David Moufang, or Move D as he’s more commonly known, is known as a musical taste-maker, experimenting with numerous interpretations of sound and their multitude of possibilities. Moufang’s fascination dates back to being allowed to roam freely through his stepfather’s record collection and sound system at a young age, choosing his favorites by their artwork and playing them on a continuous loop. Moufang’s grandmother was a classical concert pianist and he fondly recalls sitting under the piano as she played, surrounded and lost in sound. Briefly experimenting with guitar and playing drums in a school band followed, but it wasn’t until he was 26 that he says he made his first “good” record. The aftermath is possibly one of the finest discographies out there. It was in 1995 when David Moufang released the outstanding Kunststoff album that the German artist turned yet another corner. 16 years later and the LP remains one of the most recognizable techno albums ever made. Move D has since gone on to carve a sound all of his own, one that he refuses to name or even recognize. Nearing 30 releases later and spanning labels such as Warp, Compost, Workshop, Modern Love, liebe*detail, Philpot, Running Back and most recently Uzuri, it appears Moufang remains his harshest critic and admits to cringing at his own music and feeling uncomfortable while performing live. For LWE’s first video-enhanced feature, we asked him about his earliest influences, favorite equipment, the current state of deep house, and whether it’s possible to be comfortable with what you’ve made. [Video by Kojun Shimoyama]

You’ve been making music since the early 90′s, garnering high praise for your output. Yet you’ve never reached that “superstar DJ” status when you clearly could have. Is that intentional?

Dave Moufang:Sort of, maybe. I wouldn’t want to be a guy having a hard time going shopping or anything. Stardom itself, I don’t really like it, I don’t really believe in it. I was really attracted to techno and house music in the beginning because it was a totally anonymous thing: you didn’t use your real name and not show your real face, and the point was about the music, it’s not about who you are. This in the beginning was what really attracted me most, getting rid of that stage situation, that rock stardom. These were the best days in the scene. And only a few years in the 90′s raves got bigger and bigger with more sponsorship and stages got higher and higher. All of a sudden Sven Väth was the new Mick Jagger and we were in the same bullshit again! So I don’t really believe in this, but I don’t think it’d have been easy to become more of a star. They achieve what they achieve when they do what they believe in. And these star kind of types, there’s something in them that’s telling them that ‘I want to be a star’ and I think that’s how they come across. I don’t think you can fake this. Guys who are doing super commercial stuff, they don’t do it because they have a business concept, I think they really dig their own shit you know? I totally do.

You have an impressive discography for an underground artist. Do you feel like you’ve achieved what you set out to do when you decided to become a musician?

I don’t believe you go out and make records with a set career in mind. I think you take it one by one, you want to do the one record and then as a natural evolution you do the next one. One thing I can tell you is, it’s easy to do your best work when you first start, and I realize many people are like this. Their debut albums are the best for a lot of bands. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that you’ve got all your life to prepare it — all your ideas in one go and from then on you’re under pressure. I didn’t really think much about my career, as a boy maybe I was thinking about concerts and stages and concerts and possibly touring the world or eventually coming to Japan! I was 41 when I first made it to Japan, I had totally given up hope. All my friends from the 90′s had been going and having cool deals with Sony Music, etc. It just never happened for me. But now I’ve been [to Japan] three times in two years so, yeah, it’s working out.

I think one thing that’s really important is that you have to keep going going, you have to keep making things. It’s only possible for a few outstanding artists, like Derrick May for example, who did great stuff 20 years ago and still maintains a career without producing. But for the rest of us, you have to be busy, maybe even put out something which isn’t that great. It’s better to put out something that isn’t that great than not putting out anything at all, I’ve learned that. Which I think feels wrong. I’d rather wait until I’m really ready, but, if you wait too long you are completely forgotten. I was really, really lucky myself. My son was born in 1997, and my wife or his mother she was working full-time so I was staying at home with him for the first couple of years. It totally knocked me out of the whole scene. I was really lucky to get back in. I could be somewhere else right now yes, but I could also be totally forgotten, so I’m not complaining!

When you started making and playing music did you have another job and music was your hobby, or did you go straight into it as a full-time profession?

I started playing in bands and made my first record in 1983, playing guitar, and that was while I was going to school so clearly it was hobby, a school band. After I left school I never really made a serious attempt to study or anything, I always knew this is what interested me most. I started DJing in ’87, in a small club in my home town, playing funk and soul and some other mainstream stuff. Some people make amazing albums when they are 20, I made my first good record when I was 26.

Meeting Move D – part 1 from Kojun / selective pressure on Vimeo.

So were you working at the time?

No, no. DJing to survive.

So you’ve never had another job?

No. Teaching at the Bauhaus University, but that came much later. But I was starving some years.

What were you teaching?

They had the first chair, we say in University, or first class of experimental radio, which was an experiment itself. And my professor was actually a sculptor and not a professional journalist. But he did an internship with public German radio, with something like the BBC, a good radio station, and they heard about this new professorship in Weimar. And they told him, “This is the thing for you.” They give you a letter of recommendation, this is how it works. I was super skeptical when they told me to go there. They were supposed to learn how to do an interview and I was just the example, some guy who’d made a record before. The professor actually, he was in hospital with a broken ankle from dancing pogo which is quite unusual for a professor. So in the hospital he had nothing to do expect listening to this Bauhaus radio station and he heard me in this interview with his students and he called me that same evening and said, “I really like what you’re saying, would you like to do a class?” And I said, “No I probably can’t, I know nothing.” “Yes you can!” And he talked me into it. It was fun. But I couldn’t have done it if it wasn’t in that context. I can’t work with people I don’t like.

Your recent Hydrophonics release on Uzuri is garnering rave reviews, and time after time you manage to sustain success. Do you think that’s through musical diversity or retaining one specific Move D element?

Both I think. Diversity in the sense that I do stuff other people don’t touch and at the same time probably has something to do with my style, whatever that is. I think people who like my stuff don’t think so much in genres, like deep house, ambient whatever, they just like music! They’re just surprised and like my stuff and it can be ambient or jazz or whatever because it’s always an expression of my aesthetics, even if it’s in different genres it will always sound different from the rest and probably like me in a way, or like my aesthetics.

