Not only is Carl Craig one of the most prolific electronic producers out of the 313 postcode, but with a discography rooted in techno that has stretched through free-form electronica, modern classical, jazz and beyond, he is proving to be one of the great musical artists of his generation. His Planet E label has charted the majority of his career and pseudonyms, from some of his earliest releases as 69, through to seminal albums like More Songs About Food And Revolutionary Art. It has also played home to exceptional releases from Moodymann, Kenny Larkin, Kevin Saunderson and Recloose. While other producers and labels have come and gone, Carl Craig and Planet E have forged a path ever forward, pushing themselves and their art to uncharted territory. Carl was kind enough to talk to LWE about what makes his twenty year old record label tick, and offered valuable insight into some of his other projects outside of Planet E. He also drafted Monty Luke to compile Talking Shopcast 09, an exclusive mix of Planet E works from the past present and future.

You launched Planet E very early in your career. You were already finding success on labels like Fragile and Transmat. What was the reason for starting your own label?

Carl Craig: Well I already had Retroactive Records before Planet E, but I had a partner in the label and it got to the point where I just didn’t want anyone else having any say in my music. Some artists like to be affirmed by other people’s thoughts about what their music is supposed to be, but I already had a clear idea about what I wanted my music to be so I didn’t need anyone else telling me what needed to be changed or altered because I already felt strong about what I was doing, so I started Planet E.

What was your vision when you started Planet E and has that changed at all over the years?

The vision was for it to be this futuristic music that was kind of in line with the current trend at the time of electronic music coming out, but also a little bit in front of it. Also free-form, too, so it wouldn’t be like — since 808 State had put out Pacific State, that every record we made would sound like Pacific State, you know? Like with 69, it wasn’t necessarily in line with anything directly, it was just part of the overall movement that was happening, but it went on to some other shit. It took influences from what Shut Up and Dance were doing, it took influences from what I was already doing and had been influenced by and threw it all into a melting pot. That was how things like “Bug In The Bassbin” happened and Piece’s “Free Your Mind” and “Free Your Soul” happened. All these kinds of different music that were all pushing forward in a very futuristic direction and not being contained by any walls or this concept of what electronic music or techno should be. It was kind of like rolling the dice in terms of what we’d release next. Whereas you had like Strictly Rhythm saying like, ‘Okay we need a hit for our next record, we’ll release a Masters At Work, or Roger Sanchez, we gotta have a Roger Sanchez record,’ We were more like, ‘Okay Kirk Degiorgio is my boy, he’s got this track from his label, let’s do it.’ It was a friendly thing and because we liked what people did and because it was forward and interesting.

After twenty years of running the same label how do you keep something as prone to trends like an electronic record label fresh?

I think now it’s more important for us to pay attention to our clientèle, because before I was kind of this rogue musician just doing whatever I wanted to do. And listening to our clientèle now, they’re screaming for the rogue musician. [laughs] You know, I still put out music that I like and that I find interesting but because record sales are so low we’re all fighting for the same shit. It’s not like if Aphex Twin releases a record and 15,000-20,000 people buy it, and now you get the new version of Aphex Twin come out and he’s relegated to 500 copies. You know it’s not the same times any more, so you have a lot of labels doing whatever it takes to sell their product. But you know if you’re selling like 500 copies in comparison to being able to sell like, 20,000, then fuck what everybody else is doing because 500 copies ain’t shit, so let’s just put out music that’s fresh and interesting and of the next variety. So May was our Detroit music month and we released Detroit records; you had the Kenny Larkin release; you had the Reference release, you had Urban Tribe and The Oliverwho Factory. And that was a statement that needed to be made, that we make music and we support music from Detroit.

You’ve always looked much further afield than just Detroit or America too.

Yeah, I mean, it’s basically just the stuff that I like. There’s only been the odd, very rare occasion that we’ve released something that I haven’t really been supportive of. Everything comes by me and needs to be something that pleases my ears and falls in line with the label, or something that other people just need to hear.

Artists can build an image of themselves for the public and likewise the public build one up of the artist over time. How did you want to be seen when you were starting out?

I didn’t really have the concept of what people were supposed to imagine. It’s not like I wanted people to see me as the Warhol of techno music or anything. It wasn’t until later anyway that I discovered Miles Davis that some aspects of my artistic character came out a bit more in relation to that. The first step was just to make this music.

One of the things that Planet E has done recently is start distributing some other Detroit labels. What was the reason behind this?

It was more a support thing. DJ Deep and I were talking and this was about the time I had finished mixing the Etienne Jaumet record and he had this Kerri Chandler record and he was telling me that the pre-sales were really low. I just thought, this is Kerri Chandler, that’s kind of bullshit. Why aren’t more copies being pressed, people love this guy. So I just told him, look man I think this should be doing more than it’s doing, if you want to try it on our side I can give you a hand. So he came over with the Ben Klock record and that’s where we started. We had started doing a couple of things with KMS a few years ago with the Elevate History remixes too.

What have been some of the moments of the label that have creatively been some of your moments of big growth and change?

I guess when I started putting out albums from other artists was a big growth, so when we released the Moodymann album and when we released the Recloose album, that was a big growth for us. We had a distribution deal at the time with Caroline and that was a big deal, for me at least. After we did that we found we didn’t really have the infrastructure to be able to handle big releases like that or have a distribution deal like that, so we had to refine what we were doing and pull back. Now we’re kind of pushing forward again. So it’s one of those things of doing what you have to, to stay in business. We grow but then we have to refine, or restrict, and then grow again. But I think for us by putting out other artists, that has been our biggest growth factor. I don’t mean to say this in any way that could be construed as anything else but I made the label based on my own music so it can survive just by me releasing my music, but it starts moving into other dimensions by releasing other artists.

It must be hard balancing something you are so passionate about with something that is a commercial enterprise.

Yeah, but I mean for me it’s very important to release something I believe in whether I think it will sell well or not, because for me it is about the importance of the music. Because you have a lot of labels that just put out music that is the same old same old and they kind of go out of business or fade into the background. You have labels that were dominant for a year because their sound was dominant and the next year they’re gone. With Planet E, my influences have been so many. When I was a kid I would look at labels like Warner Brothers who had Funkadelic, B52’s and their offshoots like Sire who had Talking Heads and all this kind of music that was different and was all hot. Casablanca, they had Donna Summer and Parliament, even KISS was on that label, not that I was into them. But having such a broad range of music, that’s how I wanted Planet E to be seen as well, the same way I saw these labels as a ten year old kid.

You were involved in the DEMF again this year after a very lengthy break. How was that for you?

It was good. I mean I was in there as a consultant really. I couldn’t walk in to the situation and say, ‘Hey, I’m the creative director this is how it’s going to be.’ These guys have been doing the festival for the past four years so I’m not going to walk in and push them around. I just gave them suggestions where they asked for them. I wasn’t going to be this big ego walking in after ten years and thinking I was going to run things, it just wasn’t going to happen.

But it was an enjoyable experience for you?

Yeah it was cool, I mean I got to do my thing and focus on the label without having to worry about any small, petty bullshit that can be involved in doing these things. When I did it ten years ago there were just all these things you had to deal with, so many people you have to make happy, whether it’s the artists talking shit in the background or the audience not happy with the way things are done, or maybe the contracts saying that you need a hundred red M&M’s in a clear glass fish bowl or something like that. So all that stuff I didn’t have to deal with, which was great. I mean, I’m a fucking artist as well so I don’t want to have to deal with all of that making sure someone’s back is being rubbed, I want my back rubbed. [laughs]

At the festival you presented a seminar in conjunction with the Detroit School of Arts and the Carl Craig Foundation. Tell us about the foundation.

You know everything I do now, I’ve come to realize I relate back to my teen years or as a pre-teen and how I heard music and how I was influenced, all the things I loved about being a teenager. It’s all hindsight, and I realize I can’t go back and give myself advice about how to talk to some girl, but I can help out teenagers now with some of the music stuff. Back in the second year of the festival I went back to my old high school with the help of this DJ called Magic Mike who was on the public school radio station. So I went back there with Derrick May and Kevin Saunderson because I wanted to make sure that the kids who went to the school that I went to understood that when you have a dream and you follow it you can end up being wherever you want to be. And I was in this situation at the time where I was very happy with what I’d done with being able to travel the world and do my music. And for them to also see Derrick and Kevin and see what we’d been able to do and the different sides of the music industry, it was very new for them.

I mean in 1978 when my parents drove me across the country and I took this little orange skateboard with me, I never for a moment thought that that skateboard could be a way to end up living in mansions and driving Lamborghini’s. It would never have dawned on me, but if someone had come to my school and told me all this, it would have been a real eye-opener for me. So that’s what I want to do with the foundation, to show people that you can really make a great living out of doing something that you love doing. It’s also to show these kids that there is a lot of music outside of what they hear on the radio, because the radio is still really bad, so it’s important to let the kids know what else is out there. So with the foundation, I’m a commissioner on the Detroit Entertainment Commission along with Dr. Cotton from the Detroit School of Arts and one of the other things that I wanted to do with the foundation was to educate as well as fund raise and tie-in with other foundations. There was a viewing from “Suite For Ma Dukes,” which was the 60 piece orchestra movement that was done of all of J. Dilla’s music. So I brought Dilla’s mother in to speak to the commission about Dilla’s music, so that they would understand who he was.

We also decided to do something at the DSA where we could show the kids the professional aspects of the industry. They already have good equipment there and good teachers, but what we did was bring established engineers and studio owners and get them to talk with the kids about how they use Pro-Tools and things like that. So Derrick and Kevin came in and the Paxahau guys came, Mr. Porter who produces for Dr. Dre and Eminem and on the last day Francisco Tristano. It was really good for the kids, but equally for the people who came in, as a lot of them didn’t know about the Detroit School of Arts either.

Download: Talking Shopcast 09: Monty Luke (60:49)

Tracklist:

01. Paul Woolford, “Achilles” (promo edit) [Planet E*]
02. Franck Roger, “Re-Scape” [Guilty Pleasures]
03. Agent X, “Driftin” [Planet E]
04. Kirk Degiorgio, “Vesuvio” [Planet E]
05. Quadrant, Hyperprism (edit) [Planet E]
06. Psycatron ft. Blake Baxter, “She Is Music” (promo edit) [Guilty Pleasures*]
07. Newworldaquarium, “Trespassers” [Planet E]
08. Reference, “Best Night in Detroit” [Planet E]
09. The Oliverwho Factory, “Nightlights” (C2 Bonus Beats) [Planet E]
10. Monty Luke, “Art, Love & War” (C2 Version) [Planet E]
11. Paperclip People, “Slam Dance” [Planet E]
12. Paperclip People, “Clear and Present” [Planet E]
* denotes tracks which, as of the time of publishing, are unreleased

If the press put as much store in quality as we do in stylistic consistency, Remy Verheijen might well rank among dance music’s upper echelons. But the Dutch producer, who has produced in a wide breadth of styles as Beserk, The Noodle Project, Skindeep, Butterfly Kiss, and most famously as Dexter, is only now garnering the reception an artist with his talents deserves. Those who have been clued in have found much to enjoy in his catalog which stretches back to the mid-90’s: Rich in melodic hues and scored with texture, his tracks for Clone, Rush Hour Recordings, and his own Klakson imprint, as well as remixes for everyone from Ellen Allien and The Hacker to Fischerspooner and Alton Miller, are strong because they’re all in the service of masterful songwriting. Lucky for us, it seems Verheijen is prepared to keep delivering the goods now that more have caught on. We chatted with the man known as Dexter in anticipation of his September 3rd appearance at Public Assembly for The Bunker in New York City.

Since you started making music you’ve been present in a variety of sub-genres, from electro and trance to house and techno. Would you say you’re adaptive to the musical climate you’re in or do you produce what interests you at the time?

Remy Verheijen: Not trance. I just produce what interests me at the time. I have a very wide taste in music and when I listen to a certain kind of music I think, I’m gonna make something like that! Or it’s a new piece of equipment that sets me in a mood to produce a kind of genre. I was in Berlin for gigging and some studiowork for a few weeks ago, that made me want to do house/techno stuff. And after that I was playing at an electro party in London and now I’ve just finished four new electro tracks. I just making everything I like if it’s in my reach.

It seems the Netherlands really grabbed on to electro back in the day and still holds tightly to the sound. Why do you think electro resonates so much with Dutch producers?

I don’t know really. I know that electro was quite big already in the past. In the bigger cities you had these radio pirates who played electro and the early hip hop. I remember that a lot of us were taping all these shows. We called it “space” and we knew about it because of older friends who were really serious in breakdancing and even became Dutch champions. So we were kids, around 12 years old, all listening to Kraftwerk and Egyptian Lover, et al. I know from guys from The Hague that there was a really big Italo scene and I think maybe that had something to do with it as well.

How does electro music inform your productions now?

Well at the moment I’m in a kind of “electro modus” if you mean that by inform? But it’s not the purist electro that’s out there. I’ve heard some 808 electroish kind of stuff with dubstep from the UK that really inspired me. In the UK they are mashing up everything at the moment and that’s something I really like.

Listening to some of your more recent productions, especially your remix of Midland’s “Play The Game,” it seems like you strive to make your productions accessible and catchy in a way some might deem “poppy” (not that it’s a bad thing at all). I’m curious what influence historical pop music has played on your music making sensibilities? Do you feel more comfortable making accessible music now than you did in the past?

I want to do both. I want to do more accessible music but also more experimental/underground stuff. Historical pop music influenced me more than I realized. Well, maybe more funk and hip hop than pop music. At the moment I’m working together with two guys who are kind of musical geniuses and that’s gonna be more “poppy.” They play a variety of instruments and we have this incredibly talented singer who is actually my neighbor in the building were my studio is. So this is gonna be more accessible and poppy.

Although you’ve made a bunch of solo records you’ve also done a lot of remixes for a very varied bunch of artists. What do you enjoy most about remixing? What least? How important is it for you to retain the original elements or their essence?

With remixing I like that you get to do to very different kinds of music and reach people who normally wouldn’t buy your music. The Midland remix was a dubstep track that I turned into a rave kind of track, it’s stuff like that I like to do. I mostly like to remix vocal tracks. With instrumental tracks it’s important to use original elements but with vocal tracks I almost never do. For me it’s important to really turn it into a new track and not like a lot of remixes with some snippets of the original vocal with delay and most of the time isn’t even in tune. What I enjoy the least is when people try to get me in a certain direction. Remixing for me works the best if you leave me completely free.

Many producers take comfort in the fact that even if their tracks are NOT very complicated musically, they are effective at keeping dance floors moving. When you’re making your tracks, are you thinking about what would be effective on a dance floor, what you’re trying to achieve musically, or some combination of those? What factors are most important in how your music takes shape?

A bit of both I think, but I think more effective on a dance floor. At the moment I’m finishing a track that’s mainly a vocal sample with a beat and bass line. Other tracks I’ve put in more chords and melodic progressions and stuff, but it’s not necessary for me. It just depends what works.

What inspired you to start Klakson?

To put out music that we couldn’t buy at that moment, but also just the love for music and releasing it.

How did you meet Steffi? I noticed you were a co-producer on her excellent track, “Kill Me.” What is it like working with her in the studio? Do you have plans to work on more music with her?

We meet through Steven the Peven, a mutual friend of ours, who was also part of Klakson. We were on the same level right away and been friends ’till this day. Working with her goes really smooth, I must say. She’s really becoming a very good producer and really gets the sound that she wants to make and that can be a struggle. We just did a track together for her album on Ostgut Ton and we are going to work on a release of us together, I think next month.

How did her Klakson sub-label, Dolly, come about?

Dolly is for more house-y/techno/deep stuff, I think, and Klakson for funk electro and stuff.

