Peter Kersten first tried his hand at producing in 2000, releasing his first ever effort on Dial, the label he had just set up with friends Carsten Jost and Paul Kominek (Turner). His melancholic, measured brand of house and techno has been consistent in its quality for more than ten years, thirty singles, five full length albums and around fifty remixes. In the realm of electronic music, maintaining such a consistency of quality is rare; having your first releases sound remarkably undated over this length of time is almost unheard of, yet this rings true for Kersten’s music. With Lawrence as his most well-known moniker — dedicated to his deeper musical expressions — he uses the handle Sten for his dance floor oriented material. Over the years, Dial has seen a remarkable run of releases from kindred artists like Efdemin, John Roberts, Pigon, Pantha Du Prince, Roman Flügel and many more. Its off-shoot label, Laid, has since 2009 done similarly well on a deep house tip, with memorable releases by Rick Wade, Kassem Mosse, Smallpeople and RNDM. In 2006, Kersten, along with a few close friends set up the record store and physical label Smallville Records. The friendly vibes and family feel of the store also extends to the regular parties they throw and of course the music that the label releases. Little White Earbuds got in touch with Kersten to talk about the longevity of Dial, which producers are exciting him right now and the forthcoming projects for his various enterprises.

You’ve been releasing music for over 10 years now. One thing that has always struck me about your productions is that right from the start you’ve had a very polished sound. How do you feel your own productions have changed or evolved over the years?

Writing music for me is a very spontaneous issue. For over a decade I have been digging a lot of styles — house music, techno, ambient, hip-hop — from my very first album to my latest CD, Until Then, Goodbye on Mule Electronic. I don’t see any straight line of changes, but I am still hungry for trying out any sound that fits. The new release on Koze’s Pampa imprint was quite an adventure, as well as my latest project, an experimental jazz band with Christian Naujoks and Richard von der Schulenburg.

Likewise there is a strong aesthetic running through the artwork that accompanies your albums and single releases, which has remained consistent in theme and style. Do you work closely with the people who are responsible for the artwork?

Yes, there is a close relationship to almost all artists who are responsible for the artworks of our labels. One of my very best friends, Stefan Marx, has done all the covers for Smallville and Mule Electronic. He even released his own “record,” a gatefold cover including three gorgeous posters. Our graphic designers Christian Doering for Laid and mainly Till Sperrle for Dial Records are doing an extraordinary, wonderful job, as well as all the artists contributing their amazing pieces. After running Dial Records for more than 10 years, we just started running an art gallery in Berlin called Mathew.

Dial has also remained a by-word for quality in the world of deep techno. What has been your approach to the running of the label in terms of keeping it moving forward yet retaining its consistent high quality?

What holds the Dial family together is the never-ending openness and curiosity for any kind of music. The musicians appearing on our little eccentric label are into so many music styles, whether it is contemporary classic, Norwegian black metal, or sine wave drones. Listening to African mbira music or some old Folkways records at Phillip Sollmann’s place, for example, is part of our influences for making dance music too.

With vinyl becoming more and more rare and less of a tradable commodity, can you tell us the reasons behind setting up the Smallville store?

Exactly when selling vinyl turned out being only a business struggle, including dumping prices on the Internet and discussions about downloads, Julius Steinhoff, Stella Plazonja, Just von Ahlefeld, and myself hardly missed the main points of running a record store: having nice selected music, a great interior setup, lovely people meeting in a cozy atmosphere. Finances are not our thing, but still its working quite well with doing the Smallville parties and printing Stefan Marx t-shirts, et cetera.

And how about the label? What is the mission of the label and how does it differ from Dial and Laid?

Smallville is a straight, deep, club label with focus on friends being part of it. Laid is a house music label too, including contributions by some heroes we love.

Have you had any formal musical training or are you self taught?

I am 98% self taught, I would say. Or let’s say I don’t know much theoretically about production — it still is a very intuitive process.

How long were you experimenting with production before you started making things you were happy enough with to release?

My first try ever was also my first released track, “Shoes,” appearing on Dial-00.

Since you started releasing have there been any major changes to your studio setup that have changed the way you make music?

Oh yes, I started only playing some samples on an E-mu E64 and Kurzweil [K]2000 using Cubase. For quite a while I am using mostly Logic Audio but the really important part of my studio is some selection of vintage acoustic instruments, including a steel drum and an old Deagan vibraphone.

In terms of your album releases, how much planning goes into your albums? Are they thought out with material written around certain themes or ideas, or are they more just a collection of tracks?

