[Kinda Soul Recordings]

Sure, the headline reads “Kassem Mosse does deep house.” But if you know the mysterious music that Gunnar Wendel records under the Mosse moniker (and, if you’ve found your way to our pages, it’s a safe bet you do), you’ll expect the full story to be a bit more complicated. So while Stephano Boati’s deep house stalwart imprint Kinda Soul gets its props for gritty, introspective chord-push from the likes of Rick Wade, Jus-Ed and Scott Ferguson, there’s little in the cryptic grooves, sliding patterns and shadowy textures of Kassem Mosse’s 2D EP for the label to suggest Wendel is skewing to Kinda Soul’s bread-and-butter.

It’s not that he’s indifferent to that audience. Like his untitled track for Laid last year, this record is liberally sprinkled with classic house signifiers. Of course Wendel’s reach extends beyond the realm of house to touch on techno, IDM, and electro, but what makes the record such a success is its resistance to that kind of connect-the-dots game of citing classic precursors and contemporary trends. I could enumerate likenesses to the Artificial Intelligence series, or the recent sounds of labels like FXHE, Future Times, and Fit, but the comparisons that come more naturally fall outside the usual jargon of dance music; the spectral iridescence of Wendel’s sound design here evokes images of moth wings as readily as retro hardware.

With a rhythm fashioned from a give-and-take of slurred scrapes and sleazy handclaps, “2D” should satisfy an appetite for narcotic dance floor eeriness, but more so it harks back to a proto-house era when barbed jack and prickly industrial shared crate-space. Bypassing the familiar “dusty analog sheen” tropes, “2D”‘s palette is a fascinating topography of mottled, irregular surfaces. Perhaps the clearest example of that, its keyboard drones feel like veins of igneous matter, both serpentine and coarse. The best case for the aforementioned iridescence, though, has to be “Thalassocalyce.” Sharing its name with a species of tentacled, undersea invertebrate, it’s tempting to think of the track’s swaying synth chords in terms of lapping tides. A darting pattern of amber leads, meanwhile, is an exemplary case of Wendel’s gift for slippery, almost repetitive motifs that lull and unsettle by turns.

With such groggy, elusive tracks as neighbors, “Demo Drums Ripping Demos” comes off a bit more straightforward. Shot through with a wobbling, West Coast-style funk and hissing with spiny, polyps-like snare rolls, its sprays of phosphorescent synthesizer are reminiscent of Sherard Ingram’s more electro-leaning work but, as I say, such comparisons give vague, misleading impressions in Wendel’s case. I’m glad it does; as we edge ever-deeper down cul-de-sacs of dogmatic, overdetermined sub-genres and production biases, it’s nothing but encouraging to see labels across the gamut so eager to scratch out consonance in even Wendel’s most arcane work.

Scott Grooves is a tinkerer. Hand the man an instrument or a piece of music equipment that doesn’t come easily to him and he’s liable to make it his next personal project. He says it’s because he doesn’t want to be limited. And yet, he perpetually imposes restrictions and challenges on himself, setting the parameters of each musical project a little to the left of what’s come naturally in the past. Grooves is a master of musical synthesis — for proof, look no further than his 1998 album Pieces of a Dream, which brought the drum machine rhythms he heard on early Chicago house records into harmonious unity with the sounds and musicality of Wes Montgomery, Roy Ayers and George Clinton. But lately he’s been just as interested in focusing the listener’s attention on an unadorned drum program, as he did on last year’s paeans to the Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm composers. Toss the title of his 2008 track “It Doesn’t All Have To Be Techy” into the mix, and it may seem like a heap of contrasts. But Scott Grooves wouldn’t have it any other way. The Detroit mainstay even operates three record labels to handle the divergent threads of his work. In the interview below, the multi-instrumentalist, producer, and DJ simply chalks it up to keeping busy. And while you’re reading, be sure to check out the LWE exclusive mix that Scott Grooves put together for us, which certainly isn’t going to do any damage to his reputation as your favorite DJ’s favorite DJ.

