[Clone Jack for Daze Series]

When it comes to Roman Flügel, imposing boundaries is a bad idea. Yes, the German’s music is always unmistakable in terms of timbre and melodic progression, but in recent years particularly, he’s built his very success on changing things up. He’s gifted us with gentle elegy (“How to Spread Lies”), raucous house freestyling (“Brasil”), affecting hip-hop (“Thank You Jack”), neon-powered funk (“Deo”) and rigid techno (“More Is Not Enough”). And then there’s his oddball collaborations with Ricardo Villalobos, and the scores of imaginative remixes. In short, not only can Flügel seemingly do whatever he sets his mind to, he regularly does set his mind to it; a point which eludes many as-capable artists. This month, the challenge is Even More, an entry for Serge’s Clone Jack For Daze venture. The series’ focus is narrow, encompassing just one single facet of Chicago house: “jack.” While this has resulted in work of undeniable quality (e.g. Legowelt’s The Paranormal Soul) and obviously has its place, in the case of Flügel, it seems more like a cage of sorts.

Perhaps that’s just my (obvious) admiration for Flügel coloring things. Or high expectations. After all, the series’ limits hasn’t stopped others from doing good work. Whatever the case, with their classic templates and arrow-straight progressions, both sides of this latest record prove forgettable. “Even More” has none of Flügel’s usual one-off flourishes. It doesn’t even sound sequenced, in fact. As a loop containing meaty Roland toms and niggling guitar advances and retreats, lengthens and shortens, stutters and starts, the image of an MPC or Maschine being manipulated comes far too easily to mind. Not that there’s anything wrong with a track made this way — it’s just that the loop is too simple and coarse to support the six-and-a-half minute play time. “More&More&More” suffers from similar issues, even as it replaces the guitar with an emphatic vocal. There are minor touches which work to remedy the situation — the particularly vibrant and Flügel-like timbre of the cowbell in the title track, for example. But viewed as a whole, Even More feels more like the work of a competent bedroom producer than the world-beating Roman Flügel we know and love.

[50Weapons]

Cosmin “TRG” Nicolae is a veritable chameleon. Since his first record for Hessle Audio back in 2007, the Romanian has bounced around the fertile gray area between house, techno, and dubstep, constantly changing things up and frustrating efforts to classify his output. It’s no wonder his current home is 50Weapons, a label that has made an actual business of ignoring genres. But while this broad-minded creativity is admirable, it can be precarious, too. Step too far from the established canon, and you lose the fans stuck on your current identity, or who only like music compatible with their pet genre. Stick too close, and you run the risk of disappointing those who value your sheer restlessness, and myriad places it leads them. Gordian, Nicolae’s sophomore album, seems to sit somewhere nearer the second option.

Sure, this album is a different beast than his debut LP. Simulat was exuberant, euphoric, sparing. Gordian owes just as much to chords, but here they’re formed into wide-ranging and hesitant mélanges, rather than hooky sledgehammers. Backgrounds are nearly always filled out with silvery tape hiss instead of being left blank for contrast. There are some exceptions: tracks like “New Structures for Loving,” “Desire is Sovereign,” and last year’s “Vertigo” range from sprightly to outright banging, and their dopamine-fueled swings prove hard to resist. But on the whole, Gordian is decidedly introverted, differentiating it from the perky demeanor of Nicolae’s previous material.

Stylistically, however, this is fairly familiar. The meatiest sections are underpinned by shunting, 4/4 kicks — “Semipresent” — while Nicolae’s particular incandescent chords remain strong emotional drivers in many tracks, most notably “Defeated Hearts Club” and “Divided by Design.” And in cuts like “Gordian” and “Terminus Abrupt,” his trademark quirky progressions are audible, though they’re stacked and mashed into examples of bubbling intricacy, rather than popping like a simple neon sign. This sense of familiarity doesn’t drag things down. On the contrary, it’s nice to hear Nicolae staying still and exploring a particular sound more deeply. But for some, the effort needed to go with him will be too much. The LP is a wallflower; just as intelligent and interesting as the person commanding attention at the center of the room, so long as you work to find out. To certain people, however, this is a factor that will no doubt make Gordian seem short on fun.

[ava.]