Was there a defining release or moment for you as an artist where your sound fell together and you knew you’d hit the spot as such?

I would say “Earth To Infinity” with my partner in Deep Space Network, it was just a magical coincidence. I knew this guy from school, he was three years younger than me and working as a bartender in this music venue I always went to to see bands. It was Jonas Grossmann. I noticed that whenever he was working they were playing awesome music and that’s how I really got friendly with him. But it was nothing to do with electronic music, it was jazz and blues, jazz mainly I would say. I told him, “You know that there’s some really cool electronic music coming up?” He said, “No way!” I said, “Yes there is,” and I played him some KLF, chillout, early Derrick May. He was so into it and we were really inspired by this collage that KLF were doing and the Orb. So we were doing something similar. He went to his record collection, he came up with a collection of samples. John Lewey, Tom Waits, John Coltrane, Alice Coltrane. I put in my little bit of Beatles. We wanted to do one track and suddenly we had an album in a week or two weeks. That was a real departure, and of course Kunststoff which has been mentioned enough, around the same time.

When you released Kunststoff in 1995 I read that some of the tracks were up to 12 years old at the time of release is that right? Which in turn makes those tracks and the album in general timeless. What are some of the key elements to achieving a timeless sound?

No, not true. I now realize some stuff that was 12 years old was on Modern Love. But when Kunstsoff came out in ’95 — [it was done in] ’94, that’s how long distribution takes, it was done in ’94. The oldest track is “Sandmann,” that’s from 1990 — the very first electronic stuff I ever did. Sometimes I just take ten years to make up my mind whether I like something or not! If I can still stand it after ten years then it must be alright.

From the ambience of “Goofi” to the disco fueled “Your Rolling Hills” to the gruffness of “Makes You Move,” your output certainly cross genres. Where does such a varied inspiration come from?

“Makes You Move” was very old though.

You still did it!

[Laughs] True. My stepfather was a crazy music collector, he married my mother when I was four-years-old. The first day he showed me how to work his turntables, his stereo and he left me to it. I was four-years-old, he totally trusted me. I was so amazed by it and as a boy, I would pick them by the cover, the artwork if it was interesting. Some I didn’t like, some I loved. If I loved it, I would listen to it ten times in a row. Sit on my stool, not do anything and just listen over and over. At this age, I knew this was it. I didn’t start playing instruments for a while because in all honesty I hated teachers. I did give in eventually and have some [lessons] but I don’t think they’re entirely necessary. I’ve seen self taught people who are absolutely amazing. About the diversity or the variety of music, it definitely has to do with the influence with music, the broad bands I absorbed. When I go home I hardly listen to electronic music at home, but to everything else. Whatever I’m listening to heavily just before I start producing I hear it in my own productions afterwards. I try to make sure that those influences aren’t electronic, ’cause it would be embarrassing if I ended up sounding like my next contender, David Guetta or anyone. I just want to be myself and that’s what I think music is about, hearing something somewhere and transporting it into your own. It could also be world music, I don’t like that word, but when you go to a bazaar or anything, it can be great.

Meeting Move D – part 2 from Kojun / selective pressure on Vimeo.

What one machine from your studio is Move D’s production staple that you couldn’t live without?

I was ready to drop the LinnDrum, but it’s too young to be my core machine, but because it’s new, it’s my new baby so it’s on the forefront of my mind. I’ve just bought it, it’s the drum machine that Prince used in “When Doves Cry.” Basically in all 80′s music you can hear the LinnDrum! I’m a free spirit and in my role of running the record label I’ve seen people making music with the cheapest gear, the cheapest software, the craziest self made instruments, like manipulating pianos and stuff, which is very creative. You don’t want to be a gear fascist. I’m from the old times, I started off with a Commodore C64, which is a real crap computer. When you had an arrangement of patterns and went from one to another you could see the tempo drop because it had to think for the next part. So back then the computer really wasn’t very good and the hardware was all that was really working. I grew up with it and I still love these machines. As I said before, you can do it with a cheap computer with cracked software and you can do the greatest music in the world, no question about it. It’s just about the way you go at things. It does me in to stare at a screen and then I find myself visually arranging things to look good to the eye — this isn’t the point, you should only listen! That’s why I like to work with hardware because it’s not so screen oriented.

Run me through your live set up.

It’s Ableton Live these days. I’ve got several controllers and the Korg Legacy MS20. Doing some fancy apps on my iPod or iPhone. People are telling me, “You’re cold blooded, sending texts when you’re playing.” I say, “I’m playing like this [demonstrates], it’s really cool.” Why shouldn’t I? It’s really cool. Sometimes I also bring real instruments, people bring them for me. Last time I played in St. Petersburg they had a real 909. I have one in my studio at home but wouldn’t really take it to gigs, it’s a bit too big as well. It was great fun, great great fun, so I bought myself a Jomox, which is like they make the same sound but it’s a bit more portable and if it breaks it’s not 1,000 pounds but only like 400 pounds that you lose. Whatever I do, I never play full tracks which like most of the others do. I’m always horrified and shocked to see people playing “sausages” as I call them. Full tracks look like fat sausages on the screen to me! I have my elements and the chance to get lost and go somewhere I haven’t gone before, so even if I just work with my computer and Ableton I think it’s justified as a live set. I also record it every time ’cause I learn a lot about tracks. I like to play my stuff out before it gets released, like the Uzuri record, I’ve played it like twenty times. Things take shape this way because if I put something out and then start playing it live, I realize how much better it could have been and it’s too late because it’s out already!

Are you always 100% happy with your final productions or will you always find fault in what you do?

Never ever and especially just after the time of release. I lose faith and it feel like I have to apologize. Later, much later, like a year or two years later I have a different option. Some things I still think are crap though, some things are fun.

Any one thing specifically?

Well it has to be remixes. I don’t believe in remixing at all actually but I think the crappiest releases of mine are remixes — I don’t have to name them!

But they weren’t yours in the first place.

