[White]

Dance music is nothing if not purpose-driven. And when one of your primary concerns is filling up a floor and making those on it go apeshit, it’s tough to resist what’s tried and true. But how does a producer not reinvent the wheel without engaging in outright hackery? In the weeks since I received Oskar Offermann’s latest White 12″, “Apple Crumble Beneath My Feet,” I’ve been scratching my head over whether the producer and labelhead is painting by numbers or insidiously distinguishing himself from the hordes of producers making records nearly identical to this one. WHITE008 brings you three tracks of bog-standard, disco-flecked Rhodes riffs — your laptop wearing a Moodymann wig, basically. But I can’t help but feel like Offermann has a compositional sense that pushes him beyond his music’s ever-obvious sound palate. It’s quite possible you already own this record in about twenty or thirty near-identical forms. Is it worth buying again?

About six minutes into his A-side, “The Fog Burns Off,” I really start wanting to say yes. It’s all about those strings: simply layered and left to flutter without heavy reverb, they tug in glorious opposition to all that deep stuff vamping just below them. For a solid minute and a half, all of Offermann’s tricks combine into one exceptionally tasty build, an energy bar of sorts for any DJ climbing house mountain on a weekend evening. The remaining 18 minutes or so of this 12″, however, feel a bit too studious and clean-shaven for serious consideration. Before getting the aforementioned Patrick Adams treatment, “The Fog Burns Off” finds itself mired in an endless loop of tambourines, handclaps, and flaccid bass drum (albeit with some cool, creepy Rhodes ambiance), all topped off with some ultimate-dweeb spoken word that I’d love Oskar to have kicked to the curb. “Only My Shorts,” perkier in tempo and drum machine programming, feels utterly stiff and curiously unswung. Offermann’s Detroit house homage, “Queens,” lacking the soul samples that comprise the heart and soul of that style, finds little melodically to rally or even meander around. Offermann knows his house, and I don’t doubt he’d like to see his young roster at White one day producing at the level of Smallville’s or Underground Quality’s finest. But until he can move beyond those same old sounds and flesh out those fleeting gorgeous moments like the climax of “The Fog Burns Off,” that day will sit decidedly out of reach.