Strange2 is a project of David Jornet from Barcelona that dates back to 1980. Living now in Paris, a lot has changed in his musical taste, and Ciclos is a portrait of those changes. The most obvious focus of this work are the melodies and well-crafted atmospheres. I quite like the melodies and the mighty, clean textures he uses throughout the entire album—no tension whatsoever. Some of the tunes are somehow Industrial but still very much IDM—definitely not abstract and not really experimental in the sense of strange effects and weird textures. The album prefers to follow a straight-forward path that can be easily digested by most of the electronic music fans out there.

The cover art is very nice, and I think it captures the whole feeling of the album. Clues about the structure and composition of the entire album are on the cover and I have to congratulate the cover artist for that.

I have to point out the lovely melodies and the fine fluidity of the tunes as well as the entire album sequence. It flows through beautifully, playing around with chords, soundscape effects, and beautiful synth work, transporting the listener to different places, but never describing the same town. He never takes unrelated turns.

I remember being in a situation where I wanted to move away from my safe cocoon but could never find the strength to do so. Or maybe, subconsciously, I just didn’t want to anyway. The spoken word in the track “Arte y espectador” is an extract from Marcel Duchamp’s statement about the creative process of the artist, and I think that is a very nice touch. The track’s composition, as well, captures the nature of the context of the entire text and, as an artist, I was quite moved by the way he put things together here, on the border of dark ambient, but never too deep into it.

This album should be listened to as the background to an emotional and deep conversation with one’s self on those days you don’t want to think about futile subjects, but you just want to have a deep dive into the realms of your subconscious and find out what’s going on in your head. The tracks are full of suspense, but never too dark—always in the middle, down to the melodies contrasting the ambience of the dark nature of the soundscape’s textures.

Sometimes I think I should go deep inside a situation and throw myself into it, but I quickly decide to play it safe and get back to my (un)comfortable shack. That confuses me from time to time. That feeling is actually captured at some point in this album, and I totally dig that. Confusion is part of modern human nature and it will be there for sometime. At the end of the day, it’s a very digestible and enjoyable album, made to be listened to with someone with whom you are keen to have a long talk about yourself, over some wine and candle light, on the floor of your living room, after a long day at work.

Tevo Howard’s music is still a bit rough around the edges. Sometimes that works to his advantage, as on last year’s “About Fourteen,” a haunting collaboration with his father, or on “Everyday House Music” which grew on me so much it topped my year-end list. This EP will probably grow on me as well, but a few listens into it, I feel like a limited sound palette is holding Howard back.

The title track starts with a fast acid bassline. Understated strings form a sweet, simple melody. The sounds are pure, if a bit too clean. “Laboratory” is a mirror image of “Crystal Republic,” with the bassline coming in at the end. The melody is a little fuller and a little darker. I keep coming back to it.

“The Glass Ceiling” progresses slowly, with long chords and tense bass. Glimmering treble synths appear at the last second. On “Material,” beats walk up and down, then bells and 303 echo like a Steve Reich loop which miraculously stays in sync. Both versions of “Data” have a higher, looser 303 line over gated kicks and the occasional chomp of snares. As with all of these tracks, the breaks stretch on and on.

On one hand, it’s cool that Howard is able to make a six-track EP with just a handful of sounds. On the other, I find myself yearning for deeper bass and more complicated beats. The tracks are so similar, I find it hard to recognize them individually. I realize Howard’s laying the groundwork. I’m just ready for him to add a new twist.

Autechre has long been my favorite group. I bought Tri Repetae++ at Media Play, of all places, soon after it was released. I first saw the duo live in Toronto around the time of LP5. I remember a nearby teenager exclaiming, “Worst rave ever!” while I danced to the bizarre, gut-shaking electronics. Needless to say, listening to a new Autechre album is always an exciting experience, even if it fails to grow on me over time (i.e. Confield).

This past week, Oversteps was released digitally to customers who pre-ordered the physical album from Bleep. As in my last ten Autechre reviews, I’ll do my best to describe music which, for the most part, isn’t constructed with identifiable instruments.

The first track, “r ess,” fades up with alternating orchestral and electric echoes. Flat percussion provides contrast—it’s nearly a mere click track. A smattering of keys at the end sound like a warm-up. “ilanders” is this album’s nod to dubstep. Bursts of fuzzy, carefully distorted bass pounce like blobs of paint thrown on canvas.

“known(1)” completely changes pace, introducing atonal harpsichord. Most of the notes vibrate and bend like actual strings pulled out of tune. Glistening metallic notes peal over top. “pt2ph8” uses a similar sound palette, but the meandering notes are muddled.

“qplay” is classic late-nineties Autechre, with a jumble of bouncing DSP beats and chords. Surprisingly, it ends cleanly rather than breaking down. “see on see” is a snow-globe of child-like bells. While the sounds don’t seem original, the execution is flawless. “Treale” brings back bulky beats. Notes cascade and chords swell, but it’s difficult to make out a melody in the jumble. “os veix3” is sparser. Shards of static punctuate slow-moving bass. I can almost catch a glimpse of emotion.

“O=0” is the warmest track here, combining familiar bells with analogue-sounding electronics. The effect is a sunbeam of sound. “d-sho qub” is almost jubilant despite sharp bits in the mix. Bouncy bleeps form a melody, and there’s even a brief electro beat. At the end a heavenly chorus descends, a la 2001: A Space Odyssey.

“st epreo” and “redfall” move fluidly with barely contained energy, the latter ending with a smear. “krYlon” marks a return to bell-like sounds over long, deep bass notes. Like “pt2ph8,” however, it’s so abstract it feels incohesive. “Yuop” is more of a statement. The note runs sound like they are bursting from a church organ. Waves of distortion increase until everything crumbles and slowly fades.

It seems best to evaluate Autechre’s releases in relation to each other, since Sean and Rob are on a completely different plane from their contemporaries. Their previous album, Quaristice, contained an enormous amount of material. The special edition plus digital EP totalled almost five hours. Oversteps is much tighter.

I like this album. It’s enveloping. While some of the sounds are obviously experimental, many are warm and approachable. There are no voyeuristic radio or TV voices buried in the mix. In fact, this might be Sean and Rob’s most personal album in a decade.

