Since its inception in 2017, Oslated has come a long way, releasing five albums, three compilations, and numerous EPs in just over two years. Now, label owner Oslon seeks to expand the label’s reach by starting up a sub-label, Huinali (희나리). The aim of Huinali (which means “wet firewood” in Korean) is to release dub techno and ambient music, styles which have obviously influenced several other Oslated releases. The fledgling label’s first release comes courtesy of Brazilian producer Racco, who is based in Sao Paulo. The name of the EP, Bada, means “sea” in Korean, and judging by the track titles it is clear that the ocean has served as a source of inspiration for the music presented here.

 

The EP, it must be said, doesn’t start off particularly strong. Opening track “B1rds” is a well-produced but rather lifeless slice of by-the-numbers dub techno: echoing minor chords, a low, thumping kick, wet, organic sound effects in the background. There’s nothing especially wrong with it, but nothing especially right with it either: it’s simply another iteration of the formula we’ve all heard a million times before, ever since those first game-changing Basic Channel records came out in the early ‘90s.

Fortunately, the remaining three tracks are far more interesting. Track 2, “Seaside”, is a warm, dreamy number that starts out as blissful ambient and then gradually gains more energy and urgency with the addition of a rolling sinewave bassline and crisp hi-hats. The gentle pads in the background evoke the sound of softly falling rain more than they do waves or the sea, and the percussive fills and details sound like they could be played by an orchestra of insects. The third track, “Seashore”, is one of the EP’s highlights. It’s a far brighter tune, pairing metallic, resonant arpeggios with fuzzed-out hollow pads over a steady 4/4 beat; the “seashore” being evoked here is that of a futuristic beach resort, white sand drenched in pink and blue neon. The EP closes with “0b”, a piece of cosmic-sounding ambient that feels perfectly suited to watching the sun rise over the sea. Rising and falling synth tones are framed by microscopic percussive sounds that sound as if they come from, or are at least inspired by, the legendary Buchla Music Easel. It’s a deeply layered and richly complex tune, one which rewards several close listens.

Overall, Racco’s Bada EP is a solid listen; Racco clearly has a strong grasp of the intricacies of music production and an ear for sound. It remains to be seen, however, if Huinali will be able to stand out in the over-saturated world of dub techno. If the label’s producers can push the envelope a little, though, and resist the temptation to fall back on tired and overdone dub tropes, Huinali will surely grow from strength to strength.

Bada is available for purchase over at the Huinali Bandcamp page. 

 

Industrial techno is having a bit of a moment right now, and has been for the last couple of years. Artists such as Perc (and the various producers who he has given a home to on his label Perc Trax), Truss, Ancient Methods, Blawan and a legion of others have been pushing a darker and grittier sound for some time now, looking to the 1980s for inspiration and drawing on the harsh, transgressive music of avant-garde industrialists like Throbbing Gristle, Skinny Puppy and the roster of Wax Trax! . This bleaker, noisier form of techno has become incredibly successful, and one can argue that at the time of writing it is the definitive techno genre of the 2010s. Just this last month one of techno musics most iconic and trend-defining labels, Ostgut Ton, released the latest volume in its seminal mix series (Berghain 09), selected and mixed by noise music auteur par excellence Vatican Shadow (aka Dominic Fernow). Fernow’s mix is the most explicit acknowledgment yet of the huge debt contemporary techno owes to industrial and noise music, blending pummeling techno tracks with recordings of legendary industrial pioneer Genesis P-Orridge and jagged, abrasive sound by legendary Japanese noise artist Merzbow.

It wasn’t always this way, however; just ask veteran Canadian industrial/techno crossover act, Orphx. The Canadian duo of Rich Oddie and Christina Sealey have been developing their particular melange of industrial and techno music since the early 1990s, far ahead of the curve, but it took a long time for the techno world to properly catch up. “We were considered ‘too industrial’ for most techno promoters and labels”, Sealey said in an interview with Motz’s Eleanor Brooke. The pair only really managed to break into the world of techno properly thanks to the support of Sonic Groove founder Adam X, who shared the duo’s interest in industrial-indebted techno. In the late 2000s and early 2010s Orphx released several EPs on Sonic Groove (now collected on Hymen Records as The Sonic Groove Releases Parts I and II), which catapulted them into underground techno stardom. Those releases aside, they have an impressive catalogue of recordings to their name, including eleven full length albums and several collaborative projects (such as Eschaton, a collaboration with Ancient Methods).

 

 

As impressive as their varied production history is, however, it is as live performers that Orphx are most renowned. Utilizing a constantly-evolving range of methods and technologies, including both digital performance tools such as Ableton Live and more hands-on modular synthesizer wizardry, Orphx’s shows have attained a near mythical status for their flair and ferocity. And thanks to the efforts of Itaewon basement venue Volnost, techno lovers in Seoul were finally given the chance to witness this legendary performance for themselves when Orphx played their last Friday night.

Even at the very beginning of the night, the atmosphere inside Volnost was intense. The dancefloor was wreathed in a thick mist of smoke machine fog and red light that transformed the dancers into little more than shadowy figures drifting in and out of vision; at several points the clouds of smoke were so thick I could literally not make out anything that wasn’t directly in front of me, making it feel as if I was the only person in the club. The opening DJ for the night, Sijin, was busy laying down a selection of darkwave and goth-infused industrial techno. I could see what he was trying to do – the track selection was clearly intended to set the stage for Orphx’s set later that night – but to my ears he went a bit too hard and fast for an opening set, pounding out banger after pounding, distortion-laced banger while it felt like everyone was still busy finding their bearings and getting their free drinks. This, coupled with some clunky mixing and transitions, meant that unfortunately Sijin’s opening set didn’t leave the best impression on me.

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Live improvised experimental music from pianist Jared Redmond and techno producer Eexppoann. 

