Yet electronic music can make you feel things. House has a good command of bathos (the diva howls). Techno has the mechanics of anonymous sex down cold (thump thump thump thump). Intelligent dance music Autechre, Aphex Twin, etc. does an excellent impression of mental illness (a combination of schizophrenia and obsessive-compulsive disorder). In fact, almost every genre of electronic dance music is ebullient, even if its often a joy imposed by force. Think of Fatboy Slim, Propellerheads and other proponents of the rapidly receding genre of Big Beat. (Cocaine music for cocaine smiles.) And electronic music has tried its hand at melancholy and more tangled emotional states. New Order comes to mind, as does its synth-pop progeny (e.g., goths, the New Romantics, the new wave).
Electronic music that emotes has been around since the theremin and the amplified guitar, but electronic music as we define it today only came into being in the 70s with the advent of affordable sequencers and synthesizers. More often than not, its been music for or by the alienated and the overwhelmed: German academics and hippies (Kraftwerk, Neu, Can); gay, Alvin Tofflerobsessed African-Americans from Detroit (Juan Atkins, Derrick May, Kevin Saunderson); and, more recently, dot-com employees (who are alienated and overwhelmed, at least). Arising amid the hum of various Motor Cities, electronic music has traditionally been less about using music as a path toward open roads and open minds, and more about the precision engineering of feelings. How do you build the best defense against the world at large?
Ask any computer programmer and they will tell you that, at its best, manipulating code is like playing God. Electronic musicians have often aimed for the same ecstasy when molding sound; what theyve sought is complete control. Right now, in Los Angeles, theres a growing community of music makers trying to bring that beat bring that beat bring that beat back to the irregular rhythm of the human heart. Many of these efforts intersect in one way or another with the work of Dublab.com, a DJ pool slash production company slash group of friends (back)slash Internet radio station that has just compiled Freeways, an album of some of L.A.s strongest peristaltic beats. Fun. Fun! Fun?
Well, not quite. Yes, dance musics got ebullient down, and intelligent dance musics got a lock on brainiacs. What electronic music doesnt have a handle on are ambivalent emotions those small, furtive feelings (delicacy, prettiness) and the mysterious big ones (belief, faith). Few have shown a mastery of quiet times, soft notes, sensitivity the songs that limpid, watery-eyed boys put on mix tapes for their willowy young female friends. Dublab has a command of that strange, often unpopular thing. The best of the musicians assembled on Freeways understand that our heartbeats are finite quite unlike the endless and iterative Krautrock throb. Its the music Nick Drake or Joan Baez would make if they had Roland TR-808s.
Languis and Fer Chloca start things up with The Sky Below. The track builds on a digital skip-step beat (rote among aspiring IDMers) but adds layers of keyboards, clacking tones more like tongue pops than pistons, diffuse bass that bleeds instead of bruises, and a classical guitar melody that weaves gossamer melodic lines where others would build rats nests. Daedelus contributes A Mashnote, a collage of fluttering birds, violin strokes and error bleeps all arising from the keyboard clicks that open the song. (Hes writing this song on a computer get it?) Daedelus is a programmer who has transformed the traditional love-letter salutation xoxo into a new kind of code for the hug and the kiss: 1010101. Mia Doi Todds Digital is a tone poem that draws connections between man and machine over a drum-circle cum drum-n-bass beat. Genetics meet synthetics, binaries become DNA, and bodily exhaustion is explicitly linked to the demands of our ever more robust information machines: Nakedly we lie in an ecstatic embrace, trying not to come too quickly. One minute rise plastic bagged lubricated safety tube. This is not a through street. One cannot pass here . . . Throw your body to the edge of crisis. Paralysis is everywhere . . . Population in transition. Information transference overload. Sung word-salad style à la Beck, Todds song is an easy target for the kind of Bob Dylan comparison that greets all earnest folk singers: Shes gone electric and written her Desolation Row.
That Dublab allows and encourages such border crossings is its greatest strength, and it brings us to this albums midpoint, a trio of tracks where genre falls away and what emerges are various new, new things. Yesterdays New Quintet, a funk-and-jazz quintet led by Madlib, are a hypercharged version of Sun Ra bringing the funk. Their contribution, Soul Searchin, lines up a dozen asymmetrical drum breaks and beats and rolls, overlaying the results with record pops, synth squiggles, and bass lines that walk until they stroll off. The sounds on this particular track could be real, might be Memorex, but untrained and unrestrained its as refreshing a take on electronic jazz as Amon Tobins organic beats were four years back. It bops, and its got heat.
Rap veteran Divine Styler contributes Shen, the albums most impressive track. Clocking in at only 2.5 minutes, its composed of a concentrated blast of negative space: His double-tracked rap-rasp and short sub-bass beats leave holes in your chest. The antimatter sound lends some authority to whatever it is hes going on about. This is rap as mantra: I break thought down/Unlock your crown, he chants 11 times, followed by the refrain, The reason my inflection is deep in my shen. Shen is a hip-hop number thats spiritual in its depths. Possessing an idiosyncratic religious/sci-fi vibe as difficult to integrate within mainline hip-hop history as Kool Keith or P.M. Dawn, Divine Styler finds a home here.
The discovery of the compilation is 32-year-old Damon Aaron, a singer-songwriter-producer who feels deeply and sends his words out as uncut emotion. Imagine that Van Morrison had grown up in a time of hip-hop beats. Imagine that HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey sang the blues on his deathbed. Over a moody bed of orchestral fragments and a slow boom-bap, the five minutes of Aarons Dont Get Up are the new benchmark in vocally phrasing torture: Dont get up again/What good can be done here?/Let go all those tears/Dont you have no fear/I wont get up again/All my troubles stayin down/Wont get up again/All my troubles stayin down/I wont get up again/Sorry/Guess I just dont know my position/You wont be coming back/Give up before you pass/Turn off all the lights. An impressionistic yet machine-aided feat, Aarons narration brings to mind the fact that Los Angeles boasts not only Americas best weather but its most unrelenting smog.
With Freeways, Los Angeles could become more than electronicas next big car town. It has far more range than that. Remember, California has more immigrants than any other state, and upward of 40 percent of Los Angeles population is foreign-born. Freeways roster includes musicians hailing from Buenos Aires and Austria, Iran and Wales, and their message will hopefully travel beyond L.A. Countys borders. This record proves you can use machines to extend the sounds of the body, instead of using them to build up an ever-mightier electronic fortress.
VARIOUS ARTISTS | Dublab Presents . . . Freeways | (Emperor Norton)