Nestled along the broadside of Berghain’s hulking mass, Beirhof Rudersdorf is an outdoor restaurant that makes for unusually good people watching. This is where, on a recent Thursday afternoon, we sat at the bar waiting to interview René Pawlowitz. Among tables of old people eating schnitzel and drinking beer, Ricardo Villalobos ordered a mini-tub of Ben & Jerry’s to go with his café latte. A while later, Zip plopped down in an armchair across the patio and cracked open an issue of the Berliner Zeitung. Soon I caught sight of Pawlowitz, sitting at a table while another man talked to him. It was a few weeks before the release of his highly anticipated second album, The Traveller, and he was fielding the surge of media attention that came with it — an interview with FACT had just gone online, his podcast for RA was ready to go, and before our interview was over a photographer from XLR8R appeared for a shoot. Pawlowitz doesn’t have much enthusiasm for this kind of thing, but all the same he seemed generally at ease, stirring his sekt on ice and talking about his new record. As the afternoon turned to evening, he very candidly filled us in on his typical creative process, his misgivings with the general state of techno, and the burden of having a moniker that sticks.

So you’re pretty much working on music full time?

No, it’s only when I’m in the mood for making music. For instance, with the album, it was for maybe a month or two and then I stopped. The computer at home for doing music is turned off for two months now. I only make music when I want to, when I feel there is something. It’s not that I try to do it every day or that I have to explore new sounds. It’s not my thing. I produce music.

So what do you mean you don’t explore new sounds? You mean you don’t sit there experimenting?

When I start, I always have an idea. I don’t want to make music when I have no idea. I know what I want to do. And then, when I have this idea, I start doing it, I start producing it. And it’s not a hobby that I sit down searching for new sounds or new drums. It’s not what I do. I make it, I simply make it.

When you say two months, you mean the album from beginning to end just took you two months once you actually sat down to do it?

Yeah, all the tracks but one were made this year, I think between March and April. Actually it was very easy, because I had an idea. [laughs] And that’s why it was very easy. The one track was made last year — the second track ["Keep Time"] — this is the only one which was made last year. The other 13 tracks were made only for this album. Sometimes I made three tracks per day, and then I took a break for a week.

Did you have the same process for Shedding the Past?

No, that was something different, it was more a collection of tracks. I didn’t produce this album because it was…. How can I say it… I didn’t want to do an album. The offer came from here [gestures toward Berghain] to do an album. It was very quick to do it — only two months, and then it came out. That’s why I had so many tracks that I only collected to do an album. It’s not an album, really. It’s more of a compilation.

I was going to ask about that. I think Shedding the Past feels like it tells a story — there’s kind of a narrative throughout the album. There are little flourishes like the spoken word piece that segues right into the next track.

Very cheap. [laughs]

I liked it, there’s a continuity from track to track like it’s all one piece. And I think The Traveller sounds just the opposite. It’s like each song is very self-contained.

Ah, really? I think it’s more a story in the second album than in the first one. Because it’s always the same sounds. And not just the same kind of music, but the same sounds. All the tracks were only made for this album. And because it was made in a very short time, it sounds very similar.

Is it the same process when you’re doing 12-inches?

No, not at all. When I do 12-inches, the tracks must be a normal tempo, and the tracks must have a function in a club — they have to work. That’s why you need an intro, you need a break, and all that. And on an album you don’t need it.

Do you feel more comfortable with one or the other?

No, both are good. When I’m not in the mood to do something for the club, I do something that’s more dub, electronica, or this kind of chill-out ambient stuff. I dunno. I can do everything [laughs] — and I don’t need to. That makes things easy for me, a very comfortable situation for me.

So with all your different aliases, and different sounds for each one, do you feel like there’s still some part of you that hasn’t been expressed yet? Do you feel like there’s still something you’re waiting to unleash?

I don’t know yet. Maybe. But nothing planned, nothing at all. I will wait and see what happens.

It seems like there are many artists will have a track kicking around for a while, they play it in their DJ sets and their live sets, and then finally, sooner or later, they actually get around to releasing it. Are you that way at all, or do you just sit down to do a track and then you release it?

No, I only play tracks in my DJ set or live sets which are released. I don’t play any unreleased tracks.

For the tour to support this album, you said that the club setting wouldn’t be an ideal place to present this album because of the format. What’s your ideal situation for performing material from The Traveller?

Actually, I thought that it would be very difficult to play these sounds live, but in fact it’s very easy to switch through the styles. I’m sitting at home right now to setup the new live set, and it’s actually very easy. It’s not a problem to change the speed of the track. There are whole tracks with 120 BPM and the last track on the album is 160 I think [smiles] — but it’s no problem. It’s a show, and I play for one hour. And it’s easy, it’s OK.

At Mutek in Montreal they have a whole section of the festival where you sit down in a concert hall to watch the more experimental artists. Would you ever picture yourself in that kind of situation playing live? Or do you think you’d always be a club?

I dunno, hopefully I can play more “shows,” not at the club. Hopefully. But at the moment I only get bookings for clubs. And when I play at a club I have to “push it.” It’s hard, but I can do it [laughs]. But not with the new album. It’s not possible to play, for instance, I dunno, at Berghain. Maybe for the release show, yes, but not on a Saturday evening. It’s impossible. That’s why I have to change it to the older stuff to do four-to-the-floor.

Do you feel like you express yourself well playing live?

It’s okay. It’s hard work because of the traveling — with all the equipment. It’s easier for the DJs who are playing only CDs or MP3s. I always have a bag with me which is over 30kg, and this is hard. And always what’s very, very bad for me is… to do sound check. I hate it, actually. But you have to do it because you need to hear the PA. But playing live, it’s cool. It makes sense.

Why don’t you like the sound check?

Because you have to go to the club before. It’s wasting time, actually. It’s easier for DJs. They can go to the club one hour before or ten minutes before and they can start. It’s very easy, they don’t need to check anything. But I always have to talk to a lot of people — to the sound engineers, who are very, uh… difficult sometimes. That’s the bad side of playing live. The good is that I only need to play one hour [laughs]. But it’s long enough to be very exhausted after that.

I get the impression that you don’t play or DJ as much as the other Ostgut Ton artists. Is that true?

I would love to play more as a DJ, but the problem is that I don’t get any bookings [laughs]. Maybe some. But I don’t play techno music that much, and this is the problem. Because every promoter books DJs from the Ostgut Ton or Berghain to hear techno music or house music, and I’m not a techno or house DJ. Not anymore. So it’s always hard for me to play and to see the promoters eyes going, “Oh god! What a DJ! He’s not the right DJ for today!”

So are you playing more dubstep most of the time now?

Yes, kind of hip-hop, dubstep. House and techno as well. It’s always a big mixture. It’s not easy for the dancers [laughs]. But I need it, I need the mixture.