No, true, but if you don’t care about the people who have asked you to remix in the first place then you’re an asshole, so I think about them! I’m never happy and never into playing my own music, but it’s too separate minded. Yeah, never happy and never really into playing my own stuff when I’m DJing. Even when other DJs do it sometimes I think, “Oh god!” and then I feel like I have to run, or something. There are moments when I think, “Ah, this sounds pretty good,” but that’s a rare exception. Usually I feel sick.

If you’ve spent so much time making, loving and nurturing a track enough to release it, why wouldn’t you want to play it? Surely when you make music you make it thinking of the kind of music you want to hear yourself?

Yes, but I listen to it for so long that I’m really over it. But it has to be others playing it. I play other people’s music and other people play mine. Sometimes I play one because that’s what’s expected of me.

In that case how are you comfortable doing live sets?

I’m not, I’m totally not! I don’t do it that often, maybe four times a year. I enjoy it while it’s happening but always worried beforehand. DJing is so much easier because I know I’m playing good music, or at least what I think is good music. If people don’t get or don’t like it, it’s hard luck, but I feel much more obliged as a DJ to serve people and play something that they like, instead of teaching them, because you have that option. At the same time I do wanna teach and if I don’t play any new stuff. But that’s compromise, you play them something odd and then feed it on with something you know will work, and then play something odd again, or something like this. Ultimately if a night doesn’t do well it doesn’t kill me, but if I do my live set I can’t escape it, it’s only my own music and people make this face, I think “It’s because you do shit music,” you know. Maybe, but I wouldn’t even see if they aren’t enjoying themselves… I never look up!

Can’t you feel it from the crowd though?

Actually yes, I can probably feel it. As a DJ you have to read the crowd, but I still have a hard time looking. But you’re right, I could wear a blindfold and feel them. But I can feel it better, I can enjoy it more when I’m DJing because I do this so often it’s not work in that respect. It’s easy. When I do my live set I really have to focus, it’s not a record that you play and then have five minutes to think, I don’t have time to think with my live set. I press start and from that moment on I’m like, “What am I doing, what am I doing, this is really boring! Oh god!” When it’s over I have a feeling about how it went but not while it’s actually happening. It is really rewarding if it works though.

Do you enjoy playing or is it more of a job?

Sometimes I do. By looking at me you can tell how bad or well I’m feeling. I also realize I sweat a lot more. When I’m playing I’m not moving, but water’s dripping down, when I’m DJing I would dance.

Meeting Move D – part 3 / 25.03.2011 from Kojun / selective pressure on Vimeo.

In 2008, Resident Advisor described as you as “the deepest of them all.” What are your thoughts on the deep house music that’s being put out these days? Do you think that it’s deep?

No. They’ve been tearing apart the word, or the adverb, “deep” last year. Was it on Resident Advisor? A long article and a longer thread afterwards. I love deep house and I’ve always loved it. It’s probably the kind of electronic music that bought me into techno and house. Mr. Fingers, Marc Kinchen, Chez Damier, Ron Trent, all these guys. But, whenever something is the “big” thing and everybody jumps on it it’s time to move on. I think my music fits into this deep category for once, but it may not the next day. I really have a problem with formulated music. When I buy records I’m not looking for deep house but for disco edits or anything that’s just good music. Space Dimension Controller, Floating Points, I don’t need to drop the names, you’ve got that shit going on here and you know what it is. C’mon, you guys know what it’s all about and it’s not what they call “deep house” in the media! Its people doing their own shit and if all of a sudden you realize, “Wow, I never heard anything like this before,” those people are way superior to someone who’s deriving his or her sound from so many things you’ve heard before. You have these people, especially in the UK I think it’s been a phenomenon for decades. The UK is the place where it’s happening, like good pop music and I wonder why that is? You have these cool young producers like Jack [Space Dimension Controller] and Sam [Floating Points] and Kyle Hall, he’s American. In Germany there’s that much talent but they don’t seem to get recognition, it’s such a rigid scene.

Because Germany is not as open minded when it comes to electronic music?

Totally, and very macho and retro. “I know you, I don’t know you etc. etc.” It’s such a hierarchy. It’s the same when you look at party crowds. In Germany and especially in Berlin they are so specific, people only go where “my” people are. “Oh, is that a breakbeat? I think I have to go to another party.” And it’s not still cool after 20 years! London is different, but I’m guessing that a lot of people aren’t even Londoners, like Space Dimension Controller he’s from Belfast. I’m from Heidelberg. I would never want to be in Berlin because I know so many people there, I would have parties from Monday to Sunday and record releases, and I know I wouldn’t get anything done. I think you need to retreat somewhere to a smaller place and do your thing, a place like Heidelberg. But then Berlin isn’t a place where you come from a smaller town and say, “I’ve got something new” and they say “Well, it’s not interesting.” And in England it works differently. I love London, but also love Leeds, Glasgow and Cardiff.

I want to talk about Compost. You first released with them in 1997, was it Hurt Me? What does it take to hold down such a relationship with a label, to sustain such longevity?

I dunno. He asked me for a track back then, for the compilation and he really liked it, and I was really surprised because we haven’t been friends or anything. And then, I don’t know how it came about the second one, which I think is pretty cool that record. He did say he liked it, but never got super excited and when I talk to him again about stuff, he says, “I think you do better when you do techno,” or something, which I didn’t really understand. So it’s really not the best thing to talk about. I don’t know what to talk about. He’s cool. And not cool. I’ve only done those two releases.

Do you think you might do anything in the future?

I might. Other people working for Compost are a lot more enthusiastic. Last time I played in Munich, some guy working for them came bringing me the latest releases saying, “Your black label is the coolest of them all.” This guy really meant it, you can tell. But Michael never really gave it a try. I’m not so sure if I think it’s the coolest label. I mean, they put out some super cool music. It’s just so much. It’s a bit big. I like when it’s like really small, like Uzuri. He came in the business in a way that you’d expect him to become big. Philip Morris were funding nightlife culture and you could become a minister of something and Michael Reinboth was Minister of Nightlife and he got thirty grand from Philip Morris to do something with it and he did something good. And he started his label. But when he first approached me and explaining about him, he would even say that. I would never say, “I got thirty grand from Philip Morris!” He has it on page one of his bio.

