South African born/Seoul based/techno is life

2018 has been a fruitful year for Oslated. The fledgling label has already released two stellar albums this year – Eyvind Blix’s Västberga Allé and Saphileaum’s Uninhibited Kingdom – and now, as the memory of summer fades and the trees have begun to turn the crimsons and golds of autumn, they’ve put out their most challenging and experimental release yet: General Noise, by Spanish-born, Vietnam based producer Javier Marimon.

On General Noise Marimon, who contributed a remix of Saphileaum’s ‘No Clue of Life’ for Uninhibited Noise earlier this year, offers up six cuts of moody, atmospheric ambient techno, which are presented alongside four remixes by various Oslated affiliates. The album’s intro consists of reverb-drenched found sound – something like ping pong balls falling to a wooden floor, or marbles being rolled across a stage – that bubble and echo against a backdrop of ominous buzzes and drones that grow steadily richer and more textured as the track progresses, while a halting, uncertain kick rhythm lies almost buried in the mix. After the intro fades away, the album kicks off with the first ‘proper’ track, ‘General Noise I’ – though “kicks off” is really the wrong turn of phrase to use for such a muted, understated piece of music. A pad so deep it frequently finds itself merging with the bass rumbles and creaks alongside the thump of a chaotic kick pattern while more reverb-laden samples, similar to those in the intro piece, provide a counterpoint to the other elements of the track. It’s a bare-bones, hyperminimalist work, but at the same time it has a certain warmth to it, a flicker of emotion that belies the sparseness of the overall arrangement. No such sense of warmth is present in the following tune, ‘General Noise II’, a far more eerie and ominous affair. A soft rain of static leaves streaks of sound against a crystalline lead rhythm (I say “rhythm” because it would be an extreme stretch of the term to describe it as a “melody”), while over time something vaguely resembling a traditional techno track structure – 4/4 bass thud, whispers of percussion – is worn away by a gusts of metallic wind. Later in the track things grow slightly more intense with the arrival of distorted, twisted clap-like sounds, battering the bulk of the track in a faltering, unpredictable frenzy, but they’re still mixed low enough that they only add to the murk of the piece, rather than making it any clearer.

 

 

General Noise III’, the fourth track, is probably the closest Marimon gets here to ‘straight’ dancefloor material, but even here he’s undeniably charting a stranger territory than paint-by-numbers peak-time techno ever dares to. A blunt-edged sub-bass and dry grid of kick drums form the basis of the track as bursts of shaped static sound off like faraway gunfire and synth sweeps and spirals through the air like UFOs searching for their next victim. It’s danceable, sure, but only in the darkest of basements in the blackest of hours, which I feel like is exactly what Marimon was aiming for. It’s followed by the last of the ‘General Noise’ tunes, ‘General Noise IV’. The low-end of the track tunnels its way through a fog of engine noise before being joined by the microscopic click and hiss of percussion and a swell of bright synth that would almost sound like vaporwave if heard in a different context.

After the last notes of ‘General Noise IV’ have faded away, it’s time for the remixes to start. First up is a remix of ‘General Noise I’ by Korea’s dark prince of the 5 a.m dancefloor, Xanexx. Here, Xanexx hollows out the dense soundscape of Marimon’s original and cloaks it in a shroud of his own ghostly electronics, producing an ambient work somehow even more somber and despondent than the original, making the listener feel as if they’re gazing out over the frozen surface of a desolate moon. The next rework comes from one of the most renowned names to have worked with Oslated to date, Silent Season luminary Winter in June. On his rework of ‘General Noise II’, the Sardinian producer cranks up the originals ominous atmosphere to 11, creating a tense, paranoid slice of dark ambient reminiscent of the early work of Ben Frost; it’s the kind of track that wouldn’t sound out of place on the soundtrack of a horror film. For the third remix, Georgian producer Saphileaum delivers what may be the album’s most floor-friendly moment with his ‘3rd Sky’ remix of ‘General Noise III’. A syncopated stepper kick rhythm gives the track a bit of groove and sexiness, but Saphileaum keeps things on the weird and experimental side by layering on a cacophony of disintegrating waveforms that flow and evaporate over the track’s dark void of bass. Saphileaum’s dub techno influences are prominently on display here, and his tune is probably the most original of the four remixes on the album, the one that deviates the furthest from its source material. The final remix comes courtesy of the mysterious Mojave, whose re-imagining of ‘General Noise IV’ features serene, glowing pads whose gentle hum forms a counterpoint to the repetitive buzz and click of something that was once, maybe, percussion, but that Mojave has bent and deformed until it’s closer to simple raw sound. Actual percussion emerges from the depths of the track a little later, in the form of sixteenth note hi-hat ticks and a tightly wound snare sound, but these details are soon eclipsed by a sudden unfurling of shimmering, warped noise that transforms the track into a stunning tapestry of sonic detail. The album closes off with Marimon’s ‘Outro’, a simple reprisal of the ‘Intro’ tracks that takes the intro’s pared-down minimalism and engulfs it in a gale of digital wind.

 

 

As an album, ‘General Noise’ is a triumph, both for Marimon as a producer and for Oslated as a label; it’s introspective, experimental nature represents a willingness to take risks and explore a deeper realm of sound, demonstrating the capacity of techno music to extend beyond its functional dimension as party music and instead illuminate something richer and more mysterious about the human condition. Furthermore, both Marimon and his remixers appear to be operating on the same wavelength, sharing a singular vision and understanding of techno that allows both Marimon’s original tracks and the four remixed tunes to operate as one continuous musical experience. All of the artists involved should be congratulated for putting forth such a fearless transgression of musical boundaries.

General Noise is available for purchase at Oslated’s Bandcamp

DATE: 02/10/2018
VENUE: Volnost
ENTRANCE FEE: ₩15 000

October is a good month for public holidays in Korea; between Chuseok (the harvest festival, which was at the end of September this year, but the point still stands), Gaecheonjol (National Foundation day, which celebrates the founding of the first semi-mythical Korean state thousands of years ago) and Hangeul Day (which commemorates the invention of the Korean alphabet, Hangeul, by King Sejong the Great) those of us living in the Land of the Morning Calm are blessed with an abundance of days off, welcome respite from the daily grind. This also means, of course, that there are plenty of parties during early October, with clubs taking advantage of the fact that people have some time off to host club nights during the week for a change. The night before Gaecheonjol, clubbers were spoiled for choice as to where to go. Over at vurt., New York based experimental music label Mysteries of the Deep was throwing a party with label founder Grant Aaron and Tokyo-based DJ Lynne, while Cakeshop was hosting underground beat legend Knxwledge (back again in Seoul – I remember checking him play at Cakeshop around this time last year), and over at Faust the headliner for the evening was none other than Ellen Allien. I had my sights set, however, on a smaller event. Over at Volnost, Unjin of ECI Korea was throwing a party to celebrate ECI Korea’s tenth anniversary, and after having listened to the label’s recent compilation I was very interested in seeing how ECI Korea’s sound translated to the dancefloor.

 

Part of the reason I wanted to go to this gig and not to any of the others on offer was an interest in Volnost as a venue. It’s a club that I have only been to a handful of times, but which continues to intrigue me. Volnost lies buried in a basement on the bustling main strip in Itaewon, the kind of place that’s very easy to walk past if you don’t know it’s there. I think of Volnost as the “anti-Faust”. Whereas Faust is a cavernous space that draws a large and mixed crowd and takes great pride in its extravagant soundsystem and impressive lightshows, Volnost is small and austere, attracts a small audience of diehard techno-heads and is frequently pitch black save for a single stark strobe or flashing red light. In many ways it is very similar to vurt., and the two clubs operate within the same underground techno ecosystem and seem to share a fairly cordial relationship with one another, from what I can tell. The main difference between Volnost and vurt., in my experience, seems to be that while vurt. often draws a sizable crowd of European expats and tourists – sometimes there are more Frenchmen or Germans on its dancefloor than there are Koreans – Volnost always seems to be a more distinctly Korean affair, with foreigners always present but typically much more of a minority than at vurt.

 

The headlining act for the evening was Scottish DJ/producer Deepbass, a frequent collaborator with ECI who contributed one of (in my opinion) the finer tracks on the 10 Years of ECI Korea compilation, ‘Avia’. The Glaswegian DJ/producer, who is known for his stellar collaborations with Italian don of dark techno Ness, has been making techno music for over a decade and has numerous quality releases on labels such as Edit Select Records, Soma and Dynamic Reflection. In addition, he runs his own label, Informa Records, on which he has released records by luminaries such as Nax_Acid and Giorgio Gigli. His strain of brooding, atmospheric techno inflected with ambient and trance influences is a perfect fit for the hypnotic machine music championed by Unjin and others within the Korean dark techno underworld, and I felt sure that his set at Volnost on Tuesday was going to be worth checking out, regardless of how many other intriguing events were slated for that night.