I just read in FACT that when you buy records, nine of them are dubstep and maybe one…

MAYBE one! [laughs]

…Is techno. How recently did that happen, or how long has your taste been like that?

It’s not my taste. It’s which records are available. There’s no interest in techno. That’s why. It’s not my taste [laughs]. I love techno and I have a lot of techno records. But at the moment I can buy more techno records in a second hand store than in a store for new records. There’s nothing happening right now, nothing interesting.

So why don’t you bill yourself as a dubstep DJ?

No no, I don’t want to be a dubstep DJ! No, no, no… It’s not that I’m into dubstep as well as techno. It’s more that I’m between all of these types. It makes it very difficult to promote myself as a DJ. But…

So what about Disco Shed? I saw that coming up.

[laughs] For instance, as a DJ, I like Diplo. He’s mixing very fast. And all this bam-bam cutting the whole time. This is what I like!

So when you DJ, is it really eclectic like that? You do one song then switch something really different?

Sometimes.

What’s your favorite place to play? Is this (Berghain) still your favorite place, or are there other places that you feel your style works out better?

I think places in Bristol, or at Trouw in Amsterdam. That was surprising to me because it was a house evening, but what I did worked out. So it was OK. But it was more that I was not playing dubstep but more the slower… kind-of-dubstep. And that was good. You can’t play sets like this at the Berghain. It’s impossible. I tried this so many times, I’ve played one dubstep track and it sounds a bit like techno, but it was impossible. You can see on the floor that the people are leaving the floor. It’s impossible.

Have you ever played at Sub:stance?

No!

You think that wouldn’t work either?

Scuba is not… I’m waiting for a offer! He’s not asking me [all laugh]. I have to talk to him. I would love to play there.

Well he recently played as SCB at Panorama Bar, and based on the recording I imagine it’s what you might sound like DJing.

I don’t like it at all. This SCB. Some dubstep guys can’t make techno music. It’s impossible. And here’s an example. It’s not very good. The same way when house producers want to make dubstep, it’s impossible.

Can you describe what it is you’re looking for that’s missing in techno that was there before? What about the techno that’s coming out now is disappointing to you?

I dunno. I think the problem right now is that every techno producer wants to do something like [Marcel] Dettmann or Ben [Klock]. When they do new techno music it always sounds like Berghain. And this is the problem. They don’t try to find their own sound. They always do what others do. And this is the bad thing. They don’t try to find something new. And this is disappointing.

Why do you think that is?

It’s the easiest way.

So, you’re pretty unsatisfied with where techno is at right now. Do you think that motivates you more? Does it make you more creative?

Actually, I don’t care what happens to techno right now. When it’s good it’s good, when it’s not, it’s not my thing. I will not “rescue techno” or whatever — I don’t care. I love techno, but I’m not in the position to help or whatever. I don’t care, actually. [laughs]

It seems like there’s a consistent theme in your music (with Shedding the Past, etc.) that you’re very un-distracted by what came before and what else is going on right now. Why do you think that is?

I have to explain that Shedding the Past is not like I wanted to shed something or to do something new or to leave something behind. It’s more to explain where the name Shed came from. That’s all. It’s a bit ridiculous I know, “Shed” the name — I know! [laughs] It was more to explain the name, where it came from. When I started with my label in 2003, this was the first sentence on my web page — “shedding the past” — but in that time, I thought I had to shed something. And actually the album name came in order to explain “Shed” — I’m not a garden shed or whatever! [all laugh] That’s it. There was a big idea behind it, but not on it, not while I made this album.

In general you have kind of an interesting relationship with your own names. I read that you said you’re not crazy about the name Shed. So will you have more releases as Shed, or are you trying to phase that out?

I dunno. There are so many aliases right now and there are more coming [all laugh]. I have to keep the freedom. Actually I wanted to stop this Shed thing, because I thought it’s too ridiculous — the name. But actually it’s okay. It’s my name right now.

Are Wax and EQD specifically used to get away from Shed?

Actually, these things like Wax or EQD — there is no artist behind it. It’s only tracks for the dance floor. That’s all. There is no artist behind. That’s it. That’s all.

But nonetheless it sounds like you. And people definitely consider Wax or EQD to be alternate names.

Actually I don’t care about all these things. When I play, as a DJ or live, I play also EQD or WAX tracks. But it’s always under the Shed name.

In general I feel right now like the EQD and Wax are really a lot of DJs favorite records to play out. Do you go out to clubs a lot — is the club experience still very important to you?

No.

That’s the impression I got. So how do you come up with such effective records for the party if you’re not that into clubs?

Because I love to make tunes like this! Because I like it. I’m not going to clubs anymore because I play so many times the whole year, so I don’t need to go out. But I love to do club tracks because it’s very easy. You only need to push things. It’s very, very, very easy to do tracks like this which are very functional. I’m not doing tracks with a constructed break or whatever. It only must have a very heavy drums and heavy bass — that’s it. And that’s what I love to do. And it’s a good. It makes… It makes me happy. That’s all. And I dunno why it’s still working, because I don’t go out anymore, but it’s working.

So what about Subsolo? When you’re releasing other people, is it people you’re associated with? Do you hear something at random or do you go through a pile of promos?

No, it’s only for people I know and I like. That’s all. But there’s nothing planned right now. There may be something coming sometime — there are some problems with one artist [laughs]. There are remixes coming, Part II of Dub Shed Sessions. Remixes for Wax No.20002, for this piano thing. Pinch and Elemental are doing remixes. The Pinch remix is finished. It’s good, it’s really good. But Elemental, he needs more time. It’s coming… sometime. In October, November, December. But there’s nothing planned. It’s not very easy to release something because it’s coming through an English distributor, and this makes it more complicated for me. It’s very easy for me to release records through Hard Wax. [Subsolo] is more business for me.

So how do you feel about the business part of it? Is it fulfilling?

No, it’s not. Actually it’s very easy, it’s not that much. I know some other label managers who are always saying, “Oh, it’s so much work! Oh god!” But it’s easy. It’s not that much.

So when you say you release something through Hard Wax, that basically just means you have a bunch of records printed and stamped, then you just stock them at Hard Wax, and that’s it? That’s all you have to do?

Mmhmm.

On the new album you have the track “44A (Hard Wax Forever!)”. Could you just talk a little bit about your relationship with Hard Wax — how much has Hard Wax influenced you?

It’s one of the biggest influences. Because I buy records there since 1992. I always buy records at Hard Wax, that’s it. I collect my records at home like it was at Hard Wax — it’s U.S., it’s Euro, it’s U.K, and it’s dubstep. I think 90% of my records at home are from Hard Wax. I found some old invoices from Hard Wax from 1993 I guess. I lived in Frankfurt, the east side of Frankfurt Oder, former GDR, and it’s so funny to see these invoices from Hard Wax 17 years ago. It’s crazy.

