

I started to create patterns and loops around ten years ago. Back then I was producing hip-hop tracks. I think four or five years ago I started to do my first house and techno beats.

I understand that your father is a trained pianist. Was any of that keyboard expertise passed down to you? Did you have a musical upbringing?

Yes and no. I did some piano lessons when I was a young boy. I also had a little drum set: bass drum, tom, hi-hat, snare and a ride, but I was never that good. Too lazy to practice.

Your productions to date have been woven with strains of absorbed melancholy. I’m curious if there’s a particular mood, or impression maybe, that you look to achieve when making music?

You got it. Mostly I want to create a bluesy, calm atmosphere. But that’s just the aesthetic I want to hit.

You’ve already carved out a rather distinctive voice, but one that’s very much at home with venerated Hamburg labels like Dial and Smallville. To what degree would you say that the sounds coming out of the city has influenced your own work?

I would say very much. I was listening to Smallville and Dial records before moving to Hamburg. I was and I am a fan.

Speaking of Smallville, you’ve known those guys for a bit. When did they express interest in releasing your music?

I don’t know exactly, but I remember that my friend Axel told me, ‘Hey, they are doing this compilation. Come on, give them some tracks.’ And I did.

You’ve also appeared on both of Dérive’s extant releases. How involved are you with that label? And could you discuss the label’s interest in the Situationists?

Dérive Schallplatten is Björn, Maximilian and me. We are friends, two based here in Hamburg and Maximilian lives in Munich. He’s also the one to discuss those certain interests.

What can you tell us about the releases you have lined up for the near future?

I recently released a 12″ on Gieglings’ Staub Series called The Blessing. Then I have a remix for Freund Der Familie on their label and an album for Smallville to be released October 25th. There are some other projects which are not ready to be discussed now.

Finally, we’ve recently finished up our mid-year coverage at LWE. What have been the most exciting records for you so far this year?

Wax, No.30003 [Wax]
RVDS, Waiting, Kiss & Love EP [It's]
Smallpeople, The People EP [Underground Quality]
Goldwill, What Is Behind [wandering]
DJ Duke, Core – 1995: Heard [Slow To Speak]

Download: LWE Podcast 56: Christopher Rau (57:44)

[Royal Oak] (buy vinyl)

A late addition in Clone Records’ 2009 rebirth as a network of boutique sub-labels, the stately Royal Oak lacked the directions for use and dosage that siblings like Clone Jack For Daze and Clone Loft Supreme offered, and was distinguished initially by its ultra-limited print runs — a policy since reconsidered to include larger secondary runs. Four titles into its catalog, though, this Oak has grown into a essential showcase for regal, deeply-rooted house that, like much of Clone’s output, doesn’t necessarily fit neat narratives of style or history. In hindsight, we should have seen that from the very beginning, what with longtime Clone affiliate Gerd-Jan Bijl helming the A-side of the imprint’s premiere release.

Claiming both sides of the record this time, the veteran producer and 4 Lux Records head reprises a formula that easily won us over last time, capitalizing on an overlay of moods. Vacillating Rhodes chord patterns, jazzy bass maneuvers, skitters of cut-up drums, handclaps and finger snaps comprise “Friendly Fire”’s earth-toned foundation of low-key grooves. That’s just the backbone, though, above which a light show of neon luminescence dances. Sprightly blips and whirs dart and flit about as though in some un-choreographed cosmic spectacle whose relationship to the more structured deep house below is just happy happenstance. As a listening experience, I’d characterize “Friendly Fire” as “Feet on the ground, finger pointed skyward.” A dub follows, as well as the studio jam “Vibration,” which works the same material into a slower tempo and a more interactive combination of divergent layers. Here the nimble, airborne melodies play less as atmospheric phenomena, eventually cohering as bright, lively melody lines that weave over, under, and around the Rhodes’ more even-tempered hum until that sense of separation is gone, the firm footing is lost, and everything seems to be floating in space.

In the twenty-five years or so since his fateful encounter with Alexander Robotnick’s “Problèmes d’Amour,” Mike Huckaby has become one of the most respected figures in house and techno music – in his Detroit hometown and beyond. His love for the music is clear, and he engages that love from every conceivable angle. A legendary DJ, Huckaby stands at some remove from partisan stylistic divisions, winning over crowds with his encyclopedic knowledge of dance music history (the benefit, perhaps, of a lengthy tenure at the Record Time music shop) and an unusually sensitive ear for exceptional, ageless tracks. As a producer, he combines a taste for vintage sounds with a keen interest in emerging technologies, and has devoted untold hours to understanding and mastering a myriad of music-making tools.