Unjin oil painting

I tried to take this picture of Unjin during his set, but the low lighting and poor quality of my phone camera made him come out like an oil painting. I quite like the effect though!

Unjin kicked off the evening with a selection of dark, entrancing music that I’d describe as “forest techno” – if the forest in question made of stainless steel trees on an airless moon. Pulsating basslines churned and thrashed beneath a fog of ever-evolving noise, sometimes digital, sometimes organic. It was a great way to start the night, and though there were only a handful of people on the dancefloor – no more than ten or fifteen of us at the most – I could tell that every person dancing was feeling the music very deeply.

 

When it was time for Deepbass to step up to the decks, he kept things running on a similar level for a while, mesmerising the crowd with shadowy, atmospheric rolling beats that were only slightly too groovy to be called ambient techno. I must say, though, that the first hour of his set underwhelmed me somewhat; after a while it seemed like the selection of tracks he was playing, while good, at first didn’t stray far from montonous, generic techno, and I was a little worried that Deepbass would end up playing it too safe, and that the set would end up being forgettable as a result. My concerns, however, turned out to be unfounded. He may have taken a little time to get there, but by the peak of his set Deepbass was well and truly living up to his name, filling the basement space with a rich tapestry of deeper dance music. Psychedelic synth rhythms rippled above the thud of the kick drum like a banner of sculpted darkness twisting in an alien wind, their edges brought into sharp relief by the spit and sizzle of static-laced percussion. By this time, Volnost had also begun to fill up a little, with people drifting in from elsewhere in Itaewon – many of the punters I spoke with had come from Ellen Allien’s gig at Faust, or had been to see Knxwledge’s set at Cakeshop next door, and had turned to Volnost for the after-party, which I reckon was a good decision. The lighting, too, began to change subtly; whereas before the room had been more or less pitch black save for the light spilling from the DJ booth and behind the bar, now whoever was controlling Volnost’s lighting rig began to tease the crowd with the odd flashes of red or purple behind the DJ, the occasional red light that swept over the crowd, a few flickers of strobe here, a spotlight held for a second or two there. It was all very subtly executed, however – Volnost certainly knows how to achieve maximum effect with minimal elements, an approach they take to both the music played there and to the lighting and design of the space.

 

Something I appreciate a lot in techno DJs is when they don’t take the easy route of slamming down track after track of hard, dark pounding techno for the entirety of their 2+ hour sets, and have the confidence to lighten up the mood every once in a while. So I was pretty pleased when, in the last hour or so of his set, Deepbass began playing the occasional warmer, lighter track, creating a pleasing sense of contrast within the dark, stark, strobe-lit interior of the club. That’s not to say he suddenly started playing tropical house, or even that the techno he played in the latter part of the set was even that much less sombre than what had gone before it, but given how techno is a genre of minute nuances, the difference was definitely noticeable – and welcome. Perhaps part of this sense of lightness came not from the music, but from Deepbass himself; he was a pleasure to watch behind the decks, constantly smiling, tossing back shots and pulling off sick dance moves – a welcome change from the techno cliché of the grim-faced “serious” DJ.

Scopavik at Volnost

SCOPAVIK label/podcast manager Scøpe played an absolutely brutal killer of a closing set.

After Deepbass had played his last track to rapturous applause, it was time for the final act of the night, SCOPAVIK boss Scøpe, to take the reins. By this time the club had emptied out again, but once again the people who remained were determined to dance regardless of who else was on the dancefloor, and Scøpe, to his credit, gave it his all, playing to the almost empty room as if he was DJing in front of a crowd of thousands. Volnost was bathed in a glow of eerie red light as he let loose with a storm of broken beats and gnarly industrial textures. As much as my feet were sore from dancing and a part of me seriously wanted to go home, I found I just couldn’t stop moving – Scøpe’s set sunk its teeth into me and refused to let go. It’s easy to see why, alongside Unjin, Scøpe is probably one of the most influential and respected DJs in the Korean underground techno scene.

 

Despite the fact that there were so many other tempting options on offer that night, in retrospect I feel like I made the right choice by going to Volnost. The crowd may have been small, but the quality of both the music and the people around me was exceptionally high, and as a clubbing experience it felt far more raw and honest than what I probably would have encountered elsewhere. Volnost, though it may be a small and relatively niche venue, continues to punch above its weight in terms of the kind of authentic techno experience it’s dedicated to delivering, and with their sets Unjin, Deepbass and Scope proved that you don’t need to be on the front page of RA every week in order to be a world-class DJ.

Earlier this year I published a review of Gyeongsang-based producer mcthfg’s Korean Dub: Volume One, a short EP consisting of dub remixes of tracks by various Korean artists. On that EP, mcthfg demonstrated a keen ear for soundcraft and a kind of innovation and playfulness that he nonetheless kept firmly constrained within the boundaries of dub music. His most recent offering on Dubmission, the Contact EP (or mini-album, I suppose, depending how you view these things), takes a slightly different approach. Produced in collaboration with E.R.S, an Austrian producer of dub and psybient music who has spent some time in India, the five tracks on Contact are all a little bit more out of the box, drawing inspiration from a wide variety of musical styles and genres and showcasing the creativity and craftsmanship of the two artists, separated by oceans and continents, who brought the EP to life.

Album opener ‘Disclose the Truth, Part 1’ opens up in paranoid acid-freak style with a voice clip assuring us that governments have ‘failed to disclose the truth’ about the existence of UFOs, but the deep 808 bass, dry claps and melancholy detuned key pads that follow feel closer in spirit to hip hop than they do to dub or psychedelic music, while the sci-fi melodies that soar and glide over the boom-bap beat sound like a throwback to the glory days of 1980s electro. It’s a bold approach, and an indication to the listener that Contact aims to do more than simply rehash old dub music formulae.

The following track, ‘Oriental Skank (Minimal Edit)’, is a sprawling monster of a tune, clocking in at over 10 minutes. It begins with a fast-paced Middle Eastern string sample that stutters and trips until it turns into the titular skank, playing counterpoint to a crushingly heavy sub-bass rhythm. Minimal but carefully programmed percussion and liquid sound effects keep the track rolling along the track’s second half, where following an extended breakdown of sorts (I say “of sorts” because the bass rhythm never really lets up) the drums and effects take on a slightly faster, more insistent quality, transforming the track into something like very stripped down, slow-motion drum and bass, with the occasional burst of Carribean MC chatter drawing the EP back into more prosaic dub territory. ‘Oriental Skank’ (Minimal Edit)’ is well crafted and bursting with ideas, but ultimately it didn’t do it for me; I found the Middle Eastern samples a little cheesy and in the final analysis I think the tune would probably have been better off with something else taking their place.

The third track, ‘Bizarre Bazaar’, takes its title rather literally, beginning with sounds from a busy market somewhere in what sounds like India. When the noise of the bazaar fades away, however, it’s replaced with an icy, unstable synth melody that is without a doubt one of my favorite singular sounds on the EP, evocative of the sound design present in early 2000s G-funk. This synth pattern, surfing over a tidal wave of bass while spacious percussion clangs and clanks and crashes in the distance, carries the tune for it’s first third or so, until it’s joined by a similar melody playing in counterpoint to it. Midway through the track the producers introduce more samples, this time sounding like they’re lifted from a Bollywood soundtrack, and while I feel these samples worked better than the instrumentation on the previous track I still feel like the piece may have been slightly stronger without them. Nonetheless, this is still a very strong track, and the level of skill on display here is evident in the minutiae of the sound design, the little squelches and whispers and clicks echoing in the space between the track’s main elements.

Particles of Funk is the clear standout track on the EP (to me, anyway). 

It’s track six, however, that is the clear standout piece here. The title is ‘Particles of Funk’, and it seems that it does more or less what it says on the tin – a lot of the sonic elements here sound like they’re lifted from various funk numbers, not the least of which is the stretched and twisted slap-bass sound weighing down the low end. The layering in this track is really something to behold; it begins pretty simply, introducing one element at a time – a vocal sample, some snare hits, a rattling noise, a twinkly tin organ melody – but with each rhythmic cycle the character of the soundscape grows deeper and more textured, until the entire thing feels light years deep, particles of funk smashing one another apart in a Large Hadron Collider of dub. The overall vibe of the track feels very Afro-Futurist; it’s the kind of thing I can imagine a cybernetically enhanced clone of Fela Kuti making if you locked him in a room with a cracked copy of Cubase for a couple of days.

