Styrofoam - Pop and electronica in the bedroom

Anyone who, around the turn of the millennium, was driven by an alternative spirit and had decided that their fate would also be shaped by music — real, emotional music, brimming with new sounds — couldn't help but run into the Berlin label Morr Music. It's a sound that defined a decade of "other" music, forging generations of fans and artists alike. Among the first to take part in that wave was certainly Arne Van Petegem, a Belgian musician who was, quite literally, raised by Thomas Morr's label from its very debut.

The story of how he landed in the world of music is, especially in its early stages, more complicated than it might seem.

Around the mid-90s, the Belgian artist, captivated by everything flowing out of rock's underground scenes, played in the band Kosjer D. The group released just one album ("Untitled", 1995) and two singles, but despite its short life, it managed to build up a decent following, reaching various parts of Europe with shows in Belgium, Holland, Germany and France. Their biggest moment in front of an audience came when they opened for a sold-out Fugazi show on May 19, 1995 in Ghent. The band played the kind of music that was big among underground kids at the time: orthodox, well-executed hardcore with emo streaks. After leaving this band, his musical path continued along similar lines, with decidedly less fortunate stints in two other outfits, Amber#2 (whose only album, "Dreams In Technicolor", came out in 1998) and Brassneck.

His fascination with the music of My Bloody Valentine, The Wedding Present and Yo La Tengo was hard to ignore, but before long things were about to change.

Tired of being part of a band and of working solely with acoustic instruments, Van Petegem turned to electronic experimentation with a different set of tools. He bought a four-track recorder, a few cheap synthesizers and one of the earliest samplers, giving free rein to his growing urge to explore territory far from his roots. That's how his first solo project, Tin Foil Star, was born — a name taken from a song by Versus, a late-90s indie-rock band. The material released under that name is confined to the 1997-99 window and comprises two albums and four splits/singles.

The first seeds of this new adventure took shape with an initial split between Tin Foil Star and Azusa Plane, and then with a radio recording made for an episode of the famous series Mort Aux Vaches. The music on those six tracks wanders with real skill around an ambient sound steeped in kraut flavors: well-placed sounds, a full-bodied synth, a gentle melodic approach, and tracks kept fairly short. The experimentation was only just beginning. Around that time Tin Foil Star supported the up-and-coming Hood on their European tour.

Too Late Then, Too Late Now contains the earliest traces of the music that would reach its definitive form a few years later. Built around a disturbed, stretched-out form of pop, the album, released in 1998, isn't an easy listen. Both the opening "Leave Before We Start" and "Locked, But Not Hidden" confront the listener with a dilated ambient-pop, disrupted by continuous guitar slashes, electronic layers and distorted synths. Melodic openings are denied even in the instrumental "Distorted Home", which rests on a keyboard riff surrounded by grimy accompaniments, while the more structured "Morning, Beautiful Morning" lines up a lovely ambient pattern. "Strawberry Hips" introduces timid vocal lines closer to what the artist would go on to offer in the future. The rest of the album dilutes the formula even further with long compositions well past the nine-minute mark ("Not A Word To Anyone" and "On Your Ship Tonight (Excerpt)"). The record loses itself and lacks a clear focus: it spins its wheels a little, but it serves as the foundation for the artist's sound, which is still very much a work in progress.

Within this experience, the groundwork was laid for the partnership between Van Petegem and the just-born Morr Music, Thomas Morr's label.

In 1998 Arne was working at the shop of the small label Atomic Recordings when the split between Tin Foil Star and the duo Isan was released that same year. That was exactly the occasion that allowed the two parties to get to know each other and start collaborating. From then on, Arne decided to fold all the material produced up to that point into the Tin Foil Star project, effectively closing that chapter and devoting himself entirely to the Styrofoam project, which owes its very existence to his landing on the Berlin label.