When Murat Tepeli puts out a new record, it’s hard not to be interested. It’s not that his missives are that much better than everyone else’s; they’re just a hell of a lot rarer. You see, LWE’s 145th podcaster works as a surgeon by day, so getting to the studio to assemble his peppy house cuts can be somewhat of a struggle. No matter. When it does happen, the results are usually memorable. On his second record for 2013, the Fee Fi Foe Funk For Me EP, that proves true once again, with the Turkish-born German displaying a typically deft grasp of hooks.

You’ve probably already heard the record’s big hit, “The Jazz Funk.” Apart from the fact that it’s been doing the rounds in many DJ bags, it’s one of those things you hear once and don’t easily forget. “The jaaazz…FUNK, the jaaazz…FUNK,” intones its main loop. Over and over and over. Just try and ignore it; the perfect timing of the syllables and the hefty analog beat/bass combo which surges below will thwart you every time. Tepeli’s second original, “Forever,” has less obvious appeal. But as its silvery, gossamer chords slip over sparse bass, they prove surprisingly powerful, perhaps just because of how much room they’ve been given to breathe. Only a diva-like vocal really competes for the top end.

Highlighting Damiano von Erckert’s off-kilter tendencies and Prosumer’s penchant for sheer rapture, the record’s two remixes are equally as strong. The former melds “The Jazz Funk” into a rippling deep-house beauty, one underpinned by deep, sloshing drums and just the barest hints of the original’s vital vocal. Prosumer, on the other hand, beefs up “Forever” into a sonorous bit of piano house, spreading the diva vocals liberally around. While these two efforts are vastly different than Tepeli’s, there’s no feeling that any essential qualities have been lost — a coherence which seems borne by shared songwriting ability.

If, of late, the name Alex Smoke seems to have slipped from your head, you can be forgiven. The man born Alex Menzies has been on somewhat of a hiatus, struck down by serious health issues. But in truth, that’s only part of the story. Over the past decade or so, Menzies has felt his priorities shift. The Glaswegian was just 23 when his debut album, Incommunicado, exploded onto the scene in 2005. Alive with his murky voice, plus strings and keys — the result of many years of cello and piano practice — it was a breath of fresh air for a world gripped by the drugged-out influence of minimal. The preceding years were marked by a long run of singles for Berlin label Vakant, and two more albums, Paradolia and Lux. The latter was delivered via his own label, Hum+Haw. Through it all, one can observe a growing characteristic: less deference to dance floors. Things have definitely gotten glitchier and more “difficult.” It’s this tendency which best explains his slight retreat from the limelight in recent years. But perhaps it’s time for another change. Menzies has just released a brand new album under the Wraetlic moniker, and a fourth Alex Smoke LP is already complete. Once again, the frank and cheerful Scotsman seems poised to capture the public consciousness, this time possessed with a confidence and maturity his 23-year-old self could hardly have imagined.

Tell me about your new project, Wraetlic.

Alex Smoke: I just had a few years of not being able to work very much. My health wasn’t so great, with the collapsed lung and all that stuff. It happened it Australia a few years ago. I’ve had lots of collapsed lungs over the years. So yeah, it was just causing trouble for a couple of years and then I was finally able to work again properly, so I just thought, “I’ll try and do a different kind of project.” Something just like… vocal sort of songs, more freerange in production, no 4×4, so yeah, that’s it.

So you’ve had a collapsed lung several times? [post script: While transcribing this interview, I remembered that Incommunicado contains a track named "Brian's Lung."]

Yeah, it’s something that’s happened many times over the years, but the last time it happened seriously was in Australia, about three years ago. It happened when I was playing at Revolver [an after-hours venue in Melbourne] and…

Mid-set?

Mid-set. It wasn’t the greatest. But I went to the Alfred Hospital, I was there for a week. And yeah, it was all good, but it just means I’ve got a weakness there which is always going to be there. They’ve stapled the one lung up, but then the other one will probably go at some point. It just meant, because of the operation, I couldn’t use the mouse. It was just aggravating the fuck out of it.

Is that something you’ve had since birth?

Yeah, it’s a combination basically. I’ve got a back which is a bit wonky, sort of means it’s putting pressure on the lung, or something like that. It’s a congenital weakness, loads of tall, thin guys have it, apparently.