The album closer, ‘Disclose the Truth, Part 2’, is a reprisal of the opening track, and where the opener was crisp and groovy, this is sinuous and psychedelic. A hypnotic metronome of sub-bass runs throughout the entire track, keeping the music anchored, while thick, gritty, acid-tinged signals continuously emerge and decay, as if they’re being assembled and pulled apart by self-replicating nanonmachines. The melancholic pads from the first track are there still, but this time there’s a whole lot more going on with them – their sound is wilder, weirder, more unnatural and more alive. The arrival of wooden-sounding ethnic percussion and tropical chords completes the picture. It’s the kind of track that would work well at an outdoor party, during the day, in the middle of the desert or on a sun-kissed beach.

It’s always hard, when listening to collaborative projects, to know where the work and influence of one producer begins and the other ends. With that being said though, insofar as this EP is an indication of mcthfg’s talents as a producer I would say he has taken some significant steps forward. The tracks on display here on the Contact EP show significantly more verve and creativity than those released on Korean Dub: Volume One earlier in the year, and though I didn’t personally enjoy every tune here (more thanks to my individual taste than anything else) I can’t deny the raw skill and ear for music that’s gone into the construction and composition of the EP. If mcthfg continues on this upward trajectory, his next release is going to be nothing short of pure fire.

Contact is available for purchase at Dubmission’s Bandcamp

Ten years is a long time in the world of electronic music. Scenes and trends change at an incredible pace, and that change is even further accelerated by the hyper-activity and shortened attention spans of the internet age. Over the last decade hundreds, if not thousands, of artists and labels have emerged, seen their stars rise in popularity and prestige, and then faded into obscurity again; victims of an often ruthless music culture where audiences are constantly on the search for something new. The fact that ECI Korea has been around since 2008, then, is a pretty impressive achievement, and speaks to the hard work, dedication and, of course, talent of all the people involved – in particular label founder Unjin, a true stalwart of the Korean techno scene. Unjin has been one of the most instrumental figures in the growth and development of techno music on the Korean peninsula, both as a DJ/producer and as a label manager and party organiser; it’s not an over-exaggeration to say that without Unjin, the Korean techno scene would probably be nowhere near as healthy as it is today. Nor is his influence, and the influence of ECI Korea, limited only to Korea – the label has become a platform for artists from all over Asia, allowing them global reach and facilitating connections and collaborations both within the broader Asian techno scene and between techno scenes in Asia and Europe. It’s fitting, then, that the 10 Years of ECI Korea compilation released to celebrate this milestone in the label’s history features a broad range of artists – from Korea, from elsewhere in Asia, and from other countries around the world. The variety of producers featured on the album serves as a representation of the wide variety of artists who have worked with ECI Korea over the past decade.

 

 

 

The compilation opens with ‘Fascination X’ by Mojave, a swirling, epic ambient track whose crystalline synth-work is reminiscent of Vangelis. It has a sense of cosmic depth to it, but deep within the track’s nebulous clouds of sound there is a feeling of unease, a sense of distant menace that hints at the darkness to come. The next track, “Falling Out” by Shanghai-based artist MIIIA, begins with a haltering, staggering beat and deep, sonar-like bleeps that gradually resolve themselves into a ritualistic rhythm while hisses of static and bursts of noise lend the track an air of controlled chaos. Around the halfway mark the introduction of some shakers transforms the track into something a little vibier, but it never loses its downcast, eyes-down atmosphere. The third tune on the compilation, ‘Space Explorer’ by Italian producer Gennaro Mastrantonio, puts me in mind of the cosmic techno of Samuli Kemppi. It’s a meditative piece of loop-based techno that showcases Mastrantonio’s keen understanding of progression in dance music. Deep and mesmerising though it may be, the thick grittiness of the track’s bassline keeps ‘Space Explorer’ firmly anchored to the dancefloor.

 

The next track, ‘an-i-o-bi-o-ics’ by Taiwanese producer Jing, is notably darker and more aggressive than the three tracks preceding it. Thunderous percussion, cyberpunk-sounding pads and staccato synth riffs give off a kind of “future industrial” sort of feel. It’s a brief track, clocking in at just four minutes and twenty-one seconds. The following tune, ‘Weinfelden’ by Romi, proceeds to take things in a spacier, more introspective direction again. Romi, a Hong Kong based producer and frequent collaborator with Oslated, contributes what is easily one of the best tracks on the entire compilation here. Although each sound he puts to use here is distinctly artificial and machine-like, the overall impression given by the track reminded me of birdsong, or the hushed noise of a dark forest at midnight, warm and organic. He piles on a dizzying array of elements in the track, and yet it never feels overly busy or cluttered – each individual sonic element has its own carefully carved-out space in the mix.

 

 

 

 

Track six, ‘Cogito’ by HWA (aka Elvis T), is by contrast one of the weakest tunes on the compilation in my opinion. The ceaseless beeps that crowd its high-end become obnoxious after the first minute of listening, and the bass, while well processed, is too in your face and unsubtle for my taste. The seventh track, ‘Lights From The Pleiades’ by Dorian Gray, another Italian producer, is a good tune, but at the same time a frustrating one. A deceptively complex bass rumble (when I listened carefully I realised there was a lot going on in that low-end) propels the track forward, while the “light” in the title comes from the ghostly shimmer of synth drifting like smoke over the bassline, gradually coalescing into something that resembles a choir of ethereal voices. It’s masterfully produced, but too short; the track feels like the buildup to something potentially spectacular, but just as I was getting properly into it, it ended.

 

I was excited to listen to track eight, ‘Resplendent’ by Xanexx. Xanexx is one of my favorite Korean DJs by far, to the point where I’ve gone out a few times this year with the specific aim of catching a Xanexx set. His DJing is always transcendentally good, a searing, visceral sonic assault on the dancefloor, and I was very interested in hearing what his production sounded like. Fortunately, he didn’t disappoint. ‘Resplendent’ reminded me a little of the work of Shanghai-based producer Tzusing at first, featuring broken drum rhythms surrounded by a crawling and slithering mass of acid synth, but as the track goes on  the brutality of the drum-work is offset by glowing pads that would have sounded almost angelic if heard in isolation, a sensation of light that grows more and more pronounced until by the end the track is more ethereal than it is aggressive.

 

 

 

The ninth track, ‘Avia’ by UK-born producer Deepbass, sounds to me as if Deepbass was trying to invoke the nostalgic sound of 90s anthem trance, but filtered through a much darker contemporary lens. Insistent, endlessly repeating synth rhythms and helicopter blade bass drive the track forward as the percussion breaks against them like waves crashing on some distant and ancient beach. ‘Avia’ is followed by ‘Control’ by DJ Sodeyama. The Japanese producer is arguably one of the biggest names on the compilation, and his track is definitely one of its standout moments. A powerful kick drum sits front and centre holding everything together while the occult electronics that hiss and sputter and shriek around it menace the listener from the shadows, a host of alien noises that feel somehow alive, as if the synthesizers themselves have somehow gained sentience. From a DJs perspective I think this is probably one of the most interesting tracks on offer here – I can imagine it absolutely devastating dancefloors if mixed right.

 

The penultimate track, ‘Vann’ by Astronomy Domine, is one of the most abstract tunes on offer here. The Sardinian producer first assembles a complex mosaic of found sound and natural noises – rising wind, birdsong, snapping twigs, clinking metal, the splash of raindrops, the crunch of gravel, and about a dozen others I couldn’t even begin to identify – and then takes a dub techno bassline to it like a sledgehammer, smashing the soundscape into fragments that are gradually drowned out by splashes of echo-laden percussion and the occasional slab of gnarled synthetic noise. It leads into the final track on the compilation, ‘Obscured Facts’ by Scøpe. Here Scøpe, who runs the SCOPÁVIK label and podcast and the SCOPÁVIK club nights at vurt., immediately grabs the listeners attention with an infectious combination of growling bassline and syncopated kick drum thud. They’re soon joined by some of the crispest, sharpest hats I’ve ever heard and more undulating pads that once again feel reminiscent of a choir of voices, giving the whole track a kind of gothic ambience. Around the halfway mark the track is overwhelmed by what sounds like a swarm of cybernetic insects, which then begins to degrade and deform, dragging ‘Obscured Facts’ down with it into a spiralling vortex of hypnotic sound.