There is a consistent sense of confidence evident in Autechre’s style. These guys don’t make music that’s half-assed. Everything they do is worth a listen, and multiple ones at that. I try to transport myself back to a time when I could only afford a few albums a year, so I would digest them more slowly. Let Oversteps become your world for a month.

Please welcome new Gridface contributor João Ricardo.

The title of this album could not be more appropriate. Lazy Sunday Funerals is a deep, spacey trip to the realms of the ocean, where you might find beautiful fish, happy and chilling. If dolphins and whales could actually listen to some tunes, swimming around with their MP3 players on, this album would be on their favorites list.

Its high drones are extremely mellow—nothing dark, but light blue as the ocean or the skies on a lazy, sunny Sunday after a massive fulfilling lunch. I suggest you go to the park, lay down on the ground, set your dog free, put this album on, and forget about the next day or your boss (if you have one) telling you what to do.

Marsen combined the ambience of deep drones with orchestral instruments, creating occasional tension, only to get back to the relaxing nature of the whole album. The heavy influence of classical music becomes apparent through the well-crafted pads, chords, and scarce voices. Field recordings add slightly different directions to some of the tunes, but contrast is not necessarily in his vocabulary. Be careful not to drool over the pillow after a while, though. If you get too deep into this album, you might go into suspended animation.

The drones are similarly tough. Don’t expect wild variations or weird experiments with synths and textures. The album has an identity, and it does not run away from it. I am sure he doesn’t want to change the path here anyway. It’s a ball full of lasagna, a downtempo feast for the drone heads out there. Maybe you want to listen to it just once or twice.

Chip E. (Irwin Larry Eberhart II, 43) was first named “The Godfather of House” by Street Mix magazine in November, 1986. His seminal Jack Trax EP, released 25 years ago, was the first record containing the words “house” and “jack.” In fact, it could be called the first true house record, since its stripped-down style doesn’t sound New Wave or disco like Jesse Saunders and Vince Lawrence’s early productions.

Chip was one of the first Chicago dance artists with a hit, but he was also one of the first artists to leave the industry over a contract dispute. In just five short years, Chip DJed high school and basement parties, worked at Importes Etc. (where all of the club and radio DJs shopped), produced a number of big records, and screened demos for D.J. International. Then he gave it all up, leaving his job at the label and refusing to make music for five years at the height of the house craze. He currently owns a video company. We spoke by phone February 5, 2010.

Jacob: How did you get into music?
Chip: I’ve always liked music. I started getting the bug—I was about twelve years old, and I saw this documentary program on PBS about this teen newspaper called New Expressions. It was a city-wide newspaper—whereas most high schools had their own newspaper, this was a newspaper that was published and distributed throughout all of the high schools in the Chicago area…. I was interested in photography. I decided, even though at the time I think I was in sixth grade, I decided that I should be on their staff. So I went down to the newspaper, and I talked to them, and I showed them my portfolio. Yeah, I had a portfolio in sixth grade.

They looked, and they said, “Oh, this is so nice, this is really cute.” You know, “Yeah, when you get in high school, yeah, you could be on the newspaper.” I was like, “Well, no, I’m kinda thinking like right now.”

After a few more visits and pestering they finally gave me an assignment, which was actually taking some pictures at St. Ignatius High School, which had just turned co-ed. That was actually the high school I planned to attend…. So I was on the staff of the newspaper, and I was there pretty much three or four days out of the week. There was a guy that did all the layout, he did all the graphic design, and his name was Eric Bradshaw. One night I was hanging out with him late, and I saw him working on some flyers.... I said, “What is that?” He said, “Oh, it’s a party I’m throwing. We have this group called Vertigo, and we throw these parties at a place called The Loft.” I was like, “Well, I can go.” He’s like, “Well, you’re a little young, but okay, come on.”

I went to this party, and it was on 14th and Michigan at a venue called The Loft. It was actually just a loft, it really wasn’t a proper venue—it was just someone’s loft with no furniture, and they threw parties there. There were a few hundred people there. Alan King was on the turntables, I remember this very vividly… and they were playing Martin Circus “Disco Circus.” I had heard some disco on the radio before, and I had older relatives who listened to disco, but I’d never heard disco like this. I’d never seen these people just dancing and sweating, and the walls were sweating, and the floor was moving up and down, and I was just in euphoria. I was like, “I love this stuff.” I think that was my first introduction to the scene, as it were.

I had this older friend, Julie Welbon, and one day we went to The Warehouse, and I think Ronnie, Ron Hardy, was guest playing with Frankie [Knuckles] there, and I heard them both spin, and I heard more new music. I said, “Where do I get this music?” She said, “Oh, there’s this great store, Importes Etc.”

By this time I was in high school. I would go to Importes all the time and buy new records, and some of my friends in high school found out that I had all the cuts. That’s what we’d call them. They were mixing music… and they’d say, “Well, why don’t you come on and bring some of your cuts by, and we can mix.” And I was like, “Cool, I wanna mix.” If I ever got to mix, it was at the end, just before they were leaving.

I just kept going back to the record store, getting more records, kept listening to them…. I had been at Importes Etc. so much that they hired me. They were like, “As long as you’re going to be here everyday, you might as well work.” By then I’d improved my DJ skills, and so I was DJing out at night. I was going to school, studying marketing and music [at Columbia College] in the daytime, for the morning portion, at least, and then the afternoons I was working at the record store, seeing how music was sold.

Where was the first place that you DJed?
I wanna say The Rink. It was a roller rink. On Friday and Saturday nights they turned it into a disco.

Chip E. DJing at The Rink Zone

Who were your influences DJing? Frankie Knuckles?
No, as far as DJing, my influences really were my peers. I think when the original Warehouse was open, I’d only went there once before it closed. I liked Frankie’s and Ronnie’s musical selection, but neither of them, at the time, were capable of blending or beat-matching. They played good music, but they played it like a radio DJ… well, not exactly like a radio DJ, but they would play one record, and then they would turn down the bass as they transitioned to the next record so it didn’t sound like a trainwreck. They used three-way crossovers so they could very efficiently and effectively reduce the bass from both records, but they were definitely not my DJ influences. As far as musical selection, I would say, yeah, they influenced me, but at the same time I was influencing them too, because I was working at Importes, and I was the one giving them the new music.

