Ricardo Villalobos, "Fizheuer Zieheuer"

Villalobos has been routinely pumping out ten-minute tracks and remixes right from the beginning of his career, so it was only a matter of time before he started putting out four track "albums" . But why stop there? After all, the logical conclusion to these inflating track lengths is to produce a one track "album" ... hence, he gives us the 37-minute "Fizheuer Zieheuer".

This track doesn't have much to say that we didn't already hear more than ten years ago from Basic Channel's "Octagon/Octaedre" and especially BC's "Phylyps Trak II (side B)". He plays around a little more with delay, echo, and irregular, syncopated percussion (the latter of these being very similar to the tricks he used on "Ichso") but I mainly find myself longing for another thirty minutes of those BC records rather than multiple listens to the whole of "Fizheuer Zieheuer".

It's overly long for the sake of being overly long, not because it needs to be. It makes for remarkable listening for the first fifteen minutes (all of side A) but the saturation point comes a few minutes into side B, after which it becomes something of a curiousity, i.e. "how long does he really want to continue like this?" That said, this little experiment is rewarding enough that I won't mind if Villalobos releases nothing other than 40-minute tracks for the rest of his career. Sooner or later he'll hit upon an uberclassic, where every single second of it is essential.

Compression Triumphs

I recently started reading up on the issue of compression in modern audio recordings/remasterings. Now that my mind is on the subject, it's been informing nearly all the music I've been listening to lately. I always knew about the concept of compression, even though I didn't know it by name -- noticing that some albums sound very loud, noticing that certain recordings could be grating on my ears (and not in a "dense" way, i.e. the new Flaming Lips album vs, say, peak era shoegazing albums), mentally noting how some artists sounded louder than their musical style would warrant (hello, KEANE). I've been asking myself "does this sound compressed?" no matter if I'm hearing the song for the first time or the 50th time. I've been marvelling at the fantastic sound on Audion's records, particularly his newest EP "Mouth To Mouth", where you can easily hear quiet clicks and purrs way down in the mix, even on top of the cavernous beats that anchor the EP's two tracks. I'm remembering the stories about how Basic Channel insisted on mastering their vinyl at special facilities, and how much better those recordings sound on vinyl compared to CD. I remember being amazed at the power of the first two Oasis records, decibel-wise, and my dislike for Verve's "A Northern Soul" (also produced by Owen Morris) because it sounded so much like "(What's the Story) Morning Glory?", in dramatic contrast to their gentler, more atmospheric debut.

I recommend articles from Austin360, Stylus, and Wikipedia as an introduction to the subject. But all those articles are quck to point out that compression isn't always a bad thing. Full-on tracks that require almost zero subtlety are likely improved by sloppy, slap-in-the-face compression. Audion's "Mouth To Mouth" EP demands for it's gentler, percussive elements to heard amongst the beats, particularly when the volume is turned up. Other tracks probably wouldn't benefit at all from such subtlety ...

Ladytron, "Destroy Everything You Touch". It's hard to sit through the entire "Witching Hour" album in one sitting (you know why), but this track, with it's stomping beats, wild sirens, and caveman lyrics (perfect for shouting over the din) is just about perfect the way it is.

Depeche Mode, "John the Revelator". It builds up in layers, and Dave Gahan's voice pierces into the red from the very start. By the time the choir joins in during the chorus, there isn't anywhere in the mix left to put them. All the song's vocals feature the collective enunciation of a swarm of bees from this point onward, but who cares? It's Depeche Mode rocking the "Numbers" beat and blowing your speakers apart in the process.

Roots Manuva, "Chin High". All of the "Awfully Deep" album has been banned from my iPod until I figure out how to optimize its volume levelling capabilities. Roots Manuva's baritone does manage to stand out quite clearly, but otherwise the whole album is like one big, thudding bassline and that's OK because they're the best parts of RM albums. "Chin High" adds a bunch of clanking in order to increase the assault on the ears.