I know you started out as a DJ but these days you only do live sets. Why have you opted to stop DJing in favor of live PAs?

I just get a bigger kick out of playing my own music. And everybody is a DJ these days. I just think it’s a bigger challenge to keep people dancing and having a good time with my own music.

So far you’ve only released singles; do you have any desire to release an album?

YES! 2011.

What is coming up from you and from Klakson?

The album and more releases than I did the past few years. More collaborations. More genres. More gigs. I’ve left Klakson to focus more on my music, it’s in good hands with Steffi.

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.

Welcome to the latest edition of our series of interviews and mixes affectionately titled Talking Shopcasts. The majority of media and fan attention gets showered on the artists who create the music we love to listen to/DJ with/dance to, and for good reasons. But without the hard work, keen ears, and business savvy of label staff we might never hear these tunes at all. For our eighth edition we visited Bridgeport, Connecticut, home of Jus-Ed and his Underground Quality label. While Chicago and Detroit may be the first cities that come to mind at the mention of American dance music, New York has a long and storied history in house music and the Underground Quality crew are undoubtedly the faces of today’s New York house scene. The label introduced many of us not only to New York faces but also a couple of Russian newcomers in Anton Zap and Nina Kraviz, who have become some of the most hotly tipped producers out there. Our chat with Ed delved into both the troubles and the benefits of running a label, especially in the U.S., and while wisdom was being shared we sampled some of Ed’s extraordinary ribs. We also provide an exclusive mix by Anthony Parasole, Deconstruct Label boss and one of New York’s finest DJs whose Club House party next Friday will feature both himself and Ed in the mix.

How did Underground Quality start?

Edward McKeithen: The name was established by Vic Money. There’s a cat in Detroit who did the logo, DJ Tresor I think, but the building of Underground Quality was Vic and me. Vic was head of a big marketing company, doing both high-end, elegant marketing as well as using street tactics. He employed underground cats to DJ at events and stuff; he cared a lot about the scene. He was also for quite a few years a 98.7 Kiss master mixer. So I knew Vic by name and from the radio. He was doing a party at some bar, a 98.7 Kiss party playing R&B and house, so I was like “I gotta go down there, I wanna meet Vic Money!” I went and we hit it off, he gave me a CD and his contact info because he was going down to the Winter Music Conference. This was 2001. So we met up in Miami and hung out, and he was on all the guestlists and we got to know each other. He said he was doing a residency at the Ludlow Bar on the Lower East Side and he wanted me to come down. I told him I had retired, that I hadn’t DJed since ‘85, that I didn’t even have any records, but he said, ‘Just bring what you have.’ So I showed up with like seven records I got from the Winter Music Conference, and he asked where all my records were. I told him that this was all I had, so he said, ‘Just keep playing them then!’ Two or three records in it was clear I could DJ, so he asked me to get down on the residency.

Vic and I felt that the scene needed a different look and a different atmosphere for parties. Even today you can go to six different parties in New York and hear the same records, so what makes any of those parties special? The powers that be weren’t interested in opening up the scene for any new talent, so we just decided to do something about it. UQ was just the mark of a good party.

And when did you decide to start releasing records?

2004 is when we turned it into a label. Vic retired around 2002, got rid of all of his records, and that worried me because Vic was like the passageway. I was literally just Ed. I wasn’t done though, so I took over and then released my first CD album in 2004. My home base was at Halcyon, the old one on Smith St., and I did a Underground Quality radio show for like two years. The last event I did there I had eleven DJs play in three hours. They came from as far as Boston and DC. I would try to name them but would probably get in trouble for forgetting someone’s name, so you guys know who you are. [laughs]

I sold about 10 copies of my first album that night, and the original pressing was only 100. I saw it on eBay recently, someone was selling it for like $60 or something. I’m not even dead yet! I didn’t think it would get to this point.

How do you decide which records get released on the label? You release from both local artists as well as overseas ones such as Nina Kraviz, Anton Zap and Smallpeople.

First I establish a report with potential artists. I’m not an email person, I want to at least talk to people on the phone. Everybody that I’ve dealt with has been struggling or shitted on by the industry, and they all have an extensive history with music. Nina’s young but she’s been around music her whole life, and Anton was in a band and is sort of the originator of deep house in Russia. They’re driven, and these are qualities that I identify with, because I’m there with them. And when you hear the music…

So it’s very intimate. I was talking to Dan Bell about how labels used to be run, and they used to pigeonhole artists. There were also the understudies who were told, ‘Do this and you’ll get released,’ but never were. They were hypemen, assistants, but always waiting. That was always so irritating to me. You give a DJ a track, they say they like it and that they’ll play it, and you show up and wait all night but they never play it. It takes a lot of courage for someone to make a track and give it to you. We’re sensitive about our material, because you don’t want to put shit out. You want your music to sound like you and be quality.

One of the stipulations of releasing on Underground Quality is that you’re going to establish your own label. There was like a big forest fire that just burned down all of the house music in the US. How do you help? Well, when there’s a forest fire, you need people to go out there and plant new trees. This is my strategy. The old time labels, they probably got tired with the influx of garbage music, and people only looking to get that one hit. People walk around like they’re the shit, but it’s only one record, there’s nothing else after that. So the money get is to put this together and take care of my kids. I looked at the twelve step programs, where each group is autonomous. If one group does something outside of the norm, it just affects that group, not the whole body. Everybody who has released on Underground Quality is autonomous. The connection is there, but they make their own decisions. The worst thing you can do as a new producer is ask people what they think, because they will give you their opinion based on their tastes. There’s one or two nuts out there who think that I’m lucky. That’s probably the worst thing you could say to me, because I’m not lucky. I’ve been working hard since 2001, and nothing has come easy for me in this industry.

Jus Ed in the mix

American house music has made a comeback over the past couple of years after some time in the wilderness. Do you think this has more to do with a recent surge of quality music or is it just the franticly changing tastes of the dance music scene?

For me to answer that, I would be taking on a position that I’m not qualified for. That should be left for more of a veteran. I will say that what goes around comes around. There’s a saying that “there’s nothing new under the sun.” It’s just a timing thing. Broken beat will come around, drum and bass will come back around. It’ll come back in a different form or shape, but it will. The big contributing factor to U.S. house music becoming big again is the fact that Europe has embraced it. I mean, this is the reason that I’m being interviewed by you. No one in the States was interested in Jus Ed. When Germany heard my tune on the FXHE compilation, they kept asking who “Joos Ed” was. [laughs] They were interested, and that’s why I love playing in Germany. We have the Smallpeople party in Hamburg and then I get to go to Scotland. I’ve wanted to go there for a long time.

As an american label, do you find it particularly difficult to get distribution, both in the US and worldwide?

Well distribution is, in my mind, like organized crime. You have the different families and everything. They’re not bad or good people, they’re just effective or they’re not. If they’re effective they’re pushing your music to the world, not just easy-sale areas. It’s difficult, because they have more shit music coming in than quality music. I hear so many copycat tracks, and I have records sitting around that are seven years old that sound much better. I’ll dust those off instead. Some people might be offended, saying that I’m not supporting vinyl or something, but I am. My whole radio show is dedicated to new music, and to new artists. But if you send me garbage, come on. I’ve positioned myself in the industry to do what I want to do.

In all fairness, each distribution has its right to do right by artists. Taxes and shipping fees, they get hit in the head with that. Even if they’re getting a record at wholesale price for like $4.25 per record, after they pay for those it’s up to about $6. And then once it gets to Europe, these records are very expensive. One of the reasons I went with Rubadub is because a large part of my market is overseas, and they can get it at a lower price and pass it on to the record stores. For the U.S. I just do it myself. If a record store pays €6 wholesale from a distributor, he’s supposed to be able to double his money. So he’s selling the record for €12, and people just don’t have that kind of money. I never had money for records, but I made it so that I could buy them. I bought a Cadenza record here for $18, a single sided one, because I wanted it, because it was dope, and because I knew a lot of people wouldn’t have it.

Underground Quality presses vinyl but avoids making mp3s available aside from the handful on the UQ mp3 shop. Why is this?

I started my website in 2004, and my goal is to be self-sufficient. I want it so that if all else fails you can still get my music. A good number of people have gone direct to my site to buy the records, and in the last two years I did an exclusive with Beatport for my back catalogue (just the CDs) and then I offer some mp3s on my site. But the model is this: vinyl is to stay vinyl. Digital is digital. That’s the way I’m living and I know plenty of other guys who feel the same. It just kind of lessens the value of the record if two weeks later it’s available digitally (or if it comes out digitally and then they try to press it later). People say vinyl is dead; vinyl isn’t dead, it’s just condensed. There’s not a lot of room for shit music anymore. So it makes everyone step up their game. There are only so many tracks you can press. Having a record means you do research. You bought into that artist’s vision. Vinyl will never be abolished since it was really the first popular form to capture sound. It’s like saying the telephone will be dead, that we’ll all just have chips in our head instead. It’s just not happening.

But I plan to expand the mp3 store in the future. The only problem with digital is just that I make more money with vinyl than digital. There’s you know, one in every five-hundred producers, who makes a track that keeps selling and selling digitally and they make thousands of dollars. And that’s dope, but it doesn’t work for me. I just sell a couple digital files myself since it’s so easy to sell digital files yourself. It takes time, you have to go at it with more than just a passion, because it’s a business as well. I’m still learning, I learned that on my website I lack keywords so that Google picks it up. I’m learning, but I still have to keep my daytime job.

Running a record label is no easy feat these days. In the face of the economy, shipping costs and illegal mp3s, what keeps you going?

The illegal downloads have gone down since I got with a publishing company, so they’ll go after people illegally selling my stuff. The real people who respect hard work and effort will search out and buy the records. I had one guy in Zurich come up to me and apologize, saying that he had downloaded some stuff illegally and that he felt bad and wanted to buy some stuff from me. The Internet just makes people less personal; they feel detached. They’re in their room alone, and feel like nobody cares, so they can just take things. More artists should speak out and let people know that this is hurting them. I mean, I can’t make music if I can’t make at least some sort of living off of it. And people will say, ‘Oh, but you’re not in it for the music then, you’re in it for the money.’ I gotta pay for electricity to run the machines that I bought.

I’m also flying overseas to play gigs. I’ve got kids and a family, what if something happened? What club will send your fee to your family with some flowers and say that they’re sorry? I was with people who were complaining about DJ fees, and when I brought this up the table went silent. No one wants to look at life the way it is. I think the volcano incident recently provided a reality check. When it went off a lot of clubs lost money, a lot of promoters lost money, I lost money. That’s just mother nature. I play gigs because I love it and it helps pay the mortgage; maybe if I were single I would be saying something different.

Anyway, the mp3 thing will still keep going on. Before digital files it was bootlegs. Distributors repress stuff, this will always go on. What I count on is people supporting what I do and supporting the label. If I didn’t trust people I would quit. I almost did. Two days after I shipped the House Goodies Vol. 3 CDs to the distributor it was on three different websites. Already I’ve seen the Next Level CD on websites for free. The free thing is what really gets me. I saw on one site there was about 200 downloads of the CD. That’s almost $2000, a mortgage payment for me, that I’m not getting. Maybe these people do this because they want to be popular, or they’re lonely, they have nothing better to do. But I believe in karma, it comes around.

What are a couple of your favorite releases on the label so far?

They’re all special, they all have a meaning. The Time Waits For No-One EP, with me, Jenifa and Fred, was great because Fred worked really well with Jenifa. It was important for both of them, really. The first Unity Kolabo record was a unification of East Coast with Midwest, with Omar-S…err, DJ Snotinburg and Kevin James. UQ-004, the Getting Ready EP, was the worst selling record I had put out. And then all of a sudden everybody wanted it, and it’s now caught up with all the others. Establishing the Russian connection was important, and at the time all I knew was Anton was making some great house music. I mean, if you hadn’t seen him you would have sworn he was black and from wherever I said he was from. It just shows you the soul in the music, and that it is a black thing, but it’s not a black thing. There are certain restaurants you can go to and the food just has soul, doesn’t matter which culture — Indian, Thai or whatever.

The Nina Kraviz record was really great because she’s so talented and she really performs when she DJs. And then there’s Levon. I knew Levon would be the great savior. And he got mad at me because I told him he would be more popular than me, partly because he’s white. I’m not racist or anything, but I’m not ignorant either. What matters to me is that the guys remain grounded and they stay true to their art and themselves. They need to keep the door open for the next person, and remind the powers that be that there are still artists who are business minded, who don’t have tech riders that say, ‘I need two bitches, a case of this, and an ounce of that.’ If people are inspired to do something, they need to take the higher road. I put myself into retirement in ‘85 because of drugs, and there was nothing wrong with my talent. You show up at a gig wearing the same clothes for two weeks, there’s a problem. I’m almost 48, I dunno how much longer I’ll be hopping planes and shit. People ask me how I do it, playing at one club one night, a different one the next night, and then flying home. Well, I drink a lot of water and eat salad and get sleep. I’m here to do a job; I can vacation later. Mismanagement takes down clubs all the time, and its not just financial mismanagement. There are so many documentaries about this, you’d think people would remember. I mean, Panorama Bar/Berghain, they’re involved with the arts and the government. That’s handling your business, I take my hat off to them. That’s good fucking business and provides longevity. More people need to think on that level.

Back to the question, “Sweetness” was a big one, and people really gravitate toward it. It was inspired by Fred’s remix of “Voices,” and I made that one with my daughter in my arms, and the music soothed her because she didn’t want to go to sleep. Each record has its own significance. On the Next Level CD, the track “Play Date” was made while some kids were over with my son on a play date. And “Listening In” was made while Levon was listening in on the phone. It was really important to me when I got recognized on the end of the year label list on Resident Advisor, not because of the number but because I made an impact and was being recognized. I mean, I have an ego when it comes to DJing, it’s how it was when I was coming up. We had battles; it was all about your records. I’m just still trying to hone my skills.

We’re doing this interview at your home, so I was wondering how your family life impacts your music?

My drive for my family was due to a lack of family. I came home from prison in ‘99, and you can’t forget where you came from. I’ve been given my life three times, and I’m not taking it for granted. When I go dance, I dance as hard as I can, same with playing out and work. You have to keep yourself grounded and keep shit simple. I teach my son that if you make a good choice you reap the benefits and if you make a bad one you pay the cost. That’s a golden rule, and somehow it eluded me for a number of years.

What does your studio look like, and how do you express yourself through your gear?

I get this all the time. If it don’t sound right, keep fucking with it until it does. You have to have a vision first. I understand how I want my music to sound. That took a minute in the beginning. I was so anti-whatever everyone else was doing, so I just let it flow. I have a good taste in music, and I have a musical education. A minor one, but I understand that things have to make sense, even if they don’t. My music makes sense, even if it doesn’t. There’s a rhythm there, a clarity, an emphasis on one or two parts. It’s based on what’s in my blood, I was raised up with this. You can see it with my son, if I put some music on now he’ll work it out. This is just part of our culture. Just hand claps from jump roping; I used to double dutch, and the hand clap rhythms would mesmerize me. [Ed's son Dustin starts clapping] See? Handclaps. There’s always something there.

It took until 2001 for me to actually embrace my talent. It’s easy for me to DJ, but to do it as a career, I’m still learning how to do that now. There’s still so much for me to learn, like publishing. Shit, I had like 100 songs out, and I’d say maybe 30 were getting played on the radio overseas. Once I got educated about that, I had to bring the whole crew up to speed as well. I don’t just limit myself to the Underground Quality people either. There are plenty of artists out there who I sit down with and help critique their mixdowns. There’s an art to mixing, to arranging a track. You could take the dopest elements and if you don’t know how to do the mixdown right it’ll be a bunch of noise. Just do your thing, and be the best at what you do. That’s success, because you’re happy. I don’t make music so people like me, I make it because I think it’s good, and I’m gonna play it.