 

Though it falls flat a couple of times, as an overall listening experience 10 Years of ECI Korea is a fitting tribute to a fine label. Each producer in the collection brings something slightly different to the table, and the blend of ambient or abstract tunes and club-orientated body music cuts means that there’s a little bit of something for everyone here, from home listening techno heads to DJs looking for more secret weapons to get people grooving. Personally, I’m really looking forward to hearing these tunes out on Seoul’s dancefloors over the next few months – and to hopefully another decade (or more!) of quality techno from ECI Korea.

 

10 Years of ECI Korea is available for purchase at ECI Korea’s Bandcamp page.

DATE: 01/09/2018
VENUE: Beton Brut
ENTRANCE FEE: ₩ 20 000

There aren’t many techno producers that I immediately associate with particular tracks; when I think of Ben Klock, for instance, ‘Sub-Zero’ isn’t the first thing to spring to mind, and if someone mentions Shifted I don’t instantly think of ‘Control’. Whenever I think of Ø [Phase], however, I can’t help but think of ‘Binary Opposition (Process One)‘ and ‘Binary Opposition (Process Two)’, for my money two of the most monstrously huge tracks in recent techno history. Released on Belgian label Token in 2012, the two ‘Binary Opposition’ tracks are two variations on the same basic theme: the pulsating bass rhythms, loops of static-laced percussion and metallic synth textures that make up the tracks don’t stand out as particularly original in the world of dark techno, but in this case the whole is definitely more than the sum of its parts, and taken together the Binary Opposition EP has always sounded to me like the perfect crystallization of a particular techno sound, an ur-example of the kind of throbbing, shadowy dance music that has come to define what “techno” means in the 21st century – an impression that was only bolstered by the Binary Opposition remix EP released shortly afterwards, which featured top-shelf remixes from luminaries such as Ben Klock, Planetary Assault Systems and Peter Van Hoesen. Of course, there is more to Ø [Phase] as a DJ and producer than just those two tracks. The London-based artist (real name Ashley Burchett) has been making high-quality techno of a tough and steely nature for decades now, with dozens of releases to his name, and though for some reason he has never quite achieved the same degree of underground superstardom as some of his contemporaries he is nonetheless a master craftsman of greyscale techno.

Ø [Phase]’s Binary Opposition EP is in my opinion one of the best techno releases of the decade.

The venue he was playing in on Saturday night, Beton Brut, is one of the techno joints in Seoul I have often – and unfairly – overlooked. It’s located in Itaewon, just a few doors up the hill from Faust. The club recently underwent some significant renovations, with Beton Brut itself moving into the basement of the building and two smaller bar zones (Rebus and Concrete Bar) apparently opening up on the first and second floors; I say ‘apparently’ because I have yet to see the latter two spaces – on Saturday I was pretty much glued to the dancefloor the entire time. It’s an integral part of the ecology of Seoul techno, alongside vurt. and Volnost; clubs that act as competitors, but also work alongside each other to bolster the local scene (Faust attempts to set itself apart from this scene in certain ways, which I don’t really agree with, but that’s a topic for another time).

beton brut behind bar

Behind the bar at Beton Brut.

When you pay your entrance fee at Beton Brut, you’re given a ticket entitling you to a free drink, common practice at Seoul clubs. What sets Beton Brut a little bit apart, however, is that instead of choosing from a fairly limited set list of free drinks, Beton Brut allows you to choose any drink from the menu as long as it’s under 10 000 won – which, in practice, is most of the drinks available. It’s a small thing but something I really appreciated. After slugging back my free shot of Fireball (I have pleb taste in alcohol, don’t judge me), I ventured onto the dancefloor. It’s probably one of the darkest dancefloors I’ve ever had the pleasure of dancing on, in a totally literal sense – the basement space was black as a moonless night, save for the ominous red glow of the DJ booth and a couple of of intermittently flashing red and white lights near the front. The near-total darkness reminded me a lot of Mystik (RIP), and I have to wonder if the resemblance to such a legendary Seoul venue was deliberate. With it’s high ceiling, bare concrete walls and row of gigantic extractor fans behind the DJ, Beton Brut nailed the “industrial” aesthetic better than any other club I’ve been to in Seoul, and the shadowy nature of the dancefloor meant that I didn’t really waste much time or energy checking out my fellow clubbers, saving me from distraction and allowing me to focus my attention on the music. Warm-up DJ Qna was keeping things at a pretty even pace, playing a selection sludgey, textured tunes that encouraged the listener to close their eyes and drift along to the river of darkness flowing from every speaker. He never ramped things up to too frenetic a pace or tried to get too dramatic with his drops and mixes, which is a good thing in my book – too many opening DJs seem to forget that they’re there to set the scene for the headliner and create an appropriate sense of atmosphere and ambience, and instead tire the crowd out with banger after ill-chosen banger. There was no such egotistical behaviour from Qna, a man who seems well accustomed to the subtle art of the opening set.
Textured” is a word I want to use again to describe a lot of the tracks Ø [Phase] played when he took over from Qna, around 2:30 am. He kept things firmly in the deep end to start with, playing tracks that were slightly faster and more energetic than those favored by Qna, but that were still wrapped in similar ghostly shrouds of sculpted sound and anchored by similarly crushingly heavy kicks. As the set drew on, however, the tone gradually shifted track by track, until at some point – I’m still not sure quite how he got there – Ø [Phase] was playing tunes that could have worked just as well in a particularly dark and aggressive UK funky set, hyper-percussive polyrhythmic techno tracks that made me dance until my legs hurt and kept my feet tapping even when I sat down to take a break. By this time the club had filled up considerably, and by the time it got to 3:30 am the dancefloor had achieved what I think of as perfect density – when there are enough people dancing around you that the place feels full, but spread out enough that it’s possible to move from any given point on the floor to any other point without having to bump or push anyone out of the way. The only time I realised just how many people were in Beton Brut was when I went to the toilet, where I had to stand in line for way longer than I had expected.

beton brut phase

Ø [Phase] working the decks.

By around 4 or 4:30 a.m., the shift from cerebral deep techno to full-blown warehouse bangers had been completed, and Ø [Phase]’s set began to enter true peak-time mode as he threw down storming tracks such as Blawan’s ‘Careless’ (one of the standout numbers from this year’s debut album Wet Will Always Dry) or Dark Sky’s huge techno/UK house crossover hit ‘The Lick’, fingers flying over the four decks in front of him. I should mention here that  Ø [Phase]’s mixing is damn near flawless. His blends and transitions are verrrrry smooth indeed, the kind of ‘couture mixing’ that makes it almost impossible to distinguish the beginning of one track from the end of another. The crowd responded well to him – lots of hands in the air, lots of big smiles, several dudes who felt so moved by the music they felt the need to whip their shirts off – and there was a real sense of camaraderie in the air, the ecstatic communion of strangers coming together to move to the same relentless beat.
My experience made me regret that I’ve been neglecting Beton Brut for so long – it’s a really good venue, one that ticks all the right boxes, from the quality of the resident DJs and soundsystem to the price of drinks. Like Ø [Phase] himself, Beton Brut perhaps suffers a little from being overlooked due to the sheer quantity and quality of the competition, but, as Saturday night proved, both Ø [Phase] and Beton Brut are more than capable of delivering a night of world-class pure techno.

DATE: 25/08/2018
VENUE: Faust
ENTRANCE FEE: ₩ 20 000 (I payed ₩ 30 000 though :/ )

I had to smile at the serendipity of it all when I saw that Perc was booked to play at Faust this past Saturday. As chance would have it I’d been rinsing the London-based producer’s three albums (Wicker and Steel, The Power and The Glory, and Bitter Music) pretty heavily for the past month or so, so it seemed like a stroke of exceptional good fortune to get the chance to see him in the flesh. Perc, or Ali Wells as his mum knows him, is a true giant of contemporary techno. He’s made a name for himself not only as a producer (having released tracks on seminal labels such as Drumcode, CLR and Stroboscopic Artefacts) and as a DJ, but also as a label owner in his own right; his Perc Trax imprint is one of the few labels which I make sure to listen to every single release off of, and he’s been responsible for bringing global attention to fantastic techno artists such as Forward Strategy Group, AnD, Ansome, and Truss. Perc’s production – and to a lesser extent the music he shills on his label – favours techno of a dour and dystopian bent, textured, abrasive tracks that invoke slate grey English skies, drab council estates, and factory chimneys belching out black smoke. He’s part of a vanguard of British producers – including artists such as Surgeon and Shifted – proving that heads-down pounding techno is not just the reserve of Berlin, and that the UK is still a crucial component in the international techno machine.