Did that stop you from playing sport as a child?

Fuck no. I mean, that didn’t stop me from doing sport. My massive natural indolence stopped me from doing sport. I hate sport. I like darts, and I like pool, and that’s about it. I didn’t notice my lungs until I was a wee bit older and I started smoking, and apparently they’re not connected, but common sense tells you: definitely, definitely connected. That and going out hard and partying when I was in my early 20s.

So what happened during the set? Did you collapse onto the decks?

No, no. I knew I shouldn’t have gone on tour, basically. I knew it was there. It was threatening for ages, it was really causing me a lot of trouble. And then, I couldn’t resist going to Australia. I love coming to Australia for a tour. So I just went anyway. And it was really touch-and-go; every time I got on a plane, I was just freaking out whether or not it [the lung] was going to go. It wasn’t very nice, because I was just always worried about it. What happens, it just contracts, and it fills with fluid and it goes like, solid. It feels like something jumping about inside you. And every time I turned the bass back up it was making it just buckle a wee bit. But I finished, it was alright, and then I just went to the hospital straight after.

When you were laid up with the bad lung, what happened to your creativity? You must have spent a lot of time inside your own head, nutting out new ideas.

It was actually just very frustrating. The way it is for me, if I’m in a good creative space, the ideas are just there and it’s a matter of just getting them down. When I was ill it was just very depressing, because I couldn’t work, so I couldn’t actually do anything. Eventually I got to a stage where I could do a little bit at a time, and then I did the Faust project. But yeah, I just couldn’t work for any length of time on electronic stuff, and every time I did work on something it was a bit half-assed and I had to do it in half-hour spells, and everything I did was shite and I hated it.

Looking for a silver lining, did that period act as a reset switch of sorts? You’ve been producing for a long time and no doubt have ingrained creative routines?

Yeah, yeah, definitely. I’d actually got into kind of a rut. It’s a weird thing, if you have a bit of success and you become known for one thing, people are very reluctant to let you change. They don’t like you to change. Even if they don’t say so, you feel an instinctive pressure there to repeat yourself, and I don’t want to repeat myself. Say I’m making music for Vakant, in the back of my mind it’s saying, “It must be this and it must be that.” It’s not a creative thing, it’s very bad. So it was good for me to have time off, actually, yeah.

Why did you decide to commit a whole album specifically to vocals? Why not have half the songs as instrumental?

It was the concept I chose. It was partly because I like vocals. I like working with vocals, it’s just one those things that’s good to work with. It’s a hook; the way the human brain works, it just hears a vocal and it’s… there’s something about the human voice, even if you just use a tiny, tiny bit of a human voice, the brain just snaps onto it. So it’s a good way of engaging people. It also means you can work with short structures much more effectively. A song makes a short structure seem longer because it’s adding a layer of interest to it.

Most of the time your vocals are indistinct, so they’re more like an instrument anyway.

Totally. You can’t hear most of what I say, but I don’t care. It’s just purely an instrument, a timbre to work with. I know that’s a bit of a divisive issue, because I know for some people, they hate that, they hate not knowing what I’m saying. And I get lots of requests, people saying “What’s the lyrics to this or that?” Sometimes it’s lyrics. Half the songs on the album have lyrics. But half the time it’s just me going [makes mumbling noise].

With your third album, Lux, the profits were donated to WikiLeaks, Amnesty International and Friends of the Earth. Via Twitter, I’ve also noticed that you’re quite passionate about activism in general. Have you been tempted to use your lyrics to address those types of issues?

Yes. I have, and I did. The Wraetlic album’s got some. But I just don’t like to publicize my lyrics, I don’t like to have them written down as sleeve notes. It’s almost like something hidden. I don’t necessarily need it to be explicit, I just want it to be there. As long as I know it’s there, I’m happy, it doesn’t matter if anyone else can hear it or not.

Tell me about your classical work.

Yeah, it’s a big part of what I want to do, basically. Long term is film music, not in the kind of media writer kind of way, but yeah, music for film and classical composition. Just pure composition I’d love to do more of. So the last thing was the Faust project, a score for the 1926 film of the same name. That was sponsored by the Scottish Arts Council and performed by The Scottish Ensemble. It’s five strings, and it’s just the pure joy of composition. You don’t have to worry about rhythm and beats — it’s all one, you know? The rhythm and the melody and the harmonies — it’s a lovely way of working. It’s a very pure way of working.