Mark Farina said it in a magazine in 2001 or something, ‘Don’t be afraid to mess with your knobs.’ That’s the answer to my productions. I try shit out, and trust my ear. I make a lot of music based on where I am in life. I haven’t had time to make new music in about two months, and once I get this new computer up there’ll be some new shit coming out. The beauty of having your own label is you can decide if it gets released or not. There’s enough talented producers out there, that if they just trust the process of creation and believe in what they’re doing they’ll have their day.

We just got a record in from Juno called “The Freeze/The Meltdown” and it said it was by a popular New York DJ.

Yeah, they sent me that one! I’ve been playing it. I like what Juno did. They took a shot on an artist. I think it will encourage something that’s fallen off in the U.S. and around the world, where retailers take a risk and get behind an unknown local. That’s what underground is about. “Where the hell did that come from?” Doesn’t matter, because the music is hot. I was like the first one to have that because of the radio show. It’s surprising, I got like four artists record deals by playing their tracks on the show. The next thing I know they’re telling me, ‘Thanks man for playing my stuff on the show, they’re gonna press my shit!’ That’s excellent. Or sometimes it gives them the confidence to press it themselves. I’m always pushing artists, because I can’t take everybody. People need to take the time and spend their money. If you really believe in what you’re doing, spend your money on it.

Well, when I spoke to Levon, he was talking about the fact that he was sitting on top of the pressings of Double Jointed Sex Freak, and anxious about the fact that he had spent all of his money on it.

I do it every release. I’m in it to make a living, yes, but I’m not in it to get rich. If i get lucky and Sony wants me to do a remix or something, that’s awesome. But nine times out of ten, whatever money I get (ten, five, two grand) it’s already spent. The game is trying to get ahead. These cats in the ’90s could sell 100,000 copies of a record, seeing 150 grand on a release. And that’s just on the first run! The repress is even cheaper! Quality control is so key. I don’t sell records based on my name. Distributors and retailers sell them based on my name. I sell them based on the quality of the music.

Is there anyone you want to work with?

I mean, I get requests for remixes or collaborations, but I’m sticking to supporting my label. I mean, if Herbert or Charles Webster or Pépé Bradock or Kerri Chandler wanted to work with me, you know, just to name a few. If they asked me to do something, hell yeah. There’s shit from me to learn there, and to be even in the same realm would be an honor. These guys don’t need me. But as far as aspiring to make music with the big names, nah, that’s not my vision. I’m pushing me, my stuff. I’m a purist in that sense.

What does the future of Underground Quality look like?

Underground Quality is just gonna continue. Gonna do an EP with Steffi, there will be a DJ Jus-Ed versus Joey Anderson record, a new Tazz EP. And then vinyl releases from the Next Level CD. I’d like to be able to touch every part of the world musically. Hopefully I did my contribution to the scene, helping the scene grow. I’m excited about Kyle Hall. I heard him play and I said, ‘There’s no way he’s 19 years old.’ He’s doing shit we did in the ’80s, and he’s drawn a completely young crowd into the scene. Kids like him are our future, I just hope it continues.

Download: Talking Shopcast 08: Anthony Parasole (70:43)

Tracklist:
01. Steve Reich, “Come Out”
02. Link Wray and His Ray Men, “Rumble”
03. Morphosis, “Musafir” [M>O>S]
04. Joey Anderson, “Booth For Country” [CDR]
05. DJ Qu, “Tunnel Vision” [Strength Music]
06. Diaries, “Sketch 3″ [CDR]
07. Newworldaquarium, “The Force (Âme Remix)” [NWAQ]
08. Pacou, “Multipass” [Cache Records]
09. Donnacha Costello, “Grape A” [Minimise]
10. Slam Mode, “Autumn Disorder” [Desvio]
11. The Nova Dream Sequence, “Dream 14″ [Compost]
12. Nicholas, “On My Mind” [No More Hits]
13. DJ Sprinkles, “Sloppy 42’s” [Comatonse]
14. STL, “Vintage Hunter” [Something]
15. The White Stripes, “Little Acorns” [XL Recordings]

Accounts of Theo Parrish gigs often begin with the enigmatic DJ clearing the floor. The jazz, Afrobeat, dub reggae, and soul records he is known to drop tend to startle festivalgoers and dabblers who have come to expect nothing but four-to-the-floor from a dance DJ. Read on, though, and it turns out that just about every Theo Parrish set ends with minds blown and booties shaken, those experimental jazz cuts moving feet as ably as acid house bangers. Once hooked, you may find yourself going out of your way to hear the man spin. It seems likely that Parrish would occupy the role of DJ’s DJ, a selector and mixer whose dedication to the art is matched by few, even if he had never put out a record. But Theo Parrish has put out some records. Since his first release on Kenny Dixon Jr.’s KDJ, Parrish’s own Sound Signature has become a buy-on-sight label for even the most discriminating DJs and fans. Keeping subtle, complex, emotional deep house on the map for the past two decades, he has developed his style while maintaining a singular aesthetic. LWE recently checked in with Theo Parrish, finding him as busy — and as brilliant — as ever.

You recently reached a potentially new audience with your LCD Soundsystem remix, a combination that not many people might have expected. How did that come about? Do you think the prevalence of disco and house-based sounds that labels like DFA have engendered is a positive development for the music?

Theo Parrish: They hit me up and their approach was attractive; they said pick anything you want and sent the full album in parts. I don’t really recognize any current production as genre specific, so I hear a head nod and a wink to disco in their sound, but it’s the ethic — the DIY ethic. That’s where the value is.

You clearly have one of the deepest record collections around. Where are your favorite places to buy records?

I know a lot of people with a whole lot more, but I buy anywhere and everywhere. Some spots, depending on what I find, are my favorite that day after being dry for weeks. Some are account drainers, meaning they are rarely dry. Favorite cities with lotsa diggin’ possibilities for what I like: Chicago, Detroit, Minnesota, Toronto, Kansas City, Cincinatti, Osaka, Tokyo, London, Manchester, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and Berlin. Just google local stores in those cities and go get your knuckles dusty.

The records you became known for early on were often sample-based and tracky, while you’ve since then experimented with vocals, group improvisation, and other techniques. How has your musical style evolved, in terms of your approach to production and your understanding of your own work?

I get bored very easily. I relied heavily on samples simply for lack of equipment. As I acquired more equipment the creative possibilities grew. I was sampling less and learning to play, and started to get to know some talented live players (like Jerry the Cat, John Douglas, Duminie Deporres). I had to try to keep up with them in the studio — and prerecorded stuff doesn’t change on the fly, you have to program it to — so the idea of being in the moment and learning about the ever-elusive pocket came when I was working with The Rotating Assembly. Those rehearsals had a large impact. It galvanized the theory of dedicated practice to build skill. I then found it limiting to sample larger blocks of music, so individual sounds, little bits, became more of what I would use for my sound pallette, and then less and less. Then I would only sample myself, and get drums from multiple sources: records, keyboards, live kit. Then I got tired of sampling altogether. That went into playing everything realtime and recording it. That was a big step, and don’t really expect to master that, just only improve. It’s currently what I wrestle with now, along with incorporating the methods I have a moderate grasp of already.

Some of your most recent releases have been vocal tracks, from 2008’s Chemistry to the most recent records with Bill Beaver and Danny Banks, and your DJ sets always incorporate soul and disco songs. Do you write words as well as music? How do you collaborate with a vocalist or instrumentalist?

Depends on the vocalist. With Bill Beaver, he comes up with lyrics off of the top of his head. First take. You better catch that first one, too. With Danny Banks, he had a written song, and all I had to do with was work on his phrase spacing. He’s so skilled, he was running all these backgrounds. Some idiot put it out there that there was AutoTune involved: No! No bloodclaat AutoTune in my studio! Blasphemer! Listen to the damn song. Anyway. For Genevieve Maranttette, I wrote “You Forgot,” “Split me Open,” and for Karen Bosco I wrote “Melt.” Lakecia Hughes came off the top for “Summertime Is here.” Monica Blaire, as on “They Say” and “Second Chances,” hears the song, then writes, and an hour later it’s laid down — efficient. Alena Waters offers solid suggestions in arrangement that always make sense to follow, that provides places for her to sing around and with. Very intuitive. As for the instrumentalists I’ve been blessed to work with, particularly John and Duminie, I just tend to give them adjectives. I can trust their taste.

The Leron Carson release on Sound Signature, while widely loved, has been shrouded in mystery. Who is he, and where did the music come from?

Leron is a lifelong friend from Chicago. We came up in the same area. We started making songs at 14 or 15 years old, almost every weekend until I went away to college. The songs I released by him had been on a cassette he gave me and were done in those early years. He’s always been a sorely overlooked talent.

You’ve had a residency at London’s Plastic People, which has been under threat of closure. As the trend moves towards giant superclubs, where have you found that the best parties takes place, and what makes them special?

You can’t judge a party before you get there, so it’s quite random. So many factors affect any given night. The issue with superclubs is the lack of intimacy. Smaller venues solve that, but it’s difficult to find smaller venues with powerful systems. A small club with a powerful soundsystem is always a good foundation. You have the intimacy, and a good system allows a wider range of songs to be presented outside of their percieved setting. The people have a chance to experience a wider range of emotional connection or repulsion.

The Three Chairs compilation CD, Spectrum, gave a lot of listeners a chance to catch up some hard-to-find records. Will there be more releases from the group in the future?

We shall see…

What else can we expect from Sound Signature in 2010?

Sketches. Sketches is a concept I came up with for some unreleased material I mastered without the songs being complete with all the elements. It was an experiment to force myself to get back to some basic production ethics I wanted to reacquaint myself with. It will be available only in Detroit for festival time, and I am only doing 150 copies and four separate pieces of vinyl, each one with a differently painted jacket. The only songs that may reappear on later 12″s this year are “Something About Detroit,” “Thumpasaurus,” and “Kites On Pluto.” I’m playing them out now to see which ones need more or can be released as is. Coming soon is the Sound Signature Sounds Pt. 2 compilation CD including Sound Signatures titles only available on vinyl from the catalog, and Translations, a CD comp of remixes and edits that are no longer available or previously unreleased.

To factor the influence that Robert Hood has had in modern electronic music is no easy task. For not only was he part of the era-defining, second wave, Detroit techno militia Underground Resistance, but also can claim to be almost singlehandedly responsible for what we now term minimal techno. His Internal Empire and Minimal Nation albums stand to this day as blueprints for the genre that has since sparked ongoing generations of imitators with few managing to capture the raw essence of Hood’s vision. His M-Plant label has stood mostly as a vehicle for his own releases, though has from time to time played home to kindred spirits, and after a hiatus of some seven years was reactivated in 2009 with a run of new material and critical re-issues of classics from the vaults. In a career that spans some twenty years Robert Hood has indelibly left his mark on the techno landscape and to this day he continues to explore his particular brand of stripped back, haunting techno funk. LWE spoke to Mr. Hood about his new album, Omega, injecting faith into music and hearing the echoes of Motown through techno.

Let’s start with the new album. Lately you’ve been selecting pieces from your back catalog and re-issuing them. There may be some confusion about calling this album Omega and the title of one of your 2003 releases of the same name.

Robert Hood: Well the album Omega is based on the movie “Omega Man” and “I Am Legend,” so those are two separate ideas there, as the track “Omega” was taken from the album Wire To Wire and was just a B-side or a one-off from that album. This album is something completely different. It is talking about the end of times and it’s about the character Robert Neville (I don’t know if you’re familiar with the movie or not), but here you have a man who is trying to survive. He is seemingly the last survivor of biological warfare and he’s trying to survive the best he can and at the same time trying to come up with a serum or a cure for the plague that has affected these other inhabitants.

Was the music a metaphor for you providing the serum for a plague of not-so-great music out there?

No, nothing like that really. It was more me looking at if I was the last man on earth and chronicling that struggle; me putting myself in his shoes and dealing with my own psychosis and dealing with loneliness and dealing with a band of demented people who were out there to destroy me. So the music is me looking through the character’s eyes.

Is that something you do with your albums generally? Do you like to construct a concept behind them? Does that help you to structure a whole album?

Well yeah, I try to envision a world or an environment or a situation or circumstance and try to make a soundtrack to it, much in the way I did with Internal Empire. So I reflect and immerse myself in this environment and try to express that through the music.

You’re now living in Alabama. How does the more scenic surroundings go with producing something as raw and uncompromising as Omega?

Well you see it’s all in the mind, I just go inside myself and inside of my visions. When I was living in Detroit I had to step outside of myself sometimes and just observe the environment and grasp these visions and interpret them the best that I could. I would see life in Detroit as an observer. For instance on the Nighttime World albums, it’s basically observing urban life from a watchers point of view. So now, living in Alabama, I’ve had to go inside myself and pull out my imagination from experiences and imagining what life must have been like here in the South during the slave times and during segregation. It’s a process of pulling these thoughts and ideas and stories that I hear from other people and expressing them as best I can.

Your music has always stood out from the rest of Detroit techno. Can you tell us about finding your own sound and how conscious you were of making it so distinctly recognizable?

Well that was the first thing that I determined; I had to sound original. Of course I draw a lot of influence from a lot of other musicians and DJs; I also draw a lot of influence from a lot of film directors, from writers like Langston Hughes, from soul music, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, from lyrics, listening to David Byrne and Talking Heads. I determined that I had to identify with my own profile and not be like anybody else although I was made of many different influences. But I had to turn that into an original thought and an original vision. I had my own interpretation of electronic music and music as a whole; how I looked at love songs and traditional concepts and structures within all music. So I had to remember those things and at the same time take them apart and re-assemble them, so it’s just a strong identity and a strong need to be myself and not try to follow anybody else. The 70’s was a great blueprint for that; you didn’t have artists try to sound like and copy each other to sell a product the way we do today. We have this cookie-cutter idea in principal about music where it’s just a product and a commodity and it’s not art.

One of the things that has struck me about your music over the years is just how well it’s aged over the years in terms of sound quality. I remember picking up some of your earliest releases and you can still put those next to some of your latest material and there is just this clean precision of sound all the way through. Short of getting you to divulge your production secrets, what is your secret?

Well, listening to Kraftwerk and listening to Dr. Dre and people who take their time. You know, I really don’t consider myself an engineer in the traditional sense. In my opinion my ears are bad but I try to meticulously go through each sound and make them as vivid as I possibly can with the sparse equipment I have and just try not to clutter it up and try to keep it separated. Again, I’m not an avid technical person, I just try to listen as best I can. I just marvel at the engineers who worked on all of the Kraftwerk records and I just try to pay attention and to listen.

Throughout your career you’ve done so many remixes of incredible artists. What have been a couple of your favourite ones and perhaps ones that have challenged you?

I did one for a guy called DJ 3000, a Detroit native. Frankie is his name and he’s a very melodic type of cat and he has this pristine production too. So that was a challenge, to approach this particular mix and I had fun doing it too. It hasn’t been released yet but that was definitely a challenge. I had a lot of fun working on the Ben Klock remix too and it’s one of those records where it’s fun to play and it was fun to reassemble too. There was also a remix I did back in ‘94 or ‘95 for Ian Pooley and that was big fun. I still love that record today. I also did a remix of an X-103 project, “Atlantis,” and that’s one of my favorites as well.

You were talking a little earlier about being in to the sounds of Marvin Gaye and soul when you were young. Listening to your music, a lot of people wouldn’t be able to see the influence there. For you, how much do you feel that your minimalism draws on that legacy of funk and soul?