LWE Podcast 66: Scott Grooves (56:37)

Tracklist:

01. Soul Center, “Sweet” (SG Edit) [W.v.B. Enterprises]
02. Norm Talley, “The Journey” [Third Ear Recordings]
03. Kotey Extra Band & Bottin, “Hot Ring” (Fernado Remix) [Bear Funk]
04. Rick Wilhite, “Playcism” (Mike Huckaby Reconstruction)
[Third Ear Recordings]
05. Salz, “7 : 0 Sieben” [Salz]
06. Reggie Dokes, “First Manifestation” [Psychostasia Recordings]
07. Karizma, “33rd Street Anthem” [ITH Records]
08. Terry Callier, “Love Theme From Spartacus” (Roy’s Steppers Delight)
[Talkin' Loud]
09. Scott Grooves, “Electrifying Mojo talking to Prince, 1984″
10. Hardrive, “Deep Inside” (Mr. V Sole Channel Remix) [SG Edit Overdub]
[Strictly Rhythm]
11. Isolée, “Beau Mot Plage” (Panther Mix) [Classic]
12. Men From the Nile ft. Peven Everett, “Watch Them Come!!!”
[Undaground Therapy Muzik]
13. Greg Gow, “The Bridge” [Transmat]
14. Master-H ft. Alice Orpheus, “Out Of This Life Take 1″ ep. [Komplex De Deep]

I understand you come from a jazz background. Could you tell us a bit about that?

Scott Grooves: Yeah. Jazz, rhythm and blues…. My father was a rhythm and blues and jazz guitarist. He had a band and also played with some Motown artists. My mother’s side of the family was more rhythm and blues, Motown. My uncle was an organist. My auntie sang. My mother was a singer. Music was definitely around me.

So then were your first musical activities more oriented toward jazz and soul and that sort of thing?

Oh yeah. We always get asked like, ‘Did you listen to Jeff Mills? Did you listen to Electrifying Mojo?’ Most people think a lot of us picked up with that. Sure, I listened to Mojo, I listened to Jeff Mills, I worked at a record shop. I did what a lot of people did in Detroit. But well before that, the beginning point for me was growing up at home. It was like the family business, so to speak. If your uncles and aunties are in the circus, what do you think you’re going to do when you get older?

So you were a young guy, with all this music around you. What was your plan back then?

Well, I knew early on that I really didn’t relish the idea of working at the factory and building a car. I guess my plan for music was, uh… just to be somehow involved in music. At first it was a pastime, like my recreation. Other kids were outside riding their bikes; I was in the house learning how to play different instruments and listening to music. So it was like a hobby. When I was really young, I hadn’t had it in my mind to make it… a career. But I did have aspirations to learn to play different instruments. That took up my early years, just learning to play the instruments that were in the house. My life was really simple back then: go to school, come home, TV, music.

And how did that lead you to KMS, Inner City, and a place in the burgeoning dance music scene?

DJing, that was the gateway. I started DJing, and it seemed like it was just a natural migration, having a musician background. It was only natural that I try to make some of the records I was playing, that I was fond of. Like another note on the musical scale, it was an obvious note to hit. So that’s how I got into production, and it was fun because I reconnected with what I initially liked doing — playing instruments. I got away from playing instruments once I started DJing, because a lot of my time was spent buying records, looking for records, working at a record shop. DJing overshadowed, at that point, making music. But it was related, because then I started to want to make music. I would buy a twelve-inch and I would listen to it, and try to learn how to play what I heard. Eventually I made a little demo cassette, and went down to the offices of KMS, which was only like five minutes from my house. Kevin Saunderson just happened to be coming out of the building, and I gave him the cassette. The next thing you know, I was in a studio, playing keyboards.

Working at the record shop, I would talk to other people who aspired to be producers, or were already producers. Mark Kinchen also worked there — MK. I met the guys at 430 West when they first started, and I aspired to do some stuff with them. At this point, I just wanted to make a record. I just wanted to make a twelve-inch, Chris. That’s all I wanted to do, see my name on a record.

Since you’d already had a lot of experience with a range of instruments, did you feel pretty confident that you could make that record?