The debut album is titled The Point Misser; it came out in 2000 and consists of eight electronic instrumentals in line with the productions of the period. The sound is streaked, poorly defined partly due to limited means, and carries a wonderfully lo-fi flavor that gives it a very pleasant homemade warmth. Even though it's just a first attempt, considerable compositional talent is already evident. Listening to "Off Is Not A Speed", as well as "It Was The Earth He Was Standing On That Was Moving", one can't ignore the perfect dialogue between the various rhythmic components and the melodies, alongside the first timid vocal inserts. The gentle keyboard chimes of "Dead Air" and the celestial synths of "Words Never Spoken" are a sweet lullaby, while the nervous, disjointed moves of closer "Psychic Friends Network" bring a lively drive.

There's a certain composure in some passages that sounds a bit schoolish (the overly static drum-machine of "The Sign That Points The Way"), while in other moments the sound clings to more disjointed territory (the streaks of "Heaven Is Burning Pt. 1"), but everything falls perfectly into place when the sweeter, more colorful side of the music comes through (the gorgeous lullaby "Future Debt Collector"). The sound is very much in a phase of self-definition, but it's not embryonic — this debut doesn't feel like one at all, given the sheer variety of sounds and the enchantment of its atmosphere.

The journey continues with the following A Short Album About Murder in 2001, and the sonic palette starts to grow ever richer. The addition of vocals — an element that would soon become fundamental — already peeks through on opener "No Matter What", while the rest of the record keeps riffing on the theme with placid synthetic lullabies (the glacial "Snowblind", the downtempo beat of "It's Just That We Don't Show It"), further experiments with vocal use (the lovely whispered singing of "Bad Night Is Falling" and "There Is No Rest") and some deeply fascinating ambient tensions (the beautiful "If You Tell Me The Truth I Will Kill You"). The nine minutes of "By Anybody Else I Mean You" are pure IDM rendered with a sensibility that makes the whole picture varied and spacious.

The true center around which everything revolves, at least as far as Styrofoam's career is concerned, arrives in 2003 with I'm What's There To Show That Something's Missing, where all the clues about the directions the project had been taking finally click into place. Guitar, glitch, vocals, IDM, indietronica: it's all there, and much more. On first listen, the two opening tracks, "The Long Wait" and "A Heart Without A Mind", leave you stunned. Surgical beats, scuffed by glitches as tiny as grains of dust, slot in between solid guitar-and-vocal structures and gusts of synth, all within the framework of a pop song. The strongly hazy, melancholic cut completes two songs that stand, to all intents and purposes, among the finest examples of the entire indietronica era, perfectly comparable to another high point like "Scary World Theory" by Lali Puna. The decisive inclusion of lyrics lends a truly effective airiness, as happens first in the emotional "It Wouldn't Change A Thing", then in the more crepuscular "I Have To Keep Reminding Myself To Be Pleased" and "Blow It Away From Your Eyes".

The record is certainly not done by this point, with a nocturnal mood running through every track, between guitar arpeggios (the gorgeous “You Pretend You Own This Place”), instrumentals (the jagged tones of “Forever, You Said Forever”) and hazy music that still leaves a very clear mark on the listener's mind (the closing “If I Believed You”). It's one of the finest examples of electronic pop music from the early 2000s, and the high point of Styrofoam's career.

From that same year comes the Ep A Heart Without A Mind, which features, alongside the title track already included on the album, the song “Fade Out Your Eyes”, never included on a proper record but absolutely worth tracking down: an explosion of glitch-pop clatter inspired by the music of Slowdive — indeed, a year earlier had come the compilation “Blue Skied An’ Clear”, where this track can be found alongside thirteen other compositions or covers inspired by the legendary shoegaze/dream-pop band.

The pace stays tight and continues with Nothing’s Lost, arriving just a year later and involving several prominent figures from the alternative music scene of the time. The record was recorded at the Ancienne Belgique in Brussels, thanks to director Kurt Overbergh, who, on the occasion of the venue's twenty-fifth anniversary, made it available to Arne as a recording studio. The nine tracks feature, in various roles, Lali Puna singer Valerie Trebeljahr, Postal Service and Death Cab For Cutie singer and frontman Ben Gibbard, Anticon rapper Alias, and Andrew Kenny of The American Analog Set.