Did you write that using musical notation?

No. For me it makes much more sense to work in piano roll [a graphical representation of notes used by programs like Ableton]. For me it’s much faster to work like that. Obviously, my background is in classical music, so at a push I can write and score, but it would take me much, much longer. And the way the software works now, you can convert it to score at the end and clean up any mistakes.

I’ve read that you enjoy producing alone, and even consider yourself a control freak. When you actually emerge from the studio, how do you handle working with an orchestra?

It’s fucking scary. [laughs] For one thing, you feel like you’re pissing in someone else’s pool, you know? You’re there and you’re working with very high-end musicians. These are people who are sight-reading a two-hour piece of music. They’re sight-reading all of it. They’re very, very gifted musicians. I know for a fact that before it happened, they were thinking to themselves, “That’s a techno guy who’s written a fucking score, whoopee doo. We’ll do it for the money and then we’ll go home.” So, you’re always aware of that. You’re aware that’s going to be the conversation in the dressing room, but to be fair, they were lovely and they were really accepting of it and just took it on its own merit. We’ve played it a few times together since, and we’ve done it live again this summer, so I think they’re actually okay with it.

Were you there at the rehearsals, saying “No, this part needs to be softer,” etc?

The first rehearsal like that was terrifying. They were like, “So what about this?” And I’m just so freaked out and nervous and all the rest, I’m like, “Uh…I don’t even know.” You just forget, everything leaves your head, you know? I’d done something really stupid where I’d put in different dynamic markings for different parts. When I’m writing with techno, I’m writing to say, “This part comes down and this part comes up,” so I’d have different dynamics for the violins, and then I’d have a forte for the cello; a really loud cello. But instinctively, as a group, they were playing as all one dynamic. It’s just the way they tend to work, they all work together. So that was kind of weird. All these markings, they were like, “Well I’ve got mezzo forte” and the other fella like, “I’ve got piano.” They’d be fucking confused, and I’d be really confused and embarrassed. So there were a few things to iron out like that, and things in terms of style.

At the moment, there seems to be a lot of interest for classical elements. Francesco Tristano, Brandt Brauer Frick, and so on. How do you feel about that?

It’s a very good, positive thing for classical music. So-called “classical” music. Increasingly, classical musicians, you know, they don’t necessarily want to be called classical. Orchestral’s a better tag, I guess, but it’s hard. Even that’s not ideal. It’s just the idea of using those instruments like any other instrument, not having them separated off into this rarefied world of fucking bow-ties and wine. Which, it alienates so many people for no reason. I think there’s a growing awareness that it’s beautiful music, played with such talent.

For example, I was doing a workshop thing at a young offenders institution in Scotland — a prison — called Polmont. It’s all young guys, they’re all under 21, I think, and you’re going there with some classical musicians and you’re going to write a piece of music, some hip-hop, and you’re going to add some real strings to it. And you’re thinking to yourself, “These are some pretty hard kids. They’ve grown up in some real ass-end of nowhere places in Scotland, really tough.” And you think they’ll just laugh you out of the park; classical instruments and that. But when they see someone playing an instrument, beautifully, with such skill, they’re just impressed, you know. I think that’s the thing that people forget: it’s not elitist, it’s naturally just good music, played with skill. People are just beginning to appreciate that on their own terms; it’s a positive thing. You have to see it live, as well. Particularly, modern orchestral music, you go and see it live, and it just brings it alive. It’s not the same as listening to it on a CD. It’s that whole performance aspect as well, which really makes a difference.

You moved to Berlin three months ago. How do you find it caters for that orchestral niche?

Berlin caters for every niche. Particularly for the art side of things, labels like Raster-Noton, labels who have made their name as kind of using arts venues, as their kind of thing, you know? There’s some big classical things. You’ve got the Berlin Philharmonic, one of the great classical orchestras of the world. So it’s got a really strong orchestral music culture, and there’s a lot of classical musicians. I’m actually doing a live version of Faust in Berlin sometime over the summer. We’ll see how it goes, but that’s all young musicians. It’s a group of people who do a club night at a place called Chalet, which is a club in Berlin. They have a series that they do there. They want to do it, they know some musicians, I just have to make sure that everyone can play it OK and that it all goes smoothly.