There is never any kind of master plan. When I finish a single track or an album I never see an approach regarding the beginning or a straight process. But surely the feeling behind it creates a whole piece of art, not just a collection of tracks. The same goes with my first mix CD, Timeless, on Cocoon — it was quite a long process to collect the tracks and to let them grow together.

Is there non-electronic or non-dance related music that you listen to that influences your own productions?

All the time I am listening to non-electronic or non-dance related music all the time. Schubert, Scelsi, Linda Perhacs, Jeremy Jay, Ariel Pink, Robert Wyatt — a never-ending list of music — that’s my life!

Apart from the remix of the Lawrence track “Never As Always,” it’s been a few years since we’ve heard anything from your Sten alias. Do you have any Sten material you’re working on at the moment, or is your focus on Lawrence?

The focus is on Lawrence at the moment — quite influenced by Sten though.

Your latest release has come out on Pampa. Did you make the tracks specifically for the label, or did you already have them completed? Are you interested in working with the label again in the future?

“Kurama” was intended to be the very first track of my next album. But then at one of the very sweetest festivals ever — the Smallville Open Air in August 2011 — I played back to back with DJ Koze, and he fell in love with that number. He constantly tried to convince me to have it as a Pampa single. If there isn’t any new album by Lawrence this year, it’s because of Koze. But I love him; I would even give him my last pants.

Speaking of labels, what have been some of your favorite labels in the past while apart from your own ones?

Workshop has been a top label for between-the-chairs dance music, I love all the releases here. The Kann guys from Leipzig are my favorites when it comes to cozy house music. Live At Robert Johnson, Underground Quality, Pampa, Aesthetic Audio, It’s, Sistrum — a lot of great stuff is recently coming out. I cannot believe that I am digging electronic dance music for over 20 years now and it never gets boring.

And are there any newer artists you’ve discovered lately who you’re really enjoying?

Richard von der Schulenburg, aka RVDS, is not just my favorite DJ ever — he is an excellent producer playing the keys of deepness all night and day. The Juniper boys from Manchester are the shooting stars of today. Kyle Hall is one of the most exciting newsters — wicked stuff. And Smallpeople, Moomin, Christopher Rau — the Smallville’s magic releases are getting me all the time. And watch out Kassian Troyer!

What can we expect from you over the next year across the board, from Lawrence to Sten and with Dial, Laid, and Smallville?

A Lawrence remix for my friend Superpitcher should be coming out soon. As I am still not deep enough into production for my next album, I’ll be finishing a new Dial 12″ soon. The Smallpeople will be releasing their first vinyl album this year, and I just can’t wait for it — it’s gonna be wonderful! On Dial we will leave the dance floor for some new albums by Christian Naujoks, Phantom Ghost, and a new project by Stephan Abry and Pantha Du Prince called Ursprung. The year will be started by 12″s from Kassian Troyer on Dial and a various artists single on Laid featuring Palisade (aka Redshape), Moomin, and RNDM. What a happy new year!

[Dial]

Phillip Sollmann might be the most impeccably dressed guy in dance music, but his music isn’t nearly as flashy. Sure, the tailoring on his stately and reduced but ultimately floor-ready house and techno is impeccable (and, should you care to take the metaphor further, a gander at his Discogs page shows he only dresses his stuff in the finest labels), but it’s hardly flashy. I sense the man you know and love as Efdemin still subscribes to the belief that dance tracks ought to be judged by the work they do, not the attention they draw to their creator. It’s hardly surprising, then, that Chicago, Efdemin’s 2010 sophomore effort, found itself overshadowed on many a year-end list, perhaps most notably by a record on the same label that owed more than a thing or two to Efdemin’s signature soft touch. Luckily, a squadron of remixers have been coaxing Chicago out of its black turtlenecks and into some brasher duds ever since. And while this latest batch of remixes — featuring Deadbeat, Fred P, Rndm, and Efdemin himself at the controls — doesn’t exactly reimagine the material as a Tavi Gevinson ensemble, at least one of the inclusions may turn some heads.