What kinds of things were you playing?
I was playing a lot of European disco. A lot of Doctor’s Cat, Trilogy, Lime.

How many people were working at Importes Etc.? Was it a pretty small place?
It was a pretty small place. There was myself, Paul Weisberg, the owner; Tony Mundaca was another one of the sales guys; Brett Wilcots; and Frank Sells…. Importes was primarily getting all their music from Walter Capp. He had a company called Capp Exports. He was bringing over all the music from Europe.

How did you get into production?
I’m in a situation where I’m learning about music theory, I’m learning about marketing, I’m learning about music production, too. Obviously from my DJing experience, I was learning what makes people move. From the record store I was learning how people bought music. You’d have people coming in humming, you’d have people coming in, sometimes they’d bring a cassette recording they’d made, sometimes something they got on their answering machine, so they’d have to call their house and say, “Here, listen to this.” There were all different types of ways that people would screw up the name of a song they were looking for. Right at this time, I was learning about marketing and how to sell things. I had picked up this device from Guitar Center called a Dr. BOSS sampling pedal. It had about 1.7 seconds of sampling time on it, and it was actually made for guitar players… but I plugged the microphone into it, and I could say something, and then every time I stepped on it or hit it with my hand, I could trigger the sample. This was brave new territory.

I decided, a lot of times people don’t know the names of records, well, if I’m going to make a record… I’m going to put something in it that’s so dominant that it’s difficult for people not to know the name of the song…. One of the first songs I recorded was simply a song called “It’s House.”

I know you’ve heard a lot of stories about where “house” comes from. Actually what happened was, people would come into Importes asking for some of the old disco music that Frankie played. Now Frankie at The Warehouse never played house music, ’cause house music didn’t exist…. There was no such thing. But people would come into Importes Etc. and they would say, “Do you have any of that old music that Frankie played at The Warehouse?” Some people would just start saying, “Do you have any of that old music Frankie played at the ’house?” So we started putting up signs that would say, “As Heard at The Warehouse,” or me being lazy, I’d just put up a sign that said, “As Heard at The House,” and we’d find that anything that we put up that said “As Heard at The House,” people would just pick it up without even listening to it. So I knew this term “house” was something that was going to be marketable.

Chip E. and Keith Irving performing at Mendel Catholic Prep School

So the first record I recorded as part of my seven-track EP [Jack Trax] was a song called “It’s House,” and the entirety of the lyrics are “It’s House.” That’s it: “It’s house, it’s house, it’s house, it’s house,” just in different pitches. I put together the right rhythms behind it and some nice bass note lines and melodies, but that was the first house record.

Now Jesse Saunders claims that he created the first house record. True, he created a record before me, but it was not a house record because house music did not exist, and his record, “On and On” was a re-make of a New York disco edit. You cannot make a new genre of music by re-making a disco edit. He just re-made a disco edit, period. It was not new music. “It’s House” was completely new music. It created the genre of music we know as house, because it was minimalistic, it was tribal, it was driving, it was the four on the floor, and it was the sampling. It was based on the 808 and then later progressed into a 909 drum machine. That is the beginning of house music.

The funny thing is… even after house music started catching on in Europe, both Jesse and Vince told people they were not house music artists, they were R&B artists… until it became really big, and then all of a sudden, they were like, “Oh, yeah, yeah, we made the first house record!”

How many copies of Jack Trax did you press initially?
Our House Records was the first pressing [in 1985]. We pressed a thousand, and we sold out the first day. After I got the acetate, The Hot Mix 5 heard it in the store. I think the first person to play it was Ralphi [Rosario], and once Ralphi started playing it, they just started sharing it amongst themselves for their mixes. It played in the [WBMX radio] mixes for probably a good month before it was released, so there was a lot of interest…. When it came out, there was a line around the corner for people to get in to buy it, so it just sold out the first day. That was when I decided I was not going to work at Importes any longer….

What studio did you use?
I went out to a little studio in Villa Park called Reel to Reel. In order to be able to afford eight hours of studio time, I had to sell my coveted Technics SL-1200 MK2 turntables. It was a very painful decision.

How did you get involved with D.J. International?
While I was making “Like This” I met the people at D.J. International, and I decided to let them take over the marketing for me, because I just wanted to make music. I didn’t want to have to carry around records, doing the marketing and distribution and everything….

“Like This” was my second record…. It charted on Billboard, it was played in all the clubs, but I didn’t find out until a few years later, it was really huge in New York and New Jersey. All the Jersey comics, they’d say, if somebody got a new car, it wasn’t going on until you were bumping “Like This” in the car.

Chip E. at the Riviera Theatre, Chicago

How did you start working with K Joy?
Her father’s an art director, my mother’s a copy writer. They worked at Leo Burnett [advertising agency] together. The first time I met K Joy was around when I was in sixth grade. Both of our parents had to work on some campaign, and they had to be in the office on Saturday. K Joy and I met there, and she taught me how to make little rubber balls out of rubber cement. Years later we would meet at Kenwood [Academy] High School. We hung out a little bit, and I knew she was in choir and she sang a little bit. A common friend of ours who was a little older said, “You know, Chip, ‘It’s Time to Jack’ and ‘It’s House,’ those are cool songs, but you really can’t play ’em on the radio ’cause they don’t have any real vocals, you know?” I’m like, “Yeah, you’re right, you can only play them in the mixes….” So I’d already had “Like This” done as more of a dub track with just the drums, the bass, and the sample. I said, “Hey Kim, why don’t you write some lyrics and you can sing it.”

Were you involved in the Two of a Kind version?
All the string work that you hear on “Like This,” that was done by this young guy named Lidell Townsell. Lidell and his friend Chubby, they would play keyboards for me when I did stage shows, and Lidell did the keyboards on “Like This.” They wanted to make their own music, and I dubbed them Two of a Kind. And then behind my back they went and took an early home recording of “Like This” and sold it to Larry Sherman. Yeah, those were the days.

I read you worked for D.J. International. What was was your title?
First producer, and then I was given the title Vice President of A&R. Anybody that brought in something new, I’d listen to it….