The rest of the night’s performances, however, more than made up for the slightly lacklustre opening. The next act was one of the more intriguing acts I have seen in Seoul, a live improvisational collaboration between Constant Value founder Eexppoann and classical pianist Jared Redmond, a California native who is currently a visiting professor of composition at Hanyang University. It was an unusual setup; Redmond sat on the dancefloor, the audience crowded in a hushed crescent around him as he unleashed a stream of thunderous, dissonant chords, while behind him Eexppoann moved between his drum machines and synthesizers, laying down a steady stream of ominous, warped beats and tones that served to accentuate Redmond’s playing. It was a challenging performance, but fascinating to watch, and certainly far more thought-provoking than a simple DJ set would have been; I enjoyed being reminded of the links between the worlds of techno and contemporary classical music, two seemingly disparate musical realms that actually share a fair few things in common with one another. After about half an hour or so, Redmond’s performance had reached its conclusion and he began packing away, leaving Eexxppoann to continue playing solo.

Left to his own devices, Eexppoann ratcheted up the intensity, flying from machine to machine as he crafted gnarly, jagged beats and acid-corroded soundscapes on the fly. The majority of the music he played felt like it was at a slightly slower tempo, but what the set lacked in speed it made up for in rawness, evocative of such disparate musical styles as industrial, hardcore techno and noise. Volnost’s lighting guy also stepped up his game, and the thick banks of fog that still hung over the dancefloor began to be lit by scintillating flashes of neon pink. The vibe was pure Constant Value, and I felt a touch of sadness at the fact that the legendary Seoul rave series appears to have been placed on indefinite hiatus.

Orphx 3

The crowd on the dancefloor rendered little more than shadowy silhouettes by the light and smoke inside Volnost.

Something about the vibe of the evening – perhaps the more performative nature of Redmond and Eexppoann’s set, or the relatively long pauses between sets as each artist set up their equipment – made it feel more like a small concert than it did a club night. This feeling was amplified when Orphx took to the DJ booth and were greeted by an uproar of cheers and excited screams from the now-crowded dancefloor. Orphx, to their credit, had no difficulty matching and even exceeding the raw energy that Eexppoann had brought to his set. From behind their array of gear – two laptops running Ableton live, MPC controllers, and several mysterious synthesizer modules – Christina Sealey and Rich Oddie swiftly transformed Volnost into a swirling tunnel of psychedelic sound, weaving together rhythmic noise, esoteric synthesizer motifs and splintered hurricanes of percussion until the music throbbed with an almost psychic vehemence, worming its way deep into the minds of everyone on the floor. Though traces of Orphx’s industrial heritage were definitely present – particularly whenever Rich Oddie picked up the mic and added his indecipherable rasping and shouting into the mix – the overall vibe of the set felt firmly rooted in techno. For all the serrated slivers of static and raw tesseracts of brutal sound that Sealey and Oddie coaxed out of their hardware, their kick drums remained the centrepiece of the set, each one like a monstrous black hole whose gravitational pull twisted and tore apart the other sonic elements into their constituent particles. Sealey and Oddie were seldom predictable in their kick sequencing, however, preferring broken, stumbling rhythms over the rigid 4/4 grid that defines (some might say suffocates) much of techno.

Orphx 1

Rich Oddie of Orphx. 

This rhythmic inventiveness was made possible, in part, by the nature of Orphx’s setup. Though clearly the set had taken a lot of preparation and practice to get right, it was equally as clearly a fluidly improvised affair, full of chaotic moments and serendipitous grooves. The feeling of a live jam came through very strongly in Orphx’s set, something that not every live techno act actually manages to pull off (too often, live sets can end up over-rehearsed and sterile, to the point where the artist may as well just be playing a DJ set). My inner music nerd was having a great time watching Sealey leaned over her modular synths and trying to match up her movements with changes in the sound, and it was interesting watching the two of them briefly consult for a few moments and then hearing the set begin to move in a different direction. Working in concert, the two of them seemed to create an arresting sensation of tension and balance in their music, a kind of dystopian/utopian Yin-Yang of anxiety and ecstacy. Though who was Yin and who was Yang, I find impossible to say.

Once the last of Orphx’s washes of sound had faded away like blood drying in the sun, it was Comarobot’s turn to take to the decks and close off the night. Obviously eager to maintain the energy levels that Orphx had set, he hit the now much diminished crowd with a selection of dramatic, booming techno, all thunderous kicks and sizzling white noise. It was a good set, I think, taken in isolation, but I found it difficult to give it the level of attention and appreciation it deserved. It had been a long and taxing night; Orphx’s set, while mind-meltingly good, had taken a lot out of me both physically and mentally, and once they were finished I actually had to get out of Volnost and go for a brief walk in order to calm down and try process what I had just heard.

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Orphx’s Christina Sealey coaxing sound from a bewildering selection of modular synths. 

I’m not a big fan of superlatives. I’ve always been leery of describing anything as “the best”, because I feel that notions of “best” are very subjective (obviously) and highly susceptible to change. I find that especially when it comes to music “the best” performance or set in my mind is often of the most recent ones I’ve been to, since it’s easier to recall and feel excited about fresher memories. However, that being said I have no qualms about calling Orphx, if not the best, then certainly one of the best electronic music acts I’ve ever had the fortune of seeing (and even now I’m tempted to discard that qualifier altogether). Their execution was flawless, their sound palette original, their sonic narrative profound. Orphx have been making music for nearly three decades now, and the benefit of all those years of experience really shines through when they’re on stage. Whether you’re into industrial music, or techno, or indeed just interested in the creative possibilities of sound and music in general, go see Orphx play if you ever get a chance; they’re bound to astound you.

Though it is relatively small and isolated, the Korean techno scene is notable for the consistently high level of quality it produces. Both in terms of club spaces and in terms of producers and labels, Korean techno has shown that it is more than capable of holding its own on the international stage, in a way that is rare among nations on the global underground’s periphery. This is only possible, of course, due to the talent, passion, and hard work of the people who devote themselves to promoting the health of the scene. Chief among these dedicated individuals is Scøpe, who has been instrumental in curating and promoting techno on the peninsula thanks to his SCOPÁVIK label, podcasts and parties. As well as being a skilled promoter and DJ, Scøpe also has serious chops as a producer, and his latest offering, the Corrode EP, showcases those talents in such a way that would make many other artists green with envy.