Do you still go clubbing?

These days… I mean yes, sometimes, but very rarely. For one, it becomes work and you associate it with work. It’s true, you walk into a club and it’s a bit like you’re expecting to play in half an hour. But yeah, sometimes. And I have been out since I’ve been in Berlin, a couple of times. I’ve got friends, which is good. And it’s good to keep your hand in a little bit and hear what’s going on. But Berlin is quite safe in terms of the styles of music which you’ll hear on most dance floors will be house/techno of a particular kind. The house ones will be quite light and frothy, and the techno ones will be quite [makes smacking noise].

You’ve said before that it’s important to make people dance. But obviously, you’re also concerned with advancing things stylistically. How at odds do you find these ideals?

It’s funny, because when I first started, the idea of people stopping dancing during my set was just like, “Fuck! Keep them dancing at all costs!” Even if I had to, you know, lace the smoke machine with speed. But now, I don’t know, I’ve matured and… it’s confidence. You don’t have the confidence to wind it down and to slow down and give people a breather or play some abtract shit. Now I’m much more open to the idea of doing a set which is — the Wraetlic one is completely wind-down, really. You can dance to it a wee bit, but it’s basically for listening to, you know? Even in the Alex Smoke stuff, I’ll have quieter moments than I used to. But you know, generally, at a club gig, people are there to dance. It depends on the venue.

In the 70s and 80s, we had a situation where electronic music was new, exciting and seen almost as limitless. Contrast that with now, where some people are purposely aping retro sounds –

This for me is totally uninteresting, the idea of stepping back and making the same music that was made 20 years ago. I mean, fine, it works on a dance floor, but it bores the shit out of me. There’s two things happening — actually it’s pulling both ways — you’ve got things like PAN, the label, which is much more experimental. Some of it is still looking back, it has to be said, it’s still quite electro-acoustic, Daphne Oram kind of vibe. But I still think it’s a little bit more interesting, pushing things forward. And maybe the classical thing comes into that as well. Using old ideas, bringing them forward, re-meshing them.

[Electronic music] is becoming more mainstream at the same time. All this money that’s getting pumped into the American EDM scene… for them, this is like golden cow time. They’re just sort of, rubbing their hands with glee. “Let’s get Rihanna and Guetta. Let’s get her head and graft it onto his body, and let’s get Deadmau5′s fucking rat-face and put that on top and we’ve got a golden winner here. And then we’ll sample it.” [laughs] I dunno, we’ll see. I think that’ll have a really good trickle-down effect, and it will encourage a lot of kids to get into music.

If you discount trap, the last real genre explosion was dubstep, which was more than 10 years ago now. Is there potential for something like that again?

I don’t know. I think, to a certain extent things have fractured, in a good way. For me, a big thing which I always say is the fact that genres have become a bit more broken down and a bit less strict. Like, all those so-called dubstep guys now make kind of, techno stuff. And that whole witch house thing, you know? Genres gone mental. But when you take away that name, it’s all very different music, actually. And interesting stuff, too. There will be another massive genre, of course. But it probably won’t be what I’m into. It’ll probably be something that’s for the kids. That’s what gets a genre big, it’s whether the youngsters are into it.

Do you think it’s inevitable that a majority of the older generation will look down upon each new things that arrives? It’s happened pretty much every time so far.

30-something people who find themselves moaning about the state of trap need to remind themselves that they are like their fucking parents. It’s inevitable that most people will be like that. But to stay open-minded, to try and take the good from everything, is good, you know? Try and understand where those kids are coming from. The fact is, trap’s so fucking hyper that it’s a bit of an onslaught for an old cunt. I’m talking about some of my Glasgow muckers here, like Rustie and Hud Mo, it’s like, “Whoa boys, you’ve got a lot going on there.” But I kind of find it invigorating as well, you know? It’s like, hyper-energy. So I can see the positive from it in that sense.

But then you have something like Kuedo’s Severant, which took these hyper elements and made them into something more tasteful.