Charlotte Gainsbourg, "5 55"

Songs from this album have been cycling through my iPod, rubbing shoulders with songs by famous actress (and occasional singer) Charlotte's even more famous father. When one of her songs comes up on shuffle, I usually find myself clamouring through my short-term memory, trying to recall which early 70's album I chose to upload to my iPod. Since the early 70's are pretty much a black hole as far as my music collection goes, my confusion tends to last until her voice appears in the song. So she's got the authenticity thing downpat, effortlessly apeing the sweeping exotica of albums such as "Histoire de Melody Nelson". The string arrangements are highly reliable ear-candy, they practically write themselves. Elsewhere, she slips easily between English and French lyrics, and even makes forays into Travis-esque grandma-indie ("The Song That We Sing" is a dead ringer for "Flowers in the Window"). Her breathy, half-bored, half-sex kitten vocals sound completely effortless, you get the feeling that she could churn them out all day long without breaking a sweat.

On the other hand, the lack of variety in her singing style likely indicates that she did spend many days in the studio, purring out the same semi-spoken lines on song after song. You get the cynical feeling that if she simply wanted to sing on autopilot while recreating the sounds of her father's most fertile period, then why bother in the first place? Does such an album need to exist? So let's put all that baggage aside and judge the album more straightforwardly -- are the tunes any good? Fortunately, many of them are. In particular, the title track is as good as anything Serge did in that style circa "Melody Nelson". The album's easygoing, pastoral feel isn't too far from what Rachel Goswell was aiming for on her dreadfully boring (save for one track, "Coastline", which is several shades of awesome) solo record "Waves Are Universal". Over the course of forty minutes, the album's tranquility gradually turns it into easily ignorable background music, sweet and pleasant but nothing too notable overall. A mini-album might have been a better idea, either that, or let the listener beware: only listen to three or four tracks at a time, lest you start to forget that the album is even playing.

The many talents of Paris Hilton

I formed an opinion on this record (more or less) over a month ago, but decided to wait until I heard the actual music before writing something up. I figured I owed it to myself to hear the album first, as a matter of intellectual honesty. A lot of reviewers probably didn't give this album that chance, for instance, all the jokes in this review were probably written before the "play" button was pressed.

I don't have much to say about the album that hasn't already been said. It's perfectly passable music. It's a vehicle for the talents of its producer (Scott Storch) far more so than it is for Paris herself, who is the easily-replaceable window dressing of the record. It's compressed as all hell. All the same tricks that are used to sweeten Britney Spears' vocals (and those of a million other singers) are in full effect -- swarming background vocals, double tracking, liberal use of whispering and purring, etc.

Paris' album might represent the apex of the ongoing popism debates. She's the latest in a line of "artists" who made an album for the teen-oriented market, not for any reason in particular but only because she could (Lohan, Duff et al). The debate is only mildly interesting to me, discussions such as this one are notable for confirming everyone's preconceived opinions about Paris than for any truly new criticism (i.e. every "Paris" review in a nutshell, as I already pointed out). Jerry the Nipper's comment stands out though, and I fully agree with it. Tracks like "Turn It Up" come across as silly as Paris implores you to muse about getting down with her and what might happen when her clothes come off -- we already know what happens, we've all seen the famous video, thank you. As JtN states (and I haven't read his complete Uncut review), Paris' wealth is her most noteworthy asset, not her body. A sassy, confident, "like me or not, but I can buy you if I want" Material Girl for the 00's would have made for a far more appealing and unique record.

Still, the most unappealing thing about "Paris" (besides, perhaps, sticking her on a reggae track -- "Stars Are Blind" and releasing it as a single, who could have possibly thought this was a good idea?) is that I'm completely unconvinced that Paris Hilton gives a flying fuck about music. I can't imagine her having a taste in music beyond what her personal assistants buy for her or the songs played in the clubs that her publicists tell her she should be seen at. She released an album because she has the money to hire whoever she wants to write/produce a good record and let her sing along with it. Knowing all these things ruins most of the fun for me. Now hang on, I know the counter-arguments. Lots of people have released superficial novelty/comedy albums just for the money. Still, William Hung cares about music more than Paris Hilton does. Lots of bands hated each others guts, half-assed it in the recording studio, and still implored us to spend money on their product. If those bands were able to harness their full talents on earlier albums, or if I have reason to believe that they'll get their act together on subsequent albums (together or solo) then I have more time for them than I do for Paris Hilton.

Now watch me write something about Charlotte Gainsbourg's new album while completely ignoring everything I wrote in this post ...

