There’s a jovial bent to Dave Pezzner’s demeanor. The Seattle producer possesses a rare brand of affability: the ability to translate a light, slap-happy approach into driving tech-house. Pezzner rocketed to underground popularity as one half of Jacob London (along with Bob Hansen), releasing on squid:recordings, Viva Recordings, and a Hydrogenated Funk EP on Carlos DaSilva’s eatHouse label. T-Mobile commissioned them to create music for a commercial following the release of 2003’s Casual Bingo on record label giant Classic, and they have since released a bevy of soulful sonic gems. Dave currently tours the world on his own, and at times, with the aid of Bob and a talking sock monkey.

In anticipation of a recent set at Montréal’s Mutek Festival, Sara Jayne Crow talked to Dave about Thingamagoops, mixtapes, the Taco Time Fanclub, and, of course, the doctored sock monkey.

Flavorwire: So. Let’s start with the sock monkey.

Dave Pezzner: (Laughs)

FW: You have a sock monkey with a microphone in its butt and red eyes that light up when you talk through it. It’s phenomenal. How was it that the sock monkey came to be part of your performances with Bob Hansen as Jacon London?

DP: Well the sock monkey is strictly for the Jacob London shows. The Pezzner show is not quite as elaborate. When Bob and I decided to perform live for the first time at the Decibel Festival [in Seattle] four years ago, we had about eight months to plan for the performance. We started with brainstorming and coming up with ideas as to how we were going to attack this show, and we started looking online at toys and different things we could bring into the performance that weren’t your typical laptop and MIDI controller live setup.

EP: Something to kinda lighten the mood?

DP: Yeah, yeah… yeah. And so we looked at Thingamagoops. We also looked at voice-changing bullhorns that have a trigger you can pull with different settings that make you sound like a robot when you talk through it.

EP: Kind of like a vocoder?

DP: Yeah. So we found one for like fifteen bucks. One day, [music producer] Matt Corwine came over, and we were talking about our live show and using this bullhorn thing, and Matt said, “I can put audio outputs into this if you want.” And we were like, “Yeah, give it to him!” A couple months later, Matt’s like, “Okay! I’m done! Here it is!” He kept the mic intact and wired it into the anus of the sock monkey! And the bullhorn lit up when you talked into it, so Matt wired the monkey so the eyes light up red when you talk into its butt.

EP: That’s quite a gift (laughing). So you used this contraption for your first live performance at Seattle’s Decibel Fest in 2005? And you had your first solo live performance at Decibel last year, as well, right?

DP: Yeah. I didn’t really do anything different for my solo show. I took the Jacob London template and used it… so I owe a lot of what I do to Bob, as well.

EP: What’s the template?

DP: The framework that’s in Ableton Live. We have it set up in eight tracks that are routed to an array of effects via MIDI controllers. It’s a system Bob and I both worked together to come up with for the last three years. For our first Decibel performance, we hadn’t yet perfected our system… it took a lot of live shows to get it to where the template stays the same, and we can just pull music out and put new music in, and it always works. We take eight tracks and insert them into this shell.

EP: What’s your full setup when you play, aside from the software?

DP: Tonight, it’s really stripped down. There is no sock monkey, and no MPC. I’ve got all my songs broken up into eight tracks, two Beringer BCF 2000 MIDI controllers…

EP: Why those?

DP: The faders are the main attraction. There are eight faders, and there’s eight knobs and 16 buttons. They’re all set up in rows like channel strips, like you’d find on a mixer, and those can be set up to work exactly like a mixer. During live shows, I can trigger a kick drum on one channel, or send the kick drum to an array of different effects, or filter it down.

EP: So you’ve been performing with Bob as Jacob London for a long time. And there was a prior incarnation of Jacob London… is that right?

DP: Vitus Dance!

EP: Yeah! Where did the name come from?

DP: The name St. Vitus Dance is a disease that attacks the nervous system and makes people twitch out. I think we actually looked pretty long and hard to come up with that name. Bob and I met each other in junior high. We’ve been friends since we were 12. In high school, we wanted to start a band. I used to go to his house after school, and we’d mess around with music… We were getting really into this rave sound that was starting to come up: Eon and Church of Ecstasy and all that shit. We’d try to mimic that using his gear… So we’d get the demo done, and I would bring it to my friends over at Taco Time, where I was working, and ask them what they thought. They were like, “It sounds so good!” and I was like, “This is my band!”

EP: How did you go from the Taco Time Fanclub to releasing records?

DP: Well, after high school, we upgraded our equipment a bit. In 1998, Carlos da Silva, who had a record store in Seattle and a label called Eat House, wanted to release a track. The label funding his label gave us a contract which basically said that they were going to own our name, likeness, and everything related to Vitus Dance. We didn’t want them to own our name… it was our first record! We decided that just for that record, we’d change our name, and see how it went. We brainstormed for awhile, and settled on the name Jacob London, who is a music attorney in Seattle. We figured that was a name that was untouchable. We figured, “It’s a music attorney’s name! You can’t own that!”

EP: Did you ever meet the attorney Jacob London?

DP: He’s my lawyer! He is! He helped me negotiate my deal with Freerange (laughing).

EP: What did he say the first time he heard of the name?

DP: He said, “How can Jacob London turn down Jacob London?” (Laughing)

EP: Awesome! So what year did you meet up with Jon Lemmon and release the albums on Viva Recordings?

DP: We started working with Viva in 2000. Jon brought us on to A & R a sister label which we called squid:records that had a bit more of a left field direction from what Viva was doing. The idea was that we would make Jacob London tracks, and then bring on other artists for mixes. Our first album was called Jacob London vs. Jacob London. They were tracks I created by myself, and Bob created by himself, and then we remixed one another. We also had great remixers like Tony Senghore and Random Factor. After Viva stopped releasing music we found a new home with Classic, which is Derrick Carter and Luke Solomon’s label.

EP: How did you come to collaborate with Classic?

DP: Just like anybody else. I sent them a demo via mail with a very heartfelt, handwritten letter telling them how much I loved their label. It was very humble. They sat on them for a few months. I figured, “Just another unanswered demo.” And then out of the blue, I get an email from Luke Solomon. At that time, I didn’t even know who Luke Solomon was. The email said, “Tracks rock. Waiting to hear from DC.” And that’s all it said! I was like, “Who are you?” (Laughing)

EP: What are you working on now?

DP: I quit my day job as a receptionist a year and a half ago with the intention of moving on to the music business, doing whatever I could to earn a living in music. My first efforts were through composing music for ads and games. But the work was pretty hard to come by so I started making house tracks, and began sending my demos to Jamie “Jimpster” [at Freerange], and he signed those tracks pretty much immediately. After my wedding last summer I was pretty hard up for cash and decided to reach out to Om Records and Freerange for remix work. I picked up a few spec projects, delivered them as fast as I could, and they’ve bought every one of them. It pulled me right up out of this little debt situation that I had. Ever since then, I just haven’t stopped. Music is my career now.