The EP opener ‘Eludes Observation’ features one of the slightly off-kilter staggered kick drum rhythms favoured so heavily in his DJ sets, the kind of beat that lurches to and fro rather than pounding out a simple staccato four to the floor pattern. It still packs a hefty punch though; the bass frequencies hit low and they hit hard. Elsewhere in the track, repetitive loops of sci-fi hi-fi noise warp and decay like the radio signals of an eons-extinct alien civilization, sizzling up against the boundaries of the rigid sequences they’ve been confined to. Scøpe apparently used a DIY instrument of his own design and manufacture to make some of the sounds on ‘Elude Observation’, which may explain the exotic and idiosyncratic nature of the sonic arsenal at his disposal.

SCOPE DIY instrument

One of the DIY instruments that Scøpe built himself in order to create the sounds used on the EP. Picture courtesy of Scøpe

The next track, ‘Cruel Fragment’, uses a more conservative kick and offbeat bass substructure to glue everything else together, but it doesn’t feel any less adventurous for it. ‘Cruel Fragment’ is a slow-burner that piles layer upon layer of wet, organic-sounding synth sounds on top of one another like layers of cyborg bacteria, a bubbling, burbling head-nodding slice of techno that relies less on melody or harmony or counterpoint and more on what sounds like a grid of biological static shuddering in time to the beat. It’s an intensely creepy track that I can see causing more than a few shivers on the dancefloor.

Things get even heavier with the titular ‘Corrode’. The rolling kick drums bring to mind a tribal ritual being held in the middle of an irradiated wasteland, while the rises and sweeps of synth feel like they could have come straight from the sound effects banks of a vintage ‘80s mecha anime. It feels akin in some way to ‘Elude Observation’, and I had to wonder if some of these sounds also came from some bizarre homemade instrument of Scøpe’s devising. It does feel a little lacking in some way, however – somewhat stagnant or predictable in the way it progresses, cycling through a handful of bare-bones rhythmic arrangements before gradually fading out. It would have been nice to have heard him do something a little more exciting with such an original and interesting set of sounds.

If ‘Corrode’ left me a little wanting, however, the following track, ‘Inner Passage’, more than made up for it. The low end is so deep it feels positively abyssal, and yet each kick still punches through the mix with pinpoint-precise force and clarity. Meanwhile, the gritty synth leads that make up the bulk of the rest of the track seem to be play strange tricks with the listener’s ears and minds, slithering from ear to ear and appearing to play strange duets with themselves thanks to Scøpe’s masterful manipulation of echo and delay. This is proper body music, the kind of track that could tear apart a packed dancefloor like a plutonium bomb.

The EP closes out with a trio of mind-melting remixes from some of the biggest names in psychedelic techno. First up is Semantica boss Svreca, whose contributions to this particular strain of darkened dance music – as a DJ, producer, and label boss – have earned him a rightly legendary reputation. On his remix of ‘Cruel Fragment’ the Spaniard definitely doesn’t disappoint, serving up a Mike Parker-esque work of subaquatic driving techno, whose whirlpools of sonic texture are pulled along by a relentless surge of hi-hats. It feels like no sound in this tune ever goes away entirely; elements are introduced, and occasionally fade into the background, but they are always there, building up layer by layer until the entire track is a solid wall of shadowy bliss. Of particular interest is the outro; it’s kind of sad that most DJs playing this out will probably have mixed out at this stage, as the way that Svreca allows the various parts of the track to lurch and stumble against themselves as he brings the music to a close is a true masterclass in techno composition. Next up is Acronym, a Swedish producer championed by the likes of Abdulla Rashim and particularly adept at pulling off that most tricky of techno propositions, the long-form album; his 2015 LP June stands out as one of the best techno albums, not only of that year, but probably of the last decade. On his ‘Couloumb Mix’ of Scøpe’s banger ‘Inner Passage’, Acronym provides the EP with a burst of soul, combining an infectious bass groove with ragged, acid-adjacent chords and background sound effects that sound like an oldschool kung fu fight scene sped up until each punch lands like a laser blast. Along with Scøpe’s original, this is definitely one of the strongest cuts on the EP, and one I can see getting a lot of play by DJs the world over. The EP rounds off with a remix from one of Scøpe’s longtime compatriots, Korean DJ Xanexx, who released his own EP Poem of Light on SCOPÁVIK last year. Xanexx’s take on ‘Inner Passage’ is astonishingly well put together. It feels almost impossible to distinguish where one element of the track ends and others begin; the usual musical delineations of “kick”, “snare”, “synth”, “bass” etc. seem totally meaningless, the various parts shifting and flowing into one another like the space where the ocean meets the sky, viewed through a sleepless haze. It lacks the raw physicality of the other two remixes, but that doesn’t really matter – it works as a fantastic end to a fantastic musical journey.

 

Taken as a whole, the Corrode EP is a profound illustration not only of the producer’s own musical identity, but that of the Korean techno underground as a whole. The tracks and remixes on Corrode sound exactly how a night out in one of Seoul’s basement establishment feels. It’s possible to discern, in these heady, hypnotic tunes, a kind of dark musical lineage that begins at Mystik (RIP), winds its way to the contemporary triad of purist techno spaces vurt., Volnost and Beton Brut, and stretches all the way through to newer scenes such as AIN and Trippy. This, to me, is the sound of Seoul itself, crystallized and given timeless form on this EP. Now, if someone ever asks me “what’s the techno scene like in Seoul? What does it sound like?”, I can just point them to this EP and say: here. This is what it sounds like.
Corrode is available for purchase over on the SCOPÁVIK Bandcamp

 

 

When You Awake, the latest offering from Changwon-based producer mcthfg, is a concept album of sorts – “the outline of an SF story set to music”, inspired by the music of legendary roots-rock group The Band and the writing of speculative fiction authors N.K. Jemisin and Yoon Ha Lee. It’s an ambitious project; The five tracks (six, if one includes the album mix that forms track 6) on When You Awake range over a wide variety of musical styles, and the narrative intent is clear in the way in which the tracks progress and flow into one another.