Was Joe Smooth someone you discovered?
I actually discovered Joe Smooth when I was at Importes. Joe was a DJ [at SmartBar]. He was always coming into Importes and was telling us about some of the gear he had. Like I said, I had this little sampling pedal. He had a prototype of this keyboard by Ensoniq called the Mirage, and it was a sampling keyboard. I was like, “Really, you have one of those…. Well I got this date at the studio, why don’t you bring it by?” So he brought it by, and he helped out with Jack Trax quite a bit. Besides bringing his sampling keyboard, it’s actually Joe Smooth’s voice on “Time to Jack.” When I moved to D.J. International, I said, “This is Joe Smooth, he’s a good guy,” and he came on board.

Chip E. with his Commodore 64 at Chicago Trax studio

Tell me how you wrote “Godfather of House”?
Actually, I came up with the music and the hook. My mother, who is a copy writer… I asked her if she would write a song for me, and she wrote the lyrics for it.

When did you start working with Frankie Knuckles?
This is a little trivia that a lot of people don’t know. “Like This,” I was going to do it originally myself, the sample, but I invited Frankie into the studio to say, “Like this.” But it would be years later that I would actually bring him into the studio to record his own music. About two years later… 1987, I was working on “If You Ever Knew.” I knew it was going to be a big record, and I invited Frankie in to do a mix. He was a little reluctant. He was like, “Wow, I don’t know how to do this. I know how to DJ, but I don’t know how to mix a record.” Like, “Well, here, come on, I’ll show you. It’s not that difficult.” So we showed him around the board and just let him feel his way through the song. It came off really well…. I said, “You should produce your own record. I’ll help you…. What do you want to do?” He said, “I’d really like to remake ‘You Can’t Hide’ ” [originally sung by Teddy Pendergrass].

Joe Smooth, Lady Maia, Chip E., and Frankie Knuckles at Chicago Trax studio

I was at a club called AKA one night, and they had this Latin night. They had this Latin percussion and a brass section, and they were great, so I said, “I’m going to hire them to come into a studio.” On “You Can’t Hide,” that’s actually live. The drums are sampled—they’re drum machines, but all the percussion and the brass section is live-instrument.

That was the first record released under Frankie’s name, but wasn’t he working with Jamie Principle first?
That was primarily Jamie doing his thing by himself. Jamie and his girlfriend Lisa did all the lyrics.

You share credits on “Donnie” by The It for mixing, producing, lead vocals, and words and music. Larry Heard, Robert Owens, and Ron Hardy worked on the record too. How did it come to be?
There was this guy named Harry Dennis. I can’t remember how I met him or where. He kept coming by, saying, “I wanna make a record. I wanna make a record.” One morning, he caught me on a Saturday or Sunday morning after being out partying all night, and I was just frustrated. I was like, “Dude, you woke me up. Fine, you want to make a record, OK, here’s the record.” I just hopped on the keyboard, and I did the bassline for “Donnie.” I just hit a couple of black and white keys, and that was it. I was like, “There, you like that?” He was like, “Yeah, yeah! I love it!” I was like, “Come back tomorrow, we’ll sequence it, and we’ll lay it down.”

We sequenced it, we did his vocals, and then he said, “I’ve got some friends who want to help out.” Those friends would end up being Robert Owens and Larry Heard, who I’d heard of, but I hadn’t met them before that time. We brought them into the studio, and I didn’t know they were doing all of their stuff live. Larry had actually never used a sequencer before, so I showed him how to use a sequencer. Ron Hardy, by then, was a very good friend of mine, as well as Harry’s and Larry’s and Robert’s. We invited Ron to come in and mix, and the same thing as Frankie, he was a little hesitant because he’d never been in a recording studio….

What year did you leave D.J. International?
That would have been ’87, ’88….

What was the breaking point?
The breaking point was, after “If You Only Knew” came out, there were some people at RCA Records who wanted to pick me up as an artist. I was under contract at D.J. International. They got into negotiations, and D.J. International asked for some ridiculous sum for my contract…. I just got to a point where I said, “Fuck you, if you’re going to screw up my career and you’re really not doing anything for me, if I gotta stay under contract with you, I’m just not gonna record music.” So I just stopped recording music.

You stopped altogether?
I think the contract expired ’92. Then ’92, ’93, I picked up Farley [“Jackmaster” Funk] and Adonis and we put together a group we called Godfathers Inc. We went over to the U.K. and spent some time there recording. We recorded “Was I Here Before?” with Robert Owens, and we recorded a song called “Clap Ya Hands” under the name Black Balls.

Chip E., Farley, and Adonis

Tell me about your house music documentary The Unusual Suspects.
Have you seen the movie Casablanca? If you remember, the German couriers were killed and the French lieutenant who was under German rule, he wanted to impress the Germans. So he told his sergeants and all of the other underlings, he said, “OK, go rout the usual suspects.” And that’s what I find a lot of the times when people decide they’re going to do a story on house music, they just go and round up the usual suspects. They get the people that are easy to find, and they ask them the questions that have already been asked. They don’t do any real journalism like what you’re doing. They don’t ask any tough questions or any delving questions about what really happened or do any research themselves….

How do you feel about the music scene in Chicago today?
Until we learn to truly work together, it’s really not going to improve. We’re still fighting against each other. There’s not a lot of love there like you have on the East Coast and the West Coast. For some reason, we just don’t play well together. Until we learn to do that, we’re going to stay underground. It’s just not going to flourish.

Anthony “Shake” Shakir may not be as well known as some of his contemporaries—Carl Craig immediately comes to mind—but his music is just as varied in style and as consistently high in quality. In fact, his singles have always been in high demand by those in the know. This well-deserved retrospective, containing three and a half hours of music, helps the rest of us catch up.