Obviously Hard Wax is one of the most famous techno record stores in the world. What do you think makes it so special? The buying technique, the organization? What is it about Hard Wax that makes it such an exceptional record shop?

Um, I think it’s not the point that we have the best dealers or the friendliest dealers. That’s not the point. All the people working there are musicians. All of them make music. And there’s always the same idea behind this. They only want to do music, they only want to live music. That’s all. Nobody thinks about making a lot of money with this. I think this is the point. They are not working there, it’s more like friends working there. They are involved in the store, and that’s the point. Everybody can say something to the assortment, and sometimes …. Ah, we are friends. It’s hard to get in there as an employee, but when you are in, you are part of it. And that’s the point. They always try to find something new. They have very strong connections to the U.S., to Detroit, to Submerge in the early days, or to downtown in New York. That makes it very special for the U.S. back stock. And I think this is one of the last stores that has this big back stock of old records. This is something special. I think that’s it. And it’s still a store, a physical store.

I read that you said before you worked there you weren’t really that into reggae or dub — it was working there that turned you on to that stuff.

I had to leave [working at Hard Wax] before I started to buy reggae records [laughs]. I bought some. Actually I started to listen to dubstep when I started working at Hard Wax. I’m not so into reggae. I don’t like it, actually. It’s okay, some records are good, there are some pop and cheesy records I love, but not that old stuff.

Was it a difficult decision to leave Hard Wax?

Actually, yes. In the beginning. But then, when I felt, “Oh, it’s easy to go back,” then I felt it was easy. It was a good decision. And I’m there every week, so I can still talk with them. And of course I sell my records through Hard Wax. It’s okay for me to work there doing mail orders, to do packaging and send stuff out. But not in the store. It’s not good for me.

So is this a permanent thing, or are you just taking a break for a while?

Uh, no, I think I will not go there (again). I worked at the store, at the counter, and… I’m not a seller [laughs]. It’s not my thing I guess, so it’s hard for me to work at the shop — too many customers. I worked there for three years and I think it was good, but now it’s over. Now I can make what I want. That means music.

So what’s your lifestyle like? How frequently do you make music? What do you do when you’re not making music, day to day?

Hmmm… I waste my time! [laughs]. I dunno. I don’t make that much music. It’s not that big, it’s not the main time of my life. At this time, I have a lot to do with the album, with promotions, interviews, photographs. And it’s hard work to answer all the emails and make email interviews, then I have to start my new setup for playing live, which at this time is my main task.

Is it still fun for you to play with Marcel? A few months ago you did Deuce at Berghain — do you enjoy that? Do you think that goes well?

I think Deuce was only a trial. But it wasn’t that successful. For us.

Really?

The record was okay. It was selling okay. But it was not that fun for us.

So that’s the only collaboration you’ve done, right? You prefer to work alone?

[nods] Maybe in the future.

Why do you think that is?

Because my ego is very big [laughs]. No, I think the reason is that I know what I want, I know how it has to sound and how it must BE in the end. That’s why. I don’t want to have someone behind me saying, ‘Do it like this,” — No.

It’s kind of interesting how Ostgut Ton and Berghain are becoming a cultural exports, with gigs in New York and Ibiza now.

I don’t like that very much. And I always have to say that I don’t want to be called a “resident DJ” of Berghain, because I’m not. There’s always these “Berghain evenings at club blah blah blah….” It’s killing itself. I think next year it’s over. [laughs]

What do you mean?

This export thing. No one will want to listen anymore to any Berghain or Panorama Bar DJs, because they’re playing everywhere at the moment. I think it’s a bit too much.

In general, does being part of the Ostgut Ton crew help you, or is it a distraction?

Oh it helps. A lot. It makes things very easy for me.

Do you feel like having these artists as your peers affects your music?

The Ostgut artists? [Pauses to think.] I think Marcel Dettmann. I think he’s been an influence. He’s doing things very, he’s not very… He’s not thinking very much at all times. He’s cool, he does what he wants to do, and he makes decisions very quickly, he’s not thinking so much about what things can happen when you do this. I think Marcel.

So you like that way of doing things?

I like it, because I can’t do it! Because I’m always thinking about things. And he’s only doing it — he’s just doing it.

I had heard that you guys give each other feedback on each other’s tracks. Is that true?

Actually, I don’t care about feedback. When the record is finished, they get a copy and that’s it. I don’t try to find out how it works or ‘Is it cool? Is it not cool?’ When it’s not cool, it’s my problem. But I don’t do any promotions, it’s wasting time, I think.

So you don’t do promotion, but you don’t really need to. Do you think in general that people worry about it too much?

I think it’s spam. [laughs]

As someone who’s closely connected to Hard Wax, releasing on Ostgut Ton, do you feel like you have a lot of freedom, that you have less things to worry about than other artists?

No. I think that some other artists think they don’t have any freedoms, and they keep themselves inside of some borders, I dunno. They don’t want to have these freedoms, because they feel safe within these strict lines. They can do more, but they don’t. They think too much about it. They can do more than they are doing. They think that anybody out there wants… ah, forget it [stops himself]. They can do more, but they think they are not in the right position to do something free, something new. Because other DJs are doing the same thing, so they have to do things the same as the others.

OK, final question. On Shedding the Past you said that there was a song that was dedicated to your brother. And now the cover photo on The Traveller is by him.

That’s funny. When I did Shedding the Past, I did the track called “Flat Axe.” It’s because my brother tried to work an axe, and he cut his bone [in his leg] — he was lying in his bed for four months because it was a very sharp axe. And that’s why it’s for my brother. And the new picture, he made while we were traveling through Norway, and he tried to do some photos while we were coming out of a tunnel.

Interview by Will Lynch and Sarah-Joy Murray with thanks to Jordan Rothlein for his contributions.

[Thesongsays]

About this time back in 2007, Bruno Pronsato was finishing up his sophomore album, Why Can’t We Be Like Us, and struggling to fit in one final song: an epic, electronic ballad called “The Make Up The Break Up.” It was an especially compelling track, and Pronsato did everything he could to fit it onto the album, but in the end it was just too long and had to be left out. Why Can’t We Be Like Us dropped at the end of the year — promptly receiving a deluge of praise — and “The Make Up The Break Up” remained a work-in-progress, appearing only in scattered cameos throughout his live sets. Pronsato wanted to release it on its own, but ran into many logistical problems: at 38 minutes in length, with no reasonable flip-over point for vinyl, The Make Up The Break Up was even more of a square peg than his previous productions. After several false starts and many months of haggling, he finally decided to release it himself, as the first title on his own imprint, thesongsays. In the end, all this aggravation only attests to the song’s exceptional nature: “The Make Up The Break Up” could be Pronsato’s finest work to date, and is surely one of the best records of 2009.