First up on the A-side is Deadbeat, the dub practitioner whose recent Drawn And Quartered took black many orders of magnitude darker than Efdemin deigns to go. His remix of “Shoeshine,” though, doesn’t so much dip the original in ink as it muddies things up, throwing knots into the bass line and potholes into the percussion. Efdemin’s mulligan of “There Will Be Singing” makes for a relatively drastic realization: the deep chords remain intact, but layers of pitchy drums recast the original’s chilled-backness as a sweaty haze quickly burning off; “Flügelization” might have been a more appropriate tag than “Future Edit.” The flip features the cut most are likely here for, and Fred P’s “Nighttrain” reshape absolutely lives up to the expectations such a meeting of deep house minds drums up. Mr. Peterkin has already gotten a fair amount of mileage out of precisely this sort of zoned-in, circular sound, but until someone else takes house as far down the rabbit hole as he routinely does, I’m not sure it’ll get old. And though Fred has only shaved 40 seconds or so off the original, it makes for one of the briefer nine-minute intervals you’re likely to experience. Oliver Kargl, who shares Pigon duties with Efdemin and appears here under his Rndm guise, doesn’t do much more than streamline and shorten “There Will Be Singing.” But given the three refixes that precede it, dance music fans should find plenty to enjoy, if not (in Fred P’s case) positively slobber over.

[Dial]

If you follow dance music as obsessively as I do, you’re likely to feel like there’s something at stake with every 12″ and MP3 that flows your way. Between the eternally forward motion of the UK scene, the endless refining of the Berliners, the fervent keeping of the flame by those in Chicago and Detroit, and the producers worldwide caught in the spiral of any and all of the above, dance music can be surprisingly serious business. But when you’re Roman Flügel — a multi-decade veteran of house, techno, electro, and probably a dozen other microgenre tags whose influence drips off plenty of the producers currently caught in the fray — your seriousness about this stuff doesn’t really need restating. Indeed, as Dial started disseminating new Flügel material late last year in advance of a new full-length, it was clear this godfather wouldn’t be playing kick-drum politics in 2011. But on some of the better 12″s from the last 12 months, both for Dial and for Live at Robert Johnson, and now with the new LP, Flügel showed that he’s not disengaging either.

So what’s utterly current about Fatty Folders? Honestly, not all that much. As it turns out, that all-bleep mix Flügel did for our feature on Live At Robert Johnson a few months back was a pretty good indicator of what his latest full-length would offer: just as on the singles, there’s a subtle wistfulness here for the trends Flügel had a pretty big stake in that don’t get much attention anymore (microhouse, anyone?). But more than a paean to long-lost subgenres or a play at shifting the conversation back in a particular direction, Fatty Folders is a celebration of having an inimitable voice. That these tracks sound lovely mixed with whatever we’re supposed to be calling the newest of the new these days shows that originality — or at the very least owning your sound — can translate into freshness.

Though it lacks Flügel’s best tune from this era (“Brasil,” released in May, is about as sublimely unhinged a track as anyone’s making in house music right now), the CD version of Fatty Folders leads off with the close second, the truly gorgeous “How To Spread Lies.” It’s an auspicious start to a full-length, but Flügel doesn’t sound terribly concerned with topping it, or even with structuring the record to flow out from there. He covers quite a lot of ground, taking us from atmospheric minimal (“Lush Life Libido”) to luxurious synth-pop (“Deo”), from a nightclub going off (“Rude Awakening”) to a series of rainy afternoons (“Song With Blue” and “Softice”). But even at its most disjointed, Fatty Folders is curiously consistent: truly a genius of sound design, Flügel builds all of these tunes out of the same soft and surprisingly pliable materials. Where much of the album could have easily sounded dated, he imbues even his least trendy reference points with something like that new car smell.

But this album isn’t just a matter of a seasoned producer reselling us a decade or more of refurbished trends; that said, he’s not exactly cutting a new highway through the forest, either. I hear Fatty Folders as a good deal more personal than either of these options: it’s Roman Flügel making dance music as only he can. And if it’s quietly making an argument for anything in contemporary electronic music, it’s that we should all strive to just be ourselves.

[Dial]

One must expect a collaboration between Efdemin and RNDM to be a special kind of subtle, and that’s exactly what their Pigon project delivers. On their first release in three years — back on original and spiritual home Dial — they offer both explorations in patience-testing sound design and ultra-hushed deep house, a bewitching EP if you can strain your ears enough to hear it properly.

For their first release of 2011, Pigon have split down the middle between the dance floor and the bedroom, the A1 bravely given over to a beatless synth meander (“Dirty Float”) that blurs and smudges like one of Richard D. James’ early lucid dreams. It’s the kind of four-minute daydream that makes for perfect set opening fodder, particularly with its unexpected foray into noise in the last minute, a subtle jolt that keeps it from turning into new age fluff. The track it shares a side with is almost comically hushed, where the fake vinyl crackle is almost louder than drums that sound like they’re buried under miles of prohibitively muffling dust. Flipping over the record reveals another functional track and another beatless exercise; “Sunrise Industry” is more boisterous than its counterpart but still restrained, a sub-aquatic pulse that bristles in the vacuum-sealed void that defines most of Efdemin’s work, buoyed by dolorous bent strings that alight like burning filaments. Closer “Flip Over Pill” isn’t quite as engaging as “Dirty Float,” more of a sound design experiment than a proper tune, but it rounds off an intriguing and surprisingly daring EP off nicely. Sunrise Industry is home-listening house in the least pejorative way possible, classy, elegant, and intriguingly detailed, but still functional (at least half of it, anyway) to work in the sets of DJs with allegiances to the Dial sound.