That passion and commitment comes in handy when he’s teaching courses on Reaktor and Ableton Live at Detroit’s Youthville community center. It’s also resulted in some classic records, and his productions for his Deep Transportation and S Y N T H labels are basically the gold standards in twilit deep house and brooding techno. Even if we could ignore all those considerable undertakings and accomplishments, Huckaby would still be an LWE favorite for his refreshingly level-headed and thoughtful perspectives on the electronic music industry. We tried to coax a few of those out of him in the Q&A that follows, and we’re honored and thrilled to present, as LWE’s 50th podcast, an exclusive 78-minute mix from one of the crucial artists of our time.

Download: LWE Podcast 50: Mike Huckaby (78:22)

Tracklist:

01. Liaisons Dangereuses, “Avant-Après Mars” [Roadrunner Records]
02. Udek, “Unknown” [white]
03. Lil Louis, “Frequency” [Dance Mania]
04. Virgo, “Free Yourself” [Trax Records]
05. Fingers Inc., “Distant Planet” (Club Mix) [Jack Trax]
06. Chuggles, “I Remember Dance” [Prescription]
07. House To House ft. Kym Mazelle, “Taste My Love” [Clone Classic Cuts]
08. Norma Jean Bell, “Do You Want To Party?” (Kenny Dixon Jr. Mix) [Pandemonium]
09. City People, “It’s All In the Groove” [Rainy City Music]
10. Moodymann, “The Third Track” [KDJ]
11. Jungle Wonz, “The Jungle” (Jungle Mix) [Trax Records]
12. Glenn Underground, “Black Mental Resurrection” (Mental Piano Dub)
[Life Line]
13. Blaze, “Klubtrance” [Slip 'n' Slide]
14. Soofle, “How Do You Plead?” [Fragile Records]
15. Mr. Fingers, “Slam Dance” [Alleviated Music]
16. DeepChord, “Electromagnetic Dowsing” (Mike Huckaby S Y N T H Remix)
[S Y N T H]

Please tell us a little bit about your podcast for LWE. When/where it was made, and if there was any theme?

Mike Huckaby: These are just a few house classics from the vaults of Mike Huckaby. The mix was recorded in Detroit. I don’t do digital DJing, I only play vinyl. The theme was to simply play classic Mike Huckaby tracks, tracks that I will never get tired of playing. I can’t do DJ mixes with records that are relevant for 2-4 weeks. It just doesn’t make any sense to me.

Your name routinely appears in the origin stories of today’s most exciting producers, from Detroit and beyond. So I’m wondering, who or what was it that sparked your interest in making house and techno music?

Well, as I’ve said before, Ken Collier was a major influence for nearly every Detroit DJ. Making music was a natural evolution for many Detroit DJs, and this was definitely the case for me. In the beginning, I would listen to every DJ. I would listen to the ones that I liked, as well as to the ones that I didn’t like. And then one day, a bright idea went off in my head that realized everyone was a bit different that anyone else — that every DJ had his or her own style and were developing that. So I took a shot at it as a DJ, and later on as a producer. I was always a self-motivated person.

I’ll never forget back in the day when Detroit techno hit hard for the first time in the U.K. Derrick May was going to England like crazy. He came back from a recent trip, and I asked him, ‘So, how was England?’ He replied shortly, and in a rather jet-lagged tone of voice, ‘Good as usual, what else would you expect?’ He wasn’t being an asshole about it, but right there I knew that it would be in my best interest to pick up my shit and just go over there to see it for myself. And that’s just what I did. Anthony Shakir and I would share information and techniques heavily with each other. I will never forget the one day in class he said to me, “I want to make a record.” I thought he was out of his mind because that type of thing was not available to individual recording artists yet. You had to be Quincey Jones or some shit, or an artist with a rather large recording budget.

I was lucky enough to be in the loop. And if you were in the loop by any stretch of the imagination, you saw what was going on, and what gear was being used to make this type of music at Transmat, KMS, or Metroplex studios. If you were in the loop, you thought nothing of it, but it would prove to be a very privileged experience when you spoke to those who weren’t in the loop. It was priceless to see the MIDI setups that triggered “Nude Photo,” “Strings of Life,” and so many other Transmat songs, all at the tap of a button. These songs existed right in front of you, right on the floor. So that along with a personal style to develop as a DJ were the influences that started it all for me. Basically, I just had to get out of the one-EP-every-ten-years club. I couldn’t do that shit anymore. (Ask Rick Wade about Mike Huckaby working on his hi-hat patterns for six months). So if a lot of producers and DJs are feeling me, it’s because of my work ethic, my progression over the years, and the amount of dedication I have put into the art of making better music.