The record offers songs with a pronounced melodic bent and highly memorable hooks, aided by lovely melodies and a trim running time (just eight tracks). Right from the start, “Misguided” sets the tone, offering a sort of pop-hip-hop hybrid with the two respective parts sung by Trebeljahr and Alias. The pairing is slightly jarring, but it can't be said it doesn't work: the song flies by and sticks in the mind, especially in the chorus, delivered in the German singer's usual hushed tone. Also notable is the following “Ticket Out Of Town”, in which intricate electronic weavings come into close contact with an electric guitar, making for a wonderful listen across nearly four minutes of flawless pop retro-futurism. Indie star Ben Gibbard takes centre stage on another winner that rounds off a genuinely excellent opening trio: “Couches In Alleys” is indeed another successful electro-indietronic pastiche, the perfect soundtrack for some “The OC”-style TV series.

The following tracks first tone things down with rather notable results (the cybernetic piano song “Your Eyes Only”), then dip somewhat in effectiveness (the bland “Safe + Broken” and “Front To Back”), before picking back up at the close with the gorgeous “Make It Mine” – nearly nine minutes of electro-pop upheaval – and the decent little pop tune “Anything”. As we'll see in the years to come, this opening up towards a more pop-oriented form of his music – though still streaked with sounds and tones out of place – won't stop here.

Rounding off this experience, a live album titled simply Live was released in 2005, featuring performances recorded during the Belgian tour for Nothing’s Lost.

In 2006 came the moment to pay tribute to his love of hip-hop with The Same Channel, the result of an intense collaborative session with American rapper Fat Jon, already a member of outfits such as Five Deez, Rebel Clique and 3582. The formula is very simple: Styrofoam's electro-rhythmic constructions are fused and shaped around the vocals, whether melodic or rapped, building a kind of electro-pop-hip-hop. On paper, the idea has a certain appeal.

“Acid Rain Robot Repair” kicks off straight away with disturbed, rapid-fire rapping, synth interlocks and drum-machine patterns, and a melodic chorus. Along the same lines we find off-beat drumming and a structure not unlike the previous one in “Upgrade”. The listening experience is pleasant and flows along with electro-hop pastiche (the single “Space Gangsta”), ambient-pop digressions (the electro openings of “Bleed”) and odd jazz-hop experiments (“Nervous Inaction”). “Runnin’ Circle” infuses Fat Jon's raw flow with sparkling light and electronic embroidery in a seductive one-off, while “Scream It Out” does roughly the opposite, with a lovely blend of bleeps, guitar and bass, just barely streaked with a few rapped lines. The two closing tracks, “The Middle” and “Generic Genes (Spare Parts)”, are also convincing, carried along by delicate electronic breezes.

Although it remains an isolated case in the artist's career, The Same Channel holds up well and shows no apparent flaws, coming across by the end as sparkling, easy to listen to and well produced. The experiment of reconciling rap with Morr-style electronics is a bit of a gamble, but all in all a worthwhile one. At this point in his career, indulging his own musical vices is more than justified – hip-hop is, and will always remain, one of Arne's great loves. With this album, however, the collaboration between Styrofoam and the Berlin label comes to an end, effectively closing out an entire era.

The event coincides with a decisive shift in sonic approach, making A Thousand Words disorienting from the very first listen. Indeed, if up to that point – except for the case of The Same Channel – subtle electro-pop lullabies had held sway, in this new stylistic chapter Arne veers towards an electronic pop-rock with a markedly rhythmic drive. Although his world remains unmistakably tied to a somewhat nerdy imagery, associated with indietronic music, the music here is more played, there's a rock-minded band behind it, and the melancholy is replaced by an energy that up to that point had not been a trademark of the Belgian musician. Nostalgia is also another key element of Styrofoam's music – nostalgia for an adolescence that was lived through but never seems to end. To borrow a phrase dear to computer nerds, one might say that the nerdy Arne struggles to become a geek. And so his songs remain anchored to the idea of “electronic pop with guitars” already thoroughly explored throughout his sizeable discography. Songs full of catchy hooks and melodies that stick from the very first listen, but that are just as easily forgotten. Deliberately skin-deep music, made to be listened to at any time of day, as the best pop should be. Arne shamelessly name-checks his teenage loves, peppering his songs with references to Pet Shop Boys, The Smiths and New Order.

