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Photo of Brodinksi by Yves Mallenfer
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Although few history books will be using this as a reference, and many casual observers may not be aware of this, as far as some dance fans are concerned we have entered the post-Justice era. Since electroclash disbanded, like a rent boy rumbled by a policeman mid-job, there’s been a promise of a new dawn of dance music inspired by the initial rumblings of, first, oldish producers like Alter Ego and Tiefschwarz, and before long the likes of Justice, Digitalism and Boys Noize. The first airing of tracks like “Rocker”, “Waters of Nazareth”, and “Zdarlight” hinted at a noisy new wave of electro, full of balls, imagination, excitement. It seemed like something special might be on the horizon – finally the dancefloor saviour everyone had been waiting for. It never showed up.
As the months rolled on, the quality of output from dependable labels like Kitsuné and Relish deteriorated quicker than you can say “Ableton Live”, and the albums that eventually arrived from the main players weren’t exactly the groundbreaking odysseys of sonic experimentation we’d prayed for. In fact, most were just shite (bar Justice, that is, just about). Worse, however, were the acts to follow in their footsteps: a new breed of electro-gumby, with all the gear but no idea. Before long the Beatport and Juno charts were flooded with moronic, formulaic “bangers” that moshed around like a sweaty 15-year-old who just necked his first E, without the faintest hint of anything bordering on depth or musicality. For a taster of this horror show of futuristic keyboard demos, cast your eye first across MySpace or, failing that, pop down to any “filthy” electro night near you.
Any dance enthusiasts with the vaguest shred of dignity quickly jumped ship, opting for techier, housier, or more disco’d options, intrigued by the BPitch label or Turbo’s new acid-fuelled direction, or perhaps the of entrance of cats like Hercules & Love Affair and London’s own Italo-titans Heartbreak. Although, there are a few tips for anyone desperate to weather this unholy storm. Not every grain of hope has been lost just yet. D.I.M., the guy who produced “Airbus Baby”, also known as 2007’s last bon afide anthem, is releasing many menacing throbbers well worth a listen. Young Frenchman Brodinski, possibly the best-looking DJ to ever walk the Earth, has been pushing things in a decidedly more svelte direction. And London boy Duke Dumont has miraculously managed to tinker with Sinden and Herve’s booty-bass territory without ending up sounding like Jive Bunny goes to Baltimore. But be warned, don’t expect everyone to be forgiving when the comedown sets in and you realise you’ve spent the past fortnight raving to GarageBand remixes of Eric Prydz’s second cousin once removed, and you need your jaw surgically removed from your forehead.
RANDY PAN
Thanks to Casper Clark
