"Death From Above." Reading it like that, you'd think of one of those countless punk boy bands, all mohawks and anvils, from across the Atlantic. Or, more simply, a way of outwitting death, watching it from above until you can play a trick on it, maybe by dancing: a lap-dance and off you go, showing it that life is nothing but an absurd parody. Something funny. A "movida."
It's precisely from this spicy allegory that the Dfa project by James Murphy and Tim Goldsworth was born. Both adopted sons of the Big Apple, for years they crisscrossed the East River, sneaking like vampires into the city's trendiest clubs, hunting down every possible next big thing hiding just around the corner. It's an exhausting yet rewarding process of selection that these two prophets of rhythm put themselves through before joining forces and giving birth to one of the most sensational labels on the planet. But the real origins of this merger lie in a strikingly respectable past. Tim and James turn up pretty much everywhere from the early Nineties onward: Massive Attack, Radiohead, Beck, Can, among Goldsworthy's many excellent collaborations, on top of the celebrated Unkle, founded with his friend James Lavelle. Meanwhile, shining like fireflies on chubby Murphy's résumé, we find June Of '44, Primal Scream, Six Finger Satellite and Holmes.
It's a thoroughly respectable résumé for the two future producers, centred on a productive attitude aimed at seeking out formations devoted to a continuous electronic pulse, funky changes of direction, bionic pitch, and a bassline in perpetual, off-beat erection.
The starting idea, certainly, is to rework the disco punk-funk tracks of good old New York City. Just think of the likes of James Chance And The Contortions, Talking Heads, Konk, Liquid Liquid, to name only the biggest fish. These are exactly the peaks that both the tireless Murphy and the good old Goldsworth aim for without a shred of shame. It's no coincidence that many of the young label's satellite acts seem to come straight out of that era, if only for the greater "cleanliness" of the recordings. But Dfa isn't just a label trying to resuscitate the appeal of a captivating, if by now "ancient," model. It's something more. It's a club for beat maniacs, a sort of vibrant refuge where you can turn your own alienation inside out and set it ablaze with funky bass hits and four-on-the-floor kicks. It's a genuine style. Emi notices right away too, snapping up the catalogue of a collective destined to make waves well beyond the new continent or the New York clubs of the moment.
The essential core of what would become one of the most exciting and prolific strands of the entire Noughties is entirely contained in these three records, making up the second collection of singles released over the three years preceding 2004.
The impact is devastating. "Casual Friday" by Delia Gonzalez's Black Leotard Front is a funkadelic hypnosis launched in four-four time. You're left enchanted and, at the same time, swept away by a chanteuse caught in the grip of an extremely slow orgasm, while the rhythm carries on undisturbed in its own ecstatic evolution. And that's just the start. The remix of "Surplus" is raw enough to bring out the exotic schizophrenia of Japan's J.O.Y.. The irreverent Rapture bare their claws on the anxiolytic "Alabama Sunshine." Meanwhile, Delia Gonzalez & Gavin Russom are entrusted with the delicate (so to speak) task of tearing the groove apart and shooting it in slivers into the exosphere: titanic synths and a heart-rate monitor rippling in drops. The disjointed dub from Juan Maclean on "Dance Hall Modulator Dub" only serves to scramble your thoughts a little, before the jolt returns to take over our bodies once more. Because "Get Up/Say What" by Pixeltan is everything a disc jockey could wish to find in their crate: scratchy bass, killer pulse, cheesy kick drum, lunar little keyboard and tight, punchy restarts. Cut from an entirely different cloth is "Wasteder" by Black Dice, the Providence quartet among the most prolific of the entire Noughties when it comes to sampling and improbable noise-industrial collages, further proof of the excellent craftsmanship of the solutions adopted across Dfa's territory.
The second act opens with Murphy in the role of dancefloor helmsman. The first crass version of "Yeah," the bomb-of-a-single for suburban delirium featured on the self-titled debut by Lcd Soundsystem, is a forcedly triumphant apotheosis of "yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah" repeated to the point of exhaustion and flipped at the end by a neurasthenic storm of high-amperage electric shocks. The same goes for the other top-ten track of the bunch, "Beat Connection": a stop&go bongo-house number in the African Suite mould, with captain Murphy egging on an improbable pogo.
It's the heart of the collection. A petulant explosion of beats capable of getting you dancing without the slightest effort. It should be added that good old Murphy is above all a shrewd operator who never lacks attention and reverence for certain sacred monsters of the past, too quickly consigned to oblivion. And so, after twenty years of semi-anonymity, the Caribbean dance-funk of Liquid Liquid shines again, in a party of Afro percussion ("Bellhead"). The second wave closes with the dub relaxation of "Sister Savior" by Rapture and the android undulations over a chilly carpet crafted by Juan Maclean on "Less Than Human."
But Dfa is, above all, remixes, dj-kicks. And the third disc gathers the various deformations modulated intermittently under the New York imprint. Amid these thunderous blasts, these delirious bombs, what stands out (and how) is the flight of fancy inflicted on "Rise" by the celebrated Russom/Gonzales outfit, and the Hebden-esque remix of Black Dice's unsettling "Endless Happines." Closing the doors for good is the suffocating triptych "On Repeat/ Yeah/ Beat Connection" by, once again, Lcd Soundsystem.
Experimentation, research, messing around and pure entertainment have never been so close together.
It's the electronic manifesto of the 2000s.
Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.
11/12/2010
This article is an English translation of the original Italian text by Giuliano Delli Paoli, published on OndaRock.it. It was translated with the help of artificial intelligence, under the editorial responsibility of OndaRock's editor-in-chief, Claudio Fabretti.