Did you have any musical mentors, or people who helped you figure out the process of making music?

Just because you were privileged enough to see the gear that was being used in a classic Detroit techno studio setup doesn’t mean anyone shared information with you as to how to used the gear. Furthermore, the techniques used for creating sounds was also a mystery. There were no Ableton or Reaktor classes, workshops, or Youtube tutorials back then, you had to figure it out all for yourself. That was one of the requirements for being privileged enough to be in the loop. Everyone was influenced by Juan [Atkins], Kevin [Saunderson], and Derrick, there was just no way around it early on. So you would listen to their records a lot, and try to emulate things. That would often lead to originality within the process. Later on, I hooked up with Chris Simmonds from Cross Section records. He held my hand and walked me through everything. He even showed me how to loop a sample correctly.

What kind of equipment did you first begin working with?

All the classic Roland gear, period. I still have many of my original pieces of equipment to this day. We would often use very inexpensive synthesizers or gear that appeared in pawn shops. Otherwise, it was just too expensive to buy new gear. Studio setups were being put together slowly over time.

Since then, you’ve advanced to the point that you’re an instructor on programs like Ableton Live and Reaktor. What do you use to make your own music today?

I get asked this question all the time. People get it twisted in thinking that I only use Ableton Live or Reaktor because I teach these programs. That doesn’t mean those are the only tools I use to create music with. I use a strong combination of analog and digital software. Yes, I use Reaktor and Ableton a lot, but it’s the reciprocal relationship that exists between hardware and software that’s really important. Each influences each other. I often learn something on hardware that I didn’t know about a synthesizer in a software program, and vice versa. That’s very important. I have no problem telling you what I use to make my music. I use the Waldorf Wave, Reaktor, and Ableton Live a lot. I can tell you all day that I use Reaktor, because you will never use it. You think it’s too hard. That’s great because you leave me with so many possibilities all to myself. I have trained so many individuals with private Reaktor lessons. After discussing the possibility of a followup session, everyone always tells me, ‘Hey man, don’t call me, I’ll call you.’ I tend to stay away from anything that too many people use or do. I would have been out of this business by now if I hadn’t done any of this.

My number one motto is this: Always do what your peers cannot do and will not do. And from my experience, that’s been learning Reaktor, music theory, and how to play the piano, all of which I have spent a lot of time doing. You have to reinvent yourself in electronic music quite often. And the only way to do that is to learn new skills, or to branch off into other areas within this business that are of interest to you.

You’ve said that Detroit’s DJs and producers draw on “the ability to work with little or nothing.” Given the expertise you’ve amassed, how would you say that this ethos applies to you?

My project, My Life With The Wave proves that point easily. That project was all done with just one synthesizer, the Waldof Wave. Often I will limit myself to use one synthesizer just to see if I could create an entire track using one piece of gear. Earlier on, you had to do this if you were from Detroit due to financial reasons. Strangely enough, I still adhere to this work ethic, but now out of a personal choice. I’m a strong believer after all of the training I have had from some Reaktor black belts and synthesizer gurus that one synthesizer is enough, in terms of the different frequency ranges, to complete an entire track.

A lot of artists would be scared to release a sample CD because it could make it easier to copy their sound, if not their styling. Was there any hesitation to make the My Life With the Wave samples available, and if so what helped you overcome it? What do you get out of hearing the tracks people have made with your samples, such as Dimi Angélis & Jeroen Search’s Our Life With the Wave?

Exactly! Scared is the word. I have skills, man, skills that took me a long time to acquire. A lot of my closest friends told me I was crazy for thinking about releasing a sample CD. I was a bit hesitant about it at times, too. I didn’t know if it was going to flop or become a disaster. But it has become highly successful and my programming skills have increase tremendously as a result of it. My sample CD is considered a cult classic in the deep house world of music production now. You gotta take risks, man. A lot of professional companies have contacted me to do presets for instruments, programs and sound libraries too. It all became a win win situation.