Opening track ‘The Traveller’ starts off with a melody of microscopic blips, before being joined by a slowed-down electro groove and a warm Reese-esque bassline. The track makes great use of the stereo field; low-passed arps, wooden-sounding drum fills and spacey dub chords flow seamlessly from one headphone to the next, making the listener feel totally submerged in the music. The following track, ‘The World’, has a similar effect, achieved this time with dusty, delay-drenched synth notes bubbling in and out of hearing, punctuated every now and then by what sounds like the screech of a violin being fed through an over-spun loop of degraded tape. Other details – the occasional air-raid siren sweep, sparse, melancholic piano notes, a kind of dirty G-funk bass – combine to give the track a palpable sense of digital dread.

 

This atmosphere of dread and tension gradually evaporates over the course of the next track, ‘The Game’. Here, mcthfg deploys slow, evolving, Eno-like ambient pads and a relatively minimal arrangement that comes as a bit of a palette cleanser after the intensity of the two preceding tracks. A dry, tinny beat feels there to add texture rather than momentum, and overall the track reminds me of the kind of woozy, head-nodding numbers that occasionally crop up in the vaporwave end of the ambient spectrum.

If ‘The Game’ acts as the album’s pre-climactic ‘quiet before the storm’, then ‘The Difference’ is the storm itself. A heavy, echoey beat, with all the emphasis placed on the snare, gives the track a distinct mid 90s trip-hop vibe. This impression is only further entrenched by the arrival of dramatic organ chords that give the track its defining character. In my notes for this review, I see I have scrawled “mcthfg Does Portishead” next to the title of this track, and it honestly feels like the most accurate summation of what he’s done here.

Closing track ‘The End’ forms a kind of book-end to opener ‘The Traveller’, utilizing a similar opening melody, though here it sounds far more cosmic and ethereal. The bass is fathoms deep, and like ‘The Difference’, there is something a little retro, specifically something a little 90s, about the sound design in this track. Capping it all off is a distorted lead synth that, at the track’s peak moments, almost begins to feel like the wailing of an electric guitar, spliced and stitched into something far stranger.

The album ends with a continuous 32-minute mix of all the preceding tracks, a nice touch and one that highlights one of the key strengths of When You Awake; the flow of the music. Each track, while having its own distinct sense of identity, leads very naturally into the next, and overall the sequencing of the album is very well executed, something that sets it aside from a lot of other Bandcamp artists who, while they are gifted at making music, aren’t always as gifted when it comes to putting that music together in an aesthetically pleasing order. Part of this, no doubt, stems from the overarching narrative concept behind the album – the album is structured like a story, and its major moments feel like key scenes in a gripping graphic novel. Perfect tunes to close your eyes and explore future universes to.

When You Awake is available for purchase over on Dubmission’s Bandcamp. 

 

On the Bandcamp page for Heptaprism by Yetsuby, one of the most recent additions to the Extra Noir family, the mysterious South Korean producer is described as ‘reflecting Seoul’s nocturnal futurism’. It’s an apt description. There is a sort of futurism at work in Yetsuby’s tracks, but the future being hinted at is closer to that depicted in Neuromancer or Blade Runner than anything one might imagine from the vantage point of the 21st century. A kind of retro-cyberpunk atmosphere threads itself like DNA through all of the tracks on display here, whose rigid soundscapes and dusty pop hooks feel deeply indebted to the much-fetishized analogue synth music of that halcyon age of electronic music, the 1980s.

Heptaprism opens with ‘Sunrisemagic’, a laidback tune whose warm analogue chords and crooning vocals give it a distinctly New Age kind of vibe, like Boards of Canada being played at the back of an incense shop. The second track, a slow but summery slice of house entitled ‘Who Ate My Chocolate’ features African-inspired percussion, basketball kicks and massive, echo-drenched claps that put me in mind of some of John Talabot’s early material. The title of track three, ‘Ppuppuppappa’, could be an onomatopoeia for the high-pitched crystalline whistling that makes up the bulk of the track. Interlocking melodies, their tones reminiscent of early 90s home computing, play off and around one another, accented by the occasional burst of keyboard-clack percussion. It’s a fun little sonic exercise, but at over five minutes feels a little overlong for what it is; I felt like it overstayed its welcome very quickly, and on subsequent listens I found myself frequently skipping this track halfway through.

 

 

The following track, ‘Croquis 1’, features similar wistful, ethereal vocals to ‘sunrisemagic’, this time set over a staggering, glitchy mechanical rhythm, creating an interesting contrast between the organic and inorganic elements of the track. Further atmosphere is furnished by smatterings of street sounds and delirious, half-buried fragments of forgotten melody. This to my mind is one of the most interesting and arresting pieces of music on the album – my only complaint, this time, being that’s a bit too short; I would have liked for Yetsuby to maybe draw it out a little, give some of its captivating detail more time to glow.

On track five, ‘Sea Frog’, Yetsuby combines a fuzzed-out oldschool drum machine kick with a simple two note bassline and melodic streams of bleeps and blips in a way that feels pulled from the soundtrack of a long-lost straight to video 80s action movie. That vintage feel continues into the next tune, ‘Wiretap In My Ear’, whose central feature is a rubbery, groovy bass guitar riff. The title of the closing track, ‘Sunsetmagic’, seems intended to act as a companion to opener ‘Sunrisemagic’, but the names are really the only point of comparison. Where ‘Sunrisemagic’ is starry-eyed and serene, ‘Sunsetmagic’ is far more boisterous: big, booming gated drums lay down a rhythmic foundation, while snatches of human voices, sanded down and shaped into microscopic bursts of noise, provide the lead melody.

Final thoughts: while I really enjoyed Heptaprism, I do think it could have done with some more ruthless editing, and would probably have worked better as an EP than an album. Several tracks on here are very strong – most notably ‘Who Ate My Chocolate?’ and ‘Croquis 1’ – but others feel more like personal sketches or experiments than fully realised pieces of music in their own right, and may have been better off left on the cutting room floor. That being said, however, it’s clear that Yetsuby is both technically gifted and creatively innovative as a producer, and this album has definitely made me curious to hear what she comes up with next.

Heptaprism is available for purchase over at Extra Noir’s Bandcamp.