Yeah, I did. And DJing helped too, because when you’re a DJ, you learn about presentation in dance music. If I wasn’t a DJ, I’d never even have considered things like putting a break in the record, or an appropriate introduction. And then working at a record shop helped me understand the commercial side of things. I felt I had the great trinity of experience at that point: I knew how to play a few instruments, I worked at a record shop, and I was a DJ. So I felt pretty confident at that point. I met Derrick Thompson through a friend. He’d just started Soiree Records, and he was like, ‘Man, let’s do it!’ I told him I wanted to make a vocal tune. I had the song already in my head — the lyrics and everything. And that was my first twelve-inch, on Soiree Records, a vocal tune called “Over You.” This was like, 1992. Around this time, all of us were trying to put out our first releases — Mike Huckaby, Moodymann, Rick Wade, a lot of people.

Of course there were others who were already established. Like I remember vividly, man, we were selling a lot of Terrence Parker records. Kevin Saunderson had three or four labels under the KMS tree. Carl Craig was making good stuff on Transmat. And I’d see all these people coming at the record shops.

What were some of the records that really stick out in your mind from that period?

I was into a lot of different stuff. As a DJ, whatever kind of party I was DJing, whether it was a wedding reception or whatever, you had to play a little bit of everything. It wasn’t that segregated like it is now. You had to play R&B, some dance music, some funk, whatever. So I was into a lot of different stuff. But I remember hearing Adonis for the first time, and I was like, ‘Man, what was that?’ That was a big tune in Detroit. Larry Heard’s “Can You Feel It,” “House Nation…” I remember the first time I heard the word “import” was “Pacific 808 State.”

But of course I was into music as long as I can remember, so I transposed it all in my head. Call it dance music, call it house… to me, a groove is a groove. The grooves I was very familiar with, the bass lines I was very familiar with. What made it different from what I was doing as a kid was the drum tracks. Going from playing live drums to learning to program drums. That was the biggest thing for me. Coming from a background as a drummer, I saw it was not so much about rhythm, but programming techniques. I found that intriguing. And it definitely imposed a learning curve. Programming and playing are two different things. I naturally knew how to play. I didn’t naturally know how to program. That did not come naturally. I take my hat off to those guys back in the day who were really good programmers. They wasn’t necessarily good players. But as I got into electronic music, I saw that you could make a hit record and not actually play one note. Learning programming techniques and secrets, that took…. I mean, the first time I seen a 909, I couldn’t believe it was a drum machine. It looked like a data processor! I was like, ‘This is an instrument?’

Did you ever wish back then that you could just play that drum track instead of programming it?

Of course, of course. But I learned over the years how to combine forces, to bring the two together. And also the technology started to catch up, to make it a little bit more intuitive. With the MPC, they had the pads on it and…

You almost could play that.

Yeah, I could play that, I could hit it. And the swing…. It could capture what I was doing live, on the fly. But when I first started, I was trying to understand how to take this rhythm and funk out of my head, use this machine as a relay, and have it sound the way it sounded in my head. You know, if I pick up a pair of drumsticks, I can do that instantly. But with a drum machine, it wasn’t instantaneous. It was something I had to learn how to do. And that may not necessarily come from reading that big old, 300-page manual that comes with it. Sometimes it just came from using it. Trial and error.

So I started to listen to different records, and listened to how people programmed their drums. Being a drummer, if it feels real to me, that means it hit the bull’s eye. And some records started to really feel like that, have that good feeling. And that let me know that what I wanted to do was attainable, it was possible. I just had to work at it.

You seem to be someone who likes to impose challenges on yourself.

You gotta stay busy, I think. This is just something you can’t master. There’s always something to learn, and ultimately that should keep you humble. You can never know enough. You can master the business side of the music business, but you can never master the music side. It’s infinite. Just think about it: all the music you’ve ever heard came from a twelve-note scale. Everything we’ve ever heard came from twelve notes. That’s mind-boggling. So I try to stay busy with the music side of things.

In 2009, for example, I realized it had been twenty years since the inception of the 808 and 909. So I began to peek my head into the door of the Roland and kinda highlight it. When I first started out, the drum machine was not my ally. I looked at it as something that put drummers out of business. So at first, I wasn’t in love with it. I didn’t even own one. But, like I say, now I have a real respect for people who mastered it. To me, that’s just as delightful as somebody playing guitar or drums. And a lot of people in the jazz world kinda snub that. They can ostracize you when you don’t play. Myself, I learned to have respect for what somebody else does differently. And when it’s all over, can you lock me in a room with anything, and I find the rhythm in it? I don’t want to be limited. I don’t want a home field advantage. I want to be able to play well with anything that’s put in my hands.