I can’t stand the presets that come with synthesizers. They’re often whack, not suited for deep house or techno, or they are too trance related. So I was driven enough to do something about that, and I was successful at doing so. If my initial thought is clearly defined that I should pursue something, I usually try to stick with it. It has often turned out to be true. Motto number 2: “At first they talk shit about you, then they ask you how you did it.” I think another reason I have developed a strong following or have gained the respect of so many is due to the amount of information I am willing share. I’m not worried about that either, I just have a sense of compassion to help others not to be stuck regarding the music making process like I was in the past. If anything, what you better be scared about is the samples that I left off of the sample CD. I created a few that were just too good to release, so I kept them for myself. Sometimes I will give Rick Wade a few, just to see what he thinks about them.

I see you’re also offering the sample CD on reel-to-reel, which is unprecedented in my memory. Is tape reel a medium you use often outside this project? With all the tools at your disposal, what about the reel-to-reel still speaks to you?

Yeah man, tape is WARM! I cannot believe the warmth that is coming from this machine. It really warms up your sounds, individual parts, and even entire tracks. I plan on using it heavily. The direction not often pursued is the direction I have to go in. That’s where you find a lot of inspiration and answers you’re looking for.

Are you able to put as much of your music to wax as you’d like?

Not really. And this is what I have to work on in terms of being consistent. This is one of the factors that pertains to working with little or nothing: cash flow! Whenever I would talk shop with Kenny Dixon Jr., he would often tell me that. “Consistency baby, that’s the key.” Kenny always has a white label with him everywhere he goes in the D. If you ever run into him in the D, you can always rest assured he will go in the trunk and have something for you.

These days we hear most of your new work as remixes of other artists. Is there a particular appeal for you to the remix? Or is it just that you get a lot of requests?

After I started S Y N T H, and did the Electromagnetic Dowsing remixes for DeepChord, remix offers came in like crazy — they came after me. Vladislav Delay, Pole, Loco Dice, Pacou, Losoul, Juan Atkins, and a ton of other tracks. I’ve probably remixed the entire country of Germany right now. I’d look at the DEMF line up and say, ‘Damn, I damn near did a remix for the entire festival.’ That was the beginning of the end in terms of being in the one-EP-every-ten-years club. I placed a high bet on myself early on in studying Reaktor that this was going to lead up to all of this, and it did. But keep in mind, the remixes you hear that I have done are simply remixes and not necessarily my own tracks. Often they wind up being my own tracks, but there is also a fine line with providing a remix which takes in consideration the original artist profile, sound, and direction that you think would be best suitable for them. I kind of think of the person I’m remixing as my client. How do I deliver for him? If I deliver well for him, I’m automatically included.

You’ve often remarked that you don’t see a real division between techno and house. Your own productions have ranged from fathomless techno to jazzy house, and you’ve created two rather distinct record labels for your music. Do you see these as different strains in your work?

Man, the British press is to blame for so many different labels and divisions regarding music. Detroit DJs didn’t see the difference between house and techno as blatantly as it is described today. If you liked a record you played it, and you would or could often follow up with playing a techno record after a house record. There were so many journalists from England dying to go to Derrick May’s studio just to see what color his tea pots were. This is where all of this shit came from. “Slam Dance” by Mr. Fingers proves this point. The other three tracks on this EP are entirely deep house, but this track is a bit more aggressive than the others. And from day one, Detroiters always referred to techno as something that is just a bit more aggressive than house music.

As your recent piece for WhatPeoplePlay suggests, seasoned record store clerks such as yourself are teachers for generations to dance music fans. Fewer decide to teach outside record stores’ walls. Have you always had the desire to share your knowledge to others? Do you believe a worthy dance music education can be had through less social means than frequenting record stores?

It all pertains to the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would like them to do unto you. Again, I don’t have a problem with sharing certain things. Skill replaces luck and even fear. Have you ever notice that the person who is the most afraid to share information and techniques is often the very person that can’t describe the method or process in the first place? That’s why it can’t be shared, because the individual doesn’t know much about it in the first place — they simply can’t expand on the information. As far as record stores go, the Internet will never replace human interaction. That’s what’s missing in the digital age of purchasing music. Purchasing music from a human being who is skillful enough to evaluate the music is everything. I was just in Black Market records in the U.K. yesterday, and people thought I worked there because I overheard someone asking for Liz Torrez, “I Can’t Get Enough.” The track was playing in the background, and the person didn’t know what it was or how to find it. You can find out about music you don’t know about through the Internet or computer, but can you ask the computer a question about a song that comes to mind? No.