My first encounter with Tengger’s work came when I was reviewing the first Extra Noir compilation last year. There, the track the Seoul-based duo, comprised of  Itta (on harmonium and vocals) and Marqido (on analogue synthesizers) submitted (‘Breathe In, Breathe Out’) was dark and haunting, which fitted in well with Extra Noir’s witchy darkwave aesthetic. When given the space to define their own sound, however, Tengger favours a more fuzzed-out, sunburnt sound, exemplified in their album Spiritual, an eight-track array of synthesizer jams and garage psychedelia. Tengger first released Spiritual back in 2017, initially sold as a digital album and cassette tape combo produced in collaboration with arts collective Seendosi (the tape version is, sadly, no longer available). Thanks to Extra Noir, however the album is seeing a re-release, with a limited-run vinyl edition (at the time of writing, only 5 records are left up for grabs!). 

The titular opening track is all about repetition, pairing a chugging bass riff with Raga-reminiscent synth chords and… not a whole lot else. Snatches of crooning female vocals add some colour to the track’s final third, but beyond that, all of the track’s sense of progression is textural (or vertical, if that’s your preferred terminology) rather than melodic; the same rhythms and patterns repeat ad infinitum, but subtle changes in the substance of the sounds themselves keep it from growing stale or boring. This sets the trend for the rest of the album, which follows a similar path, and uses a similar sonic pallet. On Track 2, (‘Luft’), however, the bass groove is far funkier, and the thick waves of feedback and reverb that Tengger spice things up with seem to channel the wide-eyed and inventive spirit of a stoned teenager playing with effects pedals in Guitar Center. The vocal on this track, when it does put in appearance, is almost lost in the sea of sound, feeling more like a splash of sonic colour than an instrument per se. It’s followed by ‘Earther’, whose analogue arpeggios and harmonium keys and chord progressions sound reminiscent of both medieval music and the soundtracks of 1970s nature documentaries. The fourth track, ‘Barabonda’, is much more heavy and raw, centering around a sludgy distorted riff that acts as a counterpoint to a wispy, ethereal vocal warble. Bursts of feedback (a crucial element in Tengger’s sonic repertoire, it seems) complete the picture, setting the track up for an epic extended breakdown jam towards the end.

Footage of Tengger performing at a Spiritual album launch gig in 2017. 

This is followed by ‘Jongsori’, more a kind of brief interlude than a “track” in its own right, featuring the faint hiss of field recordings, the sound of what could be gongs warped and mutated by the dark sorcery of analogue technology till they’re almost unrecognizable, and the ominous sound of chanting voices. The sixth tune on the album, ‘Dancing’, is much more upbeat. Here insistent two and three note synth patterns spiral like the arms of galaxies around one another while an unassuming Pong-like blip keeps time. The real surprise, however, comes when Itta begins to play a jaunty sea-shanty-style tune on the harmonium. Considered individually, all these elements shouldn’t really work together, but somehow Tengger manages to pull it off. On Track 7, ‘Morgen Tempei’, percussive elements (which up until now has been either relegated to the background or entirely absent) take on more of a prominent role, with a rounded kick drum sound providing the rhythmic backbone of the tune. ‘Morgen Tempei’ is a cinematic and uplifting track; There is a pleasing sense of point and counterpoint between a clear, gentle bleeping sound and more ragged and energetic synth chords, and at different points in the track I was reminded both of the soft and poignant techno of The Field and also, for some reason, of Radiohead.

Tengger - Gatefold Outer

The outer sleeve design for the Spiritual vinyl release.

Spiritual finishes off with an epic, almost 15 minute long odyssey of a closing track, entitled ‘Dodeuri’. The track begins with some heavy-handed, loose bass and key rhythms, that sound like they’ve been recorded from an ancient grand piano rather than on a synthesizer. A high-pitched shuddering synthetic hum, however, reminds the listener that this is most certainly still electronic music. Female vocals whisper and chant, while low, fuzzed-out synth stabs lend the tune something approaching a “bassline”. At around 11 minutes in, ‘Dodeuri’ fakes out the listener, fading into near silence before kicking in again with a vengeance for the album’s last stretch. It’s clear that Tengger intended ‘Dodeuri’ to be the crowning moment of the album, an epic psychedelic voyage, which makes it a pity that, for me at least, it falls a little flat. It seems like there just aren’t enough ideas here to sustain a track of this length, and the chaotic jumble of elements at play feels less like a raw surge of musical energy than it does simply under-produced.

Despite my disappointments with the final track, however, I still think Spiritual is a good album, a showcase of how you can wring a lot of emotion and narrative out of very simple, abstract electronic sounds. The whole album feels played, rather than produced – there’s a loose, live kind of atmosphere that permeates throughout – which makes me even more keen than I was before to try and catch a live Tengger set sometime.

Spiritual is available for purchase over at Tengger’s Bandcamp. You can order a copy of the vinyl release from Extra Noir

The tail end of January saw the release of Jeju 濟州 ,the third compilation release by Seoul-based techno label Oslated. The compilation’s namesake is Jeju island, a subtropical volcanic island off the coast of the Korean peninsula, and South Korea’s southernmost province. The island seems to hold a special place in the Korean psyche; its warm climate, beautiful natural landscape and pristine beaches combine to make it an extremely popular holiday destination (among both Koreans and people from elsewhere in Asia), and the island’s relative isolation from the mainland has meant that the people of Jeju have developed a language, culture and customs quite distinct from those of the mainland. It has always been a land apart; during Korea’s Joseon dynasty period, Jeju was used as a place to send political exiles who had fallen out of favour with the court, and shortly after World War 2 it was the site of a bloody political uprising (one in a long line of such uprisings in the islands history). Jeju is also a place richly steeped in myth and folklore, with stories of gods, goddesses, heroes and spirits abounding around the island. These themes – beauty and isolation, mystery and mysticism – are all foregrounded in this latest Oslated compilation, in which label curator Oslon has sought to pay tribute to the island in the form of a diverse selection of techno and techno-like tracks from a wide variety of producers, from both Korea and elsewhere around the globe.