You’ve done a lot of collaborations in your time — is there anyone you’d like to collaborate with that you haven’t had the opportunity to yet?

Many people! Where should I start!? Electronically Larry Heard. At least I know him. We’re almost friends. He writes to me once a year which I think is super sweet. I’d like to work with him. I can pretty much do what I want within electronic music so I think I’d like to work with people who aren’t in electronic music. Ringo Starr, Leonard Bernstein. The greater the people, the less I could contribute, but to be around like when Bach or Chopin were creating something great. I was really lucky actually, my grandmother was a pianist and played all day whenever we went to see her. I loved it, lying underneath the piano as she played, where you could hear everything and see her feet moving but not her hands… amazing! The people I work with in real life are also really amazing, Benjamin Brunn and Jonas Grossmann, for example.

I heard about him through a friend in Switzerland. The guy I did Workshop 04 with, DJ Fragment, he was doing his own label, Curved Space Labs, which was really cool. He was playing unbelievably beautifully on one of his sets and I said, “What’s this?” and he said, “This guy’s doing a radio show every Wednesday.” So I became a regular and got hooked. Through the radio I’ve known him for years, then we actually met. He’s super focused. Doesn’t really know much about the hardware, doesn’t really understand his computer I think. But he knows exactly what he wants, he’s focused. We did a 12” in a day.

It’s funny because the two of you seem to have two different personalities, but when the two of you are behind a booth together there seems to be some sort of magic. Not only DJ wise, but production wise as well. I remember seeing, reading and listening about the gig that you guys did in Berlin together, and there seems to be this spark between two guys who are different.

Different, but same. I met him through the radio. There’s a message board, you can chat. Then he was coming to Germany, I was really excited. He was playing two gigs, one at Berghain or Panorama Bar and the other near Frankfurt. And I knew promoters of both clubs and I also know that the Frankfurt gig was under the radar, they were just giving him a little bit and the flight and everything else was being payed by Ostgut Ton. Since I knew both promoters, I tried to tell him in a friendly way that the clubs, they don’t like it if you’re playing somewhere else and they don’t know. I meant to tell him so he would be aware and if it came up he could say, “Oh I didn’t know about this, I’m really sorry.” But he got me wrong, he thought I was going to blackmail him. He totally freaked out. He sent me emails with CAPS subject saying, “Read this but don’t reply.” And he was like killing me and I was only trying to like make sure that he’s not running into an awkward situation there. And he said, “I’m sorry but I over-reacted.” But it was almost over before I met him, actually. I was really shocked, ’cause he really freaked.

Lastly, what three songs have changed David Moufang’s way of hearing, thinking and feeling music?

“I Am the Walrus,” Pink Floyd’s Ummagumma album and… aaah, three is damn hard! Kraftwerk’s Autobahn. All obviously from around that 4-year-old period [we talked about before]. Obviously Pink Floyd and Kraftwerk I got into ’cause I didn’t need to understand English lyrics, they’re narrative music, like somebody starting a car. Ummagumma is a double album, the first is them doing college gigs and the second one is very experimental. Each of the four members fills a half side doing whatever they like with it. It’s very far out and experimental stuff, but it’s very much like radio play. Roger Waters does something like the big dictator with a fantasy language, like German, fake, yelling, and then you end a flying “bzz,” someone’s coming down the stairs and with a newspaper. Stuff like this, you’re four years old. Same about Kraftwerk and The Beatles, well they are just beyond everything. I had no idea of the lyrics, but now that I do I’m not surprised! They transport the same psychedelic weirdness in the same way as the music. “Sitting in an English garden,” you didn’t really have to know to understand to know what was going on. Lucy in the sky with diamonds!

[Uzuri]

I almost start to worry when I see a Move D 12″ with more than two tracks. His brand of lush house is just best left uninterrupted, with each track slowly opening up and getting better with each bar. So when I saw that Uzuri’s 14th release featured three tracks from the Heidelberg maestro, well, I was intrigued. A quick glance at the tracklist revealed “Things Will Come (…For Those Who Wait).” however, is a short, two-and-a-half minute exercise in bass line-driven funk.

That leaves us with one (essentially) sidelong stunner on each side: “Your Personal Healer,” driven by submerged chords and short guitar licks, and “Sur un Bateau avec Eric,” which features square-wave bass tones and the titular Eric’s whispered narration. These are unhurried tracks that, on this particularly chilly day, make it seem as if summer is pouring out of my speakers, with “Sur un Bateau avec Eric” in particular succeeding in this regard. Moufang has been playing this track for awhile now, and while most tracks released after such a long time are confronted by bored audiences, it’s a testament to the timelessness of Move D’s productions that this track has stayed so fresh. Then again, Move D releases are rather infrequent, so it’s safe to assume he puts a lot of work into every track, constantly tweaking until everything is just right. In the case of the Hydrophonic EP, it all pays off, providing another essential bit of refined house from Heidelberg.

After a few days’ rest, LWE contributor Steve Kerr offers his review of MUTEK 2010.

On the week prior to MUTEK, The Montreal Mirror (the city’s main English alternative weekly) ran a cover story on the Còmeme-signed Mexican producer Rebolledo, who was to perform at the festival’s opening showcase. Jack Oatmon, the paper’s clubbing specialist, described Rebolledo as “the antithesis of the stereotypical MUTEK artist… raw, guttural, punchy and simple… not preciously niggling over the minutiae of subtle, minimal techno tracks.” Oatmon isn’t inaccurate in his description, but his words also speak to the widespread perception of the festival as humorless and overly intellectual. Granted, MUTEK has always prided itself on representing all categories of electronic music; brainy acts like Matmos and Mouse on Mars were included on this year’s schedule, and the festival remains an event for followers of studied, experimental composition. However, the notion that quality dance music and challenging, subtle arrangements are somehow mutually exclusive feels painfully outdated, especially in comparison to the number of iconoclastic artists on the bill. This was the first year I’ve attended that felt relatively cutting-edge, which is largely attributable to the refined lineup and the trimming of dubious attempts at live bands. The festival focuses on live performances rather than DJ sets, and while there were still a few missteps in this respect, the artists generally appeared to have been granted more freedom in how they presented themselves. Still, audiences occasionally seemed unsure whether to dance or chin-stroke, and the flow of certain lineups was marred in equal parts to the venue and the degree of the artist’s experimentalism.