Peeking In on Techno and DJ's

Philip Sherburne's latest "Month In Techno" column for Pitchfork is more of his typical brilliance -- new trends and contextual techno history, profoundly readable for both novices and experts, all in less than 2000 words. Reading his columns and blog posts actually makes me a bit sad because I come to realize how far I've receded from the contemporary techno scene. The producers fled Toronto for friendlier environments (Montreal, Berlin), the availability of good vinyl naturally started decreasing (as did my disposable income, although I can't claim that these two things are related) (I never bought enough vinyl for any correlation to exist), good parties and tolerable crowds became ever more scarce. There is absolutely no replacement for flipping through vinyl in shops, it's the musical equivalent of learning a new language by immersing yourself among speakers of that language. It's also the best possible way to keep up to speed with new releases and new trends.

I can comfort myself with the notion that even though I am spiralling out of date, it's mitigated by how far ahead of my time I used to be. For the most part, my vinyl purchases were centred on the hardest, densest tracks (e.g. Cari Lekebusch, Petar Dundov, Kai Randy Michel), and stripped-down, plinky tracks (e.g. Richie Hawtin's m_nus-era stuff, the audio.nl label, Thomas Brinkmann). The latter group now encompass the world-beating "minimal" tag, but I always thought of the former group as minimal as well. Minimal, to me, didn't mean "quiet" or "not banging", it meant "very little variation".

However, when practicing my spinning, I easily became restless. I didn't like to play any one track for too long, after a couple of minutes I started itching to hear something else. I favoured long mixes between tracks, beatmatching them for two or three minutes if possible, and playing around with filters and effects to combine elements of the tracks in real time. I quickly discovered the problem with my style of choice -- it was damn hard work. I'd race through 15-20 tracks each hour. The continuing need to cue up and segue into the next track meant there was very little time for standing back and admiring whatever song I was playing at that moment. In my head, I wanted to hear all twenty minutes of Starfish Pool's "Offday", but my hands wouldn't listen. Considering I cut my electronic music teeth on epic ambient music, "mixing" tracks together using tape recorders, you'd think I'd have calmed down and let the music stretch out a bit more.

I remember watching Mutek founder Alain Mongeau DJ in the opening slot on the festival's final night (I think it was in 2002), he was playing every record from groove to groove, with tight (but simple) segues between them. Granted, this was a 9PM set and hardly anybody had showed up yet, so it's not like he needed to pull out all the stops and impress people. But was his style indicative of a lack of skill, i.e. is that how he played because that's all he was capable of doing? Or was he a little bit ahead of his time? Michael Mayer plays tracks nearly from start to finish, and his Immer and Fabric mixes are considered classics. Mayer has helped bring the club DJ closer in style to the radio DJ, playing songs you actually know rather than being an obsessive trainspotter whose cred is based around digging up the most obscure records that nobody could possibly recognize. This attitude (I hesitate to call it a "problem" because I'm not sure that it actually was one) was very common in techno during the 1990s, and it was perfectly suited to Jeff Mills' "techno gangbang" sets (dozens of tracks per hour, no time to think about song recognition) and Richie Hawtin's banging, percussive marathons (stuffed full of white labels). As Sherburne points out, the "stretched out" style leaves more room for the tracks and clubgoers to breathe, but it also conserves the DJ's energies. So which is the chicken and which is the egg? Were DJ's becoming less skilled, thus leading to longer and longer parties featuring fewer and fewer tracks, or are knowledgeable partygoers demanding epic sets with more proper hits and forcing the DJ's to adapt to these wants?

Too many issues here ... "hard techno" isn't dead, at least not in Berlin. Otherwise, one could simplistically dismiss all this as a matter of fans' tastes changing -- people are tired of hard stuff, they want less banging "minimal" tracks, along with the DJ styles, drugs, hours, etc. that are conducive to them. I think there's more to it than that. Also, the notion of "DJ's becoming less skilled" is a bit too harsh, it smacks of virtuoso snobbery. You know the kind -- if you can't play 20-minute guitar solos in 15/8 time, then you aren't playing anything worth listening to. Spinning records can be sweaty, backbreaking work (as I discovered) and there's no reason why this absolutely must be the case (which I should have realized back then).