Well, for me personally, I hear echoes of James Jamerson (the uncredited Motown bassist on most of their 60’s-70’s hits). So the sounds that were able to take you into a place and a time after the riots in Detroit and give you a vision of an atmosphere that was like telling you a story. Isaac Hayes, for example, was able to give you an idea of life on the city streets through the “Shaft” soundtrack, so for me with minimalism, it was taking listeners into an atmosphere of Detroit the way I saw it; the greyness and the hopelessness. But through that hopelessness there was also a hope of a potential of what could be a bright future, of still having faith and hope. I think I’ve been able to do that through minimal music. It is at times dark and kind of sinister but then we’re dealing with reality, with situations and circumstances that are obviously there in our lives. We see what’s happening in Haiti, what’s happening all over the world with the environment, with wars and destruction but I try to evoke a feeling of hope and a hopeful future. And for me, with Marvin Gaye through songs like “Holy Holy,” “What’s Going On?” and “Save The Children,” Stevie Wonder’s Songs In The Key Of Life, that’s what I try to weave into the tracks that I make and I feel that’s been accomplished.

With that in mind, you’re a religious man. Do you tie in your faith to your music and how you approach it?

Oh absolutely, God is the source of everything I do, is the source of our existence and the source of our vision. God is a spirit and so are we; I’m just in tune with the Holy Spirit and I give all honor and credit to that driving force and am always mindful of God’s spirit. I think we don’t realize that we are all spirits but there have been times I haven’t paid attention to my spiritual calling and my inner vision, so to speak, and tried to do it on my own. But it’s amazing what a person can do when they are in tune with the spiritual self.

The ideas behind the early second wave of Detroit techno always seemed to me to be more than just about the music. Can you tell us a bit about the ideals you had and those of people like Mike Banks and Jeff Mills who you were working closely with and how they extended beyond just making great music?

Yeah it was all about reality and dealing with reality. At the time Public Enemy was out there pushing this idea of being culturally and socially aware about our surroundings and about ourselves. That was the main focus of Underground Resistance, whereas some of our contemporaries were more concerned about a fantasy landscape. We were definitely all about reality and that was the driving force behind UR. We dealt with the experimental subjects on the X projects. But when you’re living buildings that are burned out from the Detroit riots, it just seeps into your DNA and so we felt it necessary to chronicle this life in Detroit. You know I rode the bus with these single mothers that would get up at 6 o’clock in the morning in the dead of winter and would have to struggle, the Detroit struggle was what it was about. We tried to focus on documenting this experience.

I’m not going to ask you the same question about what happened with you guys at UR because I’m sure it’s very boring for you, but are you ever in touch with each other?

I don’t know if Mike and Jeff keep in touch but we see each other on the road and it’s friendly. I mean, we’re brothers and we have a tie and a bond, musically and spiritually. We lived together, worked together and travelled together and that won’t ever change. They definitely blessed and touched my life and I would like to think that I did so likewise, so when we do see each other it’s all love.

It must be really interesting having been in that collective that was such an incubation unit for amazing ideas, being able to see where each other’s careers are at, that you’re all still upholding these ideals you forged back then.

Yeah it is, and I was like a sponge, man. At the time I was just a young impressionable adult just trying to learn from them masters. It was like learning from Obi Wan Kenobi and Yoda, learning how to use the force. It was amazing to see how they worked together because individually they’re both such completely different people. Mike was this militant, raw street guy and a great musician, skilled on the keyboard and the strings as well as on production. And then Jeff, it was amazing just to watch him edit on the two-inch reel, it was like watching a surgeon and scientist operate and making these drum patterns, so I was just a greedy sponge watching all this. And then the way they thought and their concepts helped me to develop and it was just an amazing experience.

You continued to release music after M-Plant went inactive in 2002. What was the reason behind putting a hold on the label and the reason for reactivating it, too?

Distribution after 9/11, it was already going bad and the industry was just over-saturated and I was becoming disheartened and uninspired. So all of these factors were just starting to mount so I just wanted to take step back and put M-Plant on hold to look at another approach. Music downloads were really starting to take hold and put a strain on the market so I was very unsure about what was happening as I’m sure a lot of labels and producers were. Bringing it back was just a matter of time; I just needed to catch my footing and approach things differently. The new minimal movement; you have a handful of artists who really got the artistic properties of minimalism, but for the most part, 85-90% of them did not and are just going minimal for the sake of it. So we had to bring it back to continue to tell the story and to set it straight.

Are we likely to see a continuation of Drama and Duet and some of the other labels as well?

I don’t know. I’m thinking that over right now and I’ve got a new Floorplan EP coming out later this summer. I haven’t decided on the others yet whether I’m going to revisit them too; I’m just so wrapped up right now in reinventing M-Plant and reinventing Robert Hood and reintroducing myself and the label to this newer generation and rehashing the old relationships for those who have been down with me throughout the years. So at the moment that’s my focus and we’ll look at the other labels a bit later.

Let’s talk about some of the pseudonyms you’ve used throughout the years. A lot of Detroit producers have played around with different names and you’re no different there. Some of your aliases are obvious — for instance when you use the Floorplan moniker. But what makes a Monobox release different from a Robert Hood release?

A Monobox release is — well, I don’t like to use the term “intelligent techno,” but it is more experimental. It’s taken from a book I read when I was a kid, maybe 13 or14-years-old, about these aliens who came to earth. There was this black box that floated above the Earth for weeks on end. It was just this ominous box floating above the earth and the book dealt with the minds of the earthlings who were just trying to grasp what this box was. The diminutive sound that comes out of this side of me is very different from the more soulful Robert Hood, Minimal Nation sort of sound. It’s more of a cold sound, looking at art and electronic music from more of an alien, android perspective rather than a human side.

And what about The Vision?

I got that name from a comic book character from The Avengers and at the time it seemed kind of fitting with being a part of Underground Resistance because I considered myself a rogue member of the UR organization, a renegade affiliate of theirs. I saw myself as this comic book character.

Technologically how much has your studio evolved over the years? Are you more digital based now?

It’s still pretty much the same as it’s always been. I mean I don’t use a 909 any more but I still produce the same way but the gear — I never really relied on samplers that much. Only really with Floorplan with some disco loops here and there but I still produce the same way. Hardware sequencing is still my choice. The biggest thing I’ve changed is my drum sounds.

You’ve focused the bulk of your career on minimalism. Being very ideas rich in how you approach your records, after all these years do you find your music is still giving back to you and teaching you?

Absolutely, I mean when you’re in tune with where your wealth of creativity and inspiration is coming from then it’s a never-ending well of discovery and that for me comes back to my belief in God. On this Omega album I felt that inspiration coming from many different moments in time. I mean, there are moments on there that remind me of 70’s kind of David Axelrod feeling and then also a futuristic, sci-fi, cinematic feeling too. So I’m constantly discovering minimal grooves and percussion, bass lines, it’s just never-ending. I feel like I’m perpetually stuck at the age of 22. I feel like I’m growing spiritually and as a man but there’s this fountain of youth and my state of mind is constantly being renewed.

What can we expect from Robert Hood in the next year?

You can expect for me to work so much harder at expressing my spirituality through music and I want to take us to places we never even thought we could go. I want to express who we are as aliens, as spirits and I really want to expose and put out there that this is not our home, that we’re just passing through. So I really want to push the envelope on that principle that we are all spirits. Musically and spiritually I want to be able to take us there. How I’m going to do it I don’t know, but faith is not seeing the staircase but taking the first step.

When I caught up with JD Twitch, he and his DJ partner, JG Wilkes, were nigh on closing shop on their legendary Optimo (Espacio) party at Glasgow’s Sub Club. While the man born Keith McIvor would soon be shutting the book on a major chapter of his life, he obviously had his sights set on what lies ahead for his Sunday nights and beyond. Jumping from Optimo’s peculiar envisioning of peaktime techno (soon to be laid out on the duo’s highly anticipated Fabric compilation) to a strange series of events deep in Madrid clubland, JD Twitch gives Little White Earbuds a peak into the infamous past and exciting future of some of dance music’s most singular party-starters.

You guys will throw your last Optimo (Espacio) on April 25. Can you sum up your feelings about leaving your Sunday nights in Glasgow behind?

JD Twitch: Mixed feelings! I think it’s a very positive thing. You know, we’ve done it for so long, and it’s kind of reached the point where it can’t really go anywhere else. The only thing we can do is not do it anymore and put our energy into other things. But at the same time, there’s been this kind of massive outpouring of grief, almost, amongst people in the city the last few weeks [before the party]. We announced three weeks ago so people would have a chance to come and have their last one before then. The last few weeks of the club have been insane! People coming to say their goodbyes, people bursting into tears! I’m glad it’s coming to an end, but at the same time you’re like, ‘Whoa, what are we letting go here, there’s something very special.’ We’ll still do things. We’ll do parties in Glasgow. It just frees us up to get a little bit of a life back.

There are a lot of people who are doing monthly parties, people who will do things four times a year. But this idea of doing one party with the same two DJs weekly, and especially on a Sunday night — at your level, it’s pretty much unheard of.

I mean, it kills your week — and that’s fine. But there’s other stuff we want to do. And I guess also, as much as we love doing it, I could sense that our energy for it was starting to go, and I didn’t want it to go to where our energy had gone. And I think that if it’d been a year from now, we’d have been doing it and we’d have been going through the motions. I think it’s always terrible to do anything when you’re just going through the motions, not doing it because you’re actually wanting to be doing it.

You and your partner, JG Wilkes, are known for your open music policy — you’ll play everything, pretty much. Did you feel like this whole notion of playing everything every week was becoming a formula in and of itself?

Exactly. Not following a formula had become a formula, completely! Especially after so long. It was almost like people would expect there to be this certain, [impersonating a punter] ‘Oh, maybe they’ll do something really crazy now, and oh, okay, maybe it’ll be slowed down, and oh, maybe some, like, dancehall reggae now.’ It does, it becomes a formula. It becomes ridiculous, that you’re trying to have this kind of freedom to play anything. It’s probably just from having done it so long. It kind of made it this expectation. The night of the club — it was because it was Sunday in particular — that was why we had the freedom to do what we liked to begin with, and I think the idea was always to confound expectations. But then when that becomes the actual expectation itself, it becomes a little… [trails off].

We’re at the end of a decade when “eclecticism in DJ sets” had become such a big thing, maybe because it was also a big decade for the kind of digital technology that allowed DJs to play all of these records together which might not have gone together otherwise. With your embrace of all that, Optimo really found a nice niche within the zeitgeist. But do you think clubs are moving past this eclecticism? Are crowds going for a little more focus?

That’s definitely a change that we’ve noticed. And it’s reflected in what we play. But it totally depends on where we play. Sometimes we’ll play somewhere, and I guess it’ll be a lot more straight — not necessarily one genre, but one kind of style, one kind of tempo. As a DJ, you kind of get a feel for what you can do, and sometimes we’ll be very open-ended, but we’ve played that way probably less. For some reason, and I can’t quite put my finger on it, I’ve always just loathed the word “eclectic,” but they’ve always used the word eclectic. I mean in some ways, we’ve become less eclectic. It’s maybe become harder to — I mean, I would love to play loads of crazy African music, but it’s just not going to work. I’m not going to go play like I’m here to educate you, this is what you’re going to hear, and clear a dance floor. I think that’s stupid. I think there’s a medium where you can introduce people to new music they’ve never heard before, but at the same time, at the end of the day it’s about entertaining people. I think it cools down a little bit if people just hear — they want to go to a disco night, want to go to a house night, want to go to nu-rave or whatever it’s called now. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think these things come in cycles and change, and it’ll change again farther down the line somewhere as well.

I’m taking a look at the tracklist for your upcoming Fabric 52 compilation, and it’s a lot heavier on contemporary dance music than what we’ve generally heard from you — Oni Ayhun, Levon Vincent, Comeme. It’s a strikingly more streamlined project than your seminal How To Kill The DJ (Part 2) set.

I think that’s reflective of where we’re at at the moment, but we’re also consciously thinking, “This is for Fabric, how would we play at Fabric?” How we play is reflective of where we play, and obviously I’m not going to play a rock ‘n roll track in the middle of a Fabric set. And what would we play on a Saturday night? Saturday night especially is their more serious electronic dance music night. This was our idea of what we would play if we were playing a set at the club. But within that, it is a more cohesively dance mix. But I think there’s still a couple things where people will still be like, “wow.” We’ve managed to fit a cumbria track in there. It’s mixed over the top of something else, but it’s our way of taking something a little off the hook.

Is there anything that’s just never worked? Something that would never fly under any circumstances, something you’d never be able to pull off?

I’m trying to think — [laughs] like maybe 150 beats-per-minute trance music might never find a way there. If it was the most amazing trance record that I liked I’d try to fit it in. I guess more of the commercial side of dance music is something that we maybe don’t touch much, even though we might play what’s a big pop record at the time. Cheesy, kind of commercial dance music is something that’s never really had much of a place in what we do. If it’s a good record, though, it’s a good record.

Not having to do the night at Sub Club will definitely open up your weekends. Will you use the time to do more production and remix work?

Absolutely. That was one of the reasons for doing it. And then, almost instantly, the opportunity — and I can’t actually name who they are just yet, because it’s not 100 percent confirmed — to produce bands [came about], which is something I’ve always wanted to do, kind of in the back of my mind. But I’ve known that it wasn’t possible because to do that involves being in the studio for like four weeks, going away somewhere, and I would have never been able to leave the club before for that long. And then, completely unrelated — it wasn’t because they knew that the club was ending — someone asked me if I would do this, and I was like, ‘Yes, I will, and I can!’ Also, definitely making more of my own music is something I’ve started doing at the beginning of this year, actually actively working on it, and this will free up more time to do that. Quite often, we get invited to do gigs in the States and we often have to turn them down because it would mean being away for Sunday. I think more opportunities like that will present themselves. I think [there will be] just more opportunities in general, and at the same time we’re going to still promote something in Glasgow that will involve the next generation of Glasgow DJs. We’ll start inviting DJs that we know, love, and respect to come and play in Glasgow. So there will still be a continuation, and we’ll still play at that maybe once a month or once every six weeks, but we’ll be doing lots of other stuff as well.

Thinking back to the beginning of the club in 1997, you pretty much came to Optimo (Espacio) as straight techno DJs. Was there a moment around that time when you knew you had to do something different, when you know you didn’t want to play straight four-four all night?

Absolutely. I would say about a year before that. From 1990 to 2000, I did this techno/house club [Pure] in Edinburgh. And it was a great club, but even within techno it was very open and we would play quite wide-ranging [sets]. But it was all four-four electronic music. It was the favorite thing I ever did up until that point. But right at about ‘96, late ‘96 or early ‘97, it totally changed, and the music that people wanted to hear had got really, really hard. It wasn’t Jeff Mills’s fault, but Jeff Mills had kind of created this sound, and everyone else who was making techno kind of jumped on this looped, grinding sound. The club became more masculine, the energy became darker and more negative, and it wasn’t fun or sexy anymore. I’d try to take it in other directions, but it just wasn’t working. I was pretty bored, pretty disillusioned.

Meanwhile, I was digging out all these old records and already buying all sorts of other music and thinking, “If only I could find a way that I could just play all this stuff.” And then the opportunity [came] to do something on Sunday night — that was perfect. For one, there’s was a low expectation from the people that ran the club, because it was a Sunday. They were happy if you got enough people in just to cover their costs. And I kind of figured that if people do come, they’ll be more open to listening to other music because they’ve probably been out Friday and Saturday, and they’ve heard techno and house all weekend, so on Sunday we can introduce them to other stuff. I guess that’s how it started — out of boredom and frustration. Also, people around that time were just bored with going out. The club scene here wasn’t very exciting, and we thought we might put some fun back into it.