Còmeme crew. Photo by Caroline Hayeur

On opening night, I headed to the Còmeme showcase at SAT (La Société des arts technologiques), a spacious box with fantastically crisp sound that typically plays host to sound-art and bass music events. I arrived as Diegors’ opening set transitioned into Matias Aguayo’s live band performance, in which Aguayo and Diegors, alongside Vicente “Original Hamster” Sanfuentes, proceeded to jam out on an assortment of hardware and hand percussion instruments, frequently chanting on top. The trio wildly shifted between jacking, tropical house, digital cumbia, and Aguayo’s dream-pop, a blurry mess that was far too much fun to dance to; no doubt a widespread sentiment, judging by the room’s convivial atmosphere. True, it was an attempt at a live band, but it was successful because it wasn’t far from a DJ set, which it eventually became. After awhile, Rebolledo materialized to play a selection of tracks that generally sounded like Skatt Bros’ “Walk the Night,” all hairy motorik motorcycle disco, and almost inevitably the dance floor gained a more masculine presence. The set melted back into another performance from the trio (now with Rebolledo in tow), and again, the combination of DJing and live set was absolutely seamless. Put simply, it was the friendliest introduction one could hope for.

Actress. Photo by Caroline Hayeur

Friday’s Nocturne, held at SAT and the neighboring Club Soda, was curated by FACT Magazine and boasted two impressive lineups; the former venue handled the bass-music side of things, while the latter, where I spent most of my time, focused on more techno-oriented acts. Club Soda is more claustrophobic than SAT, and the system suffered from some muddiness, but the night’s true problem was in its fluidity. I got there immediately after Orphx’s set, purchased a hideously overpriced bottle of water, and made my way to the front for Actress. His set, performed via the standard tweaking-apparatus-and-Macbook, was a reasonably smooth mix of tracks old and new. However, it was very much apparent that Darren Cunningham is foremost a producer of headphone music; his more delicate compositions were pulverized by the club’s system, and at one point the sound even cut out. His brooding stage presence — hood up, eyes closed — complemented the downcast material, but the set was too moody to successfully kick off the evening. It may have made more sense to put him on in a more intimate setting, with more effort on the visual front.

Cheap & Deep. Photo by Caroline Hayeur

After a pause, Cheap and Deep’s Jay Ahern materialized behind a table crowded with hardware, removing his sandals and launching into a set of athletic techno. Almost immediately he convinced a good portion of the crowd that it was already peaktime — frenzied shouts erupted, a friend ran up to give the producer a hug — people were happy and dancing. But because Ahern started so intensely, there was very little to build on, and after the initial thrill, the assault of raw, rhythm-heavy tracks began to wear. It was too much, too fast. Another energy-decimating pause and Jacek Sienkiewicz began his laptop set, which, in spite of some comforting atmospherics, also lacked momentum, though for entirely different reasons than Cheap and Deep. His tracks were too minimal for their own good; one cannot move a crowd by simply dropping in and pulling out the bass. The dancers appeared to feel the same way too, moving lethargically, like they were only dancing because they happened to be in a club. Sienkiewicz’s tracks may work in the context of a DJ set, but played live, there simply wasn’t enough substance to warrant enthusiasm.

Shed. Photo by Caroline Hayeur

Already on the edge of the dance loor at this point, I left to check out what was going on at SAT. A fog-shrouded King Midas Sound were starting their last song, an apocalyptic thrashfest totally removed from the weeded melancholia of their releases. I had to remind myself that this was Kevin Martin, after all, and the fans were there to experience bassbins pushed to the extreme. A little too intense for my tastes, but it was nice to have my expectations jarred a bit, which is part of the beauty of MUTEK. Back at Club Soda, Shed had the estimable task of redeeming everyone’s night, which he absolutely did. Running through material from his various aliases, his tracks felt especially warm after the austerity of the preceding acts. People were going nuts the entire time, and the unassuming Berliner received a star’s ovation. He looked floored –and awkwardly apologetic –in response to the ubiquitous encore request (which unfortunately never came, as he was promptly cut off at three o’clock), gingerly closing his laptop and shuffling offstage. Again, I left the club beaming.

Vladislav Delay. Photo by Caroline Hayeur

On Saturday, dissuaded by inclement weather from attending the Piknic (which featured DJ Koze and Minilogue, among others), I dropped by Vladislav Delay’s set at SAT, where the crowd was markedly different from those of the dance events I’d been attending;although I wasn’t expecting a throbbing techno performance, the collection of stiff, serious people sitting on the floor was still sort of a shock. The set was reflective of his recent material, an abstract bassy clutter with quick glimmers of beauty. I sat down and thought about how James Blake might be doing pop takes on that sort of thing, and then it was over. As much as headliners Tim Hecker and Ben Frost held interest for me, I wanted to give my ears a rest for Move D, who was to perform later that night.

Move D. Photo by Andrea

Metropolis is one of Montreal’s catch-all venues (accompanying MUTEK on the marquee were George Thorogood & The Destroyers), a large space with a balcony and reliable sound. The early crowd, regimented into a side-street line by young, stressed-out bouncers, was noticeably brightly-colored and druggy. With headliner Dixon slated for a four o’clock timeslot, people were quite ready to dance all night. As David Moufang opened his set with a luxuriant ambient passage, someone loudly requested that he “drop the beat!” — which he proceeded to do, and quickly everyone in the room was hypnotized. As with his releases, one gets the impression from his labyrinthine live set (again, laptop-and-controller) that he could go on jamming forever; he’s truly a master at improvising on top of grooves that expand and expand. It’s also worth noting that Moufang had by far the coolest stage demeanor of any performer — right at one of the set’s peaks, a look of intense concentration gave way to a wide grin, and he casually danced over to the side of the stage, as blissfully lost in it as the rest of us. Afterwards, I couldn’t help thinking about how well Move D could have complemented Shed’s set, though like Shed, he was outstanding on his own.