“The Make Up The Break Up” begins with some of Pronsato’s favorite tropes: sharp buzzes, wet hand-claps, and a medley of abstract but distinctly organic sounds. The first ten minutes are obviously cut from the same cloth as Why Can’t We Be Like Us, focusing heavily on vivid percussion: shakers, brush sticks, and sonorous toms, all of which reflect an audiophile’s attention to detail. Faint shimmers of melody appear after a while, and soon the drums subside, making way for a very deep and very familiar female voice, crooning weird incantations over a blur of violins. This moment forms “The Make Up The Break Up”‘s glowing center; from here on the piece is illuminated, strewn with dim embers of melody. It all dwindles down slowly from there, and soon the bass drum checks out completely, leaving just a handful of loops to sputter out in the cool green haze of the track’s final stretch.

Part of what I love about this record is how it defies categorization: much like “Take 1 / Take 2,” his collaboration with Daze Maxim, it doesn’t fit into any of the typical techno formats (single, album, EP, etc.), and is best seen as a “piece.” In a way, “The Make Up The Break Up” harks back to Manuel Göttsching’s E2-E4, but while that long-playing classic is content to bob in place for 45 minutes, “MUBU” stays on the move, leading the listener across vivid and abstract terrain in what feels like far less than 38 minutes. As with most of Pronsato’s work, it withstands countless listens, and continues to reveal subtle detail after dozens of plays. “The Make Up The Break Up” shows that, like so few of his contemporaries, Bruno Pronsato can follow his strangest impulses and come up with something truly remarkable.

2009: Another year, another plethora of podcasts. Lots of amazing freebies have come out since the beginning of the year, and though many of them are nothing to write home about, quite a few are really exceptional. In addition to LWE’s nifty collection, you’ve got mnml ssgs churning out heady techno gems on a weekly basis and RA raising the bar higher than ever before (DJ Koze’s podcast still hasn’t lost its magic). But really, who’s got time for all this? With each one at least an hour long and weighing something near 100mb, the sheer volume of content means a lot of great stuff just falls by the wayside. So to help you sort through all this noise, here are five mixes you won’t regret right-clicking and saving-as.

01. Jan Krüger @ Dayshift
Jan Krüger seems like a generally humble guy, but after DJing in Portland last month he couldn’t resist putting a recording of his own set up on mnml.nl. It was, according to Jan, a “truly magical and sunny afternoon party,” which is pretty easy to picture once you hear the mix. As the man behind Hello? Repeat, Jan’s taste and sense of flow are impeccable, and in these three hours he courses through a spectacular blend of trippy, funky and sad records, many of which I’ve been desperately pursuing as of late (tracks four and five, anyone?) For me, this is not only one of the best mixes of 2009, but one of my favorite DJ mixes ever.

02. Speedy J & Issakidis, Get The Curse Podcast
Cliché though it may sound, I have an undying desire for music that sounds like something DJs would play at a disco in Blade Runner, and this mix by Speedy J and George Issakidis fits that criteria to a tee. This is a really unique example of what Speedy J calls “DJing in parts,” or what I think of as post-DJing: using dozens of short loops rather than tracks to create something entirely new. But unlike the loop-crazy sets Hawtin slaps together on Traktor, this one takes its time, gradually rolling through a series of undetectable transitions. Its slow, psychedelic, and very unlike most everything else you hear today.

03. Julietta, Ibiza Voice Podcast
While some podcasts provide a nice soundtrack for late night reading or the morning commute, others prompt daydreams of all out, sweaty peak-time clubbing. The Ibiza Voice podcast tends toward the latter, and Julietta’s contribution from January is one of the series’ finest installments. I’m not sure when and where this mix was recorded, but judging by its sunny vibes and ceaseless energy, I’d have guess this is a recording of some bash on the white isle. With so many great tracks so perfectly mixed, this one makes for an easy escape from the doldrums of the workday, even if only in your head.

04. Anton Zap, Roof.fm mix
In the past year or so, Anton Zap’s releases on Uzuri and Quintessentials have made him one of house music’s most intriguing new names. His style is hazy and euphoric, with spaced out touches of classical music thrown in for good measure. This mix for Roof.fm is one of the first by Zap that’s really made the rounds, and should give you a good idea of what this talented young Muscovite’s all about. My favorite track from the bunch is Danieto’s “Tres,” which can be had entirely for free, along with about thirty other similar tracks here on the Impar website.

05. Bruno Pronsato, The Bunker Podcast
In the disproportionately DJ-focused world of electronic music, artists who refuse to get behind the decks are an admirable bunch. Bruno Pronsato is one such artist, and his recent performance at The Bunker shows how live sets can achieve a level of character that would be hard to pull off with someone else’s records. Bruno really gets down and dirty with his tracks, atomizing them into single snaps and buzzes and smartly re-contextualizing it all. You can really hear him at work — abrupt drop-offs and moments of unevenness only make the set better by making it sound truly “live.” As someone with a former career in punk and metal, Bruno clearly appreciates the importance of hearing an artist make music on the fly.

[Mule Electronic]

Back in the summer of 2007, Chris Mann began his review of the Soul Jazz Box of Dub with the following statement: “Most compilations are like group photos: someone always has their eyes closed.” I find this usually tends to be true, and never more so than on Mule Electronic’s Enjoy The Silence Vol. 1. This collection of ambient music by house and techno producers ranges from excellent to completely boring, with typically impressive names falling into both camps. All in all, it is a pretty dull release, despite a few strong moments.

Koss kicks things off rather lamely with “Endless Flight,” a dreary piano piece consisting of little more than a melodramatic chord progression. Things shape up a bit with Strategy’s “After Mometaths,” a vaporous and fully ambient number that’s very pretty, if a little unfinished sounding. On “Approaching India,” Benjamin Brunn appears sadly out of form, half-heartedly noodling on his favored Nord Modular. Thomas Fehlmann gets things back on track with “Scheiben,” an elegantly murky soundscape with bits of fleeting melody. On “In Smoke We All Become Birds,” Minilogue set transparent breakbeats against a sooty breeze, forming one of album’s strongest tracks. Retreating from his usual home at ~scape, Jan Jelinek keeps the momentum going with “Stripped to Realmode,” a song that manages to be both glitchy and soothing.

Always the wild card, DJ Koze appears with “Lords of Panama Rendered,” a trippy experimental piece that sounds playfully antagonistic in such somber company. But Lawrence fumbles the momentum with “Sunrise,” a beatless track as uninspired as its title. Probably the best track here is DJ Sprinkles’ “Music Is A Controllable Desire You Can Own.” Like its title, it’s really just a reduced version of “House Music is a Controllable Desire You Can Own,” off his album Midtown 120 Blues, but its locomotive piano chords and snowy New York glow make it a very worthwhile reprise. Enjoy the Silence is weakest in its final stretch. Takuwan’s “Aika-Laiva” is totally forgettable, and in fact very hard to notice in the first place (unfortunate for a debut track), while Watanabe’s “A Source of Light” and Vince Watson’s “Serenity” would sound more in place on a volume of Pure Moods.