 

As excited as I was to see Perc DJ, I foolishly ended up missing the first bit of his set – took a nap before I went out, but managed to sleep through my alarm. I got dressed and rushed out as fast as humanly possible once I realised what had happened, but it was past 2 am by the time I got to Faust (Perc started around 1:30), which also meant that I had to pay 30 000 won to get in rather than the 20 000 I’m accustomed to paying. An irritating start to what would fortunately prove to be an amazing night.

The first thing I saw when I walked into Tanzbar was a middle-aged Korean man in blue work overalls and a cowboy hat, grooving to the music with an ecstatic grin plastered over his face. He seemed to sum up the eclectic nature of the crowd in Faust that night, which consisted of everyone from slick hip hop kids in designer tracksuits and bucket hats, to moody neo-goths with facial piercings and black lipstick, to a bunch of guys who looked like they’d just gotten off from work at some chaebol, still decked out in stiff white collar shirts and dress pants. I enjoyed the variety of it all – seeing people seemingly drawn from all kinds of sub-cultures and social scenes, rather than the usual monotonously dressed techno hipsters I’m used to seeing elsewhere (though that being said, I will always have a soft spot for those same techno hipsters, of course). It’s also a good indicator of the health of the scene – the diversity of styles on display implies that there’s a diversity of people being drawn to this kind of music.

I didn’t stay long in Tanzbar, downing my free drink as quickly as possible and then rushing into Faust so that I didn’t miss any more of Perc’s set than I already had. Stepping onto the dancefloor was like walking into a warzone; Perc was busy battering the crowd with a barrage of hard, no-frills percussive techno, every distorted hat or snare or clap hitting with the force of a high-calibre bullet. It was definitely the hardest set I’ve heard all year, and very possibly the hardest set I’ve heard in my entire life. I don’t know if the BPM ever dropped below 130, and the raw and aggressive nature of the sounds flowing out through the speakers felt closer in spirit to industrial metal or thrash punk than it did to most dance music, even though the standard 4/4 kick pattern was present throughout the majority of it. Dark and angry as his tunes were, however, the impact of that darkness was more exhilarating than it was oppressive, inspiring the people around me to cut lose and dance with a lack of restraint relatively unusual in Seoul. That lack of restraint worked against me at a certain point, when the guy I was dancing next to got a little too creative with the shapes he was throwing and elbowed me hard in the jaw, actually managing to knock me to the ground. He apologised, though, and though my jaw was still aching the next day it’s nothing worse than I’ve experienced in the average moshpit back in my (questionable) metalhead days.

perc faust crowd

I found myself thinking that in some ways, Perc’s set felt like the polar opposite of Mike Parker’s set at Faust a couple weekends before. Parker’s deep, hypnotic techno had me in a kind of trance, the music sinking into my subconscious so that in a way I wasn’t even aware of what I was listening to – all I could do was keep dancing. Perc’s selections, by contrast, were up-front and in your face, coming at the audience like a sonic assault by invaders from Planet Rave. His transitions were smooth, obviously, but they were smooth in the same way that a car crash is smooth – one track would become another in the blink of an eye, and for those few seconds the space in between them felt full to the brim with noise and violence.

It was terribly good, but also terribly intense; the pace was unrelenting, and I found myself tiring out quickly (something a lot of other people I spoke to that night were complaining about). Fortunately, whenever my energy flagged or the brutality of Perc’s tracks got a bit too overwhelming I could pop into Tanzbar for a sit and a drink, and zone out to the music of Nicolas Lian, who was playing a comparatively more mellow and soothing (though still suitable for peak time) selection of progressive techno, transcendental electro and blissed-out tech-house. A particular highlight for me was when he played Gui Boratto’s ‘Azzurra’, a track I haven’t listened to in years and that I have some beautiful memories associated with. I was very impressed by the range Nicolas Lian clearly enjoys as a DJ – his set in Tanzbar was worlds apart from the banging late-night acid techno he played when he closed for Mike Parker. I really enjoyed the contrast between his set and Perc’s, and I think without the presence of Tanzbar as a space to chill out in and briefly escape the brutality of Perc’s set for a while the night would have been a lot tougher to get through in one piece.

Perc 1

I needed that little bit of rest and recuperation in Tanzbar, because in the final half an hour of his set Perc pushed the floor to absolute breaking point. The last few tracks he played sounded as if someone had synced an exploding train station to a 909, and each transition between tunes was marked by a cacophonous gale of static and raw noise, accompanied by a flood of white light from the strobes (at this point it must be said that as usual, Faust’s lighting game was on point – they made really excellent use of strobes, floodlights, lasers, fog and all the other usual atmospheric club tricks). At that point, it was easy to forget I was in a nightclub in Itaewon, South Korea; through the power of music Perc had transported the entire crowd through space and time to what felt like a warehouse rave somewhere in the grim north of England circa 1996 (or possibly 2096) – as if Perc was a Time Lord and the DJ booth a TARDIS. By the time he played his final track I never wanted him to step away from the decks, regardless of how much my legs and feet hurt from dancing.

Unfortunately, the closing DJ (Suman)’s set was a bit of an anticlimax. I get that it’s hard to follow someone like Perc, who’s probably one of the best techno Djs on the planet right now, but Suman’s set fell completely flat to me – generic rolling dark techno with little about it to stick in the memory or get the body moving. It was really a let-down, as I was incredibly pumped and excited after Perc’s set and looking forward to dancing more, but there was just nothing about the set that moved me. I gave him half an hour hoping it would pick up, but it never did, so I ended up going home, a little disappointed. This is a recurring problem I have with Faust, actually. They typically book amazing international acts, but their actual residents frequently (not always, but frequently) fail to measure up to the guests, and the sense of continuous flow and musical narrative between the opening, headlining and closing act is often disrupted or just totally absent (which I’ve found is not the case at, say, vurt. or Volnost). Maybe that’s a little harsh – I’ve heard plenty of solid-to-good supporting acts at Faust- but the truth is that I’ll seldom go out of my way to arrive early to catch an opening act or stay late to catch a closing act at Faust, like I do with other techno venues in Seoul. That being said, I’ll forever be grateful to Faust for managing to lure so many world-class acts to Seoul, and I still think that Faust (especially in it’s latest incarnation) ranks as one of the best club experiences available in Korea. And as for Perc, well, Ali Wells brought the goods in a big way – but then I never doubted for a second he would.

 

 

 

Anyone who’s ever been out drinking in South Korea is almost certainly familiar with 소맥 (somaek), a cocktail combining beer (맥주, maekju) and 소주 (soju), the legendarily lethal Korean spirit. Somaek is the kind of drink that can sneak up on you – the beer tends to mask the harshness of the soju, making it easy to overindulge without realizing just how strong this convenience-store special really is. As such, it’s a perfect moniker for the Northern Ireland-born, Korea-based producer DJ 소맥, who makes serene, almost subliminal cloud trap and UK drill beats that don’t immediately catch the listener’s attention, but rather gradually grow on you until before you know it you’ve been sucked down the DJ 소맥 wormhole and he’s all you’ve been listening to for a week.

He’s an incredibly prolific producer, with a ton of tracks and albums available for free download via his netlabel, Il Padrino Records, so for this review I’ll be focusing on just one of his albums, 구리시 (Guri-si). Guri is a satellite city on the eastern fringes of Seoul, and each of the tracks on the album is named after one of the city’s neighbourhoods (with the exception of the title track, 경기도/Gyeonggi-do, which is named for the province that surrounds Seoul). My impression is that the album is intended to be a sonic representation of the city, with each track capturing the feel and atmosphere of particular districts and neighbourhoods, an impression further reinforced by the album video which superimposes day and night footage of the city to great effect.

You can stream 구리시 in its entirety on YouTube.

Album opener, “Gyeonggi-do” (I’m switching from 한글 to English from here on just for ease of writing) is a gentle lullaby of a tune, reminiscent of work by bedroom producers such as Baths. Korean vocal samples (a feature of every track) fade in and around a soft synth melody playing over rising and falling bass tones. It’s followed by title track “Guri-si”, one of the strongest individual tracks on the album that pairs layered chords with a detuned choir of voices and more Korean vocal snippets, this time of a child’s voice. The rest of the work in the track is done by unpredictable, nicely crunchy drums; the percussion builds to a crescendo before all the sound is gradually stripped away, until  only a simple melody, at once heartbreaking and uplifting, is left behind.