[Dial]

A year or so after the release of Pawel’s self-titled debut LP, Dial are attempting to revive a few of its sleepy, mild-mannered tracks with a remix EP. The three contributors on The Remixes all manage to glean something from the originals, amping up core elements for club environments or adding some personal inflections. Not all of their efforts, however, are truly transformative.

Patrice Scott’s remix of “Crillon” is predictably drifting, giving Pawel’s overly tight elements a lot of room to breathe. Scott inserts a hulking, fathoms-deep bass line and swelling pads, sprinkling dubbed-out bits of the original in between. It’s a marked, if not totally resonant improvement, sounding a bit safe next to Scott’s solo catalog. With woodwind stabs and palpitating chimes, the LP’s lighthearted opening track “Panamerican” is a suitable choice for Osunlade, well-known for his interest in traditional African instrumentation and motifs. He leaves the aforementioned elements intact, brightening things with a swifter pace and cleaner sounds. The producer pushes the track farther into his own realm with the addition of talking drums and chanting, but like Scott’s effort, it’s ultimately a staid entry into his catalog.

John Roberts closes the EP with a remix of “Kramnik.” Unlike the preceding tracks, Roberts’ remix is not concerned with the dance floor, replacing the original’s surefooted 4/4 with emanations from an obscured, misfiring drum machine. Sub-bass plumes and a resigned, wistful piano melody are interwoven as the delicate synth pattern from the original loops on top, everything quivering fuzzily. It’s an elegant arrangement as is, but things become truly beautiful when a sweeping cello accompaniment is introduced after a pause. Roberts does a fantastic job of running with Pawel’s work, and his unconventional approach keeps the EP memorable.

[Dial]

Whoever wrote Roman Flügel’s Discogs entry was right when they referred to him as a “chameleon.” The man’s been behind everything from big-room club hits to whimsical, serpentine house experiments, and remains as difficult to pin down as anyone working in dance music today. Nevertheless, a Flügel release on the Dial label is a perplexing prospect because Dial doesn’t exactly do chameleonic. Nuanced as it is, the label’s roster prides itself on consistent aesthetics, generally conforming to a specific bell-laden, bluesy atmosphere. How to Spread Lies exists in a space between Flügel’s catalog and that of the label; unquestionably more lighthearted than your average Lawrence release, the EP also contains some shades of sentimentality to appease skeptical Dial fans.

The title track is a mood piece; rhythmically a fairly basic 4/4, it mainly relies upon a selection of melodic elements: with soft bass tones, somber piano and chiming bells, the orchestration is classic Dial. A portamento synth line suavely escalates from this foundation, but things don’t go much farther than rubbing against pleasure centers. The similarly jazzy “Sunny Side Up” follows, a track that’s too short to make an impact — imagine one of Move D’s 10-minute workouts truncated into under four. A laid-back minimal house structure unexpectedly breaks into jazzy keys, but they seem to start noodling almost immediately, and there’s frustratingly not enough time to follow Flügel’s intentions. “Pattern 16″ is as mechanical as its title suggests, a bleepy, tightly-wound minimal composition that may work as a tool but, though playful, provides little in the way of hooks. The EP concludes with the beatless “Pianopiano,” which has entirely the opposite effect. It’s a tender, carefully restrained slice of indietronica, and the only successfully succinct piece here. Overall, How to Spread Lies feels like it would have benefited from Flügel fleshing out its sketches beyond familiar Dial blueprints.

In an era of heightened competition among dance music producers for the chance to be heard, it’s often not enough to quickly coalesce around a signature sound. Standing out is the reward for producers who develop an aesthetic that does more than echo bygone movements or contemporary trends. John Roberts has achieved both of these substantial goals with remarkable swiftness and positioned himself among house music’s most forward thinking minds. The American-born, Berlin-based producer made first piqued our interest in 2008 with quirky, intricate rhythms and demure melodies for Dial and Feel Music. Since then his prowess has only grown more apparent as he’s offered confident and melodically rich songs on Laid and Dial that reach stunning levels on his forthcoming debut album, Glass Eights. We were pleased to discuss with Roberts how his album took shape, the environs that influence his music, and what the future holds for him. He was also kind enough to compile LWE’s 59th exclusive podcast, more than an hour of propulsive vintage and contemporary house.