Kuedo, I have to say, is outstanding. Totally outstanding. The fact is that a young person’s brain is going to be different from my brain, and it’s going to be able to operate twice as fast and take in twice as many day-glo fucking colors as mine. You know, that’s fine. I’ll take Kuedo’s version, because that’s cool for me.

How closely do you think the continuing progression of music is tied to technology?

You find records which are associated with technology. Like, you have AutoTune, or you have a really good 303 emulation comes out, and all of a sudden there’s an acid-house revival. I think there’s a lot of that. And I think Ableton and all that, all the amount of trickery you can do, there’s an element of that. But I also think there’s a place for simplicity, when you look at Burial. You can make Burial’s music with Fruity Loops, in all likelihood. But it’s the mindset which matters.

[Feel Music]

As an artist, you have to feel pretty good about a piece of work to name it The Breakthrough. Assuming, of course, that the title of John Daly’s latest record does refer to itself. I think so. After producing two stunning and very different albums last year, Daly is back on the 12″ trail and no doubt keen to shoot off in some new direction. Single-tracker The Breakthrough does exactly that while retaining the Irishman’s signature sound. The “new” part is borne by structure: where tracks like “Pass the Swing” or “Sea Level” felt pretty song-like, The Breakthrough is more of a wandering journey, with no clear destination in sight.

John Daly, “The Breakthrough”

This type of thing doesn’t always work, but here, it’s carried nicely by Daly’s aforementioned signature: the sheer warmth of the synthesis. There’s a huge amount happening; lucid pads soaring aloft, cascades of notes tinkling front and center nonstop, sproinging bass leaping about, and percussion shuffling away up the back. But as it all percolates about, the feeling isn’t one of overwhelming bombardment, but pleasant immersion. It’s both a testament to the Irishman’s arrangements, and another sound addition to his recently revived label, Feel Music.

[Delsin]

When you look at it, John Beltran has had quite the remarkable career. He started in the early 90s, around the same time as legendary names like Chandler and Craig. He’s proven similarly prolific, with half a dozen albums and a multitude of singles to his name. His consistency is unquestionable, too, regardless of whether he’s covering techno, Latin-inflected house, IDM, downtempo, future jazz, or, most famously, ambient. But if the American’s profile is smaller than those of the aforementioned giants, it’s no doubt because ambient has so little impact at clubs, the primary place where electronic music is broadcast, consumed, passed on, and fondly remembered. It’s a shame, because Beltran’s sound remains one of the most instantly recognizable there is, even on this eighth album, Amazing Things. His first in six years, the LP showcases plenty that’s familiar from his past, while still keeping a few tricks up its sleeve. In this sense, perhaps the most notable cut is “Seasons Go,” which seems to reference Burial. Set atop garage-like beats, its lilting vocals and vinyl-bred crackles recall the best moments of Untrue, only this time with the addition of beautifully lucid synths.

Similarly, “Het Leven Is Mooi” employs the mosaic-like percussion so often favored by contemporary artists outside of the traditional house/techno sphere, while remaining an excellent vehicle for dainty, lullaby-like melodies. Continuing on the outsider theme, some tracks don’t even sound sequenced at all. “Flower Power Nuclear Submarine,” for instance, seems like the kind of instrumental a modern indie band might create, all gentle drums, bright synths, and carefully placed snatches of guitar. “Our Second Summer” takes a comparable approach, muffled kicks and dreamy vocals this time sloshing haphazardly around the spectrum with the guitars. Mostly, however, Beltran sticks to his old guns, and they’ve been kept well-oiled. There’s “Medellin,” a deeply moving piece of ambient, where sad howls and harp-like plucks shift calmly about. Or “For Vangelis,” which achieves the same atmosphere using slightly moodier sounds. In the jazz/Latin department, another large part of Beltran’s identity, there are also plenty of thrills. “Clouds Pull” and “Esperanto” are the best of this bunch, pairing jaunty pianos with golden strings and glassy synths, respectively. It’s clear then, that diversity and personal innovation aren’t an issue when it comes to Amazing Things. Though its 17 tracks run for under an hour, it feels like there’s far more to dig through and digest than on a normal, eight- or 10-track LP. Conversely, though, these multifarious pieces tend to hamper establishment of any solid narrative, making Amazing Things feel more like a compilation than anything else. In this capacity, however, it’s splendid in John Beltran’s particular fairy tale-like way. Just don’t expect to listen to it end-to-end too often.