The compilation starts off slowly, easing the listener into things. Opening track ‘Biyangdo (비양도)’ by Cyme is a study in ambient minimalism, using a combination of modulated found sounds – waves crashing, planes flying overhead, insects chittering – and softly glimmering synth tones to create an evocative but sparse soundscape that brings to mind the colours of sunrise playing over the waves. The track seems designed to evoke the image of its namesake (Biyang-do is a small, mountainous island off the coast of Jeju), a theme which runs throughout several tracks on the compilation. It’s followed by ‘Seolmundae (설문대할망)’, which takes its name from the mythological ‘Grandmother Goddess’ who is said to have created the island. Here the New York based artist Earthen Sea puts forward a tune that feels like a dub techno track whose beat has been slowly siphoned away, like sand spilling from a shattered hourglass. Echoes reverberate beneath the sound of static rain, and it is the interplay of reverberation and echo that drives the track forward.

 

The next track, ‘The Rain and the Storm’ by Asymmetric, is a cinematic, anticipation-building number, stirring tension with its nervy arps, staccato drums and percussive hits wrapped in shrouds of glitched-out reverb. It’s only really in the final two minutes of the track that the kick drum really hits – and hits hard – but rather than being a cathartic release, its introduction only seems to further amplify that feeling of anticipation, acting as an excellent bridge between the compilation’s ambient beginnings and the more frenetic tracks that are soon to follow. However, this then leads into ‘Hy’Naku’, by Dutch producer Alume, a move that feels like a slight misstep. It’s an all right tune for sure; deep, psychedelic-sounding cosmic techno, in which layer after layer of sound, some crisp and velvety, some little more than phantom smears of reverb, are layered over crunchy, textured bass and blunt kicks to hypnotic and head-nodding effect. However, the transition from Asymmetric’s track to Alume’s felt awkward and forced, and this track would probably have worked better had it been slotted in somewhere else.

Track 5, ‘Seongsan (성산일출봉) comes courtesy of French producer Xylème , and to my mind is one of the high points of the entire compilation. Tectonically deep rumbling bass propels the track forward, in concert with an offbeat hi-hat that sounds like a match being struck over and over again on a rain-drenched beach. There’s a great deal of sonic depth in the detailing and intricacies of the other sounds Xylème  has strung together here, and I imagine this tune would be absolutely mind-warping if heard on a big sound system. The next track, ‘Evaporite’ by Bmbmd, didn’t impress me quite as much, but it’s a fun tune nonetheless; its low-slung funky bassline groove and snatches of syncopated rhythm make it feel a bit like a technoid mutation of a deep house track.

 

The seventh track is the work of an old Oslated alumnus, Swedish producer Eyvind Blix, whose album Västberga Allé was released on the label last year. Entitled ‘In A Safe Place’, this is another slow-burning, tension building tune. If you stripped away the bass and drums, it might work as a blissful ambient piece, but the rapid-fire bursts of quasi-tribal percussion and subaquatic squelches and bleeps position the track in a darker dimension. Again, however, the transition between this track and the ones preceding and following it feels somewhat jarring, and this is another tune that might have worked better had it been slipped into a different portion of the compilation.

The following tune, ‘Cheonjiyeon (천지연) by Kannabi, is another one of the compilation’s best moments. Named for a famous waterfall on Jeju, the track is full of chaos and character from beginning to end. A dizzying collection of sounds – rubber band twangs, UFO engine noise, classic acid squelches – babble amongst themselves, their wildness barely contained by the dull sinoid thump of the kick attempting to keep everything from falling apart. It’s heady, trippy stuff – there’s a lot for the listener to lose themselves in here – but it seems to be made with a hint of playfulness as well. The ninth track, by contrast – ‘Underground Sea’ by Stigr – seems far more dour and serious in comparison. French producer Stigr takes his title quite literally, using the sounds of water lapping against the shore and what sounds like the digital squeals of cybernetic dolphins to evoke the ‘underground sea’ in question. It’s a pretty good tune, very atmospheric and psychedelic, but doesn’t really measure up against the rest of the compilation, in my opinion.

 

Track 10, ‘Vagabond’ by ASLLAN, seems to have been made with the 4 am basement dancefloor firmly in mind. A huge, galloping kick rhythm keeps time underneath a surging sea of sound, including a percussive rhythm that sounds stitched together from the sounds of old film projectors and rusty scissors, and a high-pitched synthetic whistle that brings to mind the soundtracks of 1960s Western films. Loose, off-kilter tribal percussion, great little drum fills, and exciting but rapid builds and breakdowns make the entire track feel like a blackened techno take on the tropes and styles of UK funky. Track 11, ‘Soggy Eyes to Winter Light’, is far deeper and more cerebral in comparison. Here Korean producer Hyein, whose background is in film and visual art, presents a tune that is as much a work of sonic art as it is a dancefloor track, a deep-space cosmic transmission that sounds like an encrypted signal being beamed down to an abandoned military base deep in a frozen forest. Hyein’s keen sense for rhythm and groove, however, keeps the piece from feeling too abstract or unapproachable; the beat gives it the feel of cutting-edge 21st century electro, and you can most certainly dance to it.

The eleventh track, ‘Oedolgae (외돌개)’ by Leipzig-based artist Kontinum, pairs a rolling bassline with ethereal cycles of synth and bursts of punctuation – like percussion in a way that makes time feel like it no longer exists. This is a very subtle track, the kind of tune that you might need to listen to a few times before it ‘clicks’. Track 13 – ‘Magma’ by Massa – also makes use of a rolling kick-bass rhythm, as well as chasms of dub techno reverb through which squelches of synth appear like veins in the skin of something floating in a vat. Psychedelic scraps of sound begin to crawl and slither out of the murk, appearing and disintegrating faster than a heartbeat.