That’s interesting that this hard sound was what changed the whole mood of a techno night for you. The sound you described has really come back in vogue right now with the Berghain and Ostgut Ton.

It is! It actually is! It’s almost like time has come full circle, it’s almost come back to that same place. I guess because I’ve been out for so long I’m actually finding it a bit refreshing, which is kind of bizarre. You know, I think we’ve got to a really bad phase again. The whole minimal techno thing, for me, went to a really bad place. And now we’re coming out of that, and there’s lot of great house music, there’s lots of great techno. My one vague reticence is that a lot of it is an homage to the past, especially the techno. Techno was always this fast-forward-to-the-future music, and that’s my one little thing. There is a lot of great stuff, a lot of stuff that sounds new, but a lot of it is paying so much to what’s come before.

Who’s finding a way forward in house and techno right now?

What he does, does have something to do with the past, but I absolutely love all of Levon Vincent’s records. There’s something classically old-school about them, but there’s also something in the arrangements and the overall production that I think is very futuristic as well, and very current without being too retro. I think what Oni Ayhun does is great. Some of it’s maybe a little too abstract to play on the dance floor. I was just listening to that, um… I can’t even begin to tell you the guy’s name, the guy who did the podcast for Resident Advisor…

Oh right, the guy whose name is just numbers [19.454.18.5.25.5.18]

Yeah… there’s gotta be some techno geek somewhere who knows that name by heart. [Laughs] I was really enjoying that! A year ago, I would have just been like, “That’s just dying techno,” but it’s not. There’s something kind of brewing, and maybe it’s an antidote to all those years of minimalism just being a little bit too… boring.

Going back to Pure, what were some of the records you were feeling before the sound changed?

For us, the whole Plus 8 thing and the harder edge of Detroit records, like Anthony “Shake” Shakir [trails off] – the stuff on Plus 8 was really cool. A whole load of European techno — it was this whole forgotten era. Like Holland, for example, produced a lot of great music. There were all these amazing labels, like DJax, 100% Pure, which actually still exists — all these amazing Dutch techno labels that have been forgotten in the messes of time. Lots of Belgian, Dutch — I mean, it was this kind of global thing. One of our favorite artists was this guy who we finally met a few weeks ago when we were in Australia, who was called HMC, from Adelaide, who was releasing on this label around that time called Juice Records. It was just the most amazing techno, and you’d look at the label and go, ‘Wow, it’s from Australia!’ Back then, [techno felt] pretty intimate. But there was something really exciting about knowing that there was this global movement going on, but because there was no Internet, there was no connection from one artist to the other unless people were traveling and meeting each other.

Do you think that’s one of the biggest things that’s changed since you’ve been DJing, and especially since you started doing Optimo? That a person can have a much larger knowledge of music without being a really serious record collector?

Yeah, that’s completely true. The way that people buy — I mean, I buy all my music online, pretty much, whereas before it was all about spending half my week trawling through record shops. And how I find or hear about other music is all through [the Internet], whereas before it was all word-of-mouth or just randomly discovering things in record shops. For promotion, when we started off we didn’t have a website. The internet obviously existed in 1997, but no one I knew was online, so the idea of trying to promote the night has completely changed over the course of the last decade.

The Internet allowing people to amass huge music collections so quickly and easily — do you think that’s changed record collecting for the better or for the worse? When people can download, say, the entire canon of New York disco in no time at all, do you ever think to yourself, ‘Man, I was out there tracking down all those records!’

It’s a double-edged sword. In some ways, it’s a great thing. There are things I’d been looking for my whole life and now with the Internet they’re available. For me, part of the downside of that is now that excitement that I might find [such a record] in a used record shop in New York one day has gone. I think the one problem with downloading the entire discography of New York disco is absorbing it. People have this, but are they actually absorbing it? If you were to find all those records over time, you gradually get to know them. People talk about having 400 terabytes of music, but what does that actually mean? How are you actually absorbing it? What do you do with that music? Is it just sitting there? Do you use it? Do you immerse yourself in it? Listen to it? So I think it’s still — you have to get to know this music, and love it. And I’m very guilty of downloading a bunch of music and listening to it once but never fully immersing myself in it, and thinking, ‘Okay, I’ve got that now, I’ve got that now,’ but you don’t have it unless you’re living with this music and using it and immersing yourself in it on a regular basis. You might as well not have it.

Are you guys still buying a lot of vinyl?

Yeah, absolutely. I mean, maybe a little less. I think what I do now that I didn’t used to do is — there are certain records that come out, and I think, ‘Okay, how often am I going to play this? This record is $18 plus shipping, and I’m going to play one track off it.’ In those instances, quite often I’ll buy it digitally. But actually buying records? Yeah, I probably buy about as many records as I ever have, but for my own collection, not so much for my DJing collection. I kind of have two distinct piles of music. There are records I would never use — like I buy lots of African music, and I very rarely play that when I’m DJing, so I love to have that on vinyl. But some of the more functional club tracks, I don’t really care whether I have them on a record or whether I have them as digital files anymore.

Still, you get the sense that you must have a pretty enormous record collection. Any idea how big it is?

I moved house about three years ago, and when I did that I took some sort of inventory. I actually did a massive cull, and I got rid of about five or six thousand records. I reckon that last tally was about maybe 25,000 records?

Incredible.

Too many! For some people that must be great, but it’s a pain in the ass! I’ve ended up buying things again because I just can’t find it and I really want to have it. I’ll just buy it again rather than spend a week trying to find where I’ve filed this record away. But it’s great. At the same time, it’s great having all that music at your fingertips.

Back to the party, I unfortunately haven’t been, and at this point, I’ll never be able to. But as far as the format goes, I know you almost always booked bands rather than DJs.

When we first started, it reflected our interest at the time. And again, for me, the whole club DJ thing was for a couple of years in a really bad, boring place. It was the era of the superstar DJ, and I would go out and hear all of these DJs and it just seemed like none of these DJs were really caring, they were just playing what they were playing and taking their money. I kind of stopped going out to clubs and was going to lots and lots of gigs, and I guess it reflected my interest. And also with no budget — when we started the club, very few people were coming, it was maybe a hundred people on a Sunday night. It was a cheap night to get in, so we couldn’t afford to book DJs. So it was based around our interest, which was bands, and we would get all the local bands to come and play for next to nothing, and then we got a little more adventurous and started inviting bands from elsewhere.

And then we went through a brief phase where we booked a handful of DJs, and we would always get in touch with them before [and tell them], ‘You have complete freedom, dig deep, play whatever you like, we’re very open-minded, it’s a Sunday.’ But they wouldn’t. They would just come and play what they’d play anywhere else. So we were like, ‘Okay, that’s it, we’re only gonna book bands now.’ That kind of became the mantra of the club, I guess. There’s been a few exceptions. We have a few great friends who always come and play. And there are a few weeks when we’ve been away and we couldn’t get back, and then we’ve had someone come and play. But on the whole, we based the whole idea of the club around the idea of live music. Also, when we started, there were lots of people I knew who had never been to a concert — they were clubbers, they’d never actually seen a live act, and I kind of liked the idea of introducing them to that. Likewise, there were people at the beginning who came because we had bands on but had never really been clubbers. I liked the idea of mixing these two groups of people up.

The whole ethos of the night — never charging more than you needed to, never really conforming to a particular style — it seems like you have more in common with a punk night than with the club scene. Was it a conscious effort to bring in elements that wouldn’t normally have anything to do with each other? Does that make any sense?

Yeah. I mean, I think we were thinking about all sorts of things. We were thinking that we have a complete blank slate, this freedom to do whatever we like. Neither of us were punks, but I think we both have a kind of punk ethos and that kind of inspired us. I have some older friends who come from that movement, and I was really interested at that point in reading about the anarchy-punk scene. I had this huge list of things I hated about club culture, like experiences I’d had where people had policies like “regulars only” or “only people wearing the right clothes” or just clubs ripping you off. Everything that I’ve hated about club culture over the years, I want to do the complete opposite and think, ‘How would I feel if I was going to this club?’ I just like the idea of treating every single person as if they are absolutely equal — no guest list, and the idea of VIP rooms is absolutely repulsive to me. [I just wanted to make it] as egalitarian as possible. Everyone had to queue no matter who they were; like if Franz Ferdinand came down, they’d still have to queue. Just because you’re in a band doesn’t mean you’re better than everyone else. It was just this experiment in trying to create this utopian club night, and I guess in some ways we kind of succeeded.

Speaking of utopian club nights, I read on your blog that you can kind of lump your gigs into four categories: the 33 percent that just completely suck—

I mean, I was kind of half joking! But it’s not too far from the truth.

Right, of course. So you talk about the 33 percent that suck, the 33 percent that are really good, the 33 percent that are just life-affirming, and then the one percent that are beyond words. You described a gig in Portland that fell into that last one percent. Were there any others that were just so bad they were almost hilarious, or any others that were just perfect?

On the ones that were bad, we once did this festival in Rotterdam, and literally there was nobody there. The stage manager was like, ‘Guys, I think you should just play.’ And we’re like, ‘But there’s no one here.’ And he says, ‘No no no, just play, someone might turn up.’ So we played a two-and-a-half hour set and nobody turned up. That was kind of… surreal. We played once and someone let off a tear gas canister. I was playing, and Jonathan was watching the dance floor clearing and is like, ‘What are you doing?’ thinking I may have lost the plot with my DJing, but then we realized that someone had just let off tear gas. I carried on playing, and eventually everyone came back in, and then they went crazy. I think they respected the fact that I’d played right through it. I went back to that club again a few months later, and the same thing happened again!

Tear gas?!

It was in Madrid. I don’t know whether it’s just something that happens in Madrid, or whether someone had a particular hatred for us. The gigs that are those one percent ones… over the course of those Sunday nights in Glasgow there’s been a lot of those. I recently have the good fortune to play in Beijing. I had no idea what to expect; I thought they’d be pretty musically conservative. I didn’t think there’d be many people who’d listened to — well I thought, ‘Who the hell in China has ever heard of me?’ But this gigs was one of those one percent gigs where people were just going absolutely wild, where they were open to the kind of weirder and more tripped-out [stuff]. The more music I played, the more into it they got. I’m not under any illusions that they knew who I was; I think that people were going out to this club and happened to be incredibly open. Great club, best sound system… it was kind of like, ‘Wow, China’s really rocking it.’ It’s those gigs that make you think, ‘This is why I keep doing this.’ I’ve been doing this for 25 years. Maybe I should retire and get a sensible life. But those are the things that make you want to keep on doing it.

It sounds like you’re not finishing up Optimo (Espacio) so you can retire. It might just open you up to doing more of these “one percent” gigs.

I’m sure a day will come when we are too old for this, and then maybe it’ll go back to being a hobby. I would always like to do this, even if I’ve reached the point where I’m doing something completely different, like production, for a living. I don’t think I would ever want to relinquish the DJing side. But maybe one day that’ll go back to being something I do as a hobby, which is really how it started. But at the moment, I’m still hungry for it. I’m hungry for music, for new music, for traveling, for making music, releasing music, producing music, whatever.

Save your free pass for another youngster: Kyle Hall gets by perfectly fine on his own merits. Having cultivated a mouthwatering discography and forthcoming release schedule while still barely legal, one might expect Hall to embrace the title of Detroit’s next great dance music producer. Yet while speaking with him in a recent phone interview, it seemed being released on FXHE, Moods & Grooves, Hyperdub, and Third Ear Recordings was small beer next to the scope of his ambitions. His enterprising nature is backed by vibrant creative energy that cannot be contained by genres or expectations, yielding a loose but carefully considered strain of organic dance music whose affecting quality knocks you back in your chair. It’s little wonder that he can imagine producing for pop music megastars in five year’s time. Boundlessly optimistic and precocious to boot, it was my pleasure to speak with Hall in advance of his Movement ‘10 appearance about his passion for the visual arts, how he’s dealt with success, and the future as he sees it.

For past generations of producers it was difficult to gain acclaim while being stylistically multifaceted (like “Shake”), because no one knew how to market them. From your own personal experience as a multifarious musician, do you think it’s any easier these days for producers to gain acclaim while making diverse music?

Kyle Hall: Yeah, of course, I think it’s way easier now. I don’t really see an issue with doing different things. As long as it’s good stuff…

That’s true. Do you think that’s because there are fewer boundaries now; it just seems everything was so segregated in the past.

I guess so, I wasn’t back then. I just like making music, period; I don’t really tend to lean towards one thing more than another. Music is music.

I imagine most if not all of the music you have lined up for Warp, Planet E, Nonplus etc was all written in 2009. Have you had much chance to compose this year?

Oh yeah, plenty. I do it all the time — as soon as I’m home.

How is your stuff now different from the material for the forthcoming EPs?

I mean, it’s still me doing the same stuff. There might be a difference outwardly to other people. It’s different of course because I’m trying to improve what I do.

What were some things you wanted to improve that you’ve had the chance to work on?

Integration between hardware and software, things like that. Getting better gear, getting to be able to do things more easily more than anything. Learning about the transfer from digital audio to vinyl. Learning about that process is how you can optimize your sound — what works best for the format. More of the technical things, but some musical stuff, too. Picking up different progressions and different key signatures, doing stuff in different time signatures other than 4/4, doing things in 3/4, doing things in half tempos. Just exploring musically what I can do, but that’s just a natural thing.

When you say you’re working in different time signatures, does that mean you’re doing more stuff like your Hyperdub 12″?

Yeah yeah, I mean, that’s still kinda 4/4 — kinda. The drum patterns are in 4/4 time signature but the way the bass is, in “Kaychunk” for instance, that comes around on every third beat. I’m doing that kind of stuff too. I just did a remix for [Instra:mental]’s “Leave It All Behind” that’s… well it’s still got a 4/4 kick, but I’m doing things more broken up and experimenting with using less drums to get my point across.

You’ve had an incredible amount of success over the last year’s time and what I’ve heard of your release schedule suggests there’s much more to come. What do you do to keep yourself from getting too big of a head from all the accolades?

I just keep listening to stuff [chuckles] that I want to be as good as or better. Searching for more music for myself to consume, just to challenge myself to get better. That’s more or less how I try to keep myself grounded. It’s not hard to keep yourself grounded, but I guess this is just a way to keep things interesting for me so I can focus on making music. You try not to do the last thing you did. That’s hard to do some times, especially in a remix situation. A lot of times people hear the last remix you did and want you to do one kinda like it. [laughs] That’s why they liked it, that’s why they asked you to do the same thing. I try not to do that but keep people pleased to where they want to come along with me, and me trying to expand things.

What’s your song-writing methodology like?

Sometimes I start with a melody. Well, lately I’ve been starting with melodic things and then kind of working downwards to make everything gel together. It depends on what you want to be the main idea. Usually what I start with is what I intend to make the focal point of the track, but that’s not always true. Sometimes you end up finding something else you added that might have been supplementary originally but it ended up being the focal point of the track. I might start with the hi-hats just to get a rhythmic element going, and then I’ll find the right kick drum. It’s not so much a creative reasoning of me creating songs, it’s more so using sounds to come up with my songs — they just kind of come together themselves.

Do you bounce ideas off people as you go or do you usually have full tracks before getting feedback?

Yeah, I do share stuff with friends. Sometimes I’ll send stuff to DJs who I think might appreciate it. Usually that’s about it, but it’s not like I’m looking for some kind of confirmation to make my track feel like it’s credible or good enough. Usually it’s done when I let someone hear it, or that’s how I want it to be and it just needs some minor adjustments. Sometimes you might hear things later because your ears get tired and you don’t exactly know how things sound anymore after you’ve been working on it. Some little pointers from people help, too.

Is there anyone unexpected who you use as a sounding board? I imagine people might think, ‘Oh, I bet he’s showing tracks to Omar-S.’