LWE Podcast 59: John Roberts (68:49)

Tracklist:

01. KC Flight, “Summer Madness” (Sex For Days Mix) [RCA]
02. Robert Owens, “I’ll Be Your Friend” (Dead Zone Mix) [RCA]
03. T. Kolai, “9.11″ [Ibadan]
04. Pop Stars, “Pop Goes The House” (Dub Instrumental Edit) [BCM Records]
05. Kerri “Kaoz 6:23″ Chandler, “Where Is Love” [Madhouse Records Inc.]
06. Trey Lorenz, “Photograph of Mary” (Moody Dub) [Epic]
07. Virgo Four, “Take Me Higher” [Trax Records]
08. Sfire, “Sfire #2″ [white*]
09. Virgo Four, “Take Me Higher” [Trax Records]
10. Mark Imperial & Co., “She Ain’t Nuthin’ But A Hoe” (Dissin’ All Hoes 46th Street Dub) [House Nation Records]
11. Jody “Fingers” Finch, “Jack Your Big Booty” (BHQ No Acid Vocal)
[Let's Pet Puppies]
12. John Roberts, “Porcelain” [Dial]
13. Bluejeans Regime, “Untrue Affection” (Dark Club Mix) [Brainiak Records]
14. MJB, “Seven Days” (Shelter Instrumental) [Underground Access]
15. Blackman, “Beat That Bitch With A Bat”
[Rush Hour Recordings/Trax Records]
16. G Strings, “Motivation” [G Strings]
17. Risqué Rythum Team, “122 House” [Chicago Connection Records]
18. Decadance, “On And On (Fears Keep On)” (Dub Version) [Proto Records]
* denotes tracks which, as of the time of publishing, are unreleased

Were you involved with music while growing up? In what ways?

John Roberts: I started playing the violin when I was five years old at The Cleveland Institute of Music. I went a few days a week to the school for private lessons, theory classes, group lessons, and orchestra rehearsals. I did this until I was 15, I think. Somewhere in the middle of that I started playing the drums which I really liked and continued with that for about six years. I also took guitar lessons for awhile during that time, maybe two years, but I was never very good at it and only wanted to learn how to play shitty punk songs. I’m really thankful to my parents for giving me the opportunity to take all of those lessons though.

You’ve cited hip-hop as one of your favorite styles of music and as source of inspiration for your own music. How then did you end up making house music instead of hip-hop instrumentals? Does making hip-hop instrumentals hold any appeal to you?

My relationship with hip-hop always existed on a very commercial level because I was just listening to it on the radio and cassettes when I was younger. For some reason I equated people who had music on the radio with people who were on TV — I thought of both as some sort of impenetrable, impossible to reach zone. So when I got interested in electronic music and realized there were local scenes in the areas I was living I guess it seemed more within reach to me. I think also just working within a house framework was something that I seemed to have more personal success at. I definitely tried to make instrumental hip-hop early on but what I was producing was sort of boring to me. Now the idea of producing some sort of commercial R’n'B or rap seems sort of appealing but I don’t know if I would ever actually end up doing it.

I know you enjoy making music in bed, but I can’t imagine you’ve got all your instruments at your disposal. What is your writing process like? Does producing in bed ever color the way you think about making dance music?

I usually start by going to used record stores and choosing things to sample. Sometimes I’m looking more for drum sounds and other times I look for something melodic to build a track around. This is one of my favorite parts of the process by far. After that I usually go to my studio and chop up the samples I want to use and record myself playing some things on synthesizers and drum machines. Then I do the actual sequencing of the tracks in bed at night or early in the morning when I wake up. I usually just do this on headphones, or if I’m completely depressed I just bring all of my equipment on the mattress with me and put monitors at the foot of the bed. I generally try to stay away from that, though. I think working in bed completely shapes that way I make music because when I’m there I feel the least vulnerable.

What has the change in environment from NY to Berlin been like for you? I imagine it can be tough to concentrate on work when there’s so much else to do.

I actually had a tougher time staying motivated due to the general attitude here originally. In New York I had the feeling that everyone was hustling all of the time, so I felt really motivated to work as hard as possible. In Berlin everyone is so relaxed that it can be easy to slip into that mindset too (which isn’t always necessarily a bad thing, but I prefer to stay busy). But I think it was good for me, ultimately. It taught me to be very self-motivated, which I never really was in the past.

