WE, the People
By Brendan Doherty
APRIL 13, 1998:
New York Turntablists Spin Revolution
When bands come to town, they often sing songs of their homeland.
At times, they mean very little outside of their context. Sometimes
those songs' detail may not resonate, but the themes are universal
and the audience can feel it. Other times, artists and their songs
manage to provide contrast with the listener's context, illuminating
the world as with a black light--details of landscape, heart and
mind are seen as new. The latter is the case with New York turntable
trio, We, and their trip to the big dirt out West.
Veterans of New York sound-art installations, remixes of David
Byrne, Free Kitten and Medeski Martin and Wood records, the members
of We--DJ Olive (Gregor Asch), Once 11 (Ignacio Platas) and Lloop
(Rich Panciera)--are three of the 50 most important electrons
that twiddle and tweak the sounds fantastic. But as Lloop concedes,
it is a music that is born of an urban context.
"I've spent 85 percent of my life in the urban areas of Philly
and New York," Lloop says, while taking a break from remixing
the Silver Apples. "It's true there is an urban influence
in lots of this kind of music. It's not concrete, glass and steel
as much as isolation from the natural environment, but there are
moments where it's soft and pretty. People don't recognize that.
Life can be both harsh and relaxing."
The combination of soft scapes and hard dissonance is the characteristic
sound of We and a few other turntablists like them. Architects
of the "illbient sound," they match subtle soundscapes
with dissonant elements, as if the punks were in charge of making
the elevator music. Like the blinded observers in Plato's allegory
of the cave, even the most masterful musicians, producers and
now electronica artists wield murky shadows from the same fire
of musical inspiration. Oh, how that fire burns, and oh, how We
cast and recast the shadows. On their newest record, As Is,
they used junk vinyl from thrift stores and warped it into impressive
music.
"We slept under the mixing boards and did the whole thing
in three weeks," Lloop says. "We didn't bring any of
our records or samples for it. We went to thrift stores and got
pop records from Tokyo, polka records and other stuff from the
bargain bins and mixed it up with the music that was leftover
on tapes in the studio. I think we wanted the challenge of dropping
the whole thing all at once, and it worked out."
Much of the music has its roots placed firmly in the past. Older
scrap elements fill in and warm the cold sounds of computer-fixed
sounds that almost no human could play.
"We're going through a technological revolution," Lloop
says. "It's no surprise that David Bowie and others are making
and having their records remixed by Electronica artists. I think
it's great. It will be in ebb and flow. Music is in a constant
process of the status quo looking backwards for fresh blood, fresh
inspiration. That's perfectly natural. I'm just glad some of these
people who have good skills are being used and getting paid for
it."
We, like DJ Shadow and a few others, have brought themselves
to the attention of those outside the usual hip-hop and electronic
enclaves with their remixing of others' work as well as their
own compelling sound textures and song format. But while they
play in rock and roll clubs and use rock song format and rock
samples, they aren't rock stars. The traditional sit-back-and-stare-at-the-musician-like-he's-television
thing doesn't work when the people making the sound are behind
banks of computers an turntables. It's like watching someone watch
TV.
"It's strange, but I'm like a conga player around a campfire,"
Lloop says. "Other cultures embrace electronic music but
not America. Our culture wants you to be identifiable with your
tastes by how you look. Some of the electros are compelled to
dress with this hyper-industrial ethic. As a result, here there
are more bands with an icon of a disc jockey. What we do is more
about the dance floor and the people on it than who's onstage."
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