EP: What else?

DP: In early June, Om is releasing an EP called The Pezzner Mixes, which is a release of other people’s tracks that I remixed. I have an EP coming out on a London label called Urbantorque called Logan that has a little bit of a synth-y, progressive vibe to it. It’s a little different from what people are used to hearing from me but still deep and hypnotic. I’ve been doing a lot of remix work, and I’ll also be working on my full-length this summer.

Mutek 2009 marked the electronic-orientated new media and music festival’s tenth consecutive year with too many multi-sensory delights for brain synapses to process in quick succession. Highlights included performances by Nortec Collective’s Bostitch and Fussible, GAS (Wolfgang Voigt, founder of Kompakt), Moderat (a collaboration between Modeselektor and Apparat, founder of Shitkatapult), The Orb’s Thomas Fehlmann, and a host of others.

While it can all be a bit overwhelming, turning even the most hardcore clubber into an over-stimulated and joyful zombie, Flavorpill’s Sara Jayne Crow was there in force, cataloging every blip, break, and minimal backbeat. After the jump, her observations and a series of PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS from the festival.

CLICK HERE TO VIEW THE MUTEK 2009 PHOTOSET ON FLAVORWIRE>>

Robert Henke (Monolake) and Christopher Bauder
The illustrious Robert Henke (Monolake) joined Christopher Bauder for “ATOM,” an installation of “compositions played on a matrix of 64 illuminated helium balloons.” Although conceptually divine, the performance was a bit underwhelming for those who had seen Henke’s Mutek performances in past years — especially 2003’s unreal Narod Niki nine-man clusterfunk with Ricardo Villalobos, Ritchie Hawtin, Dimbiman, Akufen, Dandy Jack, Daniel Bell, Cabanne and Luciano. In 2005’s “Studies for Thunder,” Henke replicated thunder through digitalia sequenced in a realtime, multi-channel framework, creating a cyclone of sound so storm-ish that the aural sensation sprung a nearly tactile phantom plop of raindrops.

Thomas Fehlmann
The Orb’s Thomas Fehlmann is still doing it after four decades of twiddling knobs and arranging chords. He sauntered onstage at Piknic èlectronik — an epic event situated on the Île Notre Dame with Montreal’s skyline as backdrop — wearing, appropriately, a blue gingham baseball cap that created the jolly appearance of a picnic on his head. Fehlmann electrified, mastering his characteristic slow, rollicking builds, voluminous arrangements, Orblivion-esque capers and space-age potluck shenanigans while doing the occasional hula dance.

Ryoji Ikeda and Carsten Nicolai
As Cyclo, for the Mutek A\VISIONS audio/visual series, Raster-Noton luminaries Ryoji Ikeda and Carsten Nicolai delivered with their usual attention to detail. The duo sampled and interwove strains of feedback together as found sound with corresponding sonic waves morphing on the screen behind them in stark black and white contrast. The performance began with controlled frenetecism and found resolution in gradual percolation of basslines anchoring the mire.

dOP
French “Cabaret house” trio dOP slid into a prime (if a wee bit early) time slot at the gorgeous Métropolis venue. The staging-staggered white placards foregrounding LED lights cascading from the ceiling and rising from the floor set an appropos surrounding for the glitzy trinity of Jonathan Illel, Clement Zemtsov and Damien Vandesande. In appearance, they’re kind of like ’80s technicolor meets the “scene” bars of The Bastille. Sunglasses as accessories (we’re talking form over function, as the club was dark) were plentiful. One of the fellows had a scarf wrapped around his forehead and knotted off to the side into a dramatic sash which yo-yo’d, nearly falling into his laptop keys and getting tossed over his shoulder as he swigged Absolut vodka out of the bottle. The singer wore a T-Shirt in this grass green color proclaiming in big white block letters, “WAIT IT GETS BIGGER,” which he eventually stripped off before inviting girls onstage. The two fellows navigating the laptops sort of sashayed the crowd into a frenzy, building their set with layered arrangements, staggered percussion, and off-kilter measures.

Ricardo Villalobos and Zip (Thomas ‘Dimbiman’ Franzmann)
Ricardo Villalobos and Zip (aka Thomas Franzmann, alter-ego Dimbiman) paired off at Piknic èlectronik for a slick seven-hour set. I arrived during the final hour of their outdoor performance as the sun set on a blustery, rainy day. Seagulls wheeled around in the wind, their bellies underlit by stadium lights below glowing clouds no longer pregnant with rain. The wind velocity matched the visceral measures of the spacious, synth-laden tracks Villalobos dropped. It had been a long, cold day, and only those built for endurance in Gore-Tex and weatherproof garb remained in the park. All present were dancing. I ignored the wind on my bare hands as Villalobos sashayed into an epic finale with a spare pendulum swinging Metronome type track. In a 2009 interview on Mutek’s site, Villalobos says he wants to make a perfect club track, but that’s doing a disservice to his music. His music is all tension, torsion and release; it’s about a spareness of sound, about what his tracks don’t say. It’s about how music unifies, once again.

[PHOTOS BY Matthew Cheetham]

Whatever the allure, for every fan of the MTV-happy “Whip It” there’s another cataloging Devo t-shirts in cellophane wrap organized by concert year and sub-categorized by month and color. Earplug’s Sara Jayne Crow met with Jerry Casale of Devo over the course of several months. The following is the second installment (you can find the first here and below) in a series covering the De-evolution philosophy, Brian Eno’s “Oblique Strategies,” and the “rogue’s gallery” of Devo history.

Earplug: How’s Los Angeles?

Jerry Casale: Everybody’s doing meaningless shit, and they just do it in this endless procession of consumption. It’s like taking a shit. Out here [in LA], it’s just sadistic. The girls are really entitled, aggressive and mean. They’ve turned into the ways guys used to be… callow and womanizing. The girls are laughing at the guys who care about them. It’s just mind-boggling.

EP: Isn’t that just in keeping with the patterns of history, though? The pendulum swings?

JC: Yeah, but none of it’s good.

EP: Has it ever been?

JC: Maybe not. I guess I’ve never seen the volume of bad be so high and up-front, that’s all. I’ve never seen so many stupid people.

EP: De-evolution at work?

JC: Yes. So many stupid people who are kind of proud of being stupid. Shameless. They don’t even feel stupid at all. It’s like how we got to a point in America where you can be put down as a politician if you were able to speak as if you knew more than the crowd you were talking to.

EP: Let’s talk about the beginnings of Devo and philosophy, which was couched in the concept of de-evolution. You have spoken of the band forming as a reaction to the brute military force at the Kent State University antiwar protest in 1970 in an older Vermont Review interview.