 

Its at this point that Oslated begins to really bring out the big guns. Track 14 comes courtesy of Volnost boss and longtime Korean techno scene veteran Comarobot. The track’s title – ‘Baengnokdam (백록담)’ – is taken from the name of a massive crater lake situated at the top of Jeju’s Mount Halla, and there is something strangely romantic about it (an odd term to apply to a techno banger, I know). The gusts of synthetic reverb bring to mind windswept mountaintops, while something that is more than just a rhythm, but less than a melody, drives the tune forward, together with the rich, mournful tones of what sounds to me like an electric organ. The drop, when it happens, is definitely the most dramatic moment on the compilation. Comarobot displays a more “classical” approach to techno than any of the other artists on Jeju, but his music is definitely not any weaker for it. The next track, ‘Geomoreum (금오름)’ comes from another Seoul techno stalwart, SCOPÁVIK mastermind Scøpe. Here synthesizer growls and groans almost drown each other out over the stumbling, shuffling rumble of the kick drums, while the rest of the percussion sounds as if it is being twisted and deformed into razor-sharp ribbons of sculpted static. Each time the track seems to settle into the groove, it breaks apart again in a brief but violent moment of cacophony, constantly surprising the listener. This is another tune that I really want to hear on a bigger sound system – I feel like in a club or rave setting it would be absolutely massive.

The final two tracks are less frenetic and intense, slowly winding down from the fever pitch of the compilation’s second half. ‘Sarang (사랑)’ by Swedish artist Skóll  is named after the Korean word for ‘love’, and the rolling bassline, deep, hypnotic pads and liquid sound effects all combine to create a trancey, tranquil atmosphere. The compilation closer comes courtesy of collaboration between Swiss artists Ben Kaczor and Morphing Territories. It’s called ‘Halla (할라)’, after Halla Mountain, the active volcano that is the highest mountain in Korean territory, and that historically has a great deal of spiritual significance in Korean mythology, seen as the home of the gods and spirits in a way somewhat analogous to the role played by Mount Olympus in Greek mythology. The track starts out as a piece of shadowy bleep techno in the vein of Sleeparchive, but the initial sense of menace or darkness begins to gradually crumble with the introduction of deep, digital whalesong chords and jaunty syncopated techno rhythms that sound as if they’re being played on an ancient typewriter. It’s a good end to a good compilation, finishing the intense marathon of techno that went before it on a more calm and meditative note.

Jeju 濟州 is an excellent addition to Oslated’s catalogue, working both as a wide-ranging collection of various talented artists and on another level as a “concept album” representing the mystery and grandeur of Jeju album itself. Several of the tracks on offer here – most notably ‘Soggy Eyes to Winter Light’ and ‘Geumoreum (금오름)’, are arguably some of the high points not only of the compilation album, but of Oslated in general, standing out as some of the strongest individual pieces of music the label has yet to release. It’s not perfect, however. The sequencing of tracks is sometimes unintuitive or jarring, breaking the flow of the compilation. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be too concerned by this, as generally speaking compilations are not necessarily intended to be listened to the way that albums are, and the flow and sequencing of tracks is of lesser importance, but in the case of Jeju 濟州 I think such criticisms are warranted, as as I’ve mentioned above it seems to be intended to work as both a compilation and a concept album of sorts. Another issue I have with it is that it’s a bit too long, clocking in at 17 tracks. Certain tracks, while not bad by any means, are definitely noticeably weaker than the rest, and the compilation would have been stronger had Oslon been a bit more judicious with his editing and left them on the cutting room floor. Still, these are fairly minor quibbles, and at the end of the day I can still see myself giving Jeju 濟州 a lot of love in the months to come.

Jeju 濟州  is available for purchase over on Oslated’s Bandcamp

DATE: 27/10/2018
VENUE: vurt.
ENTRANCE FEE: ₩20 000

Note: I ended getting to vurt. later than I would have liked for this party, so unfortunately I missed Suna’s opening set. 

One of the strange things about niche genres of music is how they seem to be constantly fragmenting and sub-dividing into ever more narrow niches. This happens across the musical spectrum – from black metal to acid house, industrial techno to neo-folk – but it seems especially prevalent in the vast and varied world of underground dance music. It seems like every other week a new sub-genre of one kind or another has emerged from the murk of the internet, the result of more and more artists trying to hone in and imitate a particular kind of sound. One of the reasons this compartmentalization of musical forms seems so prevalent of dance music has to do, of course, with the role played by DJs in driving the artistic development of club sounds. Your average DJ, looking to create seamless and continuous sets and mixes, has a need for tracks that resemble each other in some way or another, and so we end up with producers who, consciously or unconsciously, work within certain musical parameters in order to fill this need. This is a double-edged sword; on the one hand, the laser-like focus on particular styles and trends means that for every sub-genre of, say, techno music, there is an almost infinite supply of masterfully produced tracks that blend well with each other within the same set. On the other hand, it can be easy for producers and DJs to allow themselves to be stifled and constrained by the narrow boundaries of their chosen genres, killing creativity and resulting in a bland and monotonous musical landscape. The best artists, of course, are able to tread the fine line between the two, managing to work within the confines of a given genre while still remaining fresh, original and exciting.

What holds true for producers and DJs also holds true for the clubs in which they perform. There seems to be a greater and greater pressure placed on clubs and venues these days to specialise in their sounds, to narrow their musical palettes to one or two styles within a particular genre in order to appeal to the tastes of their target audiences and to differentiate themselves from their competition. vurt. is a successful example of this approach; the small but highly respected Hapjeong basement venue has staked out a claim for itself as the premiere venue in Seoul for techno music of a dark, mysterious and cerebral variety, it’s residents and guests spinning tracks that are more hypnotic and entrancing than they are abrasive or aggressive. The challenge then, for both the DJs who play there and for vurt. as a whole, is to find ways to ensure that the music played each night fits in with this unified core vision of what the club is all about, without becoming overly predictable or boring.

If anyone is up to this challenge, it is Tokyo’s DJ Yazi. He has a rich and storied musical history; he first burst onto the Japanese music scene in the mid-1990s, as part of the experimental hip hop collective Think Tank, with whom he co-founded Black Smoker Records, an abstract hip hop label whose eclectic nature is perhaps best exemplified by the fact that they have released records from both Ras G and Merzbow. In addition, he also performs as one half of live electronica act Twin Peaks together with Future Terror‘s Haruka, and in recent years he has begun to turn his attention to techno, launching a regular techno/industrial night at Contact alongside Takaaki Itoh (of Mord fame).