He’s probably the person I don’t ever let hear my music! [laughs] Not for any particular reason, it’s just… it’s not easy to just send him an email, so it’s not often I let him hear stuff. Actually, Dennis Ferrer, I let him hear my stuff. He’s a cool dude and he knows a lot about the technical stuff, so every now and then I send him some stuff and ask him what he thinks, as far as mix-wise. Sometimes he’ll give me cool tips I can use because he’s super technical when it comes to studio stuff — it’s good. Carl Craig, too, I let him hear some things. And then people who don’t really do music either. That’s probably the majority of people I let hear it. People who I look to just to get an honest opinion. People who don’t already have much of an idea about it because they’ll give you the most honest opinion. They won’t be analyzing it as much [laughs] about how you did something and just hear it. It’s good or bad, that’s about it. Sometimes I don’t let anyone hear it and just put it out.

As someone who is as much a DJ as producer, how important is it for your tracks to work on the dance floor?

Now it’s more important as I’m playing out more and traveling because I want to play my own stuff. Before, I guess about a year ago, I didn’t really care as much — I was just making music. I’d play it I guess. [laughs] It’s important to a certain degree to make a lot of stuff work that other people might not be able to make work. As long as I can play it, I’m kinda happy. I’ll have one I’ll play for sure and there’s usually another track I’ll make and think, ‘Yeah, that’s for everyone else to play.’ This is for the less complex DJs, less technical DJs. As long as I can play it I’m cool, that’s what I make music for.

What music industry advice have you received that’s resonated the most and from whom?

There’s a lot of stuff! I guess one is, be in control of where you music goes and how it’s presented to people. That’s where running my own label comes into play, and licensing things — don’t give stuff away.

Who taught you about that?

My music production teacher in school, he taught me about that. Carl Craig, my agent, Alex [Omar-S].

I do know that you have taken that advice. I remember last year after Movement ‘09 I sent you an email about doing a podcast for LWE. And you said something like, ‘Sure, as long as you pay me the same amount as 10 mix CDs.’ I have to admit, at first I was a bit taken aback…

[Bursts out in laughter] Ahh, sorry.

It’s fine, because the more I thought about it the more it made sense. So many people are willing to give away their DJ mixes or whatever else and you’re looking to make money on what you’re spending time on.

Yeah, yeah. At that point in time I was really trying to get things together and have a focal point on what I was doing, and I definitely think that had to do with my answer. I don’t know, the whole mix thing online, I didn’t quite get it. When I was selling mix CDs I was like, ‘Why would I give one away for free [laughs] so people can go listen to that and not buy my mix CD?’ [laughs]

Has that changed at all?

Yeah, the mix CD thing is not as important. It is in a way, it’s more a grassroots thing because I hand make those mix CDs and I put care into them, so when I do the mix CDs it’s a little piece of art that I do. Some online mixes are cool for promotion. When I did the FACT mix, that kind of helped me a lot. I didn’t know; I just did it because some people told me it was pretty cool and they had some other people’s mixes that I kinda liked, so I just went ahead and did it. Why not, get some promotion.

Your interest in the visual arts is apparent in your records: the center labels of your records, “I <3 Dr. Girlfriend” as a track title. How do the visual arts influence the way you perceive music and its creation?

Yeah, at the end of the process when the music is made… anything that people visually see, it’s something that can attack their senses actually influences what they think of the music — the connotations of the music itself. So I try to imprint how I feel about the music visually and title-wise so it influences what people think or people see where I’m coming from and relate to what went on. In the case of the second release on my label [Perfekt Sin] I had all the band members illustrated on the label in a cartoon kinda thing. I wanted people to see, we all did this track together — this was live. The other ones where I used the cassette tape, I wanted to illustrate, ‘Yes, I used cassette tapes.’ [laughs] It’s not just on there to look cool, that’s part of the process of me making this — how the sound is processed — and I wanted people to get a feeling for that.

Even with the Hyperdub one, I had my friend do the illustration for it, and I’m like, ‘This is where I’m at now,’ the whole KMFH thing. I want people to see, this is how this music is supposed to feel to you, it’s supposed to feel like a beautiful girl right next to you. So that’s why I put that there, because that’s what this music is about. The title, “You Know What I Feel,” this girl knows what I feel and that’s why she’s so close. I mean, some of the titles are kind of goofy too, but I come up with those with a certain feeling I have and a word comes to mind. It might even be not a real word, it just sounds phonetically what I’m feeling. If I could make up a word for that feeling or the sound of that song, that’s what it would be.

I have to say, I really loved the word bubble, “You’re about to see this 38th chamber,” that really cracked me up.

[Laughs] Yeah, yeah. That’s a Wu-Tang Clan reference that this girl, Blue Raspberry, who is part of Wu-Tang Clan. One day — and it’s a whole crazy story — I dropped her off at her house and she told us about the “38th chamber.” And we’re like, ‘What the– There’s a 38th? That doesn’t make any sense! I don’t even understand!’ We just thought it was hilarious. After that we just talked about it, me and my friend Cleveland — Mr. Thrasher — who did the artwork, we talk about that all the time. [laughs] It was just so relevant, it just worked! [laughs]

One producer I know you enjoy, Sam Shepherd, has done some gigs with a live band as Floating Points Ensemble. I was curious if you aspired to do something like that with a group like Bsmnt City Anymle Kontrol.

Bsmnt City Anymle Kontrol, that’s over, that’s done. My friend Dorian passed–

Rest in peace.

Yeah, so that’s where that is. [laughs] I’m not really aspiring to do anything with a live band, I just thought it would be something neat to do in the basement. [laughs] My friend Gary, he came all the way from Ohio and two of my friends from middle school I’ve known for a really long time came by to do some stuff. After we finished it, Dorian was over here to play the drums. After we finished it I was like, ‘I like this, I’m gonna put this out’ They were like, ‘You serious?’ I was like, ‘Yep!’ and I put it out. That was that. But that’s the end of Bsmnt City Anymle Kontrol, that’s the last there will ever be of that. It ain’t no more of that. I don’t think I’m trying to do nothing live like playing keyboard in a band or nothing, that’s not what I do. I mean, maybe one day, I can’t say anything for sure; but at this point in time I’m not thinking about doing a soul band or anything. But that is sweet, I like that. I like seeing [Shepherd] do it, that’s just not what I do.

I was surprised to see Jay-Z, Deadmau5, Soulja Boy and Tiesto next to Carl Craig in a list of the artists you said you wanted to remix and Lady Gaga and Pharrell as artists you’d like to collaborate with.

Oh yeah, definitely.

Do you aspire to produce tracks for the pop sphere at some point?

Yeah, definitely! This music’s gotta get out here! This has to. I mean, it doesn’t have to, but I want it to. I want to be doing stuff for them, plus they’re looking for new blood, different stuff than what’s going on. They need that next song! I want to be that. [laughs] Tiesto, he probably out there thinking, ‘How can I take it to the next level.’ You never know, he might see that and be like, ‘Kyle Hall, he’s gotta remix this track.’ And I’m down, put my own spin on it.

A lot of underground dance music producers aren’t very interested in going above ground, why are you?

That’s ridiculous. Why would anybody not want to go above ground? Would anybody not want to make more money? Why would anybody not want more people to be into what they do? That’s dumb; who would think like that? No one, no one thinks like that!

[Laughs] I believe that everybody wants that sort of exposure and the money that goes along with it, but I know a lot of people are scared off by what the music industry is at that stage of the game when you get to the level of those big artists, it’s a lot more cut-throat and about cutting deals. So are you looking forward to seeing your name next to Beyonce’s on a record?

No, no, it’s about actually creating the music for Beyonce.

Right, right.

It’s not just like, I can brag to people, ‘Kyle accolades because he did this on this project.’ I wouldn’t even like listing those things, ‘Kyle was involved on…’ No! I want people to hear that stuff and be like, ‘Dang, this dude has transcended to that next level type of stuff.’ Even if it’s just somebody else that gets out there. I think people are scared and they think you get taken advantage of at that point. No, not true anymore, because the major labels need you. Nowadays major labels won’t actually sign you unless you’re already selling 10,000 mixtapes on your own, on the Internet, through blogs and all that. But you don’t really need that! You can do that yourself!

I’m not talking about getting signed; I mean, yeah, Universal would be dope, something like that, or some affiliate like Deutsche Grammophon, that’s ridiculous. But in actuality, with the size of phone companies I’d rather get signed to AT&T or something, be the first artist on Sprint or Verizon. [laughs] They have constant revenue through people paying their phone bills every month, they have a global appeal because everyone needs cell phones. Everybody knows Verizon, everybody knows T-Mobile, everybody knows AT&T! It’s more so the outlet that those type of things provide to get your music out there to more people, and working with those artists would also appeal to another set of people who weren’t open to things like underground dance music. That’s what it comes back to: I don’t really care about genres, about being underground, the next great Detroit techno artist. That’s not really my interest. I’m more into making great music, just like any other great producer would want to be.

It’s probably difficult to see past your 21st birthday right now, but where would you like to see yourself in five and ten years from now?

So I guess like 23 and 28?

Yeah.

I hope to be like… I don’t know, man, that is pretty far ahead. [laughs] I should be pretty established, I guess? I should be OK. [laughs] I’m thinking that by the time I’m 20 I should be on some Lil’ Wayne, I should be doing something like that. I don’t know, that’s ridiculous. I might be president of the United States somehow, or his right hand man, I don’t know! [laughs] I might even be doing something more ridiculous than I’m doing now. Definitely something more ridiculous. I might be the guy on MTV, I don’t know. Who knows, who knows? That’s what I hope. I want to be running TV networks and crap like that. I hope to.

My last question came via a reader: What is your favorite possession?

Uhh… dang.

Say your dad’s place is on fire and you have to run downstairs and grab something…

[Laughs] That made me think, ‘What’s the most expensive thing?’ [laughs] Not my favorite. I mean, records, obviously not replaceable, you can’t insure them. Maybe records? I like my records a lot. Maybe my MacBook, I don’t know [laughs]. That’s a tough one, man. Because I feel like if I’ve got the tools necessary to rebuild, in the case I’m just thinking about what I can’t get back. I don’t know. That’s a cool question, but I don’t even know, man.

If you ever have the immense pleasure of meeting Kerstin Egert, you won’t soon forget her radiant ebullience or her buoyant hugs. Her wide smile shines just as brightly in conversation as it does from behind the decks, where she can always be counted on to share a personal, variable, and downright bodacious mix of tunes that cut straight to your emotional core. Despite almost two decades of experience as a DJ and resident for some of the world’s most well-known and respected clubs (from Tresor to the old Ostgut to her current residence at Berghain/Panorama Bar), Egert — alias Tama Sumo — didn’t really step into the global spotlight until 2008 when her first release on appeared Ostgut Ton (produced in partnership with her dear friend and musical ally, Achim Brandenburg, known to most as Prosumer). A few months after the release of “Play Up” and “Brothers and Sisters,” her incredible DJ sounds first graced my ears in the form of her — in my opinion, legendarily awesome — LWE podcast (which, although archived, can be easily found on the Internet). After 16 years of spinning, Ms. Egert finally earned her due respect with the release of the much-anticipated Panorama Bar 02, a mix that would top the charts as the year drew to a close. Months after her popularity boom and the world tour that ensued shortly after, we checked in with Tama Sumo to get the scoop on the Panorama renovations, the state of the Berlin club scene, and where she’s heading next.

So let’s just start at the beginning — when exactly did you first realize that you might want to do this music thing for the rest of your life?

Kerstin Egert: Oooooh. Hmm, well, music was always important for me. I played guitar as a child, but I think it was more or less because it was cheap and it didn’t take much space — can’t really say it’s one of my favorite instruments. I would loved to have played drums or maybe bass guitar or something like that. I spent of lot of time as a child listening to music and spent all my pocket money for records. I think at this age, I thought everybody liked music, and I don’t remember exactly when it became really clear to me that it’s kinda defining my life. Maybe at the end of my twenties?

Did you have a career before you were a DJ?

I studied, and during university I started to DJ. Then I was working for a company doing personal management, a job that I liked a lot — I loved talking to people and it was something that I found quite interesting. But then it was too much to have the full time job and also DJ on the weekends. For 14 years it was a balancing act. So then in 2007 I finally thought, “Ok, maybe I have to make a decision.” And it’s pretty clear which way it went. [laughs]

Where you living in Berlin at that time? Where are you from originally?

Well, I was born in a little village in Bavaria called Mühlhausen, between Nuremberg and Munich. But I was living in Berlin since 1990. I started my first steps into DJing in 1993.

Germany is known for breeding some of music history’s most influential experimental electronic music acts. Did you grow up interested this vein of music, or did you stumble upon it later?

I wish I did, but I didn’t. I grew up in a very little village in Bavaria — and of course we had no computers in the 70’s, when I grew up. It was far away from growing up with cool soul and disco music! So I grew up with mostly mainstream music — what came on the radio, and there were only two radio stations. During my youth, I was more or less forced to listen to some rock music, [laughs] which I actually don’t really like, I don’t really have a feeling for it. But, you have what you have. We also had some Italo disco and some mainstream disco, and by the 80’s of course I got some things like Depeche Mode or whatever. But in the record stores it was all things that everyone knew — there wasn’t any underground.

So when were you first exposed to underground music?

It wasn’t until I left home for university that I first heard other kinds of music. I studied in Erlangen, near Nuremberg, for three years. At this time, Nuremberg had what I thought to be a quite good scene. I went to my first acid house party there and it was totally flashy — it was really so mindblowing to me, so completely different. Even before this, I had started to listen to some independent music. But this scene was totally in the electronic music direction, which was much more my thing, and I was [deep breath] — wow!

Can you think of a moment in those early days when you realized you wanted to be a performer, instead of just a someone in the crowd?

There was an old friend of mine named Holger whom I knew from Nuremberg, who came to Berlin a little after I did. I shared a lot of music with him, we went record buying all the time. He sometimes DJed in Nuremberg and later in Berlin. We talked a lot about music, listened to a lot of music. And then he played at Drama, a house bar in Kreuzberg [Berlin], in 1993. And he was the one who said, ‘Ah, Kerstin, why don’t you DJ?’ He would really insist, forcing me all the time, ‘You have to become a DJ! Music is so important for you.” Because often times I was recording music I liked for my friends, on cassettes — I always liked sharing things. He kept saying, ‘Think over it.’

I’m really more an introverted than an extroverted type. I just kept thinking, ‘No, no… this is such a stage for me, I don’t know if I feel comfortable with that.’ I was refusing this for a long, long time. And then he played at the Drama bar and he was like, ‘Kerstin, I play there regularly, and I would so love if we did it together.’ So he gave me his old record players and said, ‘Try to mix.’ Then, without my knowing, he confirmed a date for the two of us at this bar. If he didn’t, I think I wouldn’t be a DJ today. So it’s due to him that I do it.

So what was it like transitioning from Nuremberg to Berlin? How were the scenes in the two cities different?

I mean compared to Berlin, the clubs in Nuremberg were very nice and a bit chic. Then I came to Berlin, which was completely different, because it was right after the wall came down. There were immediately a lot empty spaces here, and it wasn’t clear to whom they belonged. It was possible for people to throw illegal parties there because nobody lived there, the space belonged to no one. As long as things were this way, people could bring in their sound systems, bring in their party, whatever. It was really weird, I liked that a lot.

It was a dirty atmosphere for sure because nothing was renovated — it was the former East, everything was abandoned. And you had some great locations, like Tresor or the Planet, which was at different locations. There wasn’t this big flier culture at that time, and no Internet, no place where you could go to look what’s going on. It was quite interesting because you had to know the people. So somebody tells you, ‘Oh, there’s a party on Koepenicker Straße! Go through the second door and then up to the third floor….’ It was really amazing, kind of an adventure game.