Although we should never overlook or forget the wealth of knowledge that’s often the soul of our favorite record shops, the 21st century is so much about access to all niches and cultures, often consumed from an information fire hose and nowhere near a local expert. In your opinion, who make the best gatekeepers for our times? What role does the Internet play in that for you?

The Internet does serve a great purpose indeed, But it simply cannot replace the history and story told about music, and the memories people have about music. It can only facilitate the process. So the best gatekeepers regarding the music are the “fallen heroes” of dance shops and the heavy hitters who are working in record stores today.

You’ve also been running music production courses at YouthVille. How long has that been going on?

Since 2006. I took a tour through the facility and asked when could I start immediately. Native Instruments and Ableton lent me their support, and I thank them gratefully for that. My entire role at Youthville has been to be the person who brings in more resources to Detroit, resources that could change a kid’s life. I try to give them hope that someone could tap you on the shoulder and ask you to participate in something that could change your life. This is extremely important because it’s the very one thing the students, and even the general population within Detroit, often thinks will never happen. So I am providing the structure and possibility for that to take place.

What courses are you teaching these days?

Ableton Live, and Reaktor. Man, where was Ableton 10-15 years ago when Rick Wade was literally speeding up a sample he was recording into the sampler with his hand to keep the sample on beat with the rest of the track? That’s one reason I feel Ableton is the best choice for production right now.

Do the courses go into things like music theory, songwriting, or the business end of making records?

Yes, often speakers and lectures may happen where these things are discussed. This is important because it teaches the students the importance of protecting their music early on.

Have you been able to keep up with what your past students are up to? Have many of them continued to make music?

Well, when the students reach the age of 19 they are no longer a member of Youthville. But we have some very talented kids and I see some of them on a regular basis.

You’ve talked about how helping kids realize their goals with Ableton can show them how to use perseverance as a tool for success in other areas of their life (school, etc.). Do you have a feel for how successful that’s been?

I think this is realized from the first day each student is enrolled in one of my classes. I emphasize this from day one. From there it’s up to the student what he or she will do with it. I try to clarify things that are difficult for them, and hold their hand through the music making process each step of the way. Otherwise, it may be just too difficult for them.

Have you heard of any programs like Youthville launching in other cities?

No, I’m not aware of any other program like Youthville in any other city. Youthville is one of a kind. It’s the most significant thing that has occurred in Detroit since the DEMF.

Through Youthville, you probably have a better idea than any one of what Detroit’s next generation will sound like. What developments and trends do you foresee in the coming years?

There are some really talented kids at Youthville and all they need is someone to lead the way — to light the torch and help them extend themselves. I like to be on the “losing team” or on the team that “Dateline America” describes as underachievers or economically disadvantaged. We can’t rely on the press to create opportunities for us, or to tell us how hard life in Detroit is.

Mad shouts out to :

Rick Wade, Theo, Kenny, Rick Wilhite, Patrice Scott, Omar-S, Keith Worthy, Malik Pittman, Kyle Hall, Scott Ferguson, Scott Grooves, Ron Trent, Glenn Underground, Tama Sumo, Pacou, Craig Gonzalez, Patrick Russell, Ray Bone, Downbeat, 3rd Ear, Kai Alce, the Bunker Crew, DJ Qu, Anthony Parasole, and You.

[Time To Express] (buy CD) (buy mp3s)

If you’ve followed this website even casually, it won’t stun you to read that I consider Entropic City an exemplary album from one of the most vital voices in techno today. LWE dubbed Brussels’ Peter Van Hoesen one of 2008’s “Breakout Artists” and, for his lengthy run of singles last year, we heralded him as one of five “Artists Who Defined 2009.” With quicksilver bass lines coursing beneath their rough, brambly surfaces, Van Hoesen’s shadowy warehouse tracks have long capitalized on an air of urban dystopia. The ten tracks grouped here, though, show off the producer’s experience in sound design better than ever, and the neglected Gotham skylines and abandoned, lightless interiors evoked prove vivid sonic descriptions of the title chosen for his first album under his own name (though the producer seems to have additionally mined the less figurative, thermodynamic definition for inspiration).