JC: Yes. I think I was kind of a hippie until that point. I believed naively that there was justice, that good deeds mattered, and that there really was a democracy enforcing the Constitution, and that bigotry and segregation were aberrations, not the norm. And I was wrong. The evil far outweighs the good, and you would have to be a constant warrior vigilante, day and night, to make a dent in it. One of the things I could do was to have an artistic aesthetic that was a sort of gun in your face, giving some back to ‘em, but in a way that you’re allowed to operate. Because if I’d done what I really felt like doing, I’d be in jail for homicide.

EP: What did you really feel like doing, or who did you really feel should be killed?

JC: Oh, there were so many people that should have died.

EP: Nixon?

JC: Sure, sure absolutely. There were so many, locally and nationally. But it’s like the Medusa. It seems to work when the right wing kills off a visionary leader because somebody trying to give people hope and a sense of direction and lift them up really is important. But there is always another evil guy. There’s an endless supply of those guys. Evil is easy; it’s based on fear and hopelessness. But the opposite isn’t easy. You change history by killing a visionary. The evil goes from the top to the bottom and right down from the largest kind of implications for masses of people on a political level to interpersonal relationships, love and business relationships. I have not been able to put what I know into practice, in terms of me becoming cynical enough to act differently. I always act as if things could turn out well, or as if what you put into something matters.

EP: So what are you working on right now, aside from the new album?

JC: I’m working on a first draft of the early days of Devo movie with Matt Diehl, a writer for Rolling Stone. It’s about Devo in the sad, sad Akron days beginning in 1974. It shows the truth, which is stranger than fiction, where, against all odds, and totally whacked-out, this art band goes from being this hopeless joke everyone laughs.. to synching up with the new wave and punk movements… It goes all the way through to where we get signed and try to start our first tour and get the deal to go on Saturday Night Live. The movie ends there, although there’s a coda or postscript that takes place in 1980 when “Whip It” is a hit, and everyone wants us to write another hit and meet with producers. There’s also a prequel including the killings at Kent State. It’s the probable journey and struggle to success, but the success is a question mark.

EP: How did you choose that particular time period?

JC: Because that’s where the important formation of the whole concept turning into a productive reality took place, against all odds and with a lot of conflict and dark humor, and where all the revolutionary aesthetic that we had got created, including our first 10-minute film, The Truth About De-evolution. You’re seeing this rogue’s gallery of people, the record company executives and New York promoters, and Iggy Pop, David Bowie, Brian Eno, Dean Stockwell, Neil Young and Toni Basil, Richard Branson, Ron Blakely… and it’s insane, how it all works.

EP: How did you treat the Brian Eno part?

JC: Just truthfully. It was pretty strange. Brian Eno and Devo were on two different dimensional planes that kind of intersected, but not really.

EP: Did you talk about the “Oblique Strategies” [Eno's approach to finding a new formula for the Devo sound]?

JC: Oh, yeah.

EP: What did you make of that?

JC: Devo being the smartass intellectuals that we were, we thought the Oblique Strategies were pretty wanky. They were too Zen for us. We thought that precious, pseudo-mystical, elliptical stuff was too groovy. We were into brute, nasty realism and industrial-strength sounds and beats. We didn’t want pretty. Brian was trying to add beauty to our music.

EP: He probably wanted something spontaneous for your sound.

JC: We knew so much what we wanted. What his ideas were usually were antithetical to what we needed to do. The songs we brought into that studio we had played and played and played. We were married to what they were. We were driven by anger.

EP: Yes, and that anger seems to have drove you through three decades. What you were doing thirty years ago is more timely now than it ever has been.

JC: Yeah, but we knew then we were doing something that had nothing to do with trends. We were just trying to perfect what we did, and people made fun of us, saying, “Why the fuck are you doing this? Who wants to hear this, and why are you trying so hard?” It was because we had an idea. And now our music sounds contemporary.

EP: Now people are trying to re-make that punk, retro synth sound Devo mastered.

JC: There was a generation of kids that never heard us and finally found us and got inspired. And they don’t want grunge. They don’t want to hear about some whining bastard’s personal pain. They want something that unifies a group of people, inspires them, and lifts them up. And that is exactly what is new about new wave. That’s exactly what new wave did. When you heard God Save the Queen, and you were me at my age, and you heard The Clash’s London Calling, it was incredible. It made you feel like you could move, like you could go forward. It brought people together, and lifted them up. I think people need that now.

Photo credit: Moishe Brakha

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Rolling Stone stuffs

The narrative of Devo follows a labyrinthine maze through the shattered idealism of the ’60s, the record-label monopolies of the ’70s, and the cocaine-addled New Wave scene of the ’80s. Recently reemerging for present-day collaborations with artists like Adam Freeland and Teddybears, the sometimes famed, sometimes infamous Devo have been busy of late. After completing a 2006 tour clad in the requisite yellow jumpsuits and creating “Watch Us Work It” for a Dell campaign, the band sued McDonald’s for use of its trademarked “flower-pot” or “energy-dome” hats in Happy Meal toys. Now on the cusp of releasing a new album after 19 years of silence, the band will be performing new songs at SXSW’s BMI showcase on March 20 in Austin, Texas.

Earplug’s Sara Jayne Crow met with Jerry Casale — co-founder, vocalist, bass guitarist, and synthesizer maestro of Devo — in his Santa Monica home over the course of several months. The following interview is the first installment in a series covering the long Devo history, De-evolution as a philosophy, the nature of the new album, and the real meaning of “Whip It.”

Earplug: After all this time, you’ve come together to release a new album. But initially you were brought together again to do music for a commercial for Dell, “Watch Us Work It”…

Jerry Casale: Yes, and the commercial got such a huge response. It was popular with listeners, and more importantly, it was popular with record companies. We gave it to Teddybears, and they produced it.

EP: This was during your 2006 tour?

JC: Yeah. I liked Teddybears, and their record had just come out. Paul, the creative director of Mother agency in New York (who hired us to work on the Dell commercial), knows them. He suggested that they do something with the song, and we thought that was fantastic. We loved what they did.

EP: I like that it updated the Devo sound.

JC: It was perfect, because it sounded like Devo, but it didn’t. People were like, “Is that Devo?” And then they were like, “Oh yeah, it’s perfect, it’s Devo.” It kept what people had in mind about what they think Devo should be without literally being self-parody, or something, which is a good fine line. I don’t think anyone would want Devo to come out and not sound like Devo, at this point. They wouldn’t accept that.

EP: How are you grappling with creating something new for the Devo sound while remaining true to the original direction, philosophy, and rawness?

JC: The way we decided to deal with this was to just use the same process we used in the past for writing, and to see what would happen, because it had been so long since we did that.

EP: The process being what?

