Here's a terrific reported piece by the great dance music writer Tony Marcus that I assigned him when I worked at Spin as a senior editor in 1998.
The printed version - published as "Meaty, Beaty, Big and Bouncy" - is slightly different as it went through the typical magazine process of many people poking noses in, last minute excisions for space, etc.
Below, I have corrected one of my own howlers that made it all to the magazine stands. Tony came up with a lovely bit of wordplay - Grand Theft Audio. Unfamiliar with the term Grand Theft Auto at that time (not watched enough crime films I guess) I changed it to, wince, Grand Audio Theft. Doh!
The photos by Jake Curtis were great too - fun to caption - and I wrote up a sidebar of top Big Beat tunes and Big Beat ancestors. All together, one of the highlights of my brief time at Spin (others would be getting Peter Shapiro to explain what a dubplate was to the readership, in a profile of Grooverider, and a wonderfully designed and collectively written celebration of Kraftwerk on the eve of their North American tour. This feature prompted a letter to the magazine that really pleased me, given that the publication was going through a period of excessive snark: "Finally, a piece in Spin written by people who appear to love music". )
IT'S BIG - BUT IT'S NOT CLEVER
Spin, April 1998
by Tony Marcus
You can tell as much about a dance scene from the atmosphere in the club's toilets as on its dancefloors. To walk into the men's
room of the Big Beat Boutique in
"All you fucking men should get out of here and leave the loo to the ladies," snarls an attractive but definitely trashed-out-of-her-box girl. "That's great love," grins the cameraman, "Can you do that again so we can film you?" Meanwhile, the boy next to me at the urinal has got problems: both his hands are occupied holding a cigarette and a bottle of lager. The girl beside him helps out by unzipping his fly. "That's it, darling," he purrs. "Now if you can just roll back my foreskin." He starts to urinate. She giggles. "Thanks," he sighs, "that's lovely."
The Boutique's dancefloor is pretty
unzipped too -a typically unclassifiable
DJ/producer Norman Cook--a/k/a Fatboy Slim-- is
currently the cool
ruler of Big Beat. Pioneered
by The Chemical Brothers, Big Beat's mix'n'blend of hip hop breakbeats, rock riffs and techno noise is blaring out of the radio and gnawing its way into the charts. In its homeland,
Big Beat is being hyped by the
English music press and record industry
as the Next Big Thing after Britpop, while in
Where's Britpop foundations are whiter-than-white Sixties pop, Big Beat's roots are a confused tangle of techno, jungle, punk, funk and heavy metal. Unlike electronica's deliberately faceless underground producers, though, Big Beat artists have embraced Britpop's doctrine of stardom-at-all-costs; they like to play live and love to talk about their drink-and-druggy exploits to the music press. And "the kids" lap it up. Big Beat appeals to ravers, because it's compatible with taking illegal stimulants and dancing like a maniac. But it also appeals to rockers: they can scour the music press for tales of hell-raising mayhem, a la Oasis, and unlike rival new forms of post-rave music like techstep jungle or speed garage, Big Beat doesn't sound avant-garde or alienating or "too black". In fact, it's as familiar as your most dog-eared albums: a pirate-raid on pop history, a Grand Theft Audio that ransacks the most tried-and-tested licks from Lee Perry, Grandmaster Flash, Led Zeppelin and Edwin Starr.
"Today's forward-looking music is about plunder," declares Chemical Brother Ed Simons. The Chemicals' entire career has been a massive extravaganza of piracy, whose booty includes hip hop's block-party breakbeats, jungle's complex rhythm-programming and acid house's hypnotic bass-riffs. Even their first name, The Dust Brothers, was stolen outright from the American production duo behind the Beastie Boys's early records and Beck's Odelay. The Chems' spirit of shameless thievery informs everything about Big Beat, even though Simons and partner Tom Rowlands now distance themselves from their bastard child, preferring to consider themselves "mature" album artists closer in spirit to psychedelic rock.
"My problem with the Big Beat records is that everything's done for the DJ," complains Simons. "It's all huge drops and builds, whereas a good record should groove a bit more."
Simons has
unwittingly put his finger on one of the best
things about Big Beat: the
way its crescendo-crammed tracks
are designed as tools for the DJ, as raw material that the turntabilist can plug into the mania of the
drug-dancefloor interface. These are the
reasons why
Cook is a perfect icon for a sound based around a Frankenstein-like patchworking of dismembered bits of other musics. Back in the mid