Shake selected and edited his own tracks for inclusion here. I’m going to describe the 3-CD/digital version, which includes the most music. Shake starts with “Mood Swing” from 1996. It’s bass-heavy and atmospheric. “Live For Friction,” from the same period, is an electro rain storm. “Plugged In” and “The Floor Filler” from the Club Scam II EP take us into quirky disco territory. Between them is “Arise,” which contrasts pensive synths with a driving beat. “March Into Darkness” is another favorite. It has that pure Detroit techno sound, with some pitch bends near the end to mix things up. “Electron Rider” is even more amazing, with a voice-like synth line that wraps its way around filters over chunky, bouncy bass. “Stereotype” and “Detroit State of Mind” are excellent as well. The former flows right by, with intricate beats, sweeping melody, and a thought-provoking sample at the end. The latter is a tight jam with unique drum fills under strings, vibes, and horns. It’s more jazzy instrumental hip-hop than techno.

Thankfully Tracks For My Father, Songs For My Mother, and The Unsterilized Sessions are here in their entirety. On “One Beat (Just Won’t Do)” I love the long organ phrases even more than the hook. “…Like A Dream” and “Simpatico” are both downright funky. “Travelers” is downtempo and IDM-ish. It reminds me of Strand (who got their start on Shake’s label.) “The Fake Left, Go Right Plan” is wacky, with a hard, fast beat and gritty synths. When it came out, it was completely original. Ironically several house producers have since adopted similar sounds.

The third disc focuses on tracks that have “squeaky” beats. “Assimilated” and “For The Lamented” are both house-friendly. The former juxtaposes keys with lo-fi percussion and bleeps, while the latter rattles along with the nicest chords over top. On “Frictionalized,” sweeping spacey synths predict recent efforts by a number of producers. “Lay Back (In The Cut)” is sweet and downtempo. “Psychotic Tango,” from an upcoming (unreleased) single makes me think of Reggie Dokes’ recent experiments. Minor arpeggios and percussion hits break for pleas of, “Don’t stop.” “Get a Feeling” is an uplifting house/techno hybrid. Huge kicks, Chez Damier-like chords and bass, and catchy vocal samples compress into a loud mix. “Flyswatter” is a strange way to end. Perhaps Shake feels its broken beats and wobbly, digital bass point to the future.

It’s difficult to summarize an entire body of work. Each time I listen to this collection, I’m immersed in Shake’s world for half a day. This anthology is essential for anyone with even a passing interest in Detroit techno or house—which ought to include anyone who listens to contemporary electronic music, period. I haven’t compiled a best of the decade list yet, but this collection would be at or near the top. It truly is that influential and that good.

FXHE Records, 2010

Alex has been on a roll lately. I’m still digesting his last record, yet here he is with a completely different-sounding EP. “Kosmos 1402” takes up the entire first side with gritty, distorted snares and spacey synths. There is a break-down, then another build-up with snorts of what may be thunder or waves. This one seems like more of a home-listening track to me—the perfect soundtrack to a worn sci-fi paperback.

The reverse side’s label depicts a crowded star-field above a blue-gray planet-scape. The title track is dark, dramatic, and dare I say “intelligent” (in the classic sense). Low-end notes phaser like some old Warp Records track and the melody is superb. A voice announces, “Too black, too strong.” Next strange samples describe some scary idea of Utopia. Chimes flitter, then “Skynet 2 B” kicks in with a fat house bassline, only to end abruptly like an abandoned experiment. There are primitive locked grooves at the end of each side. I can’t tell whether the sounds they generate are intentional, but they do resemble space transmissions. This EP might not be to everyone’s taste, but I feel like it was designed specifically for mine. It connects IDM, house, and techno in one glorious swoop!

Disco Nihilist: From One Place to Another

Construction Paper Records, 2010

Disco Nihilist is expanding his sound, and the result is a much more mature record. On “Easy,” clear, pure synth notes glide over old school bass and beats. A 303 squelches to life at the end. “Leaving Bull Creek” has a similar gait, but the 303 line is more subdued, with subtle changes. “Gallop” reminds me of early Joey Beltram, with a big pulsing bassline and Doppler-shifting siren-like notes. “SH101 Acid” closes out the EP with two hard, minimal acid lines and a waterfall of changing claps and kicks. Beats stutter into a march at the end. “Easy” may please the heart, but the rest of this record is aimed squarely at the dance floor.

Hieroglyphic Being: The Mysteries of Life EP

+ + +, 2010

I’m not sure I completely understand Jamal’s concept for this new label, but he described it as a way to showcase his output chronologically. It’s as if he’s restarting Mathematics with only solo projects—as though he never released for anyone else. Jamal has been digging through boxes of nineties tapes, so any fan of his more primitive side is sure to be pleased. The title track has some kind of mysterious sheen. Glassy synthesizers are varnished in layers of dubbing. The bass sounds like a distant airplane. Snares explode like thrown paint.

“Injury 2 the Enlightened” has an almost industrial beat. Treble squiggles and chimes dance in a techno track gone crazy. “Shambhala” starts with piercing high notes in the piccolo range. Smeared snares sound almost military. I can honestly say no one else is making music this way.

Vince Lawrence, 46, has always been content to work behind the scenes, yet his ideas and hard work shaped the history of music. He is responsible for many firsts, from the first house record (“On and On” with Jesse Saunders) to the first major label (Trax) to the first house track on the Billboard charts (“Funk You Up,” also with Jesse). Lawrence built his early success into a music industry career, earning numerous gold and platinum awards in the process. I interviewed him in the control room at Slang Musicgroup, Chicago on January 9, 2010.

Jacob: What part of Chicago did you grow up in?
Vince: I am originally a South Sider. I lived all over the South Side. I lived in Roseland, Jeffrey Manor, South Shore, Hyde Park, Lake Meadows, Beverly…. I lived on Lakeshore Drive for a little while. Quickly moved to Diversey and Ashland and then Humboldt Park… then West Loop, now here. I’ve lived all over Chicago. I’m a Chicagoan, in a real sense.

I understand your father was in the music business?
Yes, my father worked with Eddie Thomas, who was Curtis Mayfield’s partner in Curtom records. He had a small blues and R&B label of his own [Mitchbal Records]. Around the time I was fifteen or sixteen he wanted to show me the record-making process, so I made a record as part of it.... That was “Fast Cars.” And I was really fond of that record. I guess if you’re sixteen and you make a record, you’re going to be fond of it. I really wanted to capture the essence of the parties I was going to... First Impressions, The Loft, ultimately The Playground and The Rink. There were parties all over the place.