JC: Everyone contributing ideas, sounds, and musical figures, and only developing the ones that everyone likes. With “Girl U Want,” like so many of our songs, we could tell in the first five seconds that they were recognizable as non-generic. We develop from there. That’s always what I was good at, taking things from different influences. “Whip It” was actually four songs, pieces of tape, and four different time signatures. There was the riff, chorus (a very slow, almost classical piece with no drums), and the bridge was a rock song, and the strange beat was an experiment that the drummer of Captain Beefheart, John French, would hang out with Mark [Mothersbaugh] and jam. A version of that beat that was too jazzy came out of that time. Once we had that beat, I had the idea of taking the other three pieces of music and unifying them. I had these “Whip It” lyrics from my attempt at doing a Thomas Pynchon parody. He did a bunch of parodies in Gravity’s Rainbow, and I liked them so much that I wanted to do one. So for me, “Whip It” was a parody of the whole Horatio Alger “You’re number one, there’s nobody else like you, you can do it” thing.

EP: Cheerleading stuff? Isn’t it ironic, then, that people generally think the song is about sadomasochism? Because, viewed in light of the theory of De-evolution that Devo stands for, the mindset is sort of masochistic.

JC: We like the irony. We knew people would think that. That’s why I made the video I made for the song. I said, “OK, let’s just give ‘em what they want, or what they think they want to see — except we’ll be making fun of Ronald Reagan and Americana. At that time, he was campaigning for the presidency on this whole rancher thing with the cowboy hat, on horseback.

EP: The lone ranger?

JC: Yeah, so we did this sort of “down at the ranch” video, but made it S&M. It was disturbing to everybody because there was a band playing in the corral, and Mark’s whipping this girl’s clothes off while cowboys cheer. It made us laugh, because it’s so horrible.

EP: It’s so demeaning…

JC: To all of us! To everyone.

EP: Yes, it’s an equal opportunity demean-er.

JC: It is, it really is. “Whip it into shape” is so ubiquitous, and cliché. I was trying to use lyrics that were a bunch of clichés if taken out of context, on purpose. Lyrics that are universal, but turn into some other meaning when taken together. “Freedom of Choice” was like that: starting with some slogan. We love slogans and commands, and that’s why we return to that idea. We try not to write about anything typical. One of our new songs is taken from a hunter’s safety vest that reads, “Don’t Shoot, I’m a Man” on the back.

EP: What are some of the lyrics?

JC: I get up every day / It’s a miracle, I’m told / Somehow I live to work / So I hit the road / Squeeze into my hybrid car / Drive as fast as I can / I scan the rooftops, yeah I scan the rooftops / Don’t shoot, I’m a man

EP: How is the mention of a hybrid car relevant to the song?

JC: We were just trying to paint a portrait of a modern, harried man. An emasculated, rat-race man living in a dangerous world full of crazy people and violence. And he has a horrible life, so he wakes up every day to get in his little dinky-ass, wimpy hybrid, and then is afraid for his life as he drives in gridlock to work. He’s begging, “Please, don’t make me prey.” It’s an anti-violence song. Humans feel like they’re being hunted now.

In this day and age, the whole instinctual human need for self-preservation isn’t really relevant. We’re not fending for ourselves out in nature, in the jungle. We lead sheltered, easy lives. Modern violence has less to do with the physical and more to do with day-to-day human interactions. We may not be in the jungle, but we created a new jungle. An urban jungle. And we created an unsustainable environment, and we’re doing our own species in. That’s what the song is about, in a humorous way.

We’re also doing a song called “What We Do,” which is again addressing the fact that human nature being what it is, it’s almost programmed to self-destruct… It’s like not taking two years to die on chemotherapy, or something. You’re spared if you go quickly. But of course we don’t deal with it that way. In the video we’re making for it, a hand is picking from cut-and-paste ad graphics of people and chimps. It picks certain people and chimps, and puts them in a spaceship, and then they get beamed up. It’s a reference to the stupid Scientology mythology. We’re showing these video backgrounds in sync with the music at this year’s South by Southwest.

EP: You’re performing all the new music there?

JC: Three new songs. And also showing people what we used to do before anyone used to do it, which is to play in sync with video. And now, sure, Nine Inch Nails do it, and U2 do it. It used to be almost impossible to do it the way we had to do it with the technology we had back then. Now it’s easier, it’s just expensive.

EP: So how many new songs do you have right now?

JC: We have about ten demos, and we’re working on about five. We have six songs completed and mixed and ready to hand to producers. We’re looking at a fall tour with our new CD. In the meantime, we want to get this music to licensers and producers.

EP: What’s the general feeling of rapport or camaraderie in the group right now? How are you getting along after all these years?

JC: I can only speak for myself. I have the same commitment, excitement, and urgency. I think to a large degree that the two Bobs do, as well. We do have some really good songs now. There’s one called “Fresh” that I like a lot. The lyrics are:

So fresh / I’ll search until I find it / So fresh / I’m closing in behind it / So fresh / Nothing could be better / So fresh / Like I died and went to heaven / So fresh it almost makes me want to cry / So fresh it’s givin’ me a second life / I see a fork in the road / Where it goes I don’t know / I won’t even think twice / I really don’t have a choice

EP: So it’s about… encroachment? Love?

JC: It’s about anything. It’s about fulfilling your destiny, and chasing new love.

EP: Thermodynamics?

JC: Yeah! What was the old high-school maxim? “When the angle of the dangle is proportionate to the heat of the meat, and the mass of the ass stays constant?” That’s thermodynamics! I love those hillbilly truisms and wisdom. It gets profound when you get older and think about it. High-school kids know everything already.

EP: And then you learn it over and over again, and then forget it, and then you don’t know anything, and that’s the true state of enlightenment.

JC: That’s right. Artists tend not to forget what they knew in high school. That’s what I like about artists. Part of them doesn’t grow up. They don’t get ashamed of those impulses. I don’t like people who do things in a spiritless way. Like with anything, like with sex. If you’re going to bother doing it, try to do a really good job. Concentrate and be there, and try to really be good at what you do.

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The whir of spokes slicing air, crank and shaft rotation, the sprickity-sprock as chain catches teeth, torque coupling — who says bicycles aren’t sexy? For its inaugural release, rough-riding Seattleite Peloton Musique invited producers to use samples of spoke plucks, bicycle-pump valves, brake compression, and hissing sprockets. Artful production shenanigans, chin-scratching time signatures, and Kompakt-like romps abound on selections from heavyweights Markus Nikolai, Lusine, Jeff Samuel, Let’s Go Outside, and Twerk. Misha’s “Knickabocka” is awash in sunshine, with uplifting pads and rhythmic clicks propelling the track forward; Nordic Soul’s “BMX Love Machine” evokes a BMX wet dream with minimal torsion, laser sounds, and polished vocoder lyrics. The bonus CD ventures into experimental work, including a dubbed-out cover by Monsieur Leisure. Ultimately, Peloton’s nod to cycling and community produces a kinetic energy that promises to replenish even the most wary bike believers.

Check the Peloton and Decibel Festival sites for information on the upcoming Peloton Musique Showcase at Seattle’s Decibel Festival this September. This article is published in Earplug.

Sonic love travels in many dimensions—through visceral pathways of the senses, as a uniting force on dance floors everywhere, in movements spanning entire eras to unify—whether souls, states or nations. And as sonic love relates to house music, Marques Wyatt is a seminal force.