Who are the people who serve as your musical sounding boards?

I really only ever play things that are unfinished for two of my close friends, Jeffrey and Eric. I’ve known both of them for years so they know what I’m trying to do, and I know how to properly gauge their responses. Then when things get to a more finished state I send them to Pete [Lawrence] and David [Carsten Jost] to get their opinions.

Editing is one of the most crucial and overlooked steps in the production. Who do you turn to for editing advice?

I try to rely pretty heavily on myself when it comes to editing. I think that ultimately only you really know why you chose to do something, and as long as you do everything for a reason you shouldn’t be too worried.

You’ve spoken before about your wish to convey imagery you have in mind when writing a song. Your music is in fact very conducive to mental imagery, but I wonder how important it is to you that listeners picture what you do? Do your titles disclose anything in that regard?

I’m really curious about what mental imagery is created for people who are listening, but I don’t think it’s important that what they see is similar to what I personally imagine. The titles do sometimes disclose a visual association that I have with a track, but sometimes they are just sort of arbitrary signifiers.

How much of Glass Eights is live recorded? Had you spent much time recording in this style before the album?

In the end, all of the tracks on the final version of the album use some instruments that were recorded live. I’ve been trying to do this type of recording since the first records that I released, but this was the first time that live instrumentation played a more significant role. In the past I was mainly recording synthesizers or my own voice, so this was the first time that “real” instruments were recorded and used.

You’ve said before you’ve used a lot of samples. What role did sampling play in shaping the album? Did you end up sampling more of your own performances?

Collecting samples is one of the most important parts of the process for me because I really use these as a foundation to build the rest of the track on. For the album I probably used about 60% collected samples and 40% live instrumentation. But in the end, I work with everything as if it were a sample because of the sequencer I’m using. Everything sort of has to be rendered as a usable part and placed in a sample bank, then triggered from that bank during the final sequencing of the track. So for each track I have around 50-100 different samples I’m working with.

Throughout the album there are overt uses of vinyl as an aesthetic — crackles, noticeably manipulated vinyl samples. Why is it important to you that the medium becomes part of the listening experience?

I choose to use these sounds for the same reason that I sample other types of music or audio — because there are feelings associated with them I want to be able to relive in some way. What I mean to say is, if I use a rimshot from a 707, I’m using it because I have some sort of positive mental association with it (it’s used often in a lot of my favorite Chicago house tracks) and this is exactly the same with sound elements from vinyl, or from physically manipulating records. I don’t take the best care of my records and a lot of them are covered in dust, but I prefer to listen to them this way. I can also be really cheap, so if I have the choice between a scratched up copy of a record for $1 and a pristine copy for $15, I will usually choose the cheaper copy, especially if i’m just buying it to sample a one second segment. Although, I have definitely also paid $25 dollars for a record with a five second rimshot that I had to have, so I guess it evens out.

Did you recruit other musicians to play on Glass Eights?

I did, yes. My friend Sam plays piano on a track, I co-wrote the ninth track “Went” with another friend Carson Chan, and my mother also plays piano on a track! Working with Carson was probably the most interesting because it was kind of the first time I’ve worked with anyone where the situation didn’t feel completely strained or forced. I gave him something I had been working on, sort of a piano composition that was made with just samples. Then the next week I went to his house and he had written some really amazing parts to go along with it. The best part was that he had actually annotated it on sheet music! I guess it was just nice to see that two people who work in completely different ways could make something together. We also had his piano tuned to match exactly the pitch of the sample that I used, which I thought was sort of interesting. That was his idea, I never would have thought of something that logical as a solution.

I’ve always thought of “Pruned” as one of your most advanced tracks. Is that why you chose it to be on the album of otherwise all new material?

I chose it for the album because it sort of provided me with a jumping off point in regards to the aesthetic I wanted for the rest of the tracks. I also wanted all of them to be slightly difficult to place time wise, and I felt this one had accomplished that already, for me at least. I didn’t really want someone listening to the album to be able to say for certain that it was made this year.

In your earlier work I found that your melodic elements were often in the service of your rhythms, but as you’ve progressed, and especially on the album, it feels the other way around: all of your rhythmic complexity is there but it’s the framework for complex melodies. Was that a planned transition or perhaps the mark of your growing experience?

I didn’t purposely set out to make something that was more musical than my last releases, but I really wanted to be sure that I made something that was personal. I think it’s much easier to create something that is a good copy of what someone else is already doing, but I didn’t want to make something unmemorable. So I grew up playing the drums and violin, listening to my parents play the piano, etc. so these are things I tried to borrow elements from.