From the drawn-out freight elevator descent of “Intro Entropy” — ominous with creaks, lurches, and rumbling, unabated vibrations — the album’s sixty-minute immersion in a focused template of post-industrial sounds leaves an undeniable impression of setting. It’s a record constructed of asphalt and rebar, its surfaces marred by rust, grime, peeling paint, and water damage. Van Hoesen has spoken before of an added layer of “dirt” used to texture his tracks, but here that layer has been promoted from its adjunct position to drive the style and character of an album that sounds just as its cover looks. The low-BPM-count “Republic” is heavy with guttural, almost animal groans, scissoring machine noises, and corroded metallic melodies, playing like a panning shot of some neglected refinery. It’s evocative and easy to get lost in. Properly head-swimming on a good set of headphones, “Testing a Simulacrum” teems with a multitude of grainy audio artifacts uncertain but familiar. A heavy, determined beat pulses all the while, but as though emanating from somewhere off in the distance.

While the album can absolutely claim a cohesive mood, variation isn’t abandoned as a priority. The airy, upbeat “Dystopian Romance” doesn’t immediately announce itself as a Van Hoesen creation — if it weren’t for that signature bass work, anyway. “Colony/Return of the Object” recalls last year’s “Resol” with a foray into anxious dubstep and jungle territory. And on “Terminal,” ravey, distress-signal keys burst through the match-strike percussion and dual bass lines. Even the grim industrial drone and tension-in-traction of “Closing The Distance/Toy Universe” eventually emits flickers of silver dub chords and LED blips of melody.

And, of course, there are pure warehouse “tracks” of clenched-jaw intensity. Van Hoesen’s perceptive sequencing gradually builds to a back-half heavy with most of the record’s biggest splashes. The record’s finest standalone track, “Strip It, Boost It,” is nearly anthemic. The steely hi-hats scrapes, gaping bass yawns, bent-spring twangs, jacking hand claps, and martial kick drums are typical ingredients in the producers’ work, but there’s a rare instability to their combination that’s exhilarating as the track seems perpetually on the verge of veering off the rhythmic grid. It’s followed by “Quartz #1,” a breathless race of syncopated shakers and a strobing kick, with some roller coaster EQ’ing to place it resolutely in the club, where this album’s more vigorous moments will doubtless figure memorably in the months to come. But even without the benefit of experiencing any of its tracks played through a high-end sound system at peak time, I have no hesitation saying that Entropic City is the finest techno album to come along in recent memory, and may prove to be the album distillation of a whole scene. And, to be sure, it’s secured Peter Van Hoesen a 2010 to match his last two celebrated years.

[Nonplus Records] (buy vinyl) (buy mp3s)

Earlier this month, the New York Times‘ ArtsBeat blog ran an assessment of the latest Joy Orbison EP in graph form, in which Andrew Kuo mapped his knee-jerk reactions to each of the record’s three tracks, vacillating between breathless Aphex Twin comparisons and “Fatboy Slim Junior” skepticism. Cute, if a little pat, it speaks to the “buzz about the buzz” situation that Joy’s been saddled with, his music discussed more by a watchful but largely disinterested blogosphere than by his ardent fans. A contributor to that record, Actress (Darren Cunninham) is similarly blessed with high expectations, yet he’s bypassed most of the factional fanaticism of electronic dance music and hardly registered with whatever it is that now occupies the district once known as indie rock. Perhaps it’s that his compression-faded, gray-scale sound is too modest in scale, or simply too murky. There are no sinus-clearing swells in Actress’ music; the sensation is closer to the sound of blood rushing through your ears. The man’s no recondite wall flower, though. His debut album, Hazyville, found its way onto quite a few best-of-decade lists, and his tracks have been licensed by Trus’me’s house-centric Prime Numbers, as well as for two Fabric mixes. The producer’s latest transmissions have made it easier and easier for me to see what it is that so many find special. His records have a nagging familiarity but, at the same time, have trademarked a sound that’s unmistakably “Actress.”

Arriving just before his sophomore long-player, this quick EP for Instra:mental’s red-hot Nonplus imprint takes a more abrasive approach than most of what we’ve heard from Actress to date. As abstract and elliptical as ever, it’s brutally percussive with a taste for glitch and a raw, almost hip-hop sensibility. “Machine and Voice” is built around brisk game console stutters and skeletal, stop-start b-boy rhythms. A morse code of shrill drilling squeals and treated vocal samples — “c’mon,” “get down” — encapsulate the track’s dry brattiness, but the usual Xeroxed veneer mutes any ostentatious tendencies. Reprieve from all the confined micro-hooks does come, though. Blowing in almost halfway through the track, slurred mechanical whirs color in the monochrome palette with the sort of open, vibrant surges that animated 2562’s Unbalance. No such levity is afforded the listener on “Loomin,” a nightvision clamor of cracks and aggro kicks where the scant melody lurks in the background as a menacing accent to a ritualistic warehouse atmosphere. Evocative, stripped-down, and decidedly rhythmic, it suggests a delicious combination of precedents, from Autechre to Jamal Moss to Terrence Dixon. “Und U Boat” slows the tempo, though it’s drums pummel with equal punch. Sterile synths murmur in melancholy chords, while metallic, rusty-hinge creaks cast a spell of fog, drift, and abstraction — a spell which Actress mastered long ago, but which isn’t likely to land him back on the “Aphex Twin to Fatboy Slim” grid anytime soon.