A robust musical foundation had been laid for the Santa Monica born and bred impresario from an early age: his jazz-loving father exposed him to the greatest musicians of the genre, the eldest of his three brothers performed in a psychedelic funk band, and his other two brothers seasoned Marques’ musical palate with prolific soul artists of the era such as Earth, Wind and Fire and Stevie Wonder.

Always a music fanatic, Marques had acquired over 2000 records before he ever approached the decks. Much of this collection was assembled during his teenage clubbing days in Los Angeles as he noted record names at the DJ booth while his friends scoured the dance floor for cute girls.

During this era, Marques’ close friend and DJ Tracy Trinh proposed a deal after admiring his vast music collection: if Marques allowed Tracy to use his records for gigs, Tracy would make him mix tapes to play in his car. Marques agreed, and eventually, Tracy showed Marques how to use the equipment. After a relatively short period of time, Tracy invited Marques to DJ with him. Marques recalls, “It was my first gig ever, and I really rocked the crowd. I had never seen a DJ get an ovation, and neither had anyone else present, really.” Post-ovation, Tracy turned to Marques and said, “Man… you have the gift. It’s time to get yourself some decks.”

Following that first gig, doors began to open for Marques as his blooming reputation spread via word of mouth. Marques performed as a mobile DJ throughout Los Angeles while attending college. Rather than pursue a degree in civil engineering, he followed his true passion for music… a passion that drew him to New York. During a trip to the city in 1986, Marques ventured into the legendary World Club. Mesmerized by the rhythmic emanations from the speakers, which happened to be the pitch shifting of one Frankie Knuckles, a magnetic force pulled Marques to the DJ booth, where he spent three hours captivated by Frankie’s deft pairing of disco-derived sounds, raw percussion and gospel vocals. A bond formed between the music lovers, as Marques was inspired by Frankie’s humble and purposeful presence. In years to come, Marques’ keen tastes were further forged in the house fires of New York’s finest: Larry Levan, Tony Humphries, Frankie Knuckles and David Morales.

Following his New York experience, Marques introduced the East Coast sound to his native Los Angeles via legendary under- and aboveground parties, the most renowned of which was “The BBC.” Recalling Osko’s Disco from the cult movie Thank God It’s Friday, Marques chose the historic location as the stomping grounds for the commencement of “The BBC.” Marques artfully blended choice house tracks on the decks amidst the ghosts of Osko’s Disco past.

As the good word continued to spread throughout Los Angeles, the city’s most respected promoters sought out Marques to infuse his East Coast-influenced sound into the LA underground. It wasn’t long before Marques’ schedule overflowed with bookings at various warehouse venues. In effect, Marques was the artery of the new movement’s heartbeat—at the tender age of 21. After legal constraints forced the thriving movement from downtown warehouses to commercial clubs, celebrity hotspot Helena’s scouted Marques to reinvent the club’s musical direction. By coupling mainstream music with house rhythms during his sets, he lured some of the most discriminating socialites to the dance floor. Marques had planted the seeds of underground house music, and a revolution was flourishing.

In the ensuing years, Marques’ prowess as a talented DJ and promoter continued to earn him recognition as one of the most sought-after artists in the genre, domestically and internationally. Marques promoted some of the most legendary house parties in Los Angeles such as “MAC’s Garage,” the first alcohol-free night in the city introducing live house acts such as Cece Rogers, Adeva, Jomanda and Liz Torres, as well as DJ David Morales. He also co-promoted the legendary afterhours “Does Your Mama Know” parties with partner Tony Largo. Another weekly event, “Prague,” helped establish an enduring alliance between the house music movements of the East and West Coasts. For the closing night of “Prague” in 1994, Marques booked Masters at Work’s Little Louie Vega for the first time in the Los Angeles. Following the event, Louie invited Marques to perform at Sound Factory Bar in New York—a pivotal moment in earning Marques the respect of a discerning East Coast house community, along with his performances as one of the few elite West Coast DJs invited to the thriving jazz funk mecca of Giant Step.

Little Louie Vega again proved to be an important figure in Marques’ ascendance to global recognition by featuring him at the infamous “Masters at Work BBQ” during Miami’s Winter Music Conference in 1996. Marques’ stellar five-hour set inspired international bookings by such clubs as London powerhouse Ministry of Sound. Today Louie and Marques remain close, as both musicians are archetypes for unassuming talent in an industry awash with narcissism. Marques said of their relationship, “If I would have to name someone as a mentor, it would have to be Louie Vega. He has given me guidance through priceless advice, always made himself accessible, contributed so much to the house scene in Los Angeles, and most of all, has gifted me with an authentic friendship.”

Returning to the music scene in Los Angeles true to his inner visionary, Marques introduced Los Angeles to acid jazz through “Brass” with partners Orlando Aguillen and Paul Stewart. The event furthered ventures into uncharted territory by debuting live performances of high profile acts as Brand New Heavies, Jamiroquai, Digable Planets, Galliano and Young Disciples. Residencies at Love, Sound Factory and Release in San Francisco followed as Marques continued playing his own brand of uncompromising, soulfully organic house alongside talents such as Frankie Knuckles, Louie Vega, David Morales and Danny Tenaglia.

Marques’ keen sixth sense for organizing epic parties culminated in his weekly institution, “Deep,” which began in 1998 and continues to thrive today as an internationally esteemed sanctuary for house music lovers. Several of the finest musicians have performed at “Deep,” in addition to the aforementioned: Timmy Regisford of Shelter, David Morales, Ben Watt of Everything but the Girl, Dimitri from Paris, Mark Farina, Miguel Migs, and of course Louie Vega, who plays multiple times per year. Marques uses the vast popularity of the event as a springboard for charity and social awareness via DeepCares, a non-profit division of “Deep” that organizes and sponsors purpose-driven events benefiting different facets of local and global communities.

Marques has also channeled his gifts in the studio, releasing tracks and remixes on revered labels Om Records, Strictly Rhythm, King Street, Nervous and Yoshitoshi. His partnership with Om Records began when founder Chris Smith invited Marques to release a mix. 2000’s Sound Design, Volume 1 was subsequently released to global fanfare and critical acclaim, and the title track of his 2002 Om release, For Those Who Like to Get Down, became a worldwide club anthem. After a necessary hiatus to focus on guiding the “Deep” vessel, Marques has returned to the studio, remixing and creating much-anticipated original material.

Channeling a spiritual depth cultivated through meditation, prayer and yoga practice, Marques continues to spread the gospel of house music as an evangelist of music and “Deep” culture by globe-trotting everywhere from Los Angeles to New York, Shanghai to Barcelona and Tel Aviv to Dubai with the mission to bring musical unity and light to all souls in his pathway.

Read more about Marques Wyatt HERE.