What were some of your musical influences?
I had a really eclectic record collection, and I would say thanks to the Columbia Music House or something like that. Let’s see, double albums: I had Stevie Wonder Songs In The Key of Life. Obviously. Electric Light Orchestra Out of the Blue. Not so obvious. Michael Jackson Off the Wall. Kiss Destroyer. A lot of the New Wave records we were listening to at the parties, you couldn’t get those at the Columbia Record Club, but I listened to everything.

I listened to rock records, pop records, R&B records, funk records—Parliament-Funkadelic “Aqua Boogie” and things like that—and really became fascinated with these records that were made with synthesizers. I’d gotten my own synthesizer from work that I did ushering people to their seats at ball games and concerts and I was really focused on recognizing synthesis that was going on in modern music at the time. I thought it was great when you could make a record with all synthesizers.

What was your first synthesizer?
It was a Moog Prodigy.

Do you still have it?
No, I don’t. It was stolen from me a couple years after I had it. I was really fond of it, though.

Tell me more about “Fast Cars.”
Well, the session happened after my dad says, “Hey, we’re going to make a record,” and I said, “Great, this is cool.” I very quickly put together a band [Z-Factor] to support my synthesizer playing and wrote this song. We were really excited because the day we were going to go in the studio, we knew about it about three weeks ahead of time, so by the time we got there we were really pumped up and a record that we rehearsed at probably 120, 123 BPM got recorded at 142.

How many copies did you press?
I think initially that we pressed 1000, but we sold those very quickly and ended up pressing 3 or 4000 more. My dad could tell you how many we sold. We got the record on the radio…. WGCI and WBMX, primarily. It was just a wonderful thing to hear your song on the radio.

Were you the first local guy with a dance record at that time?
I wouldn’t say that I was the first local guy, because a couple of years before, I asked my Dad to go to summer camp and we really couldn’t afford it, so he sent me on the road with a guy by the name of Captain Sky, and he had a record. He had a big fucking record. And I have to say that Daryl’s existence was a real indicator to me that there was something that I could do. I could see a tangible result of the effort to make music and get out there. Because Daryl had a record “Wonder Worm” that was a smash all over Chicago, and he had previously had a record before that called “Super Sporm.” I don’t know if you know the song “Rapper’s Delight,” towards the third verse the guy says “He can satisfy you with his little worm/but I can bust you out with my super sperm…” he’s referencing Captain Sky’s record “Super Sporm,” which was a big East Coast hit.

Daryl was on the road and I got to go on the road. I was a pyro-technician, and I think I was fourteen. And I met great singers there. I met Gary Loizzo, who was the keyboard player in Daryl’s band. He had multiple synthesizers, and I was really excited about that. This was before I bought my own synthesizer. I would say that that was one of the things that made me think, “Man, if I could get me one of those synthesizers, I could make music!”

When did you start going to The Playground? Around when “Fast Cars” came out (1983)?
A little before. I was out late at night much younger than I probably should have been…. You know the place had been called Columns, I guess because of the thick pillars in the room, and it was kind of a gay juice bar, but another one of my mentors, Craig Thomson, took over that and made a teen club.

They were spinning New Wave music? What were they calling it?
That was just the music. There were a lot of DJs playing stuff like that. Frankie [Knuckles], obviously, was at the forefront, but there was Mike Ezebukwu and Ron Hardy, and there were a lot of DJs playing good disco music mixed with soul and other things.

There was a man by the name of Herb Kent. Herb Kent created a show at the suggestion of his daughter called “Stay Up and Punk Out” because black kids in Hyde Park were listening to the B-52s and other records like that. New Wave records. We got our punk rock glasses and so on and so forth, and we would go do these dances at basement parties in the middle of the night.... That was another big influence to me, because [Herb] was playing soul records, disco records, and New Wave records in the same [set]. You could hear Parliament-Funkadelic and Kraftwerk back to back. Open format—real open format. That was the radio. I’d stay up for that show. All of us as teenagers would stay up to “Punk Out.” Other mix show DJs started following suit.

You’d go to The Warehouse, which was the epitome of the juice bars. It was the top of the pile, because reportedly they put acid in the punch. I shouldn’t say because of that, but that was one of the reasons. It had a mystique about it. It was hard for me to stay awake late enough so I could sneak out at 1:00 in the morning and go to a party because it didn’t get good until two, and I remember a whole adventure around going to The Warehouse. The few times I got to go there before it closed, those were really exhilarating experiences. I had already made “Fast Cars” by the time I got to The Warehouse parties. I heard Frankie Knuckles spin and heard the music at those parties, it was just so seamless and so physical due to the size of the sound system that it was a different experience for me. That drove us to want to make different records—more records, and get better. I saved up a bunch of money and bought another synthesizer and started looking for other people to be in my band. People that were closer to the scene that I was trying to capture. And that’s how I hooked up with Jesse Saunders.

You got a job at The Playground doing lights?
Got a little gig doing lights, and the next thing I knew I was throwing parties. I had a group called I.S.E., Infinity Space Eclipse. A guy by the name of Vincent Sparks had started a youth group in the neighborhood to keep us kids out of trouble, now that I really think about it. There were several of us in I.S.E., and we became party promoters. We all went to different schools. We organized ourselves, rented a place… and threw a few parties. A party that we threw where we experienced success, we had an idea designed to help police the parties, protect them from fights, and attached to our own culture at the same time. The idea was we were going to have an IZOD fest. All of the “Punk Out” kids were wearing Izod Lacoste and Polo clothing. So we said “bring your ’ZOD and work your bod,” and the fee to get in the party was $5 if you wore anything IZOD and $10 otherwise. Now mind you, in 1981, the difference between five and ten dollars was going to the party or not….

It caught on like crazy. There were 500 people at our party…. We had an IZOD contest—gave away money to the person that had the most IZOD stuff on. Craig Thomson stole that idea, and the venue that we rented that night, and threw IZOD/Polo parties for the rest of that year.

Next thing you know, I was doing lights at The Playground and Jesse and I were hanging out after the parties thinking about music. We met Duane Buford, who played piano better than the both of us, and we started making songs. Jesse started taking some of the money from his DJing and he started buying musical equipment.

Did he have any equipment before you met him?
None to speak of. No music-making equipment. He had a piano at his mom’s house. His mom was a school teacher.