The third track, ‘Topyeong-dong’, has a much icier, more menacing feel, channeling the soundscape of early 2000s UK trip hop. The eerie metallic percussion is definitely the standout feature on this slinky opium-den-bass beat. The mood of the following track, brief interlude ‘Inchang-Dong’, is more mournful than menacing thanks to its thick, gauzy clouds of reverb and choral vocal hooks. Track five, ‘Sutaek-dong’, is another of the album’s strongest moments, where fragile, shimmering synth patterns flutter and swirl, threatening to collapse in on themselves, only to be buoyed up by sinuous sub-bass and rattletrap percussive hits.

DJ 소맥 is a prolific producer with several albums available for streaming on YouTube and Soundcloud, such as this one, 야간 번개 (‘Yakan Byeongae’, or ‘Night Lightning’). 

On track 6, ‘Sano-dong’, old-timey piano samples give the tune a jazzy ambience, while a high-pitched, siren-like pad sound simultaneously suffuses it with a sense of dread. The seventh track, ‘Gyomun-dong’, is one of the simplest, pairing a synthetic woodwind melody with 808 kick-thuds. It’s followed by ‘Galmae-dong’, on which a delicate synth melody flows over gentle swelling pads and cavernous percussion like raindrops trickling down a window pane during a summer storm; along with ‘Guri-si’ and ‘Sutaek-dong’, this track stands out in my memory as one of my favorite tunes on the album. The final track, ‘Acheon-dong’, ends things on a pretty dramatic note, and is probably the “trappiest” tune on the album, with a frenetic, endlessly looping lead melody, emotional key stabs, and an ominous bassline taking center-stage.

Overall, I enjoyed the album, even though it isn’t the kind of stuff I generally listen to. I find DJ 소맥’s music works best as “soundtrack music” – stuff to listen to while riding the subway, or mooching moodily around the city, or stating out of a taxi window watching the lights go past at 4 am. If anyone reading this is interested in cloud – or vapor trap music with a Korean twist, you can’t really go wrong with DJ 소맥, and there’s a wealth of material to work through – six albums available for streaming or download, as well as numerous other tunes. My advice is to just pop on the DJ 소맥 playlist on Il Padrino Records’ YouTube channel and float away.

 

구리시 can be streamed via Il Padrino Records’ YouTube channel  and is available for (free!) download at the label’s tumblr page. 

DATE: 11/08/2018
VENUE: Faust
ENTRANCE FEE: ₩ 20 000

I’m always kind of surprised to learn that some of the most renowned DJs and producers in the global techno scene are still holding down day jobs. I wonder how they have the time and energy for it – jetting around the world playing shows on the weekend, and then going back into the office and starting the nine to five grind on Monday. In the case of New York-based deep techno auteur Mike Parker, I think that work-life balance is made a little easier by the fact that he’s an academic, with all the flexible scheduling and copious vacation time that entails. Parker, who has been making techno music for over 20 years and runs his own label, Geophone, is a multi-talented man; he teaches art at the State University of New York, and produces drawings and other works of visual art alongside the hypnotic brand of machine music that has won him fans and renown around the globe. His particular brand of techno falls in the line with the mesmerising, bewitching, chasmically deep sounds championed by producers like Cio D’Or and Donato Dozzy and labels like Semantica and Prologue, the latter of which released Parker’s last album, the excellent Lustrations, a set of three 12 inch records that work as well as a collection of sublime DJ tools as they do a continuous album. Parker is known for the exacting level of attention to detail he brings to his productions; a Mike Parker track is one in which every single minute sound has had its place in the mix meticulously carved out, and where minuscule shifts in sonic texture feel more dramatic and impactful than the biggest, dirtiest EDM drops. With that in mind, I was very happy to get the chance to hear Parker play on the brand-new Faust soundsystem, where that aspect of his music would be able to really come to the fore.

The opening act, regular Faust DJ and stylish mullet rocker Marcus L, played a selection of techno as varied and diverse as the acts typically booked by Faust itself, hitting the crowd with everything from sleek maximalist tech-house to crashing and bumping Stone Age techno. For the most part, though, his tunes sounded to me like variations on mid-2000s minimal techno, only updated for a more modern audience; waves of white noise, punchy kick drums and big drops suitable for the big room. It definitely got a strong reaction out of the crowd, who were whooping and cheering at every dramatic transition. Personally, I felt like the set could have maybe been a bit more coherent or flowed more smoothly – his transitions were all flawless, but I didn’t get a very good sense of narrative or progression from one track to the next, which is half the fun of a good techno set. Nonetheless it was definitely fun to dance to, which at the end of the day is really the point behind, well, dance music.

Monika Faust

Monika dropping some crunchy beats in Tanzbar. 

About ten minutes before Mike Parker was due to start I decided to nip in to Tanzbar to grab a drink, which, depending on your point of view, was either a mistake or a stroke of fortune. I ended up getting completely sucked in by the Tanzbar DJ, UK expat Monika, who was busy laying down an infectiously fun array of glittery nu-disco, rubbery house and acid-inflected funk. What I’d intended to be a quick run to the bar turned into an extended jam session in the tiny dance space between the bar and the couches. I wasn’t alone, either – Monika had amassed quite a crowd around himself, all grinning like lunatics and dancing as wildly as they could in the crowded and confined space.

Dancing to Monika’s music was one of the high points of the night for me, but it did mean that I unfortunately missed a fair chunk of the beginning of Mike Parker’s set. When I finally worked up the willpower to leave Tanzbar and return to Faust itself, stepping through the door was like being abducted by brain-probing aliens from some DMT dimension. All of the signature sonic flourishes from Parker’s productions were on full display in his set: spiraling subterranean bass rhythms, serrated far future bleepery, a raging ocean of liquid noise that obliterated the usual boundaries between percussion and synth or pad and lead. As abstract and hypnotic as the set was, however, it was still intensely, almost overwhelmingly, groovy. A trap that some DJs and producers working on the more psychedelic and moody end of the techno spectrum can fall into is that of losing sight of the fact that at it’s core techno, especially in a club setting, is still fundamentally dance music. Some of Parker’s contemporaries seem to forget that from time to time, crafting tunes and sets that, while sonically rich and musically adventurous, aren’t actually all that fun to move your body to. But as Mike Parker’s set in Faust proved, it’s more than possible to play dark, liquid, mesmerising, trippy techno tunes that still bang like crazy and get people stomping.

Mike Parker Faust 1

Mike Parker surveying the crowd with his trademark unconcerned expression. 

Something else I enjoyed about Parker’s set was the air of absolute serenity the man projects. I don’t think I saw a single expression ever so much as flicker across his face as he gazed over the floor full of frenzied strobe-lit bodies in front of him, his bald head and aquiline features bringing to mind the image of a Roman centurion. But every now and then, when the music reached particular peaks or crescendos (it feels a little inaccurate to call them “drops” – they were far too subtly executed for that) he would stretch his hand out to the audience and make the tiniest indication with his fingers that yes, something exciting was about to happen, looking more like a priest offering his blessing to the congregation than a DJ trying to hype the crowd. It seems a strange thing to say of someone who did so little to interact with the audience and who maintained such an austere and restrained persona behind the decks, but Parker really did feel as if he had a crazy amount of stage presence, if not in the typical sense of the term.

I was kind of disappointed when Parker decided to step down from the decks a little early – he was scheduled to play for 3 hours, but ended his set roughly 20 minutes earlier – but my disappointment was short-lived. The closing act, Nicolas Lian, has apparently been a fixture of the Seoul techno scene since 2012, where he was a resident at legendary now-closed club Quadro, but this was my first time seeing him play. Now, something I’ve noticed with a lot of closing techno acts in Seoul (Xanexx and Oslon spring to mind) is that they often like to close the night out with much faster, more aggressive strains of techno that border on trance at times. Nicolas Lian took this trend in an extreme direction, battering the darkened dancefloor with a series of rapidfire blackened acid tunes that could have worked just as well in a darkpsy set as they did in a techno context. Personally, I loved it – it brought me back to the underground psychedelic trance parties that were my first introduction to the world of raving – but a lot of people on the floor didn’t seem to feel the same way; I saw quite a few of them stop dancing and look confused, and the floor emptied out pretty swiftly. Still though, the small hard core of dancers that remained were clearly super into the sound, and the sudden opening up of the dancefloor (which had felt claustrophobically crowded during the peak of Mike Parker’s set) meant that people could be a little looser and more creative with their dance moves.