What has the experience of trying to bring your music — especially elements from Glass Eights — into a live setting been like?

This can definitely be interesting! You want to find the best way to convey the intricacies of the music that you’ve made in a live setting, but at the same time you are dealing with tracks that took a long time to construct. So playing “live” you are sort of asked to reconstruct them piece by piece on stage or in a club, but this can be tough. So you are left trying to figure out what you can do with two hands that is interesting for the audience but also maintains the integrity of the original tracks. I am having a really great time doing it though and I’d like to think that with each show I’m getting better and better at making it more engaging.

What is next for John Roberts?

My first full-length album comes out on October 11th, so I’m really looking forward to that. Since finishing it I’ve just been working on some remixes for friends. I just finished one for Lauren Flax’s new project CREEP, which features Romy Madley Croft from The xx, and also one for Motor City Drum Ensemble that I’m really excited about! Right now I’m working on remixes for Pawel, Superpitcher for his new album, and one for Darkstar on Hyperdub. Besides that, I’ll be traveling around playing shows in Europe and the U.S. and hopefully trying to pay off my credit card.

[Dial]

Like the Missoni their roster modeled in a recent photoshoot for German magazine De:bug, the Dial label is a family affair, with a long history and an instantly recognizable aesthetic. Despite both “brands” diversification into (among other things) hotels and indie lounge-pop respectively, they are still most widely recognized by their original product: knitwear and a very particular brand of romantic, wistful Teutonic house. But I have to end the rather tenuous association and comparison brought about by Dial co-founder David Lieske’s interest in high-end fashion, not least because a Missoni cardigan will set you back around 500 euros while a Dial twelve inch costs closer to nine euros. Still, it remains true that the Italian company fits the Dial pin-ups well: Both exude a dandified, European sophistication and continue to experiment, secure in their place in the market, all the while still serving their loyal customer base with pieces cut to the template of their original classics.

2010 is very much a mix of these two concerns. On the one hand, we have a couple of new players, in the form of Isolée and Kassian Troyer. And Dial’s somewhat eccentric forays into indie-pop are also present and correct, with Tocotronic main man Dirk von Lowtzow’s side-project Phantom/Ghost’s louche “My Secret Europe,” and the previously released “He Said” by Dominique. But Dial’s core aesthetic of chic but understated deep house remains present, with contributions from label founders Lawrence, Pantha du Prince and Efdemin that stay true, occasionally too much so, to the label’s sound when it was first birthed in Hamburg 10 years ago.

Dial is a far more international affair these days, with only Lawrence (aka Peter Kersten) of the founding quartet still residing in Hamburg. Pantha du Prince (Henrik Weber) spends the majority of his time in Paris, Philip Sollman (Efdemin) in Berlin, and Lieske (also known as Carsten Jost) having spent the last few years in Tel Aviv. They’ve also brought in more international talent, in the form of the prodigious American John Roberts. Roberts is an example of Dial’s diversification; his drums for example owe more to Dance Mania than the subtle plod of Lawrence’s, but his work still retains the melancholy of his mentors. “Lines,” his contribution to 2010 is outstanding, matching that trademark thump to a smacked-out concert pianist. Another relative newcomer, Christian Naujoks, puts aside the effete stylings of his self-titled debut and instead pulls out a bumping, bass-driven Detroit house cut. Efdemin’s occasional production partner Rndm’s effort is a chunky slice of newer deep house, and their collaboration as Pigon splits the difference between the two producer’s work as an abstract techno gem that wouldn’t look out of place on Ifach, or more recently, Livejam.

Of the aforementioned close friends who formed the label, Carsten Jost’s “Days Gone By” makes by far the finest contribution. A hymn of wistfulness to (perhaps) those early days hanging out at the Golden Pudel club, its perfect simpleness and directness contrasts with the other’s more complex, and duller, efforts. Lawrence has yet to regain the form of his mid-2000s heyday, but “Treacle Mine” is nevertheless a vast improvement on last year’s lackluster Until Then, Goodbye. You can almost hear Kersten straining to try something different from the sound of those years; and while it is a brave effort for an artist who seems to be caught between not wishing to be pigeon-holed and retaining, in Theo Parrish’s phrase, a sound signature, it can occasionally sound a little forced. Efdemin’s “Time” bodes well for his forthcoming full-length Chicago, a confusing but beguiling melange of chopped and screwed voices and burbling percussion, while Pantha du Prince’s “Fountain Drive” sounds like an off-cut from his Rough Trade album Black Noise, with all that that might imply.