Several solid tracks aside, Enjoy the Silence seems to miss the point that good ambient music should be more than just pretty sounding. Most of the artists here seem completely out of their element, which they are: producers like Koss, Lawrence and Strategy are great at wispy techno, but without a beat they sound adrift. Anyone seeking quality material along the same lines (and by some of the same artists) would do well to track down last year’s tragically overlooked Diaspora: Cottage Industries 5, or My Favorite Things Vol. 2, another comp due next month on Mule.

Hailing from the city of Perpignan, Sylvain Garcia, aka Le K, exemplifies the curveball of French underground producers. In terms of style, he fits in the same milieu as compatriots dOP and Noze, favoring floppy, organic sounds, and a playfully anti-purist attitude. In the past few years, he’s released records on Circus Company, Thema, and Feinwerk, and has remixed artists like Scott and Paul Frick. As this exclusive mix reflects, his unique personality and focus on eclecticism set him apart as a truly original, and truly French house artist.

LWE Podcast 21: Le K (89:51)

Tracklist:

01. Moondog, “Caribea” [Prestige]
02. Cesaria Evora, “Angola” (Pépé Bradock’s Get Down Dub) [Lusafrica]
03. Kenny Larkin, “Glob” [Planet E]
04. Keinzweiter, “Quantum” [spontanMusik]
05. Lee Jones, “Soon” [Aus Music]
06. Ian Simmonds, “The Woodhouse Suite” [Musik Krause]
07. Sonar Kollektiv Orchester, “Rej” [Sonar Kollektiv]
08. Tom Ellis, “Detach” [Hartchef Discos]
09. Le K, “Back Boutique” [Thema]
10. Beckett & Taylor, “You Gotta Work” [Hand on the Plow]
11. Scott & Aroop Ry, “Anytime” (Le K remix) [My Best Friend]
12. Paul Frick, “Favourite Song” [30porumalinha]
13. Trankilou, “Atom Funk” [Kif Recordings]
14. Daniel Wang, “Like “Some Dream (I Can’t Stop Dreaming)” [Balihu Records]
15. Mr. G, “The Struggle Of My People” [Duty Free Recordings]
16. Le Chien Perdu, “Handsome Interruption” [Karat Records]
17. Terrence Dixon, “Links” [Yore Records]
18. Le K, “Moody Rainbow” [30porumalinha]
19. Pépé Bradock, “Intriguing Feathered Creature” [Atavisme]
20. Kink, “Let’s Talk About Drum” [unreleased]
21. Spandex, “I Love My V50″ [Sleep Debt Records]
22. The Black E, “Y-O-Y Jack” [Sleep Debt Records]
23. Aluf, “Buddy Bloden Blues” (Le K Humanity remix) [unreleased]
24. Dick Annegarn, “Coutances” [Astralwerks]

What’s the idea behind the mix?

Le K: It reflects my position on dance music — my image, my style. For me, dance music has to be… weird? Not so much more drugged people, more for peopled drinking red wine. And really eclectic. I really love eclectic sets and I love eclectic DJs. When I go to a club and the set is just one kind of music, if the DJ is not really really good, I can get bored pretty quickly. So I try to present an eclectic vision of what I like.

How do you mean “not for drugged people”?

Ah, well, when you DJ or play every weekend — actually, I usually play live, not DJ –you can tell within five minutes whether it’s a more drugged crowd or drunken crowd. And it’s totally different either way — the music has to be different for each crowd. For my music, it is much better if the crowd is less drugged, more drunk. I’m not against drugs! I took some, of course. But with drugs, the vibe is totally different — it’s a different kind of party, every person is in his own bubble… the vibe is more egocentric, focused on one point. I like the music that works in this kind of party, but I cannot play this kind of music.

Who are some of your favorite DJs from past and present?

Well, of course I like some French artists, like Ark and Krikor, and Daft Punk used to be amazing. The first time I was ever shocked by electronic music, it was at a Daft Punk concert in 1994, at a big festival in the South of France. It was really fucking amazing, man, not like the bullshit they do now. The mainstream French scene now is just some of the worst music: Justice, Ed Banger, for me it’s hell. It’s like AC/DC, or dance music from the Supermarket. But yeah, until about 2003, Daft Punk were great. Today, I really like some artists you often talk about on your site who I know personally: Paul Frick and Dave Aju. Pépé Bradock is great also. And I really like Frivolous, a new guy on ~scape.

What can we expect from you for the rest of the year?

I did a remix for my Greek friend, Aluf — it’s on the mix. He was supposed to release it on his label but he had some problem with the money, his girlfriend… house, dog, all this shit…. I’ve been working on my first album for three months and I’d like to release it by the end of the year, but it keeps going in new directions. One day I make a really pure dance track, another day I make something really low tempo with piano. So, we’ll see. (Interview by Will Lynch)

LWE Podcast 21: Le K (89:51)

Each year at the end of May, thousands of somber looking people wearing muted tones descend on Montreal for Mutek, a festival celebrating electronic music performance. It’s one of the most important electronic music festivals in the world, and along with Movement, one of the two biggest in North America. In some respects, Mutek offers a counterpoint to Movement. Kicking off only a week after the Detroit festival ends, Mutek focuses on electronic performance of all kinds, including the avant-garde, while Movement is primarily a festival for dance music. Furthermore, while Movement is characterized by swarms of DJs at official and unofficial parties, Mutek encourages artists to perform live rather than DJ. This makes for a rather unique experience for electronic music fans who rarely get to see and hear their favorite artists playing their own songs. Which isn’t to say the festival looks down on DJing as an art form. Rather, Mutek strives to offer a panoramic view of everything going on in electronic music today, from ambient drones to schaffel beats and everything in between. For their 10th anniversary, Mutek pulled out all the stops and put on a truly exceptional festival, affirming their position as one of the best music festivals worldwide.

SND. Photo by Sherry Kennedy

I arrived in Montreal on Friday night, having already missed three days of performances, including Appleblim, Ezekiel Honig, and worst of all, Gas. (Painful, but who can afford five nights in a hotel these days?). After seven hours in the car, I was ready to get loose, but my weekend began on a very experimental note: A/Visions 3, with SND, Nsi. and Artificiel, in an intimate, old fashioned theater called the Monument National. It was hard to get too cozy with the likes of SND, a very Raster-Noton outfit with ultra-clean synth sounds that gimp along awkwardly, falling into a glitchy groove every now and then. Their performance was good, but would have benefited from a dance floor; to a seated audience, their lapses in and out of rhythm had much less impact than they should have.