What was the first thing you collaborated on?
“On and On,” pretty much straight away. Well no, first he joined Z-Factor and we recorded “Fantasy,” “Secret Agent Eyes,” “My Ride,” a bunch of New Wave. Kind of a cross between disco records and Prince songs. Most of what became the Z-Factor Dance Party album.

Screamin’ Rachael sang on “Fantasy.” I found her hanging around Universal, but didn’t realize she was active in the punk scene and hanging out at Space Place. Her singing on “Fantasy” was one of the first times the South Side and North Side musical contingencies worked together. Rachel was so open to what we were doing, as experimental as it was. She was important in moving into clubs that weren’t gay and black.

We couldn’t wait for my dad to get the Z-Factor record out. He was just taking too long, too long. Probably two months or so, two and a half months, that was too long for us to wait.

So that’s how “On and On” came out first?
Yeah, we kind of cloned “Fantasy” and put “On and On” out right away.

Same bassline?
Well yeah, a lot of it’s the same.

It was based on a megamix Jesse owned?
Yeah, there was a megamix called “Stars on 69” and it had looped a piece of some other record to make that bassline. And then it had all kinds of other stuff on top of it. “Funkytown,” this, that, and the other. And he had lost that record, so we wanted to go down that path and make a record that moved like that.

Why did “On and On” blow up so fast and inspire so many people?
We made the record and we started playing it in clubs and I got active about really promoting. We started Jes Say records and I became the marketing head for that company. It was my job to make sure that everybody knew about it. I covered every club in the city, with the help of Jesse because he had a car. We mapped out every club in the city, where all the DJs were, and made sure that everybody got a copy of it or at least we took a copy there and played it so they could go to Importes [Etc.] and buy it. We created this network of retailers where people who were interested in our sort of parties were shopping for their records. We really just hustled. A lot.

Our friends were also playing on the radio, so they were very excited about the fact that Jesse and I together had made this record. They really got behind it, and they were playing the thing sometimes three or four times per mix. Can you imagine a mix show where the back-beat record for the mix show was this one record? Then we had a bunch of beat tracks so they were playing other records on top of our beat tracks. They were really wearing it out, committed to the record. So it took off.

At the same time while that record took off, I was pretty active socially, and I just encouraged everybody. You know, “You should make one too. I made a record, you should make one.” My helping other people enjoy the same experience I had… ultimately led me to producing.

Did your father have distribution connections?
No, I ended up helping my dad. We had record stores like a paper route. We’d just go to the stores, show them the new records, they’d make an order. Because of the general limited supply, we could get stores to buy hundreds of records at a time. And because at some point we had multiple titles, it became a real business. I went to Detroit and created the same model there. After Detroit I went to New York, did the same thing, and then Miami. So we had four or five cities that we were selling records to.

Jesse had signed a deal with Paul Weisberg, who owned Importes Etc., to put out his next release, so I went to the guy who owned the pressing plant and made a deal with him. I said, “Hey, let’s make some records. You know that we’re selling these things. I’ve got this idea. We’re gonna make records that are quick and easy to make, they’re fun, they’re not too complicated, because the kids at these parties, they just want to hear these tracks. And that’s what we’re going to call the label, Trax Records.” We agreed to make some records and get some masters in and we were going to split it. We were going to split the profits… and that didn’t really work out that way.

That was Larry Sherman?
Yeah. But really I didn’t care because I got to make all these records. That was kind of what I was in it for. Sometimes people ask me whether or not that was short-sighted, but I think that was part of my process. At the end of the day I’m where I’m at right now, and I’m not really in a bad way. Probably in a lot of ways I’m a lot better off than Larry.

So that’s how Trax Records got started?
Pretty much. I had been hanging out at Chicago Trax recording, and I had become a fan of Ministry who at the time were making all synthesizer-based records on a label called Wax Trax! I was enamored by the industrial movement and what was going on with it, so I said I want the label to be black with white text. And the name Trax, I don’t want it to be in the center, I want it to be off to one side on an angle. And I want the type to be really bold and hard print because I want it to be easy for the DJ to read what record they have. In the dark, even. And that’s how the logo design and image for the label started. I had previously designed the logo for Jes Say Records, wrote that one by hand. I’d hand-drawn a few fliers for some parties. I just loved art.

You said you went to Detroit. Were you aware of what was going on there with Juan Atkins?
Cliff Thomas, at Buy-Rite Records, we found him, and we found the record pool. We serviced Buy-Rite and we serviced the pool, and we would drive up for a party here and there but really knew nothing about it. Apparently Derrick [May] was coming down to Chicago and going to The Music Box, so he was very much aware of us and what we were doing, but we were oblivious. We were in our own world, making records every week.

You got writing credits on a lot of Jesse’s tracks, like “Funk You Up” and “Real Love.” Was that for the lyrics?
Yeah, mostly…. I [also] wrote Dr. Derelict “Under Cover.”

What year did Go Wild Rhythm Tracks come out?
That was ’84. That was when I started working with Marshall Jefferson…. Marshall was supposed to be the act. We only had enough money for a small amount of time, and we really didn’t have a sequencer to connect the 808 to any keyboards, so we just made a record that was 808 and DX-7, only a few patterns at a time per track, and then that was that. We made the best record we could given the circumstances. We only had a couple hours. Marshall wrote that label with his hand. A Sharpie for the big text, a ball-point pen for the small text.

Also, you worked on Ron Hardy’s “Sensation”? There’s a version on some old mix tapes where there aren’t any vocals and the synth stutters and pans. Is that from the same session?
Mmm hmm, it’s all from the same session. I did all the edit work. I was really really into The Latin Rascals and Arthur Baker and I had learned how to stutter edit. We’d cut the section of the song up into 16th notes and then insert blank pieces of tape. It was like this little experiment.

Can you tell me about your role in “Love Can’t Turn Around”?
Lyrics and melodies. I’ve told the story a few times about Farley [“Jackmaster” Funk] and Steve [“Silk” Hurley] being roommates and I don’t know if they were working on the record together or what. They had this falling out and Farley said, “I’m going to make this record. Steve was going to do Isaac Hayes’ ‘I Can’t Turn Around.’ I’m going to make a different record. Vince, call it ‘Love Can’t Turn Around.’ Write it today.”