Pépé Bradock. Photo by Myriam Rafla

It was raining hard enough on Sunday to warrant a move of the day’s Piknic from Parc Jean-Drapeau (located on a neighboring island in the St. Lawrence River) to Metropolis. San Proper was playing repetitive, clattering tracks to a sparse, reasonably enthusiastic crowd when I arrived. After nodding my head a little bit, I went to find the coat check, only to be informed that there wasn’t one — not a big deal, but it made things a little uncomfortable, especially when Pépé Bradock took over for a DJ set. As expected for someone with his track record, Bradock is a consummate professional on stage, immediately locking into a set of loopy disco house; the dance floor immediately got dense, people were appropriately sweaty and psyched. His tendency to throw everyone off guard with sudden bursts of incongruous noise was also appreciable.

Brandt Brauer Frick. Photo by Caroline Hayeur

Later that night, I headed to SAT for the final Nocturne. Brandt Brauer Frick, who began late, were basically a Krautrock jam band — incredibly tight, perhaps too tight for their own good — whatever funk they had was canceled by the palpable excitement for Theo Parrish’s closing set. After a slow start punctuated by some unpleasant feedback, Parrish launched into one of his classic sets. Gritty and filled with otherworldly equalizer tweaks, he ran through Mr. Fingers, Fela Kuti, James Brown, and the Police, exposing the house at the heart of everything. His raw style was definitely polarizing; there were a lot of folded arms and glum looks (and unfortunately some of these people forgot to clear the floor), but most everyone else was going crazy, begging for more when the lights were turned on around three o’clock He concluded things by barking one of his infamous speeches about being a specialized vinyl operator (I wasn’t close enough to hear, but I got the gist).

Theo Parrish. Photo by Caroline Hayeur

While this was easily the best MUTEK I’ve attended, I hope the festival’s organizers take note of Parrish’s words. There was very little in the way of Oatmon’s boring, hyperdetailed minimal techno, but I see room for improvement in providing rawer material, phasing out the Ableton sets in favor of more uncompromising live presentations. A classicist, all-vinyl DJ set would have been a welcome substitute for certain dead-end laptop excursions. I have to digress, though. Aside from the occasional problems, MUTEK did a wonderful job of showcasing some of electronic music’s most revered names. Almost wholly ignoring the more ambient and experimental side of things, I was still able to catch a broad swath of talent in some well-chosen venues. As long as organizers continue to place originality above what’s fashionable, the festival has a bright future ahead of it.

[Workshop]

Improvisation. In house? Sure, DJs do it every night. Move D did it before with Benjamin Brunn on Songs From The Beehive, creating sketches beforehand but recording everything in more or less real time. Plenty of parallels exist between that record and Playtime but none are quite so telling as this. To be frank, I don’t know if the recording of Playtime was actually in real time or improvised, but this is a release whose unfolding seems so natural and human it seems unlikely that it’s the work of automation. Many complain about the lack of musicianship in house and techno, and Playtime serves, in part, as a solid response to such silly claims.

[zero r="Playtime" a="Reagenz" t="Keep Building"]

Sure, Playtime may violate most of Workshop’s criteria, but its devotion to analog synthesis feels right at home on a label that’s become the poster child for the those interested in all things sans-MIDI. This is a showcase of two virtuosos of their machines, or in some cases guitars, as on the building early-morning workout of “Dinner With Q.” Guitars in electronic music are a hard thing to pull off, but Reagenz make it feel like they’ve belonged all along, with Moufang’s airy guitar complementing the breezy electronics and vocal hums surrounding it. “Shibuya Day,” recorded at the home of a Japanese synth collector, is a laid back and mostly beatless play with texture.

“Keep Building” is the star dance floor cut of the pack, pairing warbled narration from Fred P with what sounds like a constantly descending bass line. Its thirteen minutes feel almost stunted; the slow but steady changes and progression Moufang and Sharp provide keep every bar captivating. Elsewhere, shorter cuts like “Freerotation” combine cloudy backgrounds with almost two-stepping percussion. The 23 minute “Du Bist Hier!” closes the record on an ambient note, and is a nice way to finish off a record full of both parallels and differences. Unlike Songs From The Beehive, Playtime has the floor at the front of its mind, and its ambient passages seem directed straight towards the chill out rooms of yore.

[zero r="Playtime" a="Reagenz" t="Freerotation"]

Given some of the previous releases on Workshop one might not expect Playtime to be quite as light as it is, but with its brisk sound and natural progressions it’s one of the most enjoyable listens I’ve come across in awhile. Many great electronic works (of 2009 at least) trended towards the dark and serious (Vertical Ascent, Three EPs), but Playtime evokes the kind of feeling that its name does: a sense of play and light-heartedness connected with childhood. As academic as you like, Reagenz combine the exploration and amusement of youth with the skill and panache that comes with years of experience. With both of their albums inspired by seeing Autechre play live, I hope the pair have the opportunity to see Autechre again; I’d rather not wait another fifteen years for the next Reagenz release.

[Smallville]

“Smallville ist nicht Dial.” A De:Bug review of an early Smallville release (DJ Swap’s superb “The Walk”) made this clear, but until last year, many people still persisted in treating it as a mere sub-label of the more established Hamburg imprint. Of course, this is understandable, given Peter Kersten (Lawrence/Sten)’s involvement in both, not to mention the similar influences and palettes. Both have grown out of the Hamburg scene, share a reverence for Afro-American music, and have a sophisticated yet melancholy European air, but this past year has seen Smallville come gloriously out of Dial’s shadow. Where Dial releases music as much for the couch or even concert hall as the club, Smallville is more firmly dance floor-orientated. Still, as this CD compilation And Suddenly It’s Morning proves, their music is equally at home, well, at home.