East Flanders was a veritable gold mine of house fundamentals in 2009, thanks to the underestimated work of the young We Play House Recordings. With an aesthetic as direct and to-the-point as the label’s chosen name, the line has typically favored retro synthetic palettes and low-slung earworm grooves. And though all of their records have been worth a look, when you start tallying last year’s out-and-out stunners — San Soda’s “Dorsnee,” Dynamodyse’s “Gare du Nord,” Reggie Dokes’ “Dancefloor Spectacle,” Russ Gabriel’s “Le Voyeur,” Ramon Tapia & Maxim Lany’s “Highway,” to name names — you can’t help but wonder how they’ve kept such a modest profile. WPH starts the new year with an in-house affair, a quartet of 90’s throwbacks from the team-up of label founder Red D and the producer behind roughly half the label’s output, San Soda. And yes, as the title suggests, you may sing along to them.

On opener “Let’s Go,” the promised vocals play in achy, gospel-tinged clips and, with added help from some synth strings, flesh out a lean, arid arrangement of handclaps and keyboard stabs. Low-key and gently sultry, it’s something of a contrast to the flip’s “More Than Seven,” a slick, smiling call to the dance floor cooly voiced by Lady Linn. Though its basic, amiably dated instrumentation prowls and punches capably, it’s the exuberant confidence of the vocal that best relays the track’s particular sensibility. Devoid of ennui or brooding, “More Than Seven” is so unabashedly a “good times” club track that you almost blush. Well, almost. I actually wish Linn cut loose a bit, maybe sacrificed a little poised sass in the heat of the moment. Even and still, it’s genuinely refreshing to hear vocal house in 2010 that smiles as easily as it sighs. Also included on the record are a taut instrumental version of “More Than Seven,” and “Let’s Go Seven,” which pairs Linn’s “More Than Seven” vocals and a sweated-up take on the instrumental from “Let’s Go.” None of it quite hits me like the WPH standouts I mentioned earlier, but this record certainly won’t harm the label’s reputation with house DJs and mavens.

It’s getting to be full-time work keeping tabs on Brendon Moeller these days. Spread over his assorted monikers, he issued at least eight records of new material in 2009. Cohort Shigeru Tanabu has conducted himself a bit more discretely, though he did notch a soaring, string-laden peak time record with Wave Music early last year, and followed it with the loose “Jazzin’” for Apt. International. Originally a guitarist, he’s also made numerous contributions to Moeller’s Beat Pharmacy records, but Manaboo presumably brings the duo’s collaboration to full interactive fruition, the label press release emphasizing an engagement of their shared enthusiasm for jazz. Don’t let track titles like “Blutrane” mislead you, though; techno and house are the crucial touchstones here.

The mid-tempo title track’s balmy pads, dipping bass lines, and shuffling disco guitar dip into the deep house well, but its sleek sheen is more make-out than melancholy. “Utopia” and “Blutrane” mine the overlapping territory of house’s sensuality and dub techno’s tactile atmospherics. “Utopia” seeks sonic depths with what sound like sonar blips, and unsurprisingly find metallic chords and numbing sub-bass at the bottom. “Blutrane” buries a muddled John Coltrane interview beneath a “Quadrant Dub” recipe of submerged reverb and filtered percussion. There’s little question that Moeller and Tanabu know their way around this sort of sound design but, much like the barely discernible recording of Coltrane’s voice, the music’s vague grey-scale seems to resist close listening, settling quickly into the background. From where I stand, the duo better distinguish themselves with “Morpheen,” a slow builder that balances moody jazz samples and future dub textures to haunting and elegant effect. Like “Unhuh,” it’s a minor pleasure, but a comfortable one, with an easy mood and slinky allure that may find more takers in the cocktail lounge than on the floor.