So was that the goal with the 808 and 909 records? To master those machines?

I don’t know if I set out to master them. See, I used those sounds early, but I didn’t really analyze the drum machine at the time. I was going at a real fast pace early in my career, because I just wanted to make a record. But as I got older, I had time to zero in on more minute points. You know,turn the keyboard off, and just check out the drum machine.

These days, the 808 and 909 are iconic, but mostly for for their bank of sounds. It seems like you’ve also really focused on their compositional possibilities.

I appreciate that question, because I did want to keep it compositional. I wanted…. Like when you listen to a lot of the early R&B records in the 80′s and 90′s, they were using the 808 and 909 just as much as electronic music. But they covered it up well with the composition of the whole record. They didn’t just make an 808 track. But what I did, I concentrated on the drum track with just that drum machine. No other sounds. I just made an 808 track, or a 909 track, and let that lead me to some good music. For the first time, I didn’t incorporate it with any other sounds.

I loved that. I loved the way the tracks worked within those parameters. And there was a real purity of sound as a result, I think, too.

Those sounds are truly classic. They have great fidelity. And even though, back then, against all the organic sounds they sounded like machines, now they sound organic in comparison to the all the synthetic sounds that are available. I mean, who would’ve thought back then that the 808 or the 909 would sound organic?

And that we would celebrate them for their warmth!

Exactly! I wasn’t drawn to them in the beginning, because I was still clouded by the real sounds that were still popular in music — real drummers playing on real music instruments. I was very much coming from a ‘live’ element. See but now, with so many synthetic sounds out there, just seeing an 808 or a 909, it looks organic. It looks like an instrument. It didn’t look like an instrument when I looked at it years ago. It looked like a machine. Now, when a guy tells you he can make a record from his iPhone, the 909 looks like an instrument.

Let’s talk about your Modified Suede label, which is something different. It’s closer to the pre-electronic drum sounds you just mentioned, a bit more like acoustic drumming. What prompted you to start this line?

Just to contrast myself. If I do something on Natural Midi, I like to contrast that, and try to come out of the studio with something for Modified Suede. And if a person goes to the record shop and buys a Natural Midi record and says, ‘I like that. I don’t like that Modified Suede release,’ then I think I’ve done my job. Not that he thinks it’s bad — just not what he’s looking for. It’s the other guy who says, ‘I like that Modified Suede record.’ That’s kinda what I wanted. Music is varied, wide open. There’s just so many different possibilities, so many things you can do. I like to do like the Boy Scouts. I like to earn different badges.

And now you’re working on the Panther badge. That’s a completely different platform for your music.

Yeah, the Panther thing is cool because it gets back to what I was doing before I started recording — performing. The performance aspect was first for me — playing in front of an audience. And I capture a little bit of that with the Panther productions. We take a record I like and set up different effects and percussion elements. And then I play along with the record, and superimpose things. You know, just pressing “record” and seeing what happens. It’s a lot of live improvisation. Not so much recording where you’re sequencing and all that, just performing. I did the “Beau Mot Plage” mix like that. I did a Panther mix of Floating Points’ “Truly” that I’ve been playing out, and a lot of people asked me for a copy, but I can’t give that out. But I did a nice Panther version of that where I just overdub, with lots of echo and reverb.

Is working with these effects new to you, or do you have some background in that too?

Not a lot. The guy I work with in Panther — his name is Kataconda — that was his forte. He’d always be showing me cool, different effects in the studio, and so one day I just gave him a Norm Talley record I had been playing, called “The Journey.” And I was like, ‘Tweak this!’ You know, ‘Take some of that stuff you’re always fiddling around with, put it in that pot, and cook it.’ He did, and it was really cool. So we edited it and did some other things. And I got a good response when I started playing it. I just thought of it as something to have for me to play when I DJ, but then the guy who owns the label Third Ear heard it, and he wanted to put it out. So it’s an opportunity for people to learn a new side of me, and also learn about Kataconda who’s very talented. And I’m working right now on a Panther mix of a tune that’s out right now on the label Curle out of Belgium. It’s a hot tune they got, and I’m working on that at the moment. And I’ll be definitely doing more in the future. You can look for some new stuff on my website, where I gather all of my musical projects.