Label owner Julius Steinhoff’s “Something Like Wonderful” opens up, and fully lives up to it’s faux modest title. Urgent snares and a hearty, thumping beat are joined by warm pads for the most accomplished track of Steinhoff’s short career. The influence of Lawrence is palpable and natural considering the pair’s close working relationship, but it also provides keen competition for Detroit’s Beatdown operators as late night music par excellence. After such a high benchmark has been set, it’s a wonder that Christopher Rau’s “Childhood” isn’t a letdown. “Boards of Canada go to the club” is a phrase that springs easily to mind, but the pistoning beat and insistent, clipped keys that bleed in halfway through keep this from kids-in-the-background-and-pastel-pads pastiche. Rau shares a further track with the unknown Bon with “Cloverleaf Days,” which unwinds elegantly like a ball of wool rolled across the floor. On both occasions, Rau cements his reputation as a newcomer to watch, after his standout contribution to the first Dérive twelve earlier in the year.

Move D and Benjamin Brunn reunite for “In The Beginning,” which will come as a tart surprise to anyone expecting reprises of last year’s blissfully bucolic Songs From The Beehive. Putting the “…Was Jack” into the title of the track, crackling snares, a wonky bass line and fierce Motor City synth stabs make this the most peaktime moment either producer has achieved for a very long time. An obvious highlight, may the pair reunite for many more similar outings at the earliest opportunity. The previously released tracks by Lowtec, Dimi Angélis & Jeroen Search and Steinhoff & Hammouda should already be familiar to LWE readers, and little more needs to be said other than that they still sound as great now as when we first waxed lyrical about them. Lawrence, who can be seen as the godfather of this compilation, contributes a strong track after his below par album Until Then, Goodbye. Where that album failed in its unsuccessful forays into near beatless territories, “Don’t Forget” takes Lawrence back to his Absence Of Blight heyday. The latter record still stands as one of the finest German house albums ever committed to good ol’ polyvinyl chloride, so hopefully Lawrence will consider this a knot in his handkerchief to remind him of his subtle powers.

Of the remaining tracks, Sven Tesnadi’s “Winter” and STL’s “Neurotransmitting Clouds On The Secret Freeway” play very much to both producers’ strengths, and while doing so, end up rather unremarkable in the company of high achievers. Tesnadi’s effort is a strong club track that kicks in all the right places, while Stephan Laubner seems a little on autopilot, reminiscent of how Floating Points might sound on downers. Perhaps the one criticism that could be leveled at And Suddenly It’s Morning is its consistency. There are no hip dubstep influences, house divas, or any other zeitgeist references. Just good music, pretty much from start to finish. For newcomers to the label and old friends alike, this is excellent fare. It’s a fine summation of Smallville’s progress to become one of Europe’s premier imprints. Let’s spell this out once more. Smallville is not Dial; for the past year at least, it has been better.

[Philpot]

Having already crossed paths a couple times on wax, by way of splits and remixes and label connections, the team-up of collabo-keen auteurs David Moufang (Move D) and Michael Baumann (Soulphiction/ Jackmate) doesn’t come as much surprise. The first fruits of their labor (with further releases already mooted) find the duo mining a shared musical heritage for a miniature set of mild-tempered, organic house.

Despite pressure from the steadily throbbing bass, the easy-going title track glides by at a poolside pace. Funky splashes of guitar add some twinkle to the sleepy-eyed, Dial-style keyboard melody, while a cool patter of live-sounding drums uphold the comfortably unwound rhythm. Amiable hand claps complete the picture, and you can practically see the crowd pleasantly swaying to the music. There’s a sonic kinship to Isolée’s “Albacares,” but the immaculate sound design is far less busy. Lazy, summery, and deeply relaxed, “Limelight” sets a mood rather than demanding attention, and you’d be forgiven for mistaking the vocoder-voiced provocations to “shake it baby” for a drink order. A solid remix from Trus’me retains this mellow ease, but pursues a little more activity on the floor, rigging the track with an uptempo house bass line and more determined keyboards. Just to make sure he’s understood, there’s also an overlay of whistles, hoots, and “oh yeah”s to point you in the right direction.

But if “Limelight” is content to recede into the background, “The Essence” comes across with more urgency and feeling. Staying true the EP’s balmy vibes, “Essence” pairs an almost luxurious bossa nova rhythm with some wearied guitar reverb. Though “house” is the appropriate categorization, “Essence” works with a pretty straightforward “roots” palette, citing jazz, funk, soul, disco, and also highlighting a shared ancestry with certain strains of contemporary hip-hop, R&B, and even rock. A brief spoken word contribution delivers a manifesto calling for the conscious elevation of meaningfulness in music. “To do this,” we’re instructed, “we must always understand that our work must be, one: collective, two: functional, three: committed.” Sounds about right for these two.

[Simple Records]

You’d be forgiven for thinking that Motorcitysoul’s name is a nod in the direction of Detroit, but in actual fact the German duo of Matthias Vogt and C-Rock cite the Opel headquarters in Rüsselsheim, Frankfurt as the inspiration for their moniker. Nevertheless, their productions owe a debt to the cultural house heritage of both Detroit and Chicago, their latest EP, “Solar/Hatohay” being no exception.

The original mix of “Hatohay” builds nicely with shakers shuffling around nimble congas, the bass line marking out a simple two-note backbone to highlight the introduced chord progression. Without being lackluster it somehow is devoid of a vital ingredient to render it compelling and gets completely overshadowed by both remixes on the EP. Manuel Tur and Dplay change up the percussion, giving it a tribal rub, yet keeping it restrained and moody. The bass is given more direction, while the chief chord melody is forever left hovering over the track like a dark cloud threatening to burst at any moment. An occasional heavy piano adds weight to the atmospheric equation, the whole track reminiscent of Gamat 3000′s “30° Im Schatten” from many moons past. Move D similarly takes a late night approach, bringing layers of chords and ancillary synths to the fore of the mix, enveloping his interpretation with a deep brooding sensuality that will guarantee plenty of closed-eye, rapturous grooving in the clubs. “Solar Basic” toughens up the otherwise housey demeanor of the EP, a dynamic course charted out by a wriggling, worm-like synth as it slithers and curls around a slew of other less than organic sounds. It’s a track possessing real momentum and its artificial sounds contrast well with “Hatohay,” but ultimately this EP belongs to the hired help and their polished gems.