Nsi. Photo by Andrea

Nsi., on the other hand, were much better suited to the venue. Throughout their hour-long set, Tobias Freund and Max Loderbauer led us through a vivid sequence of inky soundscapes that were equal parts soothing and unsettling. The pair had a very good sense of pace; whenever the audience began to zone out, they would jar us back into attention, once with some of the clacky piano meanderings a la Plays Non Standards, and later with a pair of truly creepy vocal samples (“JA!” and “nein…“). It was hard to tell exactly what they were doing, though from the balcony I could see Max playing piano and Tobias holding his hand beneath a very small, rapidly pulsing light. The entire performance was elegantly back-lit with an installation by Jimmy Lakatos, consisting (from what I could tell) of little more than tin foil, canvas and light. The result was something very distant and mysterious, and perfectly compatible with Nsi.’s set. I found myself dozing a bit during Nsi., so rather than sticking for Artificiel or trying out the good-but-not-great lineup of that night’s Nocturne event (Mike Shannon, Ernesto Ferreyra, Ghislain Poirier, etc.), I opted for poutine, blonde beer and bed. At festivals like this, its important to conserve your own energy, and Saturday’s lineup promised to be wonderfully exhausting.

Robert Henke’s “Atom.” Photo by Andrea

The day started with Robert Henke’s “Atom,” an event I’d been anticipating for quite some time. “Atom” is, in short, an audio-visual performance involving 64 remote-controlled balloons that move and flicker in patterns, with live music by Henke (member of Monolake and one of Ableton’s developers). The performance took place in a pitch-dark room in the back of the theater, with the audience all sitting cross legged on the floor while the balloons drifted and flashed over our heads. The music was very experimental at first — maybe closer to rhythmic sound art — with all of the meticulous attention to detail one would expect from Henke (some unbelievably clear metallic clicks toward the beginning stand out in my memory). The balloons moved under the control of Christopher Bauder, the visual artist who produces “Atom” with Henke, shifting back and forth between nebulous swarms and more architectural configurations, always flickering in patterns that mirrored Henke’s music. A bass drum appeared about thirty minutes into the performance, and was followed by a very stark and heavy Monolake-eque techno track.

For this “scene,” the balloons formed a pyramid consisting of several wobbly rows, with each row flashing in correspondence to a different loop in Henke’s track. This was the best part of the performance, though virtually every moment seemed to hold the crowd agog. Of the dozen or so experimental performances I’ve seen, this one most easily held the audience’s attention from beginning to end. Later, the room filled with red light and the balloons continued to bob and flicker, forming more of a static art installation for members of the audience to approach and inspect. Henke and Bauder stuck around for an informal Q&A session, during which I heard Henke say, “Yeah, I pretty much used Ableton for the entire thing.” As I left, someone asked for his autograph.

Outside the Theatre Maissoneuve, the wind was up and the sun was bright — good news for the Piknik Electronik, which until then I had only attended on gray, rainy days. Located in Parc Jean-Drapeau, the Piknics are possibly Mutek’s most prized events, and understandably so: The setting is truly exceptional, with an amazing view of the Montreal waterfront and a strange metal sculpture encasing the dance floor. The park itself is accessible to festival goers as well; anyone looking for a break can wander down paths to secluded areas with picnic tables, waterfalls, and even a few woodchucks scuttling around. The only problem is the weather. At last year’s Mutek, Piknic 1 got rained out, and Piknic 2 went on as planned despite highly mediocre conditions. This only made it more exciting to be headed to Parc Jean-Drapeau on such a bright and blustery afternoon — definitely the best weather I’d seen in Montreal. Brendon Moeller was giving off good vibes when I got there, playing a live set full of bouncy tracks like “Electricity” while a sunglassed crowd happily grooved. Thomas Fehlmann took over from there, and stole the afternoon with a live set of truly epic techno that sounded amazing under the sun and blue skies. His jacking schaffel beats and euphoric chords weren’t always my style exactly, but there was no denying that he got the crowd more amped than anyone else that day.

Trus’me. Photo by Matt Cheetham

This made for a slightly awkward transition into Trus’me’s live/DJ set, but it was only a minute or two before the crowd was swaying to the slow and baggy beats turned out by Prime Numbers’ boss. His live set mixed samples and motifs from nearly all of his own productions, most notably “W.A.R.” and a few things from other Prime Numbers artists, like Linkwood’s “RIP.” It was a great live set, especially for those of us who’ve gotten so much mileage out of “Working Nights,” his 2007 album (I was particularly pleased to hear a few samples from Jackie Brown). But somehow he seemed eager to switch to the decks, and things picked up when he finally did. His set was heavy, loose and lethargic, and did a great job of easing the now-tipsy audience into a tawny dusk.

Sometime during Trus’me’s set, I spotted Villalobos and Zip leaning against a rail and looking out over the crowd. Ricardo was wearing a nauseatingly busy zip-up that probably cost him five or six hundred euro, and was gleefully chatting up a group of fans. One young couple asked if he’d like to smoke a joint with them, to which he replied, “Ahh, I already said I would be smoking with some guys over there… but in general I mean, ja, of course… always!” The Mole came on around 7, and though it seemed like a lot of people were won over by his DJ/live set, I found it a bit sloppy and uninspired. The tracks were good, but the beats were only OK — I never got the feeling of being forced to dance, which Trus’me and Thomas Fehlmann had both achieved. Nonetheless, it was great to hear “Baby, You’re The One” in such an appropriately sunny setting.

Alva Noto. Photo by Landon Speers

Next up was A/V+ at SAT, another experimental event, this time consisting entirely of Raster-Noton acts. I got there in time to hear Atom TM finish his set, during which I sat drinking beer on a surrealistically over-sized picnic table. He sounded pretty good, but an afternoon under the sun had left me feeling languid– I would need a little more recuperation time before I could enjoy such a glitchy affair. Fortunately, I was able to drag myself over to the stage for Alva Noto, someone I’ve enjoyed seeing live in the past. Like many Raster-Noton acts, he does an excellent job of making his music engaging in a live situation (which might seem hard to imagine after hearing his recent Xeroxx albums). He works the crowd with the same sleights of hand a DJ might use — deceiving everyone into thinking the bass has already dropped and then smothering us with low frequencies, or turning an awkwardly mechanical glitch sequence into an almost-funky groove by use of a single hand clap. His visuals were very original: behind him, a video screen displayed what looked like a map of his own audio-visual set up, in which various spectrographs jumped and shifted with the music. After a while, the “camera” would temporarily zoom into one section of the map, so that after a while each new song was characterized by a different spectrograph. Alva Noto himself was drenched in the light of the video projector, which gave him a fittingly creepy persona.