It seems like it’s a very different outlet for you, musically.

I like to think that everything is interdependent. Whether you’re turning knobs or strumming a guitar, it all can play into the world of Scott Grooves. I can take it all in. Some days, I’ll go downtown and peek my nose into a jazz club, listen to a trio, and take that inspiration home with me, and approach the next record with a jazz approach. I’m always flexible with my approach. That’s kind of my motto. Approach the music from a different angle.

Like, before you called I was listening to some old, like, Close Encounters of the Third Kind type of sounds. I was very much into Steve Miller and the Steve Miller Band, and he used a lot of those sounds too. The ARP, the Odyssey, the Prophet. I’ve been gravitating toward those sounds of late. And not just sounds, but how those guys approached the records. A lot of times I’ll do research in how different artists made their records, because sometimes I’ll bump into somebody who was a writer or a session musician from Motown, and they can relate a story to me about how James Jamerson would lay a bass line down, or how Marvin Gaye would do the drums. And then I’ll go home and try to approach a record the same type of way, with the same sounds, and see what I come out with. And lately I’ve been doing that with more of, like, that Euro, Georgia Moroder-ish sound with the pulsating bass and all that.

Really? So is this Scott Grooves’ next badge?

Maybe. I’ve been listening to a lot of the old drum tracks they used, with the LinnDrum, the Oberheim, the Roland 727. And I’ve been playing around with those sounds the past month or so. There’s a music shop here in Detroit and all they sell is old equipment. So I’ll go in there, and I don’t know if this guy’s caught on to me yet, but I’ll have him turn equipment on and let me hear it, just to try to breath it in and get the feel, to use it as inspiration.

Well, here’s to keeping busy!

Well you know, this music, it’s definitely not a sprint. Being in it as long as I have been, that’s what I’d tell anybody that’s getting into this, that you have to know going in that it’s a marathon. And that helps you. The race is not given to the swift, it’s given to the person that’s conditioned for change. And that’s what I’ve tried to do all these years.

[Yore Records]

The last Ibex transmission — Rush Hour’s 2009′s 360 EP — crept up on me slowly. Though I counted myself a fan from the first spin, my enthusiasm was initially a calm, matter-of-fact one. Lingering near the top of the record stack well into this past summer, though, its shouts and sighs found their way into more and more of my days and nights and, finally, I came around to recognize it as the smooth, enveloping and indelible record many had already adopted. In my defense, the man behind the music does have a bit of a knack for keeping his head down. Described in his own bio as “obscure” and “curious,” Tony Ollivierra gifts his downy tracks with idiosyncratic flourishes and what must surely be considerable musicianship, but neither insist on your attention. Tracks like 2000′s “Bok Choy” for Planet E, 2008′s “Second Coming” and the aforementioned “360″ capitalize not so much on what you hear, but on a sensation that unsuspectingly steals into the room. And even as they batter you with a beat, the general impression is sometimes closer to an incidental series of jingles and rattles stirred by a breeze.

“My Mojo” from his latest record, Meltdown EP on Andy Vaz’s deep-centric Yore imprint, maintains an airy, spacious atmosphere, its leads sliding through a sunshower of acoustic percussion. Even its soaring strings conjure bliss and tranquility. But despite the meandering melodies and galloping tempo, the track works itself into a contented groove without losing its allure. This, however, is as laid back as the four-tracker get. The hand drums, elastic upright bass, and woozy midrange that introduce lead track “18681″ describe a steady sway, until storms of brisk piano and cinematic strings rush in and set off a breathless, dizzy chase scene. It’s right at home in the Yore catalog, where the rousing and introspective are often folded in unexpected layers, and title track “Meltdown” pursues a similar course. On the one hand, its hand claps, sampled crowd noise, and teetering chords keep the track’s shoulders slack. But the throbbing bleeps, zapping bass, and Mayday synth strings are pure clenched-jaw tension. To my tastes, the teeming sound design is a touch too busy, and the music never quite finds its voice. I doubt, however, that will prevent its thump and thrill from doing respectable business on many a dance floor this year. The dramatic, lurching “Mystery Babylon” strikes a cleaner balance, the fierce staccato of its metallic synth stabs cooperating with a patter of bongos, more sampled crowd noise, and a terrific sequence of hi-tech soul squeals. It gleams and broods at the same time without sounding like it’s tugging in opposite directions. I’m more impressed with the track each time I hear it, and can’t help but wonder if it will end up as one of my big tracks of 2011.