[Smallville Records]

Six months since the release of Move D and Benjamin Brunn’s acclaimed full length, a few more dollops have dripped from the beehive. On “New Horizon,” our duo get a bit more mileage out of the syrupy palette that characterized Songs From the Beehive, but replace the drowsy rhythms with peppier booms and ticks. While it may not represent any surprising new artistic direction, “New Horizons” shows Move D and Benjamin Brunn doing what they do best — lulling, sub-aquatic house.

“Moscow Arkestra” opens the EP on a smoothly bubbling note. It is the most languid of the three tracks, with plodding drums and a wobbly melody that conjure up the same dozy house vibe of Move D tracks like “Jus House” or “Computer Flop.” “New Horizon” takes a more overtly euphoric tone, with blissed out disco strings underlying a keyboard melody dripping with mellow satisfaction. It may sound like pedestrian afterhours material at first, but then violent, dubby stabs rip through the second half of the track, creating a vibe that rests somewhere between Substance & Vainqueur’s “Emerge” and Manuel Goettsching’s E2-E4. “Jacktrack” marks a distinct shift in tone, pairing swirling metal percussion with muddled bass kicks to create a murky dub techno number. If it weren’t for its slick, cosmic disco textures, this would be the kind of thing to find its way into Marcel Dettmann’s crate. While all three tracks offer something slightly different, they remain unified by the signature pop-ambient sounds these guys have been championing all year. In addition to providing another fantastic installment of trippy, low key beats, “New Horizons” reinforces the notion that Move D can do no wrong, and adds another respectable notch to Benjamin Brunn’s growing resumé.

For our third report, LWE correspondent Will Lynch compiles his top five live PAs from the first half of 2008.

One of dance music’s most unique features is the elasticity of the artist’s relationship with their own material. Plenty of producers never “play live” and use DJing as their exclusive means of performance. A producer may spend months sweating over the next EP, but the task of DJing is all about best suiting the vibe at that moment, which usually means playing someone else’s work. Then you’ve got your producers who mingle handfuls of their own tracks with dozens by their peers, making it damn near impossible for anyone in the audience to know who wrote what. While this makes a night out at the club much less predictable than a rock show (where the band is obligated not only to play their own songs, but often to favor their most recent material), it is nonetheless refreshing to hear an electronic artist play a set of his own work exactly how he or she intended it to be played.

There were some tough runners up to this list. Having seen Bruno Pronsato deliver a truly strange and groovy set at Panoramabar last December, it was hard not to include him here, but none of the recordings I’ve heard do justice to my memories of the night. Rummage through mnml.nl a bit and you’ll find a zany set by Donk Boys, which was another strong contender for the list. But after much listening and consideration, I’ve decided that these five are my favorites, mostly because they showcase the style and repertoire of each artist so well. If there’s an artist on this list who you’ve yet to hear, this would be an excellent place to start. So, without further ado, here are, my favorite live P.A.’s from the year so far.

01. Tobias @ Watergate
The idea of grooving to this one within Watergate’s eye-popping décor is enough to make me salivate. And I’m pretty sure that “Street Knowledge” sample is from NWA, which is pretty badass.

02. Click Box: April Live Set
These Brazilian techno hooligans have an aggressive and melodic style that sounds really fresh to me. Magda slayed with these tracks at Timewarp, and was still spinning them when I saw her in New York this June. Can’t wait to get my hands on a few of these bad boys…

03. Mikael Stavöstrand @ Watergate
As I’ve said before on this site, I love this guy’s style. Much like his releases, this set has grim overtones to contrast its lush, balmy textures. Funky, too!

04. Move D @ Robert Johnson
These two hours glide through some of the best moments of David Moufang’s exquisite discography, to predictably sublime effect. Very smooth and gentle, this is perfect to put on first thing in the morning. Highlights include a slimmer rendition of “Between Us” and perfectly serene closer (which is, incidentally, my favorite track by this guy).

05. Elon @ Old Cave
This guy gives Heartthrob a run for his money. Slamming bass, hard, steady beats and totally evil overtones — it’s hard not to have fun with this one. My favorite bit has to be when he works in a house vocal cliché without diminishing the gloom one smidgen (but I won’t give it away).

[Workshop]

Since 2006, Workshop has released a new EP every six months or so. Sold and distributed by Hard Wax, each EP consists of three untitled tracks, sometimes all by the same artist and sometimes by a varied group. The quality of these releases has been consistently solid: Kassem Mosse’s “Workshop 03″ had a stark and gravelly aesthetic that made it a real standout from 2007, and “Workshop 04″ boasted some fine ghostly house from Move D, Even Tuell and Sascha Dive. Unfortunately, “Workshop 05″ is the weakest installment yet, offering a handful of tracks less varied and intriguing than their predecessors. But it still merits some close attention, featuring a memorable track by Benjaminn Brunn — an artist I personally had yet to hear solo — and a quirky contribution by the mysterious Da Halz.

The three tracks that make up “Workshop 05″ are all cut from the same cloth — sugary, soothing, stripped down tech house. Benjamin Brunn’s contribution focuses on a serene two-chord motif, doused in reverb and pushed along by a perky, compelling rhythm.  Some gentle synth stabs drift in and out, along with some erratic analog streamers that soar and crash. Atmospherically, it recalls the lazy bliss of Songs From the Beehive, his recent collaboration with Move D, but unlike the sprawling semi-ambience of that album, this track is crafted with the DJ in mind. Japanese artist Rising Sun kicks off the B-side, lamely shadowing Brunn’s effort with a pretty but unremarkable afterhours track. Da Halz redeems the B-Side with an off-kilter groove that would take a bit more creativity to drop in a mix. The beat is gentle and plodding, vaguely funky and probably not danceable. In terms of mood, Da Halz follows suit, draping ethereal veils over the percussion’s mechanical clacking. As with the other tracks, this tune’s euphoric drowsiness is better suited to a bedroom mixtape than a weekend DJ set. Overall, “Workshop 05″ succeeds in being dreamy and pleasant, but feels lackluster compared to other recent efforts in mollified tech house (Move D’s “Between Us,” Sten’s “Way To The Stars”), and certainly doesn’t live up to the high standard set by the earlier installments in this series.