The road wends and weaves through the Naples neighborhood of Long Beach, California as I approach Greyboy’s Edward Killingsworth- designed monument of a home. I pass the obligatory Lexus SUVs, Jaguars and expansively landscaped lawns of this somewhat yuppified, “cancel- the- Friday- afternoon- patient- appointments-‘cause-I-gotta-play-golf” neighborhood. I’m trying to reconcile the vague preconceptions I have of Greyboy / Andreas Stevens—a playboy of sorts, a sunshine blonde California good ole boy who probably calls his guy friends ‘braw’ instead of ‘bro’ and happens to make really slick beats between surfing sessions—with a new idea I have of a Greyboy who would live withdrawn from the sluts and the clubs in a relatively quiet California city.

As I find his address, I’m taken aback from the simple extravagance of my surroundings. A perfectly restored Dodge in that pukish ‘70s mustard color foregrounds the utter mid-century modern perfection of his house. A walkway of stone steps dotting a reflecting pool leads to a glass-walled entranceway. The adjacent patio’s furniture lines augment the smooth transitions and blocky yet airy style of the dwelling, which was not surprisingly the recipient of the Grand Prix Award in 1967 (the first award ever to be given for residential design by the American Institute of Architects).

Throughout our interview, my ability to reconcile the Andreas that is presented to me with the one I expected is thoroughly depleted. Which is a good thing—it’s not good to categorize people, or have certain expectations—you’re almost always wrong. But Andreas is an enigma. He’s got a museum quality house with every well-dusted period collectible presented in perfect display; it’s as if he’s house sitting for his grandparents. Then he’s got these rather boyish qualities—checkered navy old skool Vans, a fleet of sterling, pimped-out and rare BMX bikes. And then there’s his anti-babe-magnet qualities—his Myspace profile doesn’t boast the inevitable Cleavage Shot Girls peppering his page with comments like, “You are SO talented I LOVE your EYES you are SOooooooo hot. Cum meet me in LA tonight! XXX!!!!!!” So, he’s got the quiet settled atmosphere of a retired person, but the passion of youth. He’s got taste, right down to his diamond-studded DC Shoes pinky ring. He’s not the type to catalog Maxims and Playboys in his bathroom reading material stash. And he’s most certainly not your usual hip-hop impresario who’s been churning out good beats for nearly a decade and a half.

Andreas’s 1994 breakthrough, Freestylin’, was Ubiquity’s first release. 1994 was a ripe year for hip-hop’s renaissance: Pete Rock, Goodie Mob, Outkast, and even the Beastie Boys were moved. But if anyone had tried to marry hip-hop with avant acid jazz prior to Greyboy, they were nowhere near as successful. Many producers of that era were limited by their inability to see rhythm beyond simple categories—jazz, soul, hip-hop, pop. Greyboy, however, married all of them with polyamorous grace and ease. Freestylin’ remained a relic of that movement, later inspiring DJs like Mark Farina in his popular Mushroom Jazz series.

His next success in Greyboy Allstars drew crowds from all walks—Public Radio bespectacled types, hip-hop low-slung pants types, frat boys, and an overwhelming bevy of dreadlocked hippies. Andreas’s talent had come full circle—he had broken down the categorical pigeonholing of genres that usually drew separate crowds, and everyone from everywhere seemed to like it. From a marketing perspective (which is a wholly ironic viewpoint for hip-hop), this ability to appeal to a broad audience versus hip-hop’s usual “sector market appeal” did him well. Andreas went on to surf the first MTV-fueled hip-hop wave that tsunami-ed the remaining part of the century, doing music for everything from the movies Celtic Pride and Get Shorty to a Kelly Slater video game and Budweiser commercials. His next albums, Mastered the Art and Soul Mosaic, also met with raucous fanfare.

After my interview with Andreas, I debated what to say about him for a long while—I couldn’t reach any firm conclusions on him that would anchor a “slant” for an article. Any conclusions, that is, other than these: Greyboy is full of polarities, a truly rare breed, and he’s Mastered the Art. So I’ll let him speak for himself.

I can’t get over your house, and these furnishings. You’re pretty into design, right? Someone told me that you had a store selling furniture at some point?

I had an unofficial sort of business on the side where I dealt art and furniture from this specific period, museum-quality things to private collectors. I have a friend who owns [California Living] gallery in LA, and I sell things there and at some auction houses in the United States. It’s a really cool gallery that only sells stuff specifically from mid-’50s to very early ’60s, like ’55 to ’62. I furnish my house with everything from that span of time.

So what do you do to find this stuff… dumpster dive, go to thrift stores?

No. The stuff we’re talking about here is really scarce, so usually you’d find stuff from an original estate or collector. It has to do with how long you’ve been in the game, and how many connections you have. All this stuff’s on the expensive side, and you have to have enough money to buy it in the first place. It’s just another interest, like architecture—it’s all sort of the same art. [Retrieves laboriously compiled thick black binder stuffed with page-protected photographs, certificates, and articles]. Here’s some information about this house. These are articles and things beginning from when the house was finished in ’57. That will give you an idea of the scope…. I bought it from this drunk woman who was the fourth owner. After I came back four times, she decided to sell the house to me. I wanted to preserve the house exactly the way it was when it was finished, even down to the furnishings. In older pictures, you’ll see that some of these furnishings were part of the original interior, but they weren’t here when I got the house.

You’ve gone and searched out all the original house furnishings?

Yeah, that stovetop control set wasn’t here [gesturing toward kitchen]. I did a lot of searching on eBay, sometimes Craigslist, sometimes other places. It took me 13 months of searching every day to find that stovetop set.

You’re pretty devoted.

Totally. For me, if I was going to restore the house, it only made sense to really do it all the way.

Go for it, huh?

I guess it was sorta personal… you know, somewhat selfish, too. I wanted to live in this house I dreamed about.

Let’s talk about music stuff. Soul Mosaic is pretty groovy, but it’s a real departure from Mastered the Art, which is flow-y and melodic. Soul Mosaic is angry.

Yeah. My albums are sort of a product of where I’m at, at the time.

You been angry lately?

Yeah… you know, yeah. Totally [laughs]. I wasn’t really angry when that record came out; I was more moody at the time. I was finishing that album while I was doing this, when I first moved to Long Beach and was neck-deep in restoring the house. It was a weird time. I do a lot of collaborating, so the albums are a product of who I collaborate with.

You collaborated with a lot of old jazz guys on Soul Mosaic…

Singers, rappers, musicians… it just depends. The only common thread with my records is that they’re all going to have that hip-hop influenced sound. The beats are going to always be funky, and there will always be a lot of sampling involved. It will never be that overproduced. I’m working on my new album now, which will probably be released in fall. It’s delayed because I just got out of the studio producing the new Greyboy Allstars album…

Your old band, right? I thought you guys broke up in ’96.

Yeah. It was a really weird, big deal where the band decided to get back together to record another album. There was a lot of strife in the band… just people being stupid and thinking that they were the reason the band was cool, and having resentment towards me. The band dissolved and everyone went their separate ways, and then it came full circle, to the point that all the guys in the band were like, “We’re sorry we messed everything up.”