[Alleviated Records]

After treating us to a re-release of 1987′s Mr. Fingers EP at the beginning of this year, Alleviated Records have again, well, alleviated some strain on your Discogs allowance with a fresh pressing of another essential Larry Heard catalog title. This time it’s 1999′s Missing You, culled from the downtempo house LP Genesis, an album whose gleaming, elegant finish may surprise those mainly acquainted with the coarser analogue sound of Mr. Fingers’ canonical records. Probably for that reason, Genesis and the subsequent Love’s Arrival have rather receded into the background of Heard’s formidable legacy, left (perhaps appropriately) to the loving care of ardent devotees. But Alleviated’s repress might be just the thing to raise the profile of a run of records that stand up plenty straight in the producer’s discography. “Missing You” is particularly special, a record spoken of reverentially or, quite often, as a deeply personal matter.

Recorded around the time Heard moved from Chicago to a more laid-back setup in Memphis, “Missing You” glides on a serene mood and an open-air feel. You’ll hear firm kicks and a steady chain of hi-hats, yet the track moves in relaxed, easy sways. The track’s rippling chord pattern maintains such a placid lull that listeners may even find themselves picturing gently lapping waves and white beaches, but “Missing You” is far too emotionally direct to pass for sultry sonic wallpaper. Instead, the instrumental’s inviting atmosphere serves as a sort of “please have a seat” overture for one of the most penetrating and disarming vocal turns house music has produced. The unrepentant soul delivery comes courtesy of Heard himself, articulating a frustrated longing borne of something more complex than simple physical distance. This isn’t a song of rebukes or pleas, however. Heard airs his unease in the calm, clear-headed resolve of a man decided. The die is cast, the tension of imminent change is pervasive, and even those warm keys seem to feel an unnerving chill. Call “Missing You” a measured, mature break-up track, sure. But consider that Genesis was dedicated to Maurice Watson — the Delirium DJ whose staunch support of tracks like “Can You Feel It” was crucial to the migration of house music to the UK, and who had recently succumbed to suicide — and you begin to sense that “Missing You”‘s emotional well runs a great deal deeper.

Surely recognizing that the track hit on something genuine and poignant, Heard soon revisited the track with the “Jazz Café Mix,” trading turquoise hue and pearl finish for a smokier vibe, and augmenting the soul-baring vocal with a stirring soul-jazz piano performance that shifts between plaintive reserve and emotive tempest. Every bit the equal to Heard’s original version, it is understandably included on the new Alleviated record. But I’m afraid you’ll have to dig a little deeper into pockets and crates to come by Theo Parrish’s take on the material. This appeared in 2000 on an excellent remix package, flanked by Son Dexter’s balmy, guitar-driven “Django Version,” Bernard Badie’s uptempo club mix, and yet another variation from Heard himself (the ghostly “After Dark Remix” this time). Parrish’s haunting “Missing Dub” really steals the show, though. His anxious take rebuilds the track from the ground up, constructing a brooding, claustrophobic set-piece of muffled kick drum palpitations, tinny taps, and eerie whines of B-movie organ. Panting through it all is Heard’s voice, but this time stripped of articulate composure. Listening to Heard chanting the two words “Missing You” like an obsession, we get a chilling look at the troubled mind that must surely have preceded the self-possession Heard commands on the original version — one pursued by distant stares, things unsaid, suspicion, circumspection, and confusion.

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.

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]

LWE Podcast 56: Christopher Rau (57:44)

[Royal Oak]

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.

[Time To Express]

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]

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.