Helping to diversify the musical offering are the numerous guest vocal contributions on the record: from Jim Adkins of Jimmy Eat World (featured on “My Next Mistake”) to the lovely Erica Driscoll of Blondfire (“No Happy Endings”), from Blake Hazard of The Submarines (“Microscope”) to Josh Rouse (“Lil White Boy“) and Lili De La Mora (“No Deliveries List“). And it's precisely the presence of these female voices that enriches Styrofoam's pop with an alluring seductive charge absent from his previous work.

The result is indeed a positive one, but it lacks emotional connection, amounting essentially to a collection of pleasant pop songs.

Along the same lines is the following Disco Synthesizers & Daily Tranquilizers. The marriage with Nettwerk, which would end shortly after just two albums, continues here with pleasant but not especially striking uptempo electro-pop. The opening trio of “Carolyn”, “Get Smarter” and “Extra Careful” makes for a fine calling card: despite the formal strangeness, the songs carry a truly infectious melodic force. The problems arise afterward, when the melodic hook starts to go missing (the insipid “The Only One To Curse”, “Looking Glass To Zero”) or the 4/4 rhythm isn't adequately backed by an inspired song structure (the muddle of “Mile After Mile”).

Something of interest returns with the hazy, soft-edged “Am I The Ghost”, but the album's fortunes fail to take an engaging turn, as the closing “What’s Hot (And What’s Not)” and “Believe Everything” give little reason for interest.

It's clear that this new direction, on the earlier A Thousand Words, managed to channel creative energy into a new guise, whereas on this Disco Synthesizers & Daily Tranquilizers the ideas are few and ineffective. As stated in a 2018 interview, Styrofoam himself admits that that period (we're talking about 2010) was a time of major artistic and motivational crisis – perhaps that's why his music suffered for it.

From this point on, the Styrofoam project is put on hold, and aside from a handful of tracks sporadically uploaded to his Soundcloud profile, more than eight years would pass before any new signs of productivity could be found. During these intervening years, the Belgian artist is busy producing for other acts, alongside his usual work as a teacher of electronic composition at the University of Antwerp.

The exile from music production ends in 2018, when George Mastrokostas of the label Sound In Silence reaches out to Van Petegem to try to build a working relationship. Despite this long hiatus, Arne had kept working on some of his ideas, and thanks in part to this opportunity, he found renewed drive to start sharing them with the public again. And so We Can Never Go Home was born, an album that strikes the listener right away for being entirely instrumental. Those faint vocal lines that made his early productions little gems of minimal electronic pop have been completely stripped away, in search of the bare essence of songwriting without any superstructure. Listening to the cathartic, deeply melancholic "This Terribile And Beatiful World" or the sonic waves of "Fully Present", it really feels like turning back the clock some twenty years, to pieces like "Off Is Not The Speed". One could say this is music we've already heard before, somewhat nostalgic (and that's partly true), yet it's undeniable that these compositions hold a certain charm — just listen to the title track or the fine drive of "The Crook Of Your Elbow".

Listening on through the record, it becomes ever clearer that, with this new artistic shift, Styrofoam wanted to strip his music down to the bone, in a genuine return to the roots of that "expressive urgency" that had perhaps gone missing. And it's within these synthetic flourishes that the album loses and finds itself again, in a wonderful string of interstellar games (the lovely "Did Your Mouth Buy This Scar?"), splendid electro lashes (the livelier "Love Restores Almost Everything") and a finale with a magical flavor (the almost shoegaze enchantments of "Blind Spot Safety Procedure"). All the ingredients are here for these eight tracks to appeal to a very wide audience, sitting somewhere between listening-room electronica and electro-pop.

I don't know if we'll ever again find the wonders of pieces like "The Long Wait" — to be counted among the finest examples that era ever produced — but what's certain is that with this We Can Never Go Home we've rediscovered a creative talent that music truly needed.

Contributions by Roberto Mandolini ("A Thousand Words")

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