Sometimes success can mess with people’s heads. I know Greyboy Allstars were successful.

Yeah. It’s a really common thing that happens to bands when they get right on the verge of something really, really big happening. It just derails the whole program.

Didn’t you guys have some sort of hippie following?

Yeah, hippies. It was unexplainable. They have a wide appreciation for music. The band is almost all instrumental, and hippies are into instrumental music. I used to do a lot of work doing movie soundtracks for snowboard companies and stuff, and so we’d go to the mountain towns to play these gigs, and a lot of ‘em would be out in those areas. But if you like the music, I don’t really care what you look like. Every once in a while, someone would make a smartass comment about having a hippie following, but to me, it’s like, “Dude, I dare you to make a record that anyone wants to buy.” It’s like a miracle. If anyone actually goes to the store to pay money for anything that I made, that’s a huge deal. You just can’t take that lightly.

Well, there’s so much image in music. People who listen to drum ‘n’ bass dress a certain way and people who listen to hip-hop dress another way. Same goes for Phish lovers. Music that appeals to not only hippies, but also yuppies, is really rare.

Older people loved it. It wasn’t some gimmick that was aimed at some specific generation or age group. There was nothing but good that came out of that. Except when the band broke up, and that sucked. But now we’re doing it again, and everything is working out. And I’m loving being in Long Beach, because LA vanity bums me out. It stands for all the things I don’t like in the music industry. Even if you’re really smart, you can start to lose it if you live there. I get a bad energy from LA. I like nice things too, but that’s all that counts there. I like living away from it all, and I have enough interests for a couple people, so I’m never bored. I usually don’t ever want to leave, to be honest with you.

You used to play out more…?

Well, yeah, but I’m 36. I don’t want to be on the road. I’m not as into being in a nightclub any more. When you’re 26 you’re all about it, and it’s exciting and new.

Later, my friend and LA photographer savant, Marc Goldstein, snaps photos of Andreas on his spine-slatted stairwell as the Westward afternoon light streams in. Marc arbitrarily asks him, “Andreas, if you could live in anyone else’s body for six months, whose would it be?” To which he replies, after long deliberation, “Kinda like, just, me.” I laugh and mock in a self-satisfied tone, “Yeah, I’d just be myself.”

He says, “I have it pretty easy, so… I just like looking at people from the outside. I don’t really want to be anyone else.” I query, “Wouldn’t you want to be a girl? Like Pamela Anderson or something?” He laughs, “No… it’s scary. I have a twin sister…. No, maybe I would want to be a girl sometime, just to check it out.” I say, “Wouldn’t you want to know what it’s like having sex as a girl?” He laughs, “Nooooo… I like just knowing what I know.”

Check Greyboy’s Myspace or the Ubiquity Records site for more on Greyboy.

Layout designed by CRO.

This article originally posted in TheBlacklistMag.com, which is sadly no longer in the cyber-realm.

Of course for the language learner, Internet radio offers a great opportunity to hear a foreign language as it is spoken in the native country. With just a couple of clicks, you can listen to fast-talking DJs from Bulgaria to Zimbabwe.

While listening to Internet radio is a vastly improved way to access distant radio stations, broadcasting via the web has also vastly improved. A musician can stream a live set from his bedroom with software like SAM Broadcaster, a “radio station in a box” available for $200 on Spatial Audio. There is also free software available from Shoutcast, which is highlighted below.

Multilingual Books Favorites

Samurai.fm
Samurai.fm is the self-described “gateway to a new international soundscape…. Featuring the freshest sounds from the international scene as well as the finest home grown talent from Japan, [they] act as a portal for Japan to the rest of the world and the rest of the world to Japan.” What’s more, the site is a veritable smorgasbord of sonic information: there’s a shopping channel, music discussions, event galleries and party reports, artist and label profiles, a news page highlighting great music events throughout the world and live streaming, to boot.

KEXP
Although a Seattle-based radio station, KEXP features programming and streaming that is global in reach. The station was founded in 1972 as KCMU, a grassroots college broadcaster, and was later acquired by Microsoft legend Paul Allen. KEXP was the first in history to offer round-the-clock web streaming. They have since won the Webby Award for Best Radio Website (2004), and continue to pioneer new innovations in web-based streaming. KEXP features a wealth of diverse programming; everything from indie pop and punk to blues and techno are represented. What’s more, all music is available in an accessible, user-friendly interface.

Shoutcast
Shoutcast is a Winamp based directory for streaming audio from around the world. With 14,995 servers and 296,160 listeners as of August 2006, the site is a powerhouse of accessible music.

Tips

For a good Internet radio listening experience, it is best not to run heavy, mission-critical applications while streaming. Listeners should tune in using a player compatible with MP3 audio streaming.

Recommended players

* Windows users should use Winamp
* Mac users should use iTunes
* Linux/X Windows users should use XMMS

Please note that some sites will require you to download software.

This article originally appeared on the Multilingual Books site.

The term “thoroughly” Native American speaks of the original settlers of Seattle, a city named for Duwamish tribe Chief Sealth. The Duwamish, part of the Salish tribe, originally settled the area and prospered from the land’s rich soil and vegetation and the plentiful fishing the surrounding waters provided. The inevitable exploration by settlers looking to establish a seaport on the Sound first took place via two battling fellows, David Denny and Doc Maynard, in 1851. Denny, a well-educated if money-seeking sort, originally staked Alki Point (now the beachy area of West Seattle) for his “territory,” but was soon overwhelmed with the muddy ooze and floods of the Sound and resettled in the area that is now Pioneer Square. Doc Maynard, a humanitarian doctor from Ohio, purchased much of the land around the Sound at the same time. He gave away legions of acres willing businessmen ready to settle the area and open shop, and in turn financed a large part of the city’s boom. Strangely, Denny is credited as the founding father of the city, through misinformed history. Much of history, the adage claims, is written by the winners (whether economic or militaristic), and settlers—Native American tribes and humanitarian sorts such as Maynard are often ignored in American history.

The economy of Seattle has had several fluctuations, but was greatly augmented by the arrival of the railroad 1893. The population of the city in 1880 had been 3533, and grew to about ten times that amount during the following Yukon gold rush. As the largest city in the Northwest, Seattle’s banking and financing industry was aptly positioned for the fortunes made there. Later lumber plundering ensured a continued economic health, along with the shipbuilding industry and the establishment of Boeing’s factory in 1916. Although the company now has regular trade disputes and the rare maligned mechanics, it was a mainstay in the Northwest economy throughout most of the remaining 1900s. Seattle’s part as an aviation metropolis helped garner it the location title for the World’s Fair of 1962, for which the Space Needle was constructed. At that time, the city hoped to foster a forward-looking modernity represented in the UFO, Jetsons-like shape of the Needle. The monument remains, now a somewhat dated-looking symbol of a timeless ideal.