Tobias. Photo by Matt Cheetham

After a brief wink which turned out to be a rather long wink, I finally found myself back at Metropolis sometime around 2 am. Word had it that Matthew Johnson and Dandy Jack tore it up with their dual live set, but I missed them by a hair, arriving just as Tobias. was warming up. Upon entering the main room of Metropolis, I was immediately blown away by the stage lighting: Tobias. stood poised in the center of what looked like a fluorescent blue vortex, with a video screen behind him displaying a three dimensional geometric plain. I made my way onto the large dance floor while the crowd shifted awkwardly to “Go,” which in this context, served as something like an extended break down. Tobias. looked exactly as he had during Nsi.’s performance the night before — handsome, with slicked back hair, a dark polo shirt, and the posture of a man 100% in control. (Incidentally, I heard he was having technical difficulties for much of the set, but at the time I was none the wiser.) Sooner or later a bass drum finally kicked, and from there Tobias. slipped through a long medley of his best singles, including “Street Knowledge,” “I Can’t Fight The Feeling” (with a much heavier beat than on record), and “Clapper,” whose huge and menacing vibe sounded perfectly appropriate on such a massive dance floor. He finished with a few hard and reduced tracks I didn’t recognize, one of which rode an undulating bass line that everyone on the dance floor could feel in their stomachs. He ended up being my favorite act of the night.

Carl Craig. Photo by Andrea

Carl Craig took the helm at 3 am, and quite ostentatiously so: the first five minutes of his set were modern classical music that started out minimal and swelled into an absurd crescendo before the bass finally dropped. Personally, I appreciated the nod to his recent work with Moritz von Oswald, and in general I think Carl Craig can pull off this kind of showmanship, but I know some people found his intro pretentious and overblown. Either way, it set the stage for several hours of hard, monolithic techno, during which the visual display became absolutely eye-popping. Craig has a real knack for breakdowns — it seems he has some kind of trick where, a measure or so after the beat drops, a swarm of new sounds rush in out of nowhere. He pulled this one at least several times that night, and the crowd went completely nuts every time. The only track I recognized during his set was Len Faki’s new one, “BX 3,” which sounds like basically all the other songs Craig played that night. Sometime around 5 am, the mammoth energy level still hadn’t dropped, and I decided to call it an early night (by techno standards) and rest up for the weekend’s most anticipated event: a seven hour back-to-back DJ set by Ricardo Villalobos and Zip at Piknic 2.

As I headed to Parc Jean-Drapeau on Sunday afternoon, the weather was good but the forecast was grim: Rain was predicted to begin sometime around 4 pm and continue throughout the night, with temperatures dipping as low as 49 degrees Fahrenheit (about 9.5 degrees Celsius). Metropolis had been reserved in case of rain, and the weather forecast probably would have convinced some other festival promoter to move the event there, but Mutek decided to roll the dice and have the party outdoors, on a windy island, with a dance floor only a dozen yards from the gusty waterfront.

At 3 pm the Piknic was packed. Zip and Villalobos were getting into some very bouncy, very minimal tech-house, and the crowd was eating it up. This was the poppiest part of their set; later in the afternoon and evening, they would get into long, trippy techno and house records, but for now it was diva vocals galore. The two played off each other just as well as I’d heard: Zip favored moodier, more melodic tracks, while Villalobos focused on extra-funky house, always dropping the beat a moment sooner or later than expected. Villalobos always knew exactly how to build on Zip’s rhythms, so the really jacking moments always seemed to occur a minute or so after Villalobos took the helm.

Ricardo Villalobos and Zip. Photo by Matt Cheetham

The rain started right on cue around 4, but the crowd was unperturbed. More and more people showed up, and soon the dance floor was more crowded than I’d seen it at any Piknic. But after a while, the conditions got really miserable. People were visibly shivering, and some of the sound was getting lost in the cruel wet gusts repeatedly tearing through the crowd.

Everyone continued to be good sports, including the DJs: at one point, Villalobos put his palms up in a “what can you do?” gesture as one of his records seemed to sing “We’re OK… under the rain…” Nonetheless, I soon realized I wouldn’t make it for the whole afternoon like this, so I decided to take some drastic measures. I dropped $30 on an extra hooded sweatshirt, $7.50 on a double scotch, and left the dance floor to seek refuge under a canopy of leaves near a small pond. As the ripples increased on the pond before me, I wondered if (and hoped that) the party would be moved to Metropolis. I was admittedly in despair — it seemed ridiculous that something I’d been looking forward to for months would be spoiled by such avoidable circumstances. But the pond before me soon became glassy, and the sky went from gray to white. Encouraged by the whiskey and the muffled booms coming from beyond the treeline, I ventured back to the cold, wet dance floor.

Ricardo Villalobos and Zip. Photo by Matt Cheetham

By now the party was really packed, and the energy of the music was way up. Everyone was jacking in spite of the weather, including the girls serving drinks and making crepes at the bar. Pot smoke swirled through the crowd almost constantly, and I saw at least several sets of massive pupils. I suppose it makes sense that Quebecers would have a high tolerance for bad weather, but I was still amazed at the crowd’s determination to keep the party going. (A local told me later that a very popular edition of the Piknik Electronic occurs in the dead of winter, on a bed of snow, with everyone dancing in subzero temperatures.)

Mutek under sunlight. Photo by Katrin Schaefer

And sometime around 5:30, the tipping point finally came. Sunlight breached through the clouds during an extended break down, and a current passed through the audience. People pulled their hoods back and craned their necks around to see their newly amber-lit environment, while a spree of whistles peeled through the air. Someone threw a pair of panties onto the stage, and Villalobos laughed as he draped them around Zip’s neck. Still laughing, he sauntered into the orange light at the turn tables, carelessly twisted a knob, and dropped the first truly explosive beat of the day, to hail of ecstatic cheers. From then on, the front of the dance floor was so packed it almost felt like a punk show — dense mass of bodies all bouncing and bumping to the music.

The rain made a brief encore, but hardly anyone seemed to notice. DJ Sneak showed up at one point, doughy and gray-skinned as ever, smoking a blunt and busting out his Case Logic. But for whatever reason, Zip and Villalobos didn’t seem too keen on the idea of him getting on the decks, so Sneak just hung out while the three of them shared his blunt. By sunset, the weather had completely cleared, leaving a light purple sky as the backdrop for Zip and Villalobos’ final tracks, many of which were beatless and very trippy, and played out while the duo collapsed on a couch in the back of the DJ tent. For the final transitions, their heads would pop up from behind the turntables, covered in rascally grins, and finally Villalobos finished the set while completely hidden behind the decks — only his right hand was visible as it tweaked the mixer.

Modern Deep Left Quartet. Photo by Andrea

I swung by Nocturne 5 that night to catch sets by Stephen Beaupré and Akufen, neither of whom were terribly impressive, and left during Modern Deep Left Quartet (essentially Cobblestone Jazz plus The Mole.) Villalobos and Zip had been the climax to my weekend, and left me feeling extremely satisfied and extremely tuckered out. Some spotty weather aside, I couldn’t have been happier with the festival, and like all great techno events, this one left me happily buzzing for days to come.