For me, who came from sober and nice Bavaria, it was a trip! I loved that. And the music was different, too. Whereas in Nuremberg it had been a lot of the nice, cozy acid-housey thing, here in Berlin, techno was the soundtrack to all the political and social things that were going on. At the beginning of the 90’s, there weren’t a lot of places where they’d play house music. It was a more like a really dirty, industrial sound that you could hear in every club — or at least that’s how I perceived it. So for me, at that time, I sometimes found it a bit too hard, because I wasn’t used to it.

In such a historically “techno” city, you have such a warm, housey sound. At what point did it become normal to play house music the way you play it? Or is Berlin still primarily a techno town?

I think Berlin is still more a techno town than a house town. But compared to the 90’s, or the beginning of the 90’s, the house sound has increased a lot. And of course the borders are a lot more fluid. At the beginning of the 90’s, it was more of a distinction if you’re a techno or a house DJ. This or that. This was a bit of a pity, because there was kind and attitude that if you’re cool you play techno, and if you’re “handbag” you play house. At Panorama Bar I love to do that — I love to go from techno to house to techno to disco — for me it’s about playing music that I like, that touches me in some way, and not to just have one genre that I have to fit into. At the beginning of the 90’s, I had the feeling that this was very unwritten rule, that you have to play either THIS or THAT, but not both. It wasn’t until the middle or the end of the 90’s that people started combining the two.

How do you feel like the the scene here in Berlin has changed in more recent history? Especially with the influx of the discount airlines and so-called techno tourism?

Well, I think it’s still a solid place. For sure there are lots more people coming from abroad for a weekend to party, and that does something with the scene. But I think it can get quite interesting. From the view of the DJ: at some point in the past the club scene became so familiar to a lot of people, they know what to expect. But now, because there are so many people coming from abroad, you always have a good mixture of people — some who are from Berlin, who you know (so there’s that family feeling) mixed with some people that nobody knows, who might be here for the first time. I think it can be a good exchange.

To be honest, I think it’s really great when I travel around the world and people have these glowing eyes as they say, “Oh I came to Berghain last month, it was so great!” Maybe this sounds a bit cheesy, but it’s in these moments when you see that music can be something combining, that you can celebrate together — that’s sweet! I’ve gotten to know so many people from all over, even when maybe we didn’t even share the same taste for music. So I guess, to answer the question, sure it changed the scene, but not in a bad way. As long as you stay open-minded and open-hearted! This is why I went to a big city instead of staying in a village where everything has to stay the same.

So you’d say it’s good to have this influx of new people?

It can have good and bad influences – it depends what you make out of the fact that a lot of tourists come to Berlin. Concerning exchanges, in many ways it’s great. But there can be bad influences as well. Not because of the new people that come, but because of the people who think they can make good money from these tourists by repeating the well-working concepts. It’s capitalism. If it’s only the money that motivates people of doing something instead of the heart for something and their interesting ideas, that means you are looking for concepts that fulfill the tastes of the masses, concepts that are easy to get… and this usually bores me to death.

On that note, how do you feel about refurbishments at Panorama Bar at the beginning of this year? Do you think it’s a good thing that the clubs are making enough money now to invest back into their spaces?

I like that they renovate, but at the same time they remain true to themselves as they develop. Berghain always did it. Before Berghain, there was Ostgut. And then when Berghain came, it was something different… but in a way there was something which combined the two clubs as well. I think life is changing, so if there are some changes in the club, why not? I am so happy about the new sound system, and I’m SUPER happy about the wooden dance floor — I could go down on my knees!

You know, it’s quite funny, because today I heard that there are many discussions about the how they changed the picture [in Panorama Bar]?

Oh yes, there are.

I guess there is one group who says, “We want the old picture back.” [laughs] But you have to do the same thing as a DJ as well. Try something new. I’ve been a DJ for 16 years, and I don’t play the same sound for 16 years. There’s still something around which everything new is defined. But the center stays the same.

Photo courtesy of Sven Marquardt

What are some of your favorite clubs and parties you’ve played as a DJ over the years?

There are so many. I love the Süd Electronic party in London a lot. Next to Berghain/Panorama Bar, which of course is my favorite [grinning]. This is a party that won my heart, due to a wonderful promoter, crowd and sound system. Also the party Club House I played in New York with the Underground Quality guys – Jus-Ed, Levon and Anthony I appreciate a lot for the same reasons. I’m really, really happy to know them and that they invited me.

Some other parties and places I’ve really like very very much are, hmm… La Villa in Oslo, Techstock at Reitschule (a kind of collective with a political background in Bern), Trouw in Amsterdam, Silo in Leuven, Pacotek in Jerusalem/Tel Aviv, Cassero in Bologna, Ego Club and Baalsaal in Hamburg, Robert Johnson in Offenbach, Inkonst in Malmö, Rex Club in Paris, Pulstar in Köln, and in Japan I like Unit and Module in Tokyo and Mago in Nagoya.

So now you’re a producer as well as a DJ. How do you feel about producing compared to DJing?

I like producing a lot. There were many years where I was a bit afraid of it, because I’m not very much into the technical stuff. But I have to say a big thank you to Prosumer. I think without him I wouldn’t have done it. He was the one who said, ‘Hey come to my house, let’s do it!’ And he forced me — he took away a lot of my fear about it — ‘Just try it!’

I always thought, ‘Oh, I have to know so many things,’ so his prodding was super helpful to me. At the moment we’re working on a new track for Ostgut Ton. I’ll try to work by myself as well. But I couldn’t at first because I didn’t have the knowledge, and I didn’t have the gear. I wanted to produce with machines, not just with a computer, but I didn’t have the money for it. But after the [Panorama Bar 02] CD came out I had a bit more bookings and I tried to spend some of this money on some gear, and now I can build up my own studio and work alone as well. At the end of last year I bought a synthesizer called Nord Lead 2 and a drum synthesizer, Pearls Syncussion. And finally some studio monitors! And I had a Roland 808 and 101 already – so I guess it’s a good basis now for making music that I like.

Despite all this, I always want to work with Achim because we’re good friends and it’s so much fun to work with him, so inspiring. So I think I’m getting more and more into the producing thing. But I have to say, I do NOT understand why in the music scene it’s such an expectation that if you want to be a DJ, you have to produce, and if you are a producer, you have to DJ. Because I think they’re two totally different things. One should have the chance to go without the other.

So when you go to a record store, can you describe what it is you’re looking for?

I prefer analog sounds — or a least analog sounding sounds. Because I know some producers can do a good job of sounding a bit analog but it’s still done digitally. I really like it if something is a bit dirty, maybe edgy or rough. I need some deepness. I need some funkiness. And sometimes, cheese for me is okay too. Or a bit of a pop attitude. Once in a while I need that. I think I’m looking more to old schoolish sounding things. I’m not really into minimal or much of the new minimal or loopy house sounds, for me, if it sounds very minimal it’s just not much an interest for me. I want some funk. Soul. Deepness. This is all what I like a lot. And some disco as well. And jacking things are always getting me!

What sounds turn you off? Ten seconds and you say NO?

Minimal, minimal house… everything which is only functional bores me to death. You know that it will work at the club when you play it, but there’s no really good idea behind it. It’s just working. And when something is too overloaded, I can’t stand it. I love minimal things in terms of what Robert Hood would do — focus on the important sounds in a track. I think there are a lot of tracks that sound as if they are made in two hours. I sometimes wish that people would spend more time in caring for the sounds, so something sounds more three dimensional, not two dimensional.

Are there some records you never leave home without? Any labels or artists that are always hiding somewhere in your crate?

OK, there is no record which I have always with me. But… It’s so funny. Maybe Marcus Mixx? I usually have one of his records with me. I often have a Soundstream record with me. And for sure records from Achim and Steffi, and I always have Shed with me — I never go anywhere without a Shed record. Shed or Wax or Equalized, one of them.

What else? Hmmm. Some of my most loved labels and producers that I would usually have with me for a set are Ostgut Ton, Uzuri Records, Madd Chaise Inc., Deconstruction/Novel Sound, Underground Quality, Third Ear, Restoration, UniRhythm, Sound Signature, Beautiful Granville, Rush Hour, Delsin, Metrolux, Strength, Soul People Music, Fachwerk, M-Plant, Purpose Maker, FXHE, Dolly, Dekmantel. And I never leave the house for a gig without a lot of old house and techno records from Chicago, Detroit and New York.

Obviously music is your main deal, but in a city like Berlin, I can’t help but wonder if there are any other artforms that inspire your work.

From all the different artforms, I guess movies or video installations inspire me the most. I like movies a lot, especially the small independent ones, and I’m sure that sometimes atmospheres or music in films are also an inspiration for me as a DJ and producer. Achim and I once worked for a documentary TV project and were asked to choose the music for it — we loved that, because it’s a different and very interesting approach to music. Just as well as our work for fashion shows for which we also choose music. Projects like this also have an influence on my DJ work — maybe less concerning the music selection itself, but more the way in which I’m looking for music.

So what’s on the horizon for you?

Prosumer and I did a remix for Mount Kimbie, the track “William,” for Hotflush [to be released April 26]. And then we’re working on a new Ostgut Ton release, a 12 inch, which includes a remix by the Oliverwho Factory from Detroit and which will be released 31 May. And then we have a Japanese gay pop group, they live here in Berlin, and we were asked to do a remix for them as well. They once gave me a CD, and I like what they are doing, so hopefully that will work out. And then there’s an Ostgut Ton compilation coming out later this year. Steffi was asking if I want to do something for her label, but I think, as I said, I’m quite slow. So maybe that’s not for this year. Let’s see.

Running Back is one of the most consistent labels about. Only in terms of quality, mind. Consistency doesn’t equal homogeneity, and frankly Running Back can be all over the shop stylistically. Ravey, wildpitch house from Radio Slave one release, Robert Dietz’s desiccated Mannheim funk the next, Running Back is unafraid to thumb its nose at genre purists. This past year has been a particularly fruitful and varied one, combining essential reissues of the famous Prescription label and bizarre Japanese sound effects with original and enervating productions from Dplay, the mysterious Precious System, Lil Tony, Jacob Korn and of course the massive Tensnake disco-smash “In The End (I Want You To Cry).” Without a set roster, and such a varied palette, many other labels would be left floundering. Fortunately, Gerd Janson is at the tiller, keeping the good ship Running Back on course with his sturdy hands and immaculate taste. Mr Janson may be familiar to you from any number of encounters; interviewing Theo Parrish for the Red Bull Music Academy, manning the decks at his internationally famous local Robert Johnson, or applying his dry wit and playful phrasing to his journalistic assignments for Spex and Groove, among others. For a busy man, Janson is exceptionally generous with his time, and it was a pleasure to shoot the shit with him for a couple hours about the eternal vinyl versus mp3 debate, Walter Benjamin, British dub soundsystems, and what we can expect next from the least predictable of labels.

How did Running Back start? How did you pick the name?

Gerd Janson: Ah, well, I’m not sure of the English word, but it was quite a fast idea. Back in 2002, I spent a lot of time with Thorsten Scheu, who was producing under the moniker of Glance for the [Frankfurt] label STIR15 which was coming out with some deep house, classic house influenced releases like Motorcitysoul, for example. We just talked about starting a label for his stuff, and a few other close friends’. We had quite a hard time finding a suitable name, and all the best names, like Strictly Rhythm, were already taken! Another friend, Thomas Hammann, who I still DJ with quite a lot, he came up with the name Running Back. We liked the notion of it; of course on the one hand it is an American football reference, but then you could also use it as something old-fashioned, or anachronistic. Going back, but forwards at the same time, if that makes sense. It can be quite difficult at first to find a name for this idea that you have, but after a while when other people are using it also, it starts to make sense.

[Later] Thorsten then sort of got out of the straightforward four-to-the-floor house music, and more and more interested in Northern Soul. And a lot of the other guys like Mute, who did two of the early releases on Running Back, he slowed down with his productions, and I had to ask myself, is this something I want to carry on? There were never any hard feelings, but if you’ve started something for a group of friends, and then over time they become less interested in making music or prolific or dedicated… So from the first Mark E record onwards I took it in my own hands.

I was interested in how you hooked up with Mark E… and then also you have this thing on your MySpace page, “The Demo Policy Of Truth,” which is pretty funny…

(Laughs) Well, y’know [the policy] sounds quite blasé, but it’s not really meant that way. Of course people who you don’t know can approach you, and you can tell from the way they approach you [that they are genuine]. They have certain manners: ‘Hi, my name is …, I like your label, blah blah blah.’ Even if you can say these are superficial things. You get so many emails and links, and you can tell the guy doesn’t even know, he got the label email from I don’t know where, and they don’t even bother to BCC the addressee, so you can see he’s sent it to every label on the planet [laughs]. Sometimes it’s almost rude: ‘Please let me know when you want to release it’. Of course part of this is due to language barriers, but…. One day I got so angry… I don’t know if it helps anything, it was just my little take on it [laughs].

With Mark E, a mutual friend, Rob J, who runs these nights in Birmingham called Dropout Boogie, said, ‘Hey Gerd, there’s this guy who you should check out.’ Mark had just brought out the first Jisco release, which I liked a lot. So we got in touch, and brought out the “Deja Vu/Beat Down” twelve, and since then we’ve worked together — there was another one [Slave 1] and there will be another one.

I never have the feeling that I have to use handcuffs for people. I’m just glad if the thing works, and then of course they are free to do stuff for other labels or starting their own labels, like Mark has now. I always try and look for what is best for the music. I am sounding pretty angelic here, although in reality it’s just promiscuity. Of course you get demos that you like and that you would buy, but you don’t know when to do it, or how to do it. This is almost the hardest thing. On the one hand there is this talk, ‘Yeah, the music industry is all going down, blah blah,’ but then on the other, I’ve been a record buyer for some years but I’ve never got that feeling, like it is nowadays, that there is too much music to buy. Reissues, re-edits, new stuff, old stuff.

I know, it’s frightening isn’t it?

Yeah, it is. It’s not only the money thing, but also who can digest all of this stuff?

Yep, who has the time? The way there are so many micro-genres, it’s all quite segregated, and there are so many records. You can’t go into the record shop and say, ‘Give me everything.’

Yes, you could spend your monthly budget just on dub-techno [laughs]. No need to debate if there is any need for it after Maurizio and Chain Reaction. A lot of the stuff is very good and well produced and has a certain aesthetic, but do you want a whole Ikea Expedit shelf full of just dub-techno? I have a bit of a thing with the dubstep stuff. I’m talking here about the reggae or soul influenced stuff. I’m not a fan if it gets too dark or ravey…

Who are you thinking of specifically?

Well, there’s this Shackleton guy, and I’m not namechecking him just because he is on Perlon, but you know you can’t label this dubstep at all, he is in a league of his own. Peverelist, Appleblim, if you like the IDM branch of dubstep. Kode9, and recently Joy Orbison and Martyn also. I was always a fan of UK bass music, Shut Up and Dance for example, jungle, and this stuff talks more to me than the ravey stuff. I guess if you are dubstep DJ then you can buy all of it, but I’m not. And I love Roska, Roska, Roska who is an exponent of a new genre altogether, right? The funky commonwealth. And then I’m a big reggae fan, and in that field it’s almost impossible to keep pace with it. Then there is the old records, the second-hand market. It’s a downward spiral [laughs].

Running Back has a very open policy, and it almost feels as if you would release anything, as long as you thought it was good. Perhaps like the old Playhouse/Robert Johnson t-shirt: “Good music I dance. No good music I not dance”?

