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- Scene and heard: Electro champeta
Combining trance, house, dubstep and reggaeton, a new wave of electro producers are taking Colombia's coastal sound, champeta, into the future
Champeta, originating in the towns of Colombia's Caribbean coast, is an unfamiliar and exotic prospect to most European audiophiles. Mixing funk and salsa with a liberal helping of African folk styles (imported by slaves, whose descendants now populate the coastal regions) and Caribbean grooves, it's a rich roux that will satisfy those with an appetite for "world" music.The genre first rose to prominence in the 1970s in Cartagena and Barranquilla, before spreading throughout the rest of country, becoming entwined with Colombia's folk traditions and rich soundsystem culture. So it's doubly fascinating, and confounding, to see it mixing with European dance music.
The sumptuously packaged compilation on Soundway Records called Palenque Palenque (named after the town and record label that first brought champeta to prominence) has put the spotlight on the genre more than ever before. But this exchange isn't a one-way street. The new generation of champeta artists are inspired by electronic music from Europe and the UK, evolving their beloved music. Sounds from England and Netherlands now power the rhythms of champeta, combining the cheesy breakdowns and canned euphoria of trance with the transcendent synths of old-school rave.
At Colombia's big outdoor soundsystem parties such as Skorpion Disco Show, which echo the bass culture of Jamaica, DJs including Los Reyes Del Perreo bosh out rampant, high-powered, champeta fusions featuring ultra cheddary trance riffs, cheap drum machines and bargain-bin Casio keyboards.
More polished, though lacking the extreme, raw excitement of Del Perreo, is Bogotá's more established Bomba Estéreo. Fusing champeta and cumbia elements with dub and low-slung house beats, theirs is a tasty stew that references dubstep and reggaeton while carving its own niche.
But the artist moulding the genre into strange new shapes is undoubtedly Qurrambeat. His electro style takes champeta's African-Colombian rhythms and creates weird, skeletal and primitive dance tracks that sound completely new, rather than being particularly champeta in form. (He also does a champeta-dubstep mix of Ghostbusters that has to be heard to be believed.) Elsewhere, US-based Colombians Plastic Caramelo are pioneering a form that they call "glampeta", which sounds like a Colombian MIA.
So far, there have been few forums discussing this emerging, if nebulous, trend, but that looks set to change. Generationbass.com, which regularly focuses on the global bass phenomenon by looking at localised electronic dance scenes over the world, has gleefully pounced on electro champeta, profiling its shadowy, enigmatic producers.
So why have champeta artists and producers started to mix a traditional form of dance with the cheap energy rush of modern electro? It seems that, just as with other styles of dance music, it's simply catching up, utilising cheap technology rather than expensive bands and studios, just as disco became house and reggae became dancehall. Whether it can crossover remains to be seen, but it's definitely another exciting weapon for global-bass DJs Diplo and Sinden to unveil in their dancefloor battle for "world" supremacy.
guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds
Переслать - New music: Summer Camp – Round the Moon
Swooning indie pop from a swooning indie couple ... you've just been chopping onions, right?
Summer Camp, aka real-life couple Jeremy Warmsley and Elizabeth Sankey, make music to swoon to. Forthcoming EP, Young, is full of unrequited love, frustrated lust and the kind of teenage drama that could have soundtracked Heathers or Sixteen Candles. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the video for Round the Moon features clips from A Swedish Love Story, a 70s cult film about two teenagers dealing with first crushes. Musically, it's all undulating keyboard lines, cheap drum beats and lovely vocal harmonies about dancing all night and holding each other tight. Be warned: this video is likely to make you shed a tear. Or at least make you want to buy a totally rad leather jacket.
Young is out on 6 September through Moshi Moshi
guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More FeedsПереслать - Ban this filth! Mike Stock's sexualised songbook
Mike Stock reckons today's pop stars – Lady Gaga and Britney, for example – are nothing but pure smut. Er, maybe he should check out his own back catalogue
Mike Stock has a point. Railing against pop music's sexualisation of children in yesterday's Daily Mail, he said: "The music industry has gone too far. These days you can't watch modern stars – like Britney Spears or Lady Gaga – with a two-year-old." He's right. You can't watch Lady Gaga with a two-year-old. You shouldn't even try, because two-year-olds traditionally don't take kindly to tedious nine-minute bondage-themed music videos set in dystopian hellscapes. They'd probably prefer something like Get Squiggling. They are only two, after all.