2010 is a fine addition to the Dial collection, and as Spring/Summer pieces go, it’s certainly cheaper to pick up than Missoni’s. It explores some interesting tangents without a wholesale reinvention, and like the venerable Milanese knitwear offers warmth and familiarity while retaining a distinctive look. Dial will stay fashionable for a few more seasons at least.

[Dial]

Among the trio of friends — Lawrence, Carsten Jost, Pawel — who founded the Dial label in Hamburg 10 years ago, the latter, Paul Kominek has probably kept the lowest profile, despite being the more senior in terms of release history. Recording as Turner for the defunct Ladomat 2000 since 1998, he received remixes from the likes of Robert Hood, Isolée and Freaks, as well as recording four albums worth of curate’s eggs: Lukin Orgel, Disappearing Brother, A Pack Of Lies and 2005′s Slow Abuse. While Turner albums are characterised by often effete vocals and a home-listening aesthetic, Pawel is the first long-player recorded by Kominek for his dance floor alias.

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Opening track “Panamerican” sets the tone of the album in both title and content. The press blurb cites Carl Craig’s Planet E label and Omar-S as major inspirations for Pawel, but in fact it’s two other less contemporary transatlantic minimalists that are the most apparent influences. Steve Reich and Philip Glass are commonly referenced in the world of techno, but rarely so explicitly, as “Panamerican” shares the bright tones and phase-shifting of both composers. “Alvin” (a tribute to Lucier?) mines similar territory, and it’s somewhat of a relief when a very Transmat sounding synth comes in at three minutes. It’s no secret that the Dial roster are big fans of modern composition (Efdemin studied it formally in Vienna), but it’s hard to shake the feeling throughout this album that his colleagues have done this before, and better.

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Still, there are moments when Pawel certainly rivals his more lauded labelmates, most particularly on “Dawn,” a track made to be played at silly o’clock in Panoramabar when the shutters are opened. Previous single (for Kominek’s own Orphanear label) “Coke” is thumping, ecstatic Detroit techno, as polished as anything on recent Planet E outings. Similarly, the slightly awkward electro beat beyond the wallflower synths of “Muscles” shakes things up among more homogenous fare. Too often though, Pawel sounds, ahem, Dialed in. Glockenspiels, marimbas and twinkling synths are all present and correct, while lush pads and a thudding beat are ever attendant. Which would all be fine if there were memorable arrangements or melodies, but too often tracks such as “Mate” or “Laredo” slip into anonymity. It’s a solid enough album, but given the way that the Laid sub-label seems to have reinvigorated the Hamburg label in the last year, Pawel can’t help but feel like a step back.

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[Dial]

Though he sports one of the less memorable names in house music (as compared to, say, “Black Jazz Consortium,” “Mr. Fingers,” or “Sascha Dive”), John Roberts possesses one of the most distinctive and individualistic sounds of the moment. His tracks are wonders of acoustic sound and digital grid structure, of quirky detail and suffusive mood, of widescreen scope and hand-lettered modesty. All of which has made him the torch-bearer of the day for Hamburg’s Dial Records. “Mirror” finds that torch in good hands indeed.

The dusty organ stabs and the outer-space synth melodies would situate the EP’s opening, title track squarely in deep house territory, were it not for the clacking drum sticks (à la ESG) and whimsical slide-whistle accents (à la bad luck on Wheel of Fortune). Two parts sultry funk to one part abstract pop assemblage, the incongruous flavors don’t so much blend as complement each other to memorable effect. Similarly, the brooding piano on “Pruned” plunges into epic retrospection through an interplay of evocative samples that feel like cinematic references, from feudal drums to whistling cowboys. Solemn soundtrack music with a determined beat, it isn’t enough to say that “Pruned” is unlike any other house track I’ve heard this year — this is only incidentally dance music.

Sandwiched between those two exemplary tracks, “Maroon” is my preferred pull from the EP. Here, heart-quickening shifts between reserved, muffled kick drums and crisp, enlivened snares inject expectant tension into a drowsy network of samples — the twilit hum of crickets, some radioed vocals, and an arcade bouncing effect (think Pong on a stalled-out Atari). But it’s the weary keyboard melody, which touches on the the Boards of Canada play book, that gives 2009 one of its most touched, tender songs of any genre. Roberts’ MySpace page cites “slow motion dancing” as his lone influence. Certainly that image pairs well with the track’s mesmerizing slow-burn (and practically begs for a YouTube fan video). But it’s also a bit disingenuous, dismissing a surrender to sentiment that, on “Maroon” at least, means the difference between a well-crafted mood and actual poignancy.