In the 1980s, Microsoft arrived in the area, and developed as the world’s leader in software, albeit monopolistically. The grunge proliferation and later Internet boom created a dreamlike atmosphere in the city. RealNetworks, Amazon, and Adobe populated the Employment Opportunities sections of newspapers with wanted ads. Seattle-based Starbucks replicated itself exponentially on a tidal wave of too-sweet “corporate” coffee to jolt the technologically inclined into their 12-hour workdays. Cranes towered above downtown areas at all times, constructing a seemingly endless set of skyline-fracturing high rises. Charming brick artist lofts that rented for $200 per month were reduced to rubble to make way for condominium complexes selling for $400,000 per unit. Code-writing teenage geeks founded companies that went public on the New York Stock Exchange at $2 per share and skyrocketed to $60 apiece in one month. Information technologists were made millionaires in months from stock options. Some retired at thirty; other aggressively invested folk saw their wealth decimated in the same ratio it grew, were laid off, and remained on Unemployment for years.

While the Internet boom and bust were a manic time of too much wealth and then too much poverty, they did help revolutionize the culture of Seattle. The limitations of the finite world were kept at bay, if only briefly, and allowed dreamers to indulge. The staid American work tradition of “business” attire was cast aside, and three-piece suits were retired in favor of ratty T-shirts and Levis. Tradition was scorned for new invention. It is perhaps for this reason that Seattleites insist on pridefully wearing jeans and Teva sandals with white tube socks to restaurants with $200 prix fixe menus.

Seattle is revolutionary in more ways than simple tradition spurning, if ratty, attire. The city boasts the largest population of educated folk of any American city, and international companies seeded in the fertile brain-soil of the populace have prospered. When viewed in light of other American cities, Seattle’s politics are also revolutionary, as residents are devoted liberals. The democratic vote in King County neared twice the republican vote for the 2004 election. The WTO riots in 2000 garnered press coverage internationally. Finally, Americans opposed to unchecked power were given media coverage, although much of that coverage showed police in riot gear, tear gas, and running protesters. Punk group Anti-Flag wrote in the song “Seattle Was a Riot,” “They tried to pin it on us / But we didn’t show up, with gas and billy clubs / An unarmed mass of thousands, just trying to be heard / But there are no world leaders, that want to hear our words.”

Movements abound in Seattle, it seems. The American music industry was revolutionized by the whole grunge thing as Big Money corporations pushing bloodless rock suddenly had hot garage-bred labels as competition on billboard charts. This is apropos, as grunge was a movement couched in the unorthodox. Labels grew quickly, and satellite industries like music production and CD duplication supported the clamor.

Seattle’s Rich History of Rhythm

Jazz
Seattle’s storied jazz scene began in 1916, and was fostered through the alcohol Prohibition era of the 1920s. The Central District area of the city around Jackson Street proliferated with speakeasies, bootleg liquor, and jazz performers. Musicians Buddy Catlett, Patti Bown, Wyatt Ruther and Jimmy Rowles all got their start in the hotbed of 1940s Seattle. Ray Charles arrived in the mid ‘40s and, at age 16, began working with Quincy Jones, then 14. While the city’s jazz was often surpassed by that of New York’s in the national media, and misrepresented wholly in most of the local media due to prejudice, it remained a sweltering scene for many years.

This is especially remarkable when viewed in light of the political environment at the time, as lawmakers sought to force jazz clubs underground by strict governance. Paul de Barros speaks of this era in Jackson Street After Hours: The Roots of Jazz in Seattle: “As if national Prohibition itself were not enough, the city passed additional ordinances against dancing, imposed taxes on cabarets, and tried to enforce irrational regulation of entertainment of all kinds. Confusing prudence with intolerance, vice with artistic expression, these measures slowed the cultural progress of the region. A residue of that intolerance still exists, in the control exercised by the State Liquor Board over nightclubs.” This intolerance is also strangely replicated in Seattle’s electronic music arena today, as lawmakers have made it difficult for the musically inclined to gather peacefully, lawfully and with required permits.

In any case, jazz remained somewhat unhindered by the lawmakers’ lack of liberty, due to dirty policemen accepting quiet cash “contributions” from club owners. In 1969, when all that came to an end, Seattle grew much quieter. The quiet period was short-lived, however, as rock soon arrived.

Rock
Like jazz, when rock was introduced to Seattle, the conservatives arched their eyebrows. The discerning 1960s parent feared that the chaotic basslines of rock could lead to sex, drugs, and even more rock ‘n’ roll tendencies in their children. Were they right? Perhaps. The particular brand of Seattle garage rock was raw and untempered, with tonal inconsistencies, wild riffs, and staggered drum beats. The Wailers and the controversial “Louie, Louie” saga launched the city’s rock status into the national psyche, and the song plagued fraternity parties in the following decades. Seattle’s The Ventures produced an international hit here, and several local underground artists enjoyed cult status, but remained underground. Jimi Hendrix was one artist who will never remain underground, however, and there’s not much to say about his Seattle-bred rock psychedelia of the 1960s that hasn’t been said.

The underground paradigm of Seattle rock continued on through the post-garage and grunge scenes. Grunge music, as it is known today, got its start in the late ‘80s and continued through the ‘90s, and many Seattle groups became internationally known through a brief but massive worldwide fascination with the dirty rock that shared the same tendency to thick riffs and signature drums with garage rock. Sub Pop, who signed Screaming Trees, Mudhoney, and L7, was known for its gourmet curation. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, and Alice in Chains all hailed from the Jet City (so titled due to Boeing). Jello Biafra, the legendary singer of Dead Kennedys, gave Seattle cred when he organized No WTO Combo’s Live from the Battle in Seattle, giving voice to the aforementioned WTO riot fiasco. Grunge’s message of rebellion against mainstream and corporate culture resounded across a wide audience, though the scene was exhausted quickly. Perhaps it had always been something of an anti-scene, anyway. Some define the end of the era as the death of Kurt Cobain, who committed suicide in 1994, while others claim it ended with the breakup of Soundgarden in 1997.

Other Stuff

Other genres like hip-hop and electronic music have recently enjoyed a burgeoning, if relatively underground, following. Hip-hop artist Sir Mix-Alot hailed from the city, after all. “My Posse’s on Broadway” refers to Broadway Avenue, a main haul in the Capitol Hill former grunge area. The Stuck / Under the Needle record labels have fared well, representing artists like Boom Bap Project produced by Vitamin D, who also worked with Gift of Gab of Blackalicious. Several well-known electronic music producers and bands live here, such as Imputor? king Plastiq Phantom (Darrin Wiener), United States of Electronica, L’Usine, Matt Corwine, (Viva Recordings label owner) Jon Lemmon, Donald Glaude, DJ Dan, Jacob London and Lawnchair Generals. The success of the Decibel Festival, Seattle’s first Northwest electronic music fest, has also catapulted the city into national (if not international) recognition among the laptop-loving set.

This article was written for attendees of the Seattle Red Bull Music Academy in 2005.