Apart from that, Stock's comments are wildly off the mark. Yes, modern pop can be overtly sexual, but Stock's era was even more explicit. In 1991, for example, when Stock Aitken and Waterman were in their prime, the charts were awash with filth. That's when I Touch Myself by the Divinyls – one of the all-time great masturbation songs – was released. Elsewhere there was Extreme's More Than Words – a tender paean to the time when the singer emotionally blackmailed his girlfriend into giving him a blowjob – from an album called Pornograffiti. Madonna moaned through Justify My Love. Salt-N-Pepa released Let's Talk About Sex. Cathy Dennis released Touch Me (All Night Long). Color Me Badd released I Wanna Sex You Up. And that's all from one year I've picked at random.
But let's be fair to Mike Stock. He didn't play a part in any of those songs. In 1991 he was involved in more wholesome fare such as So Proud of You by Paul Varney, Kylie's Word Is Out and, oh, Make This a Special Night by the Cool Nights, which appears to be about how brilliant it is to have it off.
In fact, even a brief scan through Stock's songbook reveals all kinds of sordid grubbiness. One of his earliest songs – called The Upstroke, of all things – by Agents Aren't Aeroplanes sampled orgasmic groans and came in a sleeve with S&M models on the cover, while 1986's Tell Me Tomorrow by Princess is about a girl who wants sex so badly she's willing to do it with someone who doesn't even like her. Then there are songs such as One Thing Leads to Another, I Could Be Persuaded, Let's Get Together Tonite and If It Makes You Feel Good. And let's not forget his involvement with Divine, who pre-empted Lady Gaga by about three decades. However you look at it, Stock is in no place to accuse anyone of sexualising pop.
But he is right about not being able to watch Lady Gaga with two-year-olds. So that's something.
guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More FeedsПереслать - Meet the bands whose /\/ /\ /\/\ € $ are made out of $¥ /\/\ ß 0 \ $
You can't find them on the internet and their names verge on the unpronounceable. But by using symbols in their monikers, many artists are creating a whole new underground scene
Scan the array of recent blog buzz bands and you'd be forgiven for thinking you were in the middle of a migraine. †‡†, Gr†ll Gr†ll, ℑ⊇◊⊆ℜ and GL▲SS †33†H all use dots, dashes and triangles in their names and on their flashy websites. Some of the genres they use might be familiar – they make screwed and twisted music using 90s house, crunk and goth – but the names look just plain weird. Whatever happened to bands called "The" something? On the Drowned in Sound forum, in the thread on "Witch House", users have joked that these bands' names are "liable to break Google" but also that they're part of "the most internet genre ever".
"Having a band name like that makes me totally unsearchable," says Rhode Island artist Λ, explaining that his name is pronounced "arc", "but I like how using symbols means favouring an aesthetic choice over a more practical one. I morph my voice in the music, and wear costumes that make it impossible to see who I am when I play live – and I enjoy the anonymity it affords me."
ℑ⊇◊⊆ℜ (a name so unfathomable we struggled to get it to show up on our system) of drag band the Mater Suspiria Cult agrees, explaining how the symbols in his name give it a deeper meaning and aren't just a fashion statement. "It has the meaning of 'doppelganger' and also 'split personality'," he says. "As you see, some parts of the name are mirrored and some differ."
Yet pop stars showing an interest in symbols isn't anything new. Prince irritated editors by turning himself into that symbol. And you'd have thought the novelty of difficult-to-find names might have worn off with !!!, the Californian dance band who went to great pains to explain that the three exclamation points could be pronounced by repeating any three identical monosyllabic sounds. Chk chk chk was the most common, but they could just as easily be called Pow Pow Pow, Bam Bam Bam or Uh Uh Uh, etc etc etc. This year, MIA famously used a series of dashes in place of letters to create "/\/\/\Y/\". She's since admitted that the name is intended to escape the clutches of internet search engines and the "Wall Street dudes" who think the web is an endless goldrush. In drawing attention to her views on web politics, MIA emphasised to her critics that she had shrunk away from a mainstream audience. Prince's switch, too, defined the strangest and least successful period of his career (unless you're in to space-age blue bodysuits and pelvic jewellery). But when you're as famous as MIA and Prince, difficult titles are unlikely to do too much damage.