[Absurd Recordings / Acid Test]

Our list of 2012′s best labels was a diverse group of five. Despite their varying outputs, it seems broadly accurate to say that four of our picks made the list by releasing tsunami-like volumes of good records. Acid Test was a little different. Sure, it released two LPs and one 12″, but their real feat was successfully reviving acid, a sound which many people have come to view as cliche and tiresome. The 303 is powerful and makes plenty of great sounds, but inevitably, that’s also led to it being heavily leaned on since its introduction in the late 80s. With this firmly in mind, the LA-based label slowed things down, teasing out the languid and pendulous aspects of acid less often heard. At the time, this was pretty refreshing. It’s been two years, however, since Tin Man’s spectacularly affecting “Nonneo,” and everyone has had plenty of time to grow accustomed to this particular usage of the instrument.

Thankfully, Acid Test knows how to keep moving. The series’ latest installment sees respected Frenchman Pépé Bradock take the reigns, leading off in a new — and yes, fresh-sounding — direction. Bradock, real name Julien Auger, has been getting steadily weirder these past few years, coming up with such combinations as “Rhapsody in Pain,” several minutes of tortured screams locked to a beat, a far cry from the svelte deep house of his early years. Acid Test 07 isn’t quite this strange, but it does wring some disturbing timbres from a synthesizer already renowned for oddness. In fact, in “Lifting Weights,” it seems unlikely that Auger is using untreated 303 at all. As the track’s wild, mewling notes progress, they gradually seem to melt into something very different from acid, whether via filters, a VST or some kind of distortion. This is a simple idea, but it quickly slays the legions of acid tracks which have been content to use the 303′s native sounds verbatim, without trying to improve or personalize them. The result is a wholly demented-sounding piece, that while initially familiar, moves quickly to unique and genuinely unsettling waters.

On the flip, “Mujeres Nerviosas” takes a more conventional approach to 303 timbre, but its arrangement is several cuts above the writhing, randomized-sounding leads commonly heard. Its quirky-sounding melodies are somewhat reminiscent of Roman Flügel, in fact. But where Flügel might have chosen to vary the notes or change it up, Auger takes a beautifully single-minded stance, building the track’s trilling lead and gurgling undercurrent into a furiously powerful wave. Few will be able to resist the onslaught in a club setting. Once again, Acid Test has shown that in the hands of the right people, acid is still highly relevant.

[Udacha]

With so many years of electronic music history to contend with, it can be tough for artists to carve out a fresh or recognizable sound. Not everyone is Burial, ya know? For certain types of labels, it’s probably even harder. Not only do they have to find music of distinction and coherent style; they also have to extract it from a bunch of people with varying creative trajectories, studio equipment, aims, attitudes, tastes, and skill levels. I guess this explains why I’ve become so rapidly enamored with Udacha. The Russian imprint is five records deep now — the first having dropped in March 2012 — a number which seems a workable minimum when formulating opinions on catalogs as a whole. Thus far, its consistency has been admirable, both with regard to quality and style. Trading in dreamy, pleasant house with an organic bent, the label has proven much more about sinking into a comfy chair, or moving easily on an intimate dance floor, than it has about chinstroking, or adrenaline-powered fist-pumping.

Various Artists, Excerpts from Udacha 5

What I like most, however, is that Udacha has managed to nail this mood from so many subtly different angles. Udacha 5, its inaugural compilation, is no exception. From A5 — the label’s owner — “Raymanzarek Solo” has an elegant, synth-heavy pulse, for instance. But on the same side of the record, Alex Danilov, Brother G, and Yuri Shulgin’s “Untitled” moves much more like waves; whether using rosin-crusted strings, glassy chimes, or rubbery synth. Via both palette and arrangement, these two also serve to throw light on the label’s jazzy inclinations. But like Floating Points’ work, this influence is mercifully underplayed. Trueman’s “Odyssey Saga” also takes a stab at this combination and comes up trumps, its jaunty, sampled-sounding motif drifting comfortably back-and-forth. On the same side, the record’s strangest cut, “Leitweg,” is provided by a Russian trio named Kurvenschreiber, who record “live improvisations on eight-track tape with only a bit [of] post production,” True to description, their weird, synth-heavy effort ambles in and out of focus, feeling pleasantly free of structure. Like the other three tracks, it slots perfectly into the Udacha canon, while still sounding exactly like itself. I don’t know how long it will be possible to keep winning this particular game, but for now, Udacha and its roster of obscure artists are dominating the scoreboard.