So I wrote this story, “Now this is how it started/my dreams all broken hearted,” because there was this girl I wanted to date and she just really wanted to be friends. We were trying to find a singer, and I’d just recorded with this guy Darryl Pandy. Rumor has it that Darryl played the Cowardly Lion in the Broadway musical The Wiz. He had this big, bellowing voice and he could get right to the church nitty gritty. He was a good ad-libber. So we brought him in and he killed it. He just killed it. The performances were great, everybody was excited. Farley and Jesse released that record on some offshoot deal with Rocky Jones. They did a great job of getting it over to the UK. The rest is history from there. I was really moving in my own direction at that time, so other than the sessions, I really didn’t participate….

It seems like the UK picked up on the Chicago scene really fast. How did that happen?
J.B. Ross, Larry [Sherman], and Rocky [Jones], together with a guy named Peter Katsis, went to MIDEM, the international music licensing conference.

Then you were signed to Geffen Records?
That was ’86. I had been hanging out at Chicago Trax Recording. I’d been sitting in on these Ministry sessions, listening to Trevor Horn’s work with Grace Jones and The Art of Noise and Herbie Hancock’s “Rock It,” and I made a record that was one-hundred percent Fairlight synthesizer. I started getting it played around the North Side clubs. Peter Katsis and Jeff Kwantinetz threw the Midwest Music Conference…. All these A&R people from big record companies were coming into Chicago. I was just bound and determined to make a partnership…. So I met some people from Geffen…. At the time, I didn’t want to leave [Jesse]…. and they said, “You know what, we’ll give him a deal too.” And they signed us both.

So what came out of that deal?
I made that record [pointing to wall] “Sample That!” by Bang Orchestra! and I spent two years recording a bunch of other stuff that they didn’t understand that never came out. Jesse released an album that had “Real Love” and a bunch of other songs moving in a different direction, and that was pretty much the sum of that. We toured a little bit. I guess at the time they didn’t really realize what was going on. We didn’t realize what was going on, that we could have taken our movement and really expanded upon it. It was a learning experience for us all. We didn’t have any manager, or people like that involved, so we really just didn’t get it.

When did you decide to start your own company?
I want to say ’89. I was off Geffen and I started making indie records again. I had built a small studio and just started making records for myself and other people. I wouldn’t say I decided to start a company, it just kind of happened. I went to work.

Can you walk me through the nineties?
It’s a blur, back and forth to the UK. I worked on CCP, The Swans, converted Taffy’s “I Love My Radio” into a record that could be played in the UK. Radio went off at midnight in the UK and the hook said, “…my guy the DJ after midnight” so we had to change that to “the DJ up ’til midnight.” We hardened the mixes a little bit, made them a little more house-friendly. I got a chance to work with a bunch of great people at a bunch of great studios all over the world…. I worked with Daniel Miller, who is the president of Mute Records.

I think that was my college…. I learned music production from the best of the best all over the world…. They wanted me to incorporate the thinking that was present in our Chicago jack tracks music with the music they were making….

This one’s now my third actual full-on facility…. We’re doing music for The Oprah Winfrey Show, a lot of television and radio commercials, remixes of big pop stars: Beyoncé and R. Kelly.

The sound that you pioneered in the eighties has become part of the mainstream, part of our culture, but it seems that you like being the guy behind the scenes.
Yeah, I do…. Initially, I liked helping people…. I wasn’t that great a singer, and honestly, I was pretty introverted…. Sometimes it’s not even about the glory, because I’ll make records that I don’t even put my name on, just because I want to see something out. I like this stuff [the studio], the other stuff that came along with it.

What do you think of the scene today?
I don’t think it believes in itself like we did. People told us that the music that we were making was not music. “What the heck is this junk?” And the “junk” took over the world.

Narita Records and Concrete Plastic may both be on hiatus, but Yard channels their spirit on this self-published remix album. These mixes push the tech-house side of post-IDM (which I much prefer to the indie rock/folk side).

Arctic Hospital’s take on “Cascade” is digital claustrophobia with overpowering kicks and clattering syncopation. At the end it almost sounds live-mixed as beats go off-kilter and the bass cuts out. Karri O.’s “The King On Queen Remix” of “Whitefog” grabbed my attention with reverberating, distinctly analog sounds. I’m still a sucker for the dubbier side of things. Nice low-key melodies develop as well. Anders Ilar tackles “Portabello” with a mix that’s bass-heavy and murky. It’s too bad the elements aren’t clearer, because they have potential.

On his “Oligolecty Remix” of “Bees,” Eric McIntyre chops the original track into pieces, then slathers the remains with a dubstep amount of bass. Let’s Go Outside also focuses on some mighty low octaves in his version of “Under The Bonnet.” Groans and creaks sound like floorboards bowing under unbearable weight. The Rootsix “Co-Opted Remix” of “Synthetic Waves” has a decent build-up to an organ solo of sorts, but the notes are too jumbled to provide true release.

Rounding out the nine, Fisk Industries’ take on “Canopy” is forlorn, skeletal drum and bass. Yard’s own “Warehouse Remix” of “Pacquet” is surprisingly minimal with speedy, repetitive arpeggios over a rave beat. The album concludes with drones from Celer (Will Long and the late Danielle Baquet-Long). The piece, called “New Beginnings (Copper Globe Remix)” hums with a glowing warmth, in contrast to the almost clinical sounds which precede it.

These are gut-shaking, technical mixes with a lot of sound experimentation. I find it easy to lose touch with the outer boundaries of techno now that so many releases are MP3-only. This collection serves as a good reminder that there is still a tight-knit group of producers pushing computers to their limits.

After a good long set by David Powers, Omar-S killed it last night in what was apparently his first Chicago appearance. He came on at one A.M. and played a little over two and a half hours, mixing his own material with what seemed to be obscure nineties house. The mixing was much smoother than on his old CD-Rs. I take it he’s been practicing. About the only things I recognized beside Omar’s tracks were Quest’s “Mind Games,” Model 500’s “No UFO’s” (which drove the crowd wild), and Midway’s “Set It Out.” It was a fun night!