It’s a little early to make these kinds of judgements – I reckon I need to wait a little for the afterglow to fade – but as it stands right now, I think Mike Parker’s set at Faust was the best one I’ve heard in 2018 so far (and if you’ve been reading previous entries at all, you’ll know I’ve seen some truly stellar sets this year). The new Faust continues to impress me, and it’s really encouraging that they can book a fairly niche and austere techno act like Parker (whose material, banging as it is, is a far cry from “big room”, mainstream appeal techno) and still have a club packed to the rafters with dancers. The night spoke well to the continued growth and health of the techno scene in Seoul, a scene which Faust seems to be staking a claim as the beating heart of.

DATE: 20/07/2018
VENUE: Faust
ENTRANCE FEE: ₩ 20 000

One of the biggest First World Problems that comes with living in a big city with a lively electronic music scene like Seoul is the excruciatingly difficult choices that have to be made on the weekend. On any given Friday or Saturday night, there are so many great acts, both local and international, playing in the city’s various venues, and only so many places someone can be at once. This Friday past was no exception; I was faced with having to choose between hearing a performance by legend of house music Fred P. (aka Black Jazz Consortium) at Contra, or a showcase by one of the most cutting-edge house labels to emerge in recent years, Lobster Theremin, at Faust. I really struggled to choose between the two (I went so far as to put up a survey in a dance music group on Facebook to help make the decision), but in the end, I chose to go to the Lobster Theremin party instead – honestly, not because I was so interested in seeing Lobster Theremin artists Asquith and Route 8 perform, but because Faust is such a good venue (sorry, Contra).

Faust has long been an important fixture on the Seoul underground nightlife scene. Previously, it used to occupy a spot near the top of Itaewon’s infamous Hooker Hill, surrounded by brothels and love motels; walking up to Faust (especially as a man alone) was always a bit of an eye-opening experience. Earlier this year, however, the club relocated a little bit down the hill, closer to the subway station, at the place previously occupied by club/events venue Sonnendeck. The relocation involved significant renovation and expansion on the part of Faust, with the club now occupying a significantly larger space and kitted out with a state-of-the-art sound system by Kirsch Audio that, at the time of writing, may well be the best one in the entire country. In terms of music on offer, Faust leans towards techno but often features house artists as well, and tends to host artists that have both underground cred as well as a little mainstream appeal; in that sense, it reminds me of Cakeshop, in that it seeks to cater to both deep techno heads alongside a slightly more mainstream audience – a slightly difficult thing to achieve, but one that thus far the management of Faust seems to be managing to pull off quite well.

Behind Faust, a mini-documentary released by Faust in order to promote their new venue. 

On Friday night, Faust’s management had elected to indulge their housier inclinations, providing a venue for modern house label Lobster Theremin’s Seoul leg of their current Asia tour, which label founder Jimmy Asquith and star producer Route 8 embarked on in celebration of the label’s fifth anniversary. Based in London, but providing a home for producers from all around the world, Lobster Theremin have been at the vanguard of a new wave of post-internet house music, releasing a steady flow of singles and EPs remarkably consistent in their quality. They’ve sometimes (lazily, in my opinion) been lumped together with the broader category of “lo-fi house”, but the the adventurous nature of much of the label’s output, together with it’s vinyl-centric approach, sets it apart from the legions of YouTube house dilettantes currently in vogue, even though some of it’s landmark releases have come from lo-fi house icons such as DJ Seinfeld or Ross From Friends.

With all this in mind, I decided to give Fred P. a skip on Friday night and head down to Faust instead. The new Faust is split into two distinct zones: Faust itself, which consists of nothing but dancefloor, and Tanzbar, a more mellow chillout zone where one can buy drinks, mingle and listen to music on a smaller but still respectable soundsystem. I decided to check out Tanzbar first; my free drink ticket was burning a hole in my pocket. Here, everything still feels brand-new, from the bleached wood paneling to red and green neon light fixtures behind the bar (red and green seems to be the official colour scheme of Faust, which honestly I think is a bit of a weird design choice – the colour combination makes me think of ugly Christmas jumpers, not of one of Seoul’s premiere underground clubs). The overall vibe of the place is distinctly retro, like a seaside cocktail bar in the 80s. The Tanzbar DJ was playing an assortment of funky, elastic house tunes, pitched at the perfect volume for the space – it was loud enough to jam to, but soft enough that it was still possible to talk to someone without having to bellow into their ear.

Beyond Tanzbar, inside Faust itself, the vibe was completely different. I’d expected Route 8 to keep things on the more smooth and sultry side at the beginning of his set, but when I walked in he was belting out some hard, bone rattling techno, all staccato acid riffs and crunchy kick drums. The tune really showed off just how immaculate the new Faust’s sound system is. Every sound seemed deep and crisp and clear, and no matter where on the dancefloor I found myself, it felt like I was in the perfect listening spot – clearly some serious acoustic wizardry has gone into the construction of the space.

lobster theremin 1

After another couple of grinding techno tracks, Route 8 changed pace a little, allowing his rhythms to get looser, his basslines more seductive, until we were firmly in house territory. This pattern defined much of his set that night: he would hit the audience with some groovy, soulful house (often vocal-driven) for a bit, allow things to get gradually harder and darker until we were suddenly listening to some heads-down beefy techno once again, only for him to lighten up again a few tracks later, creating a kind of push-pull emotional response on the dancefloor that varied up the pace enough so that the set never felt too boring or predictable and kept me intrigued and dancing for the majority of his time on the decks. A lot of the house numbers he was playing had a distinctly classic feel to them as well, sounding more like tunes he’d dug up from obscure 80s vinyl than lo-fi YouTube hits. Speaking of which, Lobster Theremin often gets lumped in with the “lo-fi house” phenomenon, but nothing I heard from either Route 8 or Asquith that night sounded especially lo-fi to me. If I had to describe the Lobster Theremin sound that night, I’d say it was somehow retro and futuristic at the same time, the house music equivalent of raygun gothic. This sort of retro feel to the night was enhanced by Faust’s lighting; during Route 8’s set, the lighting consisted mainly of slowly-circling colourful spotlights, that made the club feel a little like a Mediterranean disco in the late 70s.

lobster theremin 2

The tone of the night changed a little when it was time for Jimmy Asquith to take over. The first half of his set was definitely a little harder and rougher around the edges than Route 8’s had been, favouring gritty techno over soulful house. His techno tracks still maintained that kind of retro/classic feel, though – a lot of what he was playing wouldn’t have sounded out of place on, say, the Ghost in the Shell PlayStation soundtrack (which is unironically one of the best showcases of 90s techno out there). The lighting inside Faust, as well, featuring more strobing and flashing lights and beams of colour that sliced through the darkness, creating a more intense, “ravier” atmosphere. Around midway through his set, however, Asquith changed up his sound quite dramatically, swapping out thumping kick drums and serrated synth rhythms for the syncopated beats and melancholy pads of UK garage house. The shift was really unexpected, and it took me a little bit to get used to; I actually had to leave the dancefloor at this point for the first time in ages to have a breather and get my bearings a little. When I returned, though, I got back into it, grooving to the more subtle, funky and emotional tunes Asquith was throwing down. Between the music, the lights and the clouds from the fog machine (which were, I shit you not, lemon-scented – probably one of the most Korean things I have ever experienced) it was really easy to lose myself in the moment and slip into that timeless, mesmerised state that to me is one of the biggest draws of dance music and club culture.

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I snapped out of it, though, when Asquith decided to throw us a curveball by dropping ‘Miss Jackson’ by OutKast, which, of course, prompted a mass sing-along from everyone in the crowd (especially the foreigners). It was the kind of irreverent, playful move that can really make a set stand out, the kind of thing that I’ve not heard for a little while, given that for the last month or so I’ve been going exclusively to pretty serious, purist techno events. It was a moment that seemed to epitomise a lot of the seemingly contradictory qualities of Lobster Theremin, a label who over the last five years have shown they are not afraid to appeal to the everyday punter on the dancefloor as well as the more cerebral dance music heads haunting internet comment sections – a quality they share with the management behind Faust.

Shortly afterwards, Asquith stepped down from the decks and it was time for local DJ and producer Messiahwaits to close out the night. Once again, there was a significant sonic shift, with Messiahwaits following Asquith’s garage and hip hop inflected house with some twisty, trippy psychedelic techno, all rich metallic textures and ghostly echoes. It was maybe a bit too much of a deviation from what had gone before, and a lot of the people on the floor filtered out almost instantly, though that may just have been because they were tired – it was, after all, around 5 am at this point. For what it’s worth though, I enjoyed the closing set – none of the tunes sounded familiar or predictable to me at all, which for someone who listens to a lot of techno is kind of hard to come by. I can also see why so many people had to call it a night, though; at this point many of the dancers seemed decidedly worse for wear, alcohol wise. There was a lot of stumbling and slurred speech going on, and one person passed out in the stairway long enough that eventually paramedics had to be called. It’s not exactly an unusual sight in Itaewon on a Friday night, of course, but to me at least seeing stuff like that always sours the mood a little.