Unlike everyday signs, which mean certain things based on conventions and rules, †‡†, Gr†ll Gr†ll et al use symbols to stay hidden. Where the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s had secretive clubs and zines, these artists have locked last.fm pages and GIF-heavy unsearchable sites too. Perhaps they're trying to create a generation gap, where (probably) only the youngest and the most enthusiastic will be bothered to seek them out by reading the right blogs. Comics writer Warren Ellis has already proposed that using symbols is a handy way to create a new underground.
Maybe, if you're looking to make a statement (but not have wild success), symbols do speak louder than words.
guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More FeedsПереслать - New music: Cosmetics – Sleepwalking
Icy synths and detached vocals all a bit too schooled for cool? Then add a jaunty drum clap ...
Vancouver duo Cosmetics, aka Nic and Aja, apparently live and work in a fashion studio, which makes sense as they look effortlessly cool in their publicity images. You won't find them posing in front of a wall – instead it's all overexposed Polaroid pics and moody shots taken in a photobooth.
Though equally stylised, their brand of brittle disco is engrossing and strangely infectious. On Sleepwalking, Nic's vocal delivery is almost comically deadpan, but the musical backdrop is more engaging, with intricate synth lines and a jovial drum clap that makes the whole thing less artfully detached.
The Sleepwalking 7in is available via Captured Tracks and you can also download it for free.
guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More FeedsПереслать - Behind the music: Paying people to listen to your single
A shameless publicity stunt? Of course. But at least it worked. The real question, however, is whether or not this starts a debate about the value of music
It was only a matter of time. First artists gave their music away in exchange for an email address to add to their mailing list. Then they gave away music without getting an email address in return, worried that some people wouldn't want to be on a mailing list. It progressed to online businesses popping up, selling Twitter and Facebook followers. Now unsigned pop duo the Reclusive Barclay Brothers have taken it a step further by paying people to listen to their music.
Well, not all of them. Of those who sign up to their mailing list, 100 – chosen at random – will receive £27. Apparently, they got the idea from reading about payola (£27 is roughly a millionth of what major labels paid out following the 2005 payola scandal in the US).
Their website features the video of their debut single, We Could Be Lonely Together, in which the band explain why they've decided to do this. The initial impression is of a duo so frustrated with trying to get their music heard above millions of other acts that they've resorted to, what some would say, desperate measures. Yet it's not lost on me that they've managed to grab the attention – and publicity – of a journalist.. It almost makes me think the plan could have been orchestrated by some bright young marketing thing at a major label.
But, for the moment, let's put cynicism aside and look at the messages in the video posted by the duo explaining their motivation: "It's certainly not an attempt to further cheapen recorded music." That may be true. They also inform us that they've "irresponsibly" borrowed money from a bank (£25,410, including 16.9% interest over five years) to record, mix and master their music, fund a rehearsal room, pay for a live band and build websites. This stunt alone cost them £4,900 to fund, apparently.
"It's most definitely not a cynical, desperate act to gain publicity …" Really? Actually, the band aren't too sure about this one. In their press release guitarist Sean O'Meara claims the opposite: "It's a cynical publicity stunt that could backfire horribly. Watch this space."
Whatever their motivation, as a publicity stunt it's fair to say that it has already worked pretty well. But beyond promotion, are there any other purposes to this venture? "If giving away our money starts a debate about the cost of producing music compared to the value of the finished product, then that's great," says O'Meara. "The same amount of money spent on adverts would have had minimal impact, so we'd prefer that music buyers had the money instead."
Of course, people receiving the money may not be music buyers – they may not even have listened to the song (there is a mute button on computers, after all). "Strangely enough, many of the people who've stated they hate the idea haven't had any qualms about signing up to get their £27," O'Meara continues. "Good for them, that's the whole point of what we're doing." Now I'm really confused. Is the purpose to somehow expose hypocrisy and greed? If so, it completely contradicts his initial statement, saying they prefer music buyers get the money.
I agree there is a debate to be had when it comes to the value of music, but if that's their aim I think this publicity stunt is sending too many mixed messages. Maybe the added proviso on the site to the "randomly chosen" says it all: "Definitions of random may vary. If we see any celebrity e-mail addresses signed up, we reserve the right to pick them to receive the £27. If they win, they will probably write about it on Twitter." I guess it's not that different from buying Twitter followers after all.