We love to drag geography into discussions of dance music, and with Mr. Raoul K, it’s hard not to. Turned onto to electronic dance music after moving from the Ivory Coast to Hamburg, his reputation as a producer is founded on a growing catalog of euphoric and rather continental club tracks that swirl with traditional African elements. Granted, African motifs are hardly anomalous in dance music, but they’ve held an uncommonly prominent role in this particular producer’s discography, and not just the rhythms, either. From the balafon twinkling through last year’s excellent “Wind of Goree” for Mule Musiq to the shudders of kora heard on 2008’s “Le Cercle Peul,” Raoul’s keen interest in working with live recordings of African acoustic instruments is probably the first thing you notice when you hear his music — at least it was, anyway.

I don’t doubt that Raoul continues to pursue this interest on the title track of his new Mystic Things, but it’s not front-and-center this time. Loose, acoustic drum sounds stand out but, from the pounding to the plinking, they play more as seasoning here, character adjuncts in a minimal house aesthetic more focused on the modulation from lulling drones to restorative swells. Vocals come courtesy of a certain Lopazz, though his incitements to “dance with your body” struggle to reach the surface of the track’s repetitive commotion. Sometimes, little more than a moan can be discerned, but that hardly hurts the track’s immersive intensity. It’s not a subtle track, but “Mystic Things” direct approach does achieve a near-trance narcosis that seems to smuggle the nighttime and crowd onto the record along with the demanding rhythm. B-side “No Food No Groove,” then, is the record’s low-key potboiler. It’s on this track that you’ll hear the distinctive use of traditional African instruments that Raoul’s known for, the percolating wooden percussion (perhaps a balafon again) doled out as lovely, stripped-down melodic phrases and agitated rhythmic rushes alike. Striving for a brighter and more blissed-out energy than its partner track, its sonic sunrise might well come in handy after a night soundtracked by the A-side.

[Non Standard Productions] (buy vinyl) (buy mp3s)

More and more, the recordings of Max Loderbauer and Tobias Freund’s Non Standard Institute seem to parallel the ineffable and absorbing audio artifacts they namecheck from time to time — records like Cluster’s Großes Wasser, Pharaoh Sanders’ Thembi, or This Heat’s This Heat. Like those records, their latest EP sounds as though conceived through exploratory tinker-now, edit-later studio sessions where the ultimate goal isn’t necessarily a new record. All the same, their latest eccentric collection of fascinating, too-brief compositional sketches is a richly satisfying listen. Cut from the same cloth as the track LWE hosted as a free mp3 this month, you could imagine Eitherway as something like last year’s RA-podcasted Mutek set, but parsed into discrete vignettes.

Clocking in at a lean two-and-a-half minutes, “Scale” opens the record with a droning melody loop and an accumulation of thwacking percussion that sounds for all the world like hail falling on a windshield. “Cabinet” quickly redirects, a sort of eerie, abbreviated take on electro-acoustic Nordic jazz (Supersilent’s “6.1″ sticks out as a point of reference). Its fragile set piece of sci-fi textures, insect-like drum machine debris, and faint snatches of piano is mainly a showcase for the modular synth that Loderbauer plays in plaintive, theremin-like moans. Later on, the woozy “Uncertainty” covers similar terrain, but with a retro palette and see-sawing momentum that verge on techno, though at some remove from the genre. Coming a bit closer, the restless title track sets galloping snares and the hot zaps of something credited as a “random voltage generator” on a nighttime chase through an ambient field of absent chimes. Likewise, the propulsive “Forward” boasts a ferocious drum pattern, but its tightly-wrapped, repetitive piano loops slide so dizzily out of sync that calling it a DJ tool seems like a cruel dare.

The record closes with “Tapped,” reprising the hurled beats of “Scale” beneath a shimmying, free-form warble best compared to a pliant sheet of metal shaken over a mic. Granted, some of that may read like a bit of a chore, but for all its analogue equipment-tweakery and unscripted musical interaction, Eitherway steers clear of the hazards of a gear-fetish geek-out or a hair-down jam. Luscious sound design and tonal variety have a lot to do with it, but the real hero is the duo’s meticulous editing. We’re whisked through six tracks in just twenty-two minutes, the pieces given only enough time to establish a palette, a pattern, and a groove before the curtains close to make way for the next track. As the duo’s press releases proclaim, it’s a “non standard” way to produce music, but it does manage to captivate — spellbind, even. It’s that old showbiz trick, I guess: always leave them wanting more.