[Delsin]

Looking over Conforce’s five-year discography, its seems fair to say that his work has become darker, more deliberate and bottom-heavy. Where once Boris Bunnik put his name to free-spirited cuts like “Our Concern” or “Cruising,” his newer stuff — “Vacuüm,” for instance — is altogether more somber. Time Dilation, the Dutchman’s latest 12″, continues this trajectory, traversing the same luminescent, cavernous and dub-influenced realms of recent times. “Nomad” is pretty typical in this sense. Underscored by the patter of deep drums and minuscule percussion, it’s a real exercise in precision and sparseness. Bunnik excels at this sound, of course. In this particular instance, what holds things up is a chilly organ-like pad, which drones sadly throughout the entire duration. It’s a small touch, but one which fends off the feeling that the careful, effect-treated beats are a mere tool or experiment.

That’s another thing worth mentioning with regard to Bunnik’s opus, in fact: the continuing excellence of his sound design. Not only are his favored sounds interesting in themselves, they always seem impeccably crisp. In “Receiver” and “Embrace,” this sentiment is demonstrated by the pin-prick leads which dominate the spectrum. Perhaps they’re like a ship in a bottle — mostly interesting because of the tiny scale — but as their niggling melodies slowly unravel, burrowing deeper and deeper inside the brain, they do seem to have a disproportionate impact. In this sense, both cuts, and “Receiver” particularly, seem to have a lot in common with the Dettmann/Klock school of thought. But while the three pieces described above are certainly well-designed and undeniably Conforce-y, in contrast with, say, “Grace” or “Shadows of the Invisible,” there seems a distinctive lack of flair. The mood is a little too drab and deliberate, relegating these tracks somewhere into the middle of the meaty Conforce canon. Thankfully, however, there’s an exception to this statement in “Last Anthem.” Its ingredients are much the same as before: attention to detail, an eerie mood and minimalism. Here, though, Bunnik seems to shrug off the cloying sense of seriousness. Huge kicks — really freakin’ huge — dominate the occasion, their over-driven fuzz masking the piping notes which continually seem to shoot from no where. For some, this style might stretch the boundaries of good taste, but at least it takes a risk of sorts — something the rest of Time Dilation could benefit from.

[Geography Records]

It’s nice when labels take their time. You know, when they really strive to ensure the “quality-over-quantity” ideal is fulfilled. Arguably, no one’s doing it better than Oscar Villata and Adam Lundberg, the two gents behind Malmö’s Geography Records. Showing extraordinary patience, they’ve released just four records since opening in 2010, but every last one of them has been sterling. And we’re not talking, “I always have it in my record bag” type of sterling. We’re talking, “I’m onto my second copy because my first one died from too much play” kind of sterling. What’s surprising is that the label doesn’t really do anything radical; it just throws down really, really well-executed bits of house. For record number five, Faik Shakarchi & Daniel Stranéus — the authors of the label’s inaugural 12″ — have been recalled, with typically watertight results.

Remember about three seconds ago, and the words “really, really well-executed”? The A1, “Either Way” exemplifies this idea as well as any track around. There’s nothing intrinsically special about its spangled chords or fast-shuffling percussion, but everything is just unbelievably tight, from its snare-peppered drops to the euphoric stabs which constantly urge things upwards. If any cut is going to wear out the grooves, it’s this infectious anthem. Like any good EP, the other tracks offer different thrills. The gentle and jazzy “Emigrantvisa” ought to sound generic, but simply can’t. Like Andrés’ “Jazz Dance,” there’s just too much piano and bass swagger to ignore. The remaining two tracks, “Varsgatan” and “Tammerfors,” trade in milder strains of deep house, but unexpected chord progressions and occasional percussive variations set them well apart from the average experience. In other words, the exact thing Geography continues to aspire to and achieve.