His set at vurt. this past Saturday night was a good example of how in the right hands it is possible to sound incredibly techno while not actually playing all that much “straight” techno. Had I heard them in isolation, I probably would have classified a lot of the tunes he played that night as electro, or IDM; dry, mechanical 808 percussion thumping and clattering in strange and unpredictable patterns, waves of subaquatic bass, and strange tapestries of digital texture sliced through the smoke-laden air inside vurt., very different from the heads-down techno I had been expecting. However, even though a lot of DJ Yazi’s selections were not “techno” in the typical sense (no 4/4 kick drum boom, sixteenth-note high-hats, industrial clangs ghostly atmospherics or any other such tricks of the trade), they nonetheless still felt like they fit in with the vurt. aesthetic; partly because the sonic palette, the textures and details in the tracks he played were still fairly downcast and dystopian in nature, and partly because DJ Yazi did an excellent job of weaving his more unusual tunes in and among a selection of more purist techno tracks; he would get the audience grooving for a while with some good, but fairly straightforward rolling dark techno before subtly blending it with off-kilter, dubbed-out left-of-field electronica. It was a high-risk, high-reward approach, the kind of thing that would have sounded incoherent in the hands of an inexperienced DJ and absolutely killed the momentum on the dancefloor, but DJ Yazi pulled it off and by the end of his set I was left with a fresh appreciation of just how far it is possible to bend the boundaries of a techno set.

Fittingly, DJ Yazi was followed by another genre bender, local DJ and frequent occupant of the vurt. DJ booth Siot. If DJ Yazi was channeling the sound and spirit of Drexciya for much of his set, then Siot was tapping deep into the UK’s hardcore continuum. His set of high-tempo, breakbeat-infused experimental techno reminded me on more than one occasion of drum and bass and jungle, and put me in mind of the recent production work of London’s Forest Drive West, who blends techno with jungle and bass music to earth shattering effect.

I began this review by ruminating on the narrow niche vurt. has carved out for itself as a purveyor of a certain style of dark techno; however, as both DJ Yazi and Siot showed on Saturday night, within the apparently narrow confines the club has defined for itself, there is seemingly endless room for experimentation and creativity. If they continue in this fashion – booking acts who are able to conform to the ethos of the venue while still managing to put their own unique spin on it at the same time – then I don’t see the club being in danger growing stale or uninspiring any time soon.

Vurt DJ Yazi Crowd

The crowd and staff left at vurt. at the end of Siot’s set pose for a photograph before heading upstairs and braving the light of day. Picture by Suna. 

I’ve written a couple of times before about how much I’ve come to enjoy Xanexx’s DJ prowess since I arrived in Korea. His sets have never failed to disappoint; his sounds are invariably dark and uncompromising and overflowing with gnarly energy, and he has a knack for challenging his audience and making them really think about the tunes they’re hearing while also making them dance like their lives depended on it. This ear for music and refined sense of rhythm and groove carries over well into his production work, as well, as evinced by the thunderous broken-beat of ‘Resplendent’, his track on this year’s ECI Korea compilation, or in the industrial haze of his remix for Javier Marimon that I wrote about earlier this month. As such, I was very keen to get my hands on his latest release, the Poem of Light EP that recently came out on SCOPÁVIK, the label and podcast expertly managed by Seoul techno veteran Scøpe.

After hearing Xanexx’s ethereal rework of Javier Marimon’s ‘General Noise I’, I half expected him to dabble in more ambient techno for this release; however, all four tracks here seem to be designed with the dancefloor firmly in mind. Title track and EP opener ‘Poem of Light’ kicks off with a deep, rubbery bassline whose innate funkiness is offset by the ghostly inhuman voices and cascade of retro sci-fi effects that Xanexx drapes over it. As the track progresses the snap and sizzle of laser blasts grows ever more rapid and insistent until it is transformed into a jackhammer of synth tones, tunneling into the dark foundation of the bass while the rest of the track’s structural elements begin to glow white-hot. The following track, ‘Superposition’, follows on so suddenly and smoothly from ‘Poem of Light’ that I had to double check to see if the first track wasn’t still playing. Here, ragged, alien noises expand and contract, glistening against the backdrop of a pitch-black kick and bass combo that feels loose, almost jazzlike in its composition. Meanwhile, rapidly revolving cycles of shamanistic synth cut through the carefully constructed soundscape, providing the listener with a kind of rhythmic anchor and imposing a sense of order on the near-chaos around them.

 

 

Track 3, ‘Swaying Lights’, is centered around a staccato sequence of synth notes that feels reminiscent of the early days of Detroit techno. The earthquake pulse of the kick rumbles along below a kaleidoscope formed from glitched-out fragments of sonic architecture. The EP closes off with a remix by German DJ/producer and Mind Express label boss Refracted, who puts his own spin on ‘Swaying Lights’. He chooses to beef things up a bit here, swapping out Xanexx’s nimble, polished 909 kicks for a much rougher and boomier low-end sound that thuds along constrained by a rigid 4/4 grid. Like the original track, Refracted’s remix of ‘Swaying Lights’ relies on repetitive loops of microscopic noise to drive itself forward, but in Refracted’s hands the end result is much more direct, much “trackier”, transforming Xanexx’s tune into a jacking groove that will surely devastate many a dimly-lit dancefloor. DJs will undoubtedly love this one, but to my ears it’s probably the least interesting of the four tracks on the EP, eroding much of the intrigue and depth of the original and losing out on one of Xanexx’s greatest strengths as a producer – his unusual and unpredictable drum programming.

The EP is, unfortunately, marred by a few slight technical mishaps; I think it probably could have done with a bit more time spent in the mixing and mastering stage, as to my ears the higher frequencies on a couple of tracks (most notably ‘Poem of Light’) are mixed a little too loud and harsh, detracting from the work going on in the low-end. I was also a little let down by Refracted’s remix, and feel that he could have done more to preserve the spirit of the original tune and craft a remix that fit better with the flow and feel of the EP. Ultimately, however, these are fairly minor quibbles, and Poem of Light remains a strong collection of tracks, a bold statement of intent from an artist who continues to prove time and time again that he is one of the most important figures within the world of Korean techno today. I’m looking forward to hearing more from him in the near future – and secretly hoping that his next release is album-length.

Poem of Light is available for purchase over on SCOPAVIK’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.