Yes, if you want to put it in a nutshell, this is it. I mean, within a reasonable frame. As I say, I am a big fan of reggae and Jah Shaka or Aba Shanti and these other very unique UK takes on steppers riddims, but it would not make sense for me to put them out. The electronic music guys, some of them might like it, but… And guys that were into that wouldn’t check for Running Back, so… It’s just looking at what you can do with the four-to-the-floor stuff, and there is enough already that I like. I like the idea of concepts (for example I mentioned Maurizio earlier), but I think with Running Back we’re not tied to a particular clique or gang, so it doesn’t make sense to be that strict about it. If it feels to me like a thing that I would buy, or play, I try to make it happen.

I also wanted to ask about the artwork – the Sex Mania tribute for the Radio Slave record, the football team for Dplay, and the Jacob Korn — I heard somewhere that this was your niece, or?

[laughs] Actually no, this is Prins Thomas’ son. If you look closely, it credits him on the sleeve, with a little help of LastMinutePanic, who has been looking after the artwork since the start. The first four releases looked quite similar, the idea being to have cheap, interchangeable artwork; we change the colors, and the names, and then off we go.

I guess like Perlon, with their instantly recognizable company sleeves.

Yeah, exactly. But I also feel that after about number twenty, it all starts to look samey. I like the idea that the records are quite different to each other, and giving each one its own face. With the Jacob Korn record, the initial designs looked a bit sterile, so I had this quite cheesy idea to have this child’s drawing…

I like the way that the drawing matches the optimistic or almost naïve feel of the music.

That is very kind of you. I actually called up the mother of my niece, and asked if she had a picture of the sun lying around. Her name is Rosa and she is turning three now, so she’s not really painting or drawing yet, it’s only scribbles. So I asked Prins [Thomas], who of course does the remix, and his son is a little bit older [laughs]. Prins said he ended up feeling like one of these football coach fathers, motivating their children: ‘C’mon, draw more, draw more.’

Like you said, we try and match the artwork and the music. With the Radio Slave, I am a big fan of DJ Duke, and when Matt [Edwards] played me the tracks that he kindly donated to Running Back, I felt like it was an update to this sound. And with the original Sex Mania artwork, I always thought it was a shame that the girl didn’t have a bra, so I thought it was a good idea to give her one [laughs]. I’m not a graphic designer, or a big art guy, but if I have seen one thing in my life over the years, it is record labels. I like the idea that it could remind you of something you have seen before, or that it fits with the record. I feel like artwork is important, especially when you have these dry download files.

So what is your favorite Running Back release, and why?

Ah, it’s like asking a father about his favorite child. I can’t really pick one. The main impetus for me is picking something that I would play and that I like. Maybe a fan of the Mark E, 100bpm “Deja Vu/Beatdown” release is put off by the Radio Slave, or maybe the guy that likes Radio Slave is put off by the Jakob Korn because he thinks, ‘Oooh, this is not techno!’ or whatever. For me, it’s just different sides of one coin.

It’s also for different times of the night, right? Your Radio Slave is for 4 o’clock in the morning and the others are for earlier or later…

Ideally, yes. I mean someone once said that for a music journalist I put out pretty straight records [laughs]. I mean, I’m a DJ as well so I see it like that. ‘OK, this is something I would play at this club at that time, and this is something that I would play at another club, at a different time.’ But really, picking a favorite, I can’t. I know it’s a cliche, but I like them all for different reasons.

Well, I guess my question is as much of a cliche [laughs]. Which brings me onto my next question — you write for Spex and Groove — how does it feel to be “on the receiving end”? People reviewing your stuff, me asking you stupid questions…

Actually it’s pretty strange, because when I’m on the other side, it all seems pretty easy. I’m asking questions, I’m putting records in a certain context. For example, I don’t have a problem if someone says, ‘Oh, this Running Back record is utter shite,’ not at all. Of course, artists don’t want to read a bad review or a poor RA rating or whatever. I look it from this angle — I can read a bad review and then actually listen to the record and really enjoy it. That’s how I try to do it — the reader should know why the guy does or doesn’t like it and what his arguments are. For instance, it wouldn’t make sense for me to review Tiësto’s new album because that’s just not the music I’m into. It wouldn’t be surprising to read me saying bad things about it. Then for interviews, it’s harder than I ever thought. Actually it feels a bit like on Sigmund Freud’s couch because a lot of the time it’s the first time you consciously think, ‘Why am I actually doing this?’ I know it’s also a cliche to say that it’s a gut feeling, and then all of a sudden you have to answer these questions. I hope I’ll get better at it! [laughs] Now I finally understand why many people don’t like music journalists. Talking to guys like you, or Bjørn [Schaeffner] who did the RA feature, it’s a bit different, because you are like-minded people, people who are music fans. I think the bad reputation of music journalism comes from more of the (can I say this?!) Jockey Slut or MixMag, the British dance press thing. They have more of a tabloid, sensationalist mentality, y’know, phoning people like Theo Parrish and saying, ‘So, Theo, who is better, you or Kenny?’ Things like that, which are not even tongue-in-cheek.

A few of Running Back’s notorious center labels

So what is the best thing about running a label, but also what is the worst?

Well, the best, it’s no secret that you won’t become a rich man but it’s still a nice thing if you can sell a decent amount, to break even, or even make a little bit and share it with the artist. It’s nice to see that people actually enjoy the music. Of course it’s a bit selfish also — it’s putting out stuff that I want to have on vinyl!

Surely it’s also a thrill to hear music you’ve put out in a club?

Yes, of course. This has happened to me a few times, and you can try and stop yourself a little bit, but you have to smile! And sometimes it took me a while to even recognize it. You know the feeling of thinking that you have heard this record before somewhere. The worst stuff about it: it’s time consuming, all the accounting and so on. I’m a really bad guy with paperwork!

It’s just you running the label then?

Yes. I mean if you start bringing in other people, someone to do your office or whatever, then the costs rise and you have to sell more, and it can all get a bit out of control. I think even in the small world that we move in, there is something of the 1980s idea of the pop star: ‘Oh yes, I have this number one record, I’m getting remixed by so-and-so, now I need an agent,’ and so on. We mentioned Perlon earlier, and I think they are a good example of how to keep your integrity in some of this madness.

Yeah, I like the fact that they don’t have a website, no mp3s etc.

Yes, it’s very basic, very 90’s. You can still send them a letter, or handwritten fax. But my take on the whole mp3 thing is a little different. I think these days, you don’t really take record-buyers away, by having your stuff available digitally. They are so into records, they want to have the physical object, and so the mp3 only tides them over until they have it in their hands. On the other hand, a guy that plays with Serato or laptops, they might not want to make the effort to buy a record and then digitize it. So OK, I also like their hardcore approach to it, but then you can also get every Perlon record digitally, albeit not legally. The 20th century already made art reproducible, if that’s a word…

You mean like Walter Benjamin?

Yes exactly, I wasn’t sure of the title in English…

The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.

He has some very valid points, about ritualism, these kinds of things. But if you look at the bare facts, it was never as easy to get hold of music as it is today. It’s about making it available in a way so at least the artist gets a little bit out of it. I think it was Ricardo Villalobos who was talking about how his music is specifically made to be played from vinyl, on this soundsystem, in a certain situation. You can’t really make this decision any more. As soon as you release something, it is taken out of your hands. It’s a bit sad, but also you know before this Internet age people, I think especially in Great Britain, were really quick to bootleg things, if they were popular [and] as soon as they were out of print. I’m sure you are familiar with the situation with Theo Parrish’s Ugly Edits, and no year goes by without some Moodymann bootleg. Even Todd Terje gets bootlegged these days!

Of course there was the situation with Henrik Schwarz’s remix of Bill Withers’ “Who Is He (And What Is He To You)”…

Yes, that’s the same thing. The label maybe decides not to release something, and then they get a mp3 from somewhere, perhaps even cut out of a live set, and they press it up.

It’s pretty crazy!

In a way, from one perspective, it’s kind of funny, you can look at it in a Jamaican, no-copyright way. ‘The music has to be heard on the streets’ [laughs]. It’s also really crazy, the way it paralyzes the artists, and the label.

Moving on, we’ve talked about Perlon a lot, and you say that setting up Running Back was quite a spontaneous decision, but are there any other labels that you admire?

Ron Trent and Chez Damier’s Prescription label was a really big influence, actually the reason I started buying vinyl. I was more of a club kid back then, but I liked the music so much I had to own it. Erm, Playhouse, one of the greatest electronic music labels of all time. The list is endless: Nu Groove, Strictly Rhythm. And then all these little New Jersey labels that you love for their naïvety and roughness, and the same with the Chicago ones, Trax and the smaller ones. Labels like Warp that you have to pay your respects to. Labels I like now: too many to mention! I’m a big fan of what Prins Thomas has been doing with Full Pupp, Internasjonal. I like the Workshop or Wax approach where you are not sure who the artist is, although I guess the cat is out of the bag already. I like Ostgut [Ton] for the reason that it portrays what they are doing with their club. Underground Quality, Novel Sound. My friends from Innervisions who have been always very supportive. There is something to find in very contrasting sounds. The Smallville or Dial camp, the ethics and aesthetics of Innervisions or loners like Omar-S, who is just doing his own stuff. And then the Sex Tags Mania guys, they just don’t care about anything. I think it’s the same motivation I have, they want it on vinyl, so they put it out. They also have a great sense of humor, like the 909 bass drum record — it’s just one locked-groove of a straight Roland TR-909 kick drum, without anything else. [laughs] Things like that are great. A quintessential techno record!

As you see, the list is endless. The bottom line is, these days you have to respect anyone who puts the time, effort and money into putting out an actual physical record.

I also wanted to talk to you about your involvement with Robert Johnson club. You had the mix CD with them out a couple of months ago?

Yes, I’ve been playing there for, all-in-all, nine years now. They had their 10 year anniversary this summer, and I think more or less one year after that I had the honor and privilege of becoming a resident there. Actually, this was due to Thomas Hammann, who is one of my all-time favorite DJs and friends. He got asked to do a night there and took me along too. So we have been doing this night now for nine years, mostly pretty low-key, sometimes with guests like Soundstream live, or Mark E or Maurice Fulton. To me, and this always sounds a little stupid if you play somewhere, ‘Oh, this is the best club in the world,’ but to me it comes pretty close to an ideal room for the kind of music that I like in a club. Not too small, not too big, quite open and it has a balcony, so you can always flee the scene if you so wish! You can pack in 800 people if you so wish, but also have a fun time with just 200, because the bar is movable. They always keep the balance between really known people, or more underground people. The fact that people like Ricardo still want to play there tells you something; of course the big names can’t get the same amount of money there as they can at the bigger clubs, but they still come. It’s just so much fun playing there. There are certain records that you play there, and then you play somewhere else, and it’s just not the same. Of course this is formulaic resident DJ stuff that they say about their own clubs! [laughs]

Another big honor was to mix the fourth CD in the Live At Robert Johnson series with Thomas. It’s a little snapshot of what we’ve doing there over the years. It’s all our favorite house music. It’s really hard to do a CD without doing it on a laptop, and still have all the stuff in there that you want to include, as your DJ business card. Whatever, it’s a mix! It was a big relief to finish it, I find it such a pain in the ass! I hate doing DJ mixtapes!

Yeah, I read that RA interview where you said you had to keep re-recording your RA mix.

Yes, I like to do it with record players, or maybe a CD player, rather than these music programs, where you can just perfectly sequence it. I’m a pretty laissez-faire guy, I like mistakes usually, but if I do it myself then I hate them [laughs]. It can make you go crazy! Some of the commercially released mixes are very sterile, if I may say so, because they are using these programs, and all has to be perfect. Then there are these other restrictions, like you have to get everything licensed. It’s a lot of work.

I guess this follows on a bit, and I know you’re a big record buyer. I read, I think on the Innervisions blog, where they were describing you as their “favorite truffle-pig,” so digging up new, or old records that no-one else has heard of! You also curated a record for Sonar Kollektiv a couple of years back, Computer Incarnations for World Peace, is that right?

Yes, together with Alex from Jazzanova for the first one, and then the second one I did on my own. The second was trying to pick some stuff that was influenced by the music on the first CD, so Brennan Green, Daniel Wang and Maurice Fulton. Actually I would give the guys from the famous web forum DJHistory.com the badge of being great truffle-pigs! You have people like Mark 7 or the guys from Pure Pleasure who are massive record collectors if you talk about this old 80’s stuff, or disco and Balearic music. Everything that goes beyond the usual house and techno stuff, they are amazing at finding strange records.

I also wanted to ask you about your interest in hip-hop. I noticed some of your pseudonyms such as DJ Pink Alert or Tuff City Kids are very apparent rap references.

Uh, the Pink Alert thing came about because I was wearing a pink polo shirt, and someone asked me, ‘Hey, what’s your DJ name?’, and I was like, ‘Oh, it’s Kool DJ Pink Alert because I was just talking about Kool DJ Red Alert with someone else earlier. Of course it’s a funny name, and Morgan Geist once said to me it sounds like a pale guy having an erection [laughs].

Tuff City Kids, well of course I love the label Tuff City, and great artwork and so on, but actually this was from a tag in this club I used to play at in Mannheim. I always wanted to take a picture, and when I started doing remixes with Philip Lauer, I decided we should use this name. But, yes, hip-hop is one of my favorite genres, A Tribe Called Quest, DJ Premier, all the “golden-age” or “daisy” era stuff. Of course the earlier stuff also, Tuff City. Also when Stone’s Throw or Rawkus appeared on the scene, maybe this is the last time it really hit me hard. I still follow it, but I’m not so keen on a lot of it now. There are still great people doing great things, but not so much that I want to spend money on. It feels like everybody is still trying to redo J Dilla or mimic Flying Lotus now. Even the top 40 American stuff has somehow lost its momentum a little. Maybe it’s just me! On a positive note, I enjoy this guy Onra.

So how many records do you have?

Oh, I stopped counting, and this is always a bad sign when someone says this! I have too much, too many. In my old flat, I even had them placed in the kitchen. My girlfriend said that it’s somehow enough now, so I can’t have them in the bathroom or in the bedroom, that’s sanctioned! And nothing is in order! I liked ordered collections, and I’ll go to someone’s house, and it will be ordered, and I can go alphabetical from The Go-Betweens to Drexciya and I know exactly what’s in-between, but I never managed to do it myself.

Wrapping things up, what’s the plans for Running Back in future, and for Gerd Janson? You’ve done a couple of remixes as Tuff City Kids, but do you want to go into production, or?

Well, I respect some producers as a fan who have, to borrow Theo Parrish’s phrase, a “sound signature,” you know that when you hear them, that it is them. I’m not sure I have that in me. Remixes are a different matter, because you can hear them as a DJ and think, yes, this would be really good if I added this. Or maybe you just think it would be good [laughs]. I’ve bought some equipment, but it’s also a time thing. I don’t know. I just bought a MPC-60, there’s the hip-hop thing again! We’ll see.

And for Running Back?

A lot of stuff is in the making, as we speak. There will be another Mark E thing, hopefully another Radio Slave record, a few other bits and pieces. There is one by this South African guy RezKar including a John Daly remix that has just been released. I try to make sense of things in the sequence that they are released — to speak bluntly, not to put out two Radio Slave records next to each other. Different stuff, to keep it interesting. There will also be the first album on Running Back now by a fine woman called Mim Suleiman. She is originally from Zanzibar, lives in Sheffield now, sings in her native tongue Swahili and you have to guess who the producer is. I am quite thrilled to see people’s reactions on this. Then there will be a Databoy 78 record with a remix by the fine Swiss beats boy Lexx, a project by Marco Passarani and some more fun things! Maybe stuff will happen, maybe not. To answer your question earlier, this might be one of the fun things about running a record label, if you don’t have a business plan!