[Wolf + Lamb Music]

For the past couple years or so, Gadi Mizrahi and Zev have been two of Brooklyn’s key house entrepreneurs. Under the moniker Wolf + Lamb they DJ parties, produce tracks, and release records by themselves and some close friends, all from a dingy art space in Williamsburg known as The Marcy Hotel. Their most recent release, the aptly titled “Brooklynn EP,” finds Wolf + Lamb poised for a breakthrough as a production team and label.

Each of the four tracks here exemplifies Wolf + Lamb’s balmy sound, but none so elegantly as “If U Had (Shaun Reeves Edit).” It’s got the sexy house-noir style of artists like Mikael Stavostrand or Kreon, but crafts an unusually rich narrative for a minimal house track. Through broken vocal snippets and one or two complete sentences, a sullen diva invites an unhappily taken man to imagine the two of them together. The beat shuffles along with guarded uncertainty, finally breaking into something funky as the song nears its end. Although this is the best track on the EP, “Idiosyncratic” is a close runner up. Crooked piano stabs and twisted sax snippets swirl around bass kick, lending a faint echo of New York No Wave to an otherwise familiar house formula (“Lady Scarface” by Lydia Lunch springs to mind). “Must Be Brooklynn” pairs a plodding rhythm with a hazy atmosphere, but to less charismatic effect than the other tracks on offer. A vocalist named Smirk guests on “Therapist,” providing the kind of tongue-in-cheek flavor one might expect from his name. Lyrics like “baby tell me your problems / let me your therapist tonight,” give the track a half-ironic swagger that might take some getting used to, but it’s hard to say no to those slick drums and hovering chords, and ultimately this one turns out to be a grower. Hot on the heels of Seth Troxler’s “Aphrika,” “Brooklynn EP” ought keep Wolf + Lamb’s buzz going well into the summer.

[Diamonds & Pearls Music]

To anyone who’s been following house and techno recently, a split EP by Efdemin and Tobias. sounds like a sure shot. The former has delivered several years of ceaseless quality, while the latter had an especially impressive run in 2008. Both are at a point where it seems they can do no wrong. Unfortunately, “Phantasma Vol. 1″ disproves this notion. As the first installment in a series on Diamond & Pearls Music, it’s decent at best — more than can be said for plenty of releases in general, but much less than we’ve come to expect from these two.

Tobias. starts the record off well enough. “Clapper” is a lean and suspenseful big room track, with sinister synth cascades and a delirious sense of urgency that would work well in a long set. Nonetheless, it is distinctly less compelling than his excellent output from last year, and is unlikely to have the same staying power as anything from “I Can’t Fight The Feeling.” On the B-side, Efdemin’s contribution has fewer redeeming qualities. “Hope” sounds like a throw away track, consisting of little more than a decent beat and a nice bass line. It’s cut from the same cloth as “America/The Pulse,” but lacks the blue note allure that often makes Efdemin an exceptional artist. “Clapper” is worth the price of a digital download, but I’d recommend passing on “Phantasma Vol. 1″ overall, despite the names that appear on the sleeve.

[Minibar]

In minimal and deep house, one of the biggest challenges the artist face is knowing how much embellishment is appropriate. It is the music’s lean, uncluttered sound that lures many listeners away from prog, trance and nu-rave, but it’s near impossible to make an interesting track without at least a hint of color. French producer Seuil struggles with this. Drums are his strong suit (most of his tracks are worthwhile for their tight and heavy rhythms alone), but when it comes to hooks, he’s all thumbs. While some releases are just a little too dry (like the curiously titled Deep Hooks EP), others suffer from awkward attempts at charisma, like the cheesy montage of civil rights era speeches in “Trapped House,” an otherwise exceptional track. Double Jack Ice EP finds Seuil still trying to find his balance between restraint and indulgence. But despite one wobbly moment, it seems he’s got it pretty much worked out.

To my ears, the best cuts of Double Jack Ice EP are on the B-side. “Ain’t Sleep” is Seuil at his best: the beat is brisk, heavy and intricate, complimented by sounds of distant birds and insects. “So Blonde” follows in the same vein, mixing elliptical deep house chords with the kind of organic trim Hello? Repeat artists are so fond of. Both have the same sunny vibe that makes his recent Ibiza Voice podcast such a treat. But back on the A-side, “Dipsie” suffers from the same flaw as “Trapped House.” Most of the track is top notch — the beat has a great sense of urgency and is surrounded by an incredibly vivid array of sounds that could be some of Seuil’s best studio work to date. The trouble comes at end of the break down, seconds before the bass kicks in, when a voice (that I’m almost certain is Denzel Washington’s) says: “Brace yourselves; I think we’re about to witness a murder.” It’s a relatively minor detail but it sounds very out of context, and makes the ensuing romp feel a bit silly. Other listeners might not mind it at all, but for whatever reason this brief moment really leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Nonetheless, the rest of the track is perfectly bad ass, as is the rest of the EP, and such a small blemish shouldn’t stop anyone from checking it out.

[Prime Numbers]

In his recent podcast for Resident Advisor, Trus’me surprises the listener by finishing an hour of house with a clunky dubstep number. The track is dark, heavy, and rough around the edges, but somehow compliments Trus’me’s earthy sound quite well. It’s called “Axiom,” and it’s one of the first ever tracks by Wireman, a new Glaswegian producer who seems to specialize in clever discord. On “Armour EP” (his debut, released on Prime Numbers), Wireman entertains four distinctly different sub-genres of electronic music, teasing something new out of each one as he goes.

“Armour EP” is as diverse as it is coherent: while each song is isolated in style, all four share a raw, metallic clang. The title track sends a sluggish techno beat through a rusty industrial atmosphere, flanked by increasingly louder chords and delayed half-melodies. The breakdown ushers in a more aggressive vibe, with corroded drum pads joining the mix once the beat drops. Next, “Forge” evokes a somber, tawny glow, and leaves it at that — the track is brief and completely ambient, but no less engaging than the others. Though “Armour” is my personal favorite, “Axiom” somehow feels like the star of the EP. It’s a beautifully heavy dubstep track that sounds perfectly fresh despite its use of common dubstep tropes — a lurching rhythm, warbling chords, a sinister mood, etc. “Perspex” is probably the biggest curveball of all four; with its acid driven melody and peppy tempo (136bpm), it almost sounds like something off of AFX’s “Analord” series. Such a varied group of tracks makes it hard to predict where Wireman will go from here: Will he eventually settle on one of these styles or remain an electronic renaissance man? Either way, I don’t think I’ll be alone in eagerly awaiting his next release.