Hard as it was to make, by the end of the night I was sure I had made the right choice. Route 8 and Asquith’s sets complimented each other well, and between them they struck a nice balance between forward-thinking, exciting sounds, tried and tested formulas, and tongue-in-cheek-playfulness. And as a venue, the relocated Faust is truly quite remarkable, and represents an exponential step forward for the underground music scene in Seoul. I only hope that they can make a success of it; keeping a nightclub afloat isn’t easy, and it looks like some serious cash has been invested in Faust’s renovation. However, judging by the size and enthusiasm of the crowd on Friday night, I’m sure they’re not having too much difficulty getting people through the doors.

Over the last few years the Georgian capital of Tbilisi has garnered a reputation for having one of the best techno scenes in the world – a surprising turn of events, perhaps, given the former Soviet republic’s tumultuous past and difficult present. The strength of the Georgian scene – and it’s particular political dimensions – was further demonstrated earlier this year, when police raids on the legendary club Bassiani sparked off a gigantic ‘protest rave’ outside of the Georgian parliament buildings which, in all honesty, looks like it may well have been the best party of 2018. It seems that if you’re into techno, Georgia is a good place to be, whether you’re a producer, a DJ or just a fan.

One of the many talented producers to have come out of this scene is Saphileaum, aka Andro Gogibedashvili. He’s released on Oslated before, having contributed a sultry ambient techno remix of ‘Karusellplan’ for Eyvind Blix’s album Västberga Allé. Now he’s back with his first album for Oslated, Uninhibited Kingdom, a painstakingly assembled collection of mind-bending dub techno cuts.

Album opener ‘No Clue of Life’ is a brooding, slow-burning piece of quasi-ambient techno, combining insectile noises, psychedelic sounds and sanded-down synth stabs with a hollowed-out kick rhythm that seems to be there more to mark time than to inspire movement. The sound design is impressive, but overall something about the track is a little lacking to my ears – it’s probably my least favourite tune on the album, and the one I found myself skipping most often on re-listens. Fortunately, however, it’s followed up by ‘Lost in the Forest’, which is easily one of the strongest tracks Saphileaum has on offer here. The soundscape reminded me a little of the kinds of noises found in some of the darker varieties of psytrance: alien-sounding bubbling and bleeping, ethnic hand-drum percussion samples, but the reverb-heavy loping kick pattern they were bolted on top of made it very clear that we were very much deep in dub-techno territory. Around midway through the appearance a series of piercing minor-key synth chords really kicks the track into a higher gear; it becomes completely hypnotic and bewitching, and I can easily imagine it absolutely devastating certain kinds of dancefloors in the hands of the right DJ.

Lost in the Forest is a strong contender for the title of ‘best track’ on the album. 

The next track, ‘Abandoned Fortress’, is by contrast much warmer and gentler. Featuring another shuffled beat, the track uses soft, sometimes euphoric evolving pads, a perky offbeat melody and some more interesting tribal percussion loops and rhythms to create a soothing sense of calm and tranquility; it evokes the abandoned fortress of the title, sure, but rather than being a grim and desolate place, this abandoned fortress is lush with tropical plants and crowded with wild animals, teeming with life, like Chernobyl in the years after it was abandoned by humanity.

The happy, upbeat tone of ‘Abandoned Fortress’ doesn’t linger for long, however. ‘Treated by Herbs and Fire’ is a serious and dramatic piece, once again featuring the now-familiar staggered kick rhythm and pairing it with resonant metal-on-metal percussion. A cosmic abyss of bass undulates throughout the track, accompanied by the sounds of chanting voices that rise and fall like a strip of ribbon twisting through the air. Snatches of digital birdsong and stark bursts of saw-wave complete the piece, and when taken together the whole thing feels as if it would work well as the soundtrack to something or other, though I’m not sure exactly what. The final original track on the album, ‘Dual Expression’, maintains a similar sort of tone and atmosphere: vintage-sounding synth tones echo beneath a high-pitched ringing sound, like the sound of noise being coaxed from the rim of a wine glass, highlighted by more drum-circle polyrhythms, all firmly anchored by a classic dub beat. The strong sound design on display here merits special mention once again; the subtly phased and layered snare drum, the rise and fall of pads evoking the sound of whalesong, the way that all of the intricate percussive elements sweep and glide around one another.

The next four tracks on the album are all remixes by various Oslated affiliates. The first is a remix of the album opener, “No Clue of Life”, by Spanish-born, Vietnam based producer Javier Marimon. Marimon’s remix takes things a little deeper, by and large preserving the labyrinthine sonic details and effects of the original, but layering them over a sinuous Northern Electronics-style wave of sub-bass. There’s no real sense of progress here; sounds simply play off of themselves, repeat and refract into infinity, creating a sense of darkened ambience, like shadows dancing around the edge of a mirror. Marimon’s remix is followed by a remix of ‘Lost in the Forest’ by Romi. In this mix Romi, currently based in Hong Kong, serves up a claustrophobic, paranoid take on Saphileaum’s dubby roller; noxious pads descend over the track’s distant sub-bass rumble like chem-trails spewing out from a squadron unmarked jet-black fighter planes, while halfway through an urgent shaker rhythm and acid-like bass and synth squelches lend the tune a feeling of groove and movement.

Vice City’s remix of Treated by Herbs and Fire is a personal favourite of mine.

The next remix, a version of ‘Treated by Herbs and Fire’ by Vice City, is far and away my favourite track on the entire album. Vice City, who hails from Taiwan, reportedly draws her inspiration from nature, science, philosophy and mythology, and I felt like I could catch a glimpse of some of these inspirations while listening to this remix. Her command of sound design and construction is, in a word, exquisite; within the first 20 seconds of the mix I had already become thoroughly lost within all of the dizzying richness and texture of the track. It’s as if she had carefully dissected Saphileaum’s original track one precise incision at a time, eventually pulling it wide open to reveal entire unexpected universes within. She preserves a lot of the original chords and patterns of the original, but presents them to the listener in stunningly imaginative and unexpected ways. It’s a largely ambient piece, but a beat does slowly emerge over the course of the track – slowly and haltingly, shuddering every step of the way and threatening to collapse in on itself at any moment, until all of a sudden it comes into focus fully formed and ready to kill. This is another track that I can imagine being incredibly effective if mixed into the right set, though it would take a lot of skill on the part of the DJ in order to pull it off correctly.

The final tune on the album, a remix of “Dual Expression” by Sanjib, places the emphasis firmly on the production. Sanjib is a side-project of techno producer Jibis, who operates out of Lyon, France; Sanjib is apparently the moniker he uses for more “emotional” or personal projects. For this remix, he takes the hints of tribal techno scattered throughout Saphileaum’s debut and brings them to the fore, creating one of the most directly dancefloor-oriented cuts on album as a result; I can easily imagine that I’ll be hearing this particular track on the floor of vurt. or Volnost over the next few months. Of particular delight is the crushing bassweight of the piece – the sub really sinks into your bones – and the rattling, clanking percussion fills, like the sound of a box of pots and pans falling down a spiral steel staircase, but in reverse. It’s a good tune, for sure, but sadly I think it’s a bit overshadowed by the excellence of the Vice City remix that came before – personally, I would have rather the album ended with that.

Uninhibited Kingdom is an impressive album. Saphileaum has a fantastic ear for soundcraft, and his original tracks successfully invoke a wide variety of feelings and emotions in the listener. If I have a small complaint, it’s that his sound pallette felt a little limited at times; I heard variations of the same set of sounds being used in just about every track. Then again, this may have been a deliberate decision on his part – it has the effect of creating a sense of continuity and coherency throughout the album. I would have still preferred it if he’d stretched himself a little more, though, but that’s just my opinion. And thankfully, the four remixers do a great job of adding in some new elements and changing up the pace and atmosphere of the album, so overall the whole thing still works very well as a continuous listen. If, like me, you have a soft spot for dub techno, I can definitely recommend giving Uninhibited Kingdom a spin.

Uninhibited Kingdom is available for purchase over at Oslated’s Bandcamp