Oh, and the song? Not my cup of tea, but at least I listened to it.
guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More FeedsПереслать - New music: Perfume Genius – Your Drum
Like all his best songs, there's barely anything to this new Perfume Genius track – yet its emotional impact is huge
Mike Hadreas – aka Perfume Genius – is unflinchingly candid. His publicity images show him bare-chested and bruised, the embodiment of a tortured artist. Futhermore, Hadreas's lyrics detail his history of drug use, while early single, Mr Peterson, describes an encounter with a manically depressed teacher who leaps off a building. Unsurprisingly, there are limited LOLZ, but what might seem self-absorbed and melancholic on paper, is a dream-like and strangely haunting experience on record. Following the release of the excellent album Learning two months ago, we're now treated to a brand new song, Your Drum, which unfurls slowly – making you fall under its spell.
guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More FeedsПереслать - Ask the indie professor: Will Kings of Leon's Sex On Fire ever go away?
Bad news, readers. According to the prof we're all doomed to listen to Caleb Followill's godawful sex whine forever …
Dear indie professor, will Peter Bjorn & John's Young Folks and Kings of Leon's Sex On Fire ever disappear from radio playlists and B&Q/DFS/Asda adverts? Or is the earth doomed to endure them for millennia, like slowly decomposing nuclear waste?
When a song is extremely popular it becomes enmeshed with people's memories of a specific time. The music can create a sensory vestige, something akin to a fragrance recalling a specific moment in time. When songs dominate a summer, or even a year, they persist in the popular imagination regardless of critical accolades or disparagements, becoming the de facto soundtrack of the era (see John Hughes soundtracks for every contemporary 1980s-revival film). These songs become DJ staples – they're sure-fire floor-fillers because people know them. It's the same reason why audiences want touring bands to play hits rather than new material – people like the familiar. The same songs are used in adverts so the emotional association of the music is transferred to the product or brand. Eventually, those songs become emblematic of the era, so instead of slowly languishing, the most popular tracks segue into retro club nights and films about the noughties or even flashback DJ sets. It won't be the new clubs that play them, but revival clubs. I can't speak for Peter Bjorn & John or the Ting Tings, but I can tell you that Coldplay's Clocks will never go away.
PS Beatmaster. I won't hear you diss Sex On Fire. Despite not being a Kings of Leon fan (and the critical acumen of pigeons deeming them craptastic), my last boyfriend landed me by saying that song made him think of me.
I'd be interested in knowing about the demographics of this: who listens to [indie] music and some suggestions why they might be drawn to it. Class, race, age, that kind of thing.
I can give you my recorded demographics for indie from the early 90s to 2003 – after that I relied on informal observation (just looking at crowds), although these demographics are pretty consistent to the present. The audience is primarily white with 1-2% ethnic minorities (both US and UK), although this does seem to be on the increase (especially in the UK) with several prominent indie bands featuring members from ethnic minorities (Mystery Jets, the Libertines, Maximo Park, Elbow, TV On the Radio, Vampire Weekend etc).
The gender ratio is 2/3 male and 1/3 female. When those ratios skew in any direction it usually has to do with the artist playing. Rage Against the Machine have a more ethnically diverse crowd. Bands with female members, such as Le Tigre or Sleater Kinney, have higher female participation, while a hyper-masculine band would have an almost entirely male audience. As for age, in the mid 90s, indie was: 45% 15-19-year-olds; 35% 20–24 year-olds; 15% 25–29 years-old and 5% were aged 30 and above. However, as indie continues to appeal, I would say that the over-30s are now more than 5% of the audience.
People tend to gravitate to forms of expression that reflect their culture and beliefs (Anthro 101). Aesthetics – ie what is perceived as beautiful or compelling – is a value judgment and therefore an expression of morals and conventions. There is much hand-wringing and self-flagellation over indie having a primarily white, middle-class audience. Weirdly, the people most upset by this tend to be liberal, educated white people. But I don't hear complaints that Mbuti music is most popular with the Mbuti or that the Japanese disproportionately listen to nagauta. Since one of the fundamental pillars of indie is a protest against the mainstream, is it any surprise that people from a Protestant society find it appealing? People find protest(ism) in other genres as well. For example, hip-hop has a fundamental rejection of authority, which may explain why it also attracts a similar audience. There is more to indie (and hip-hop) than just protest of course. Other indie valuesinclude autonomy, egalitarianism, modesty, pathos and self-expression. This goes some way to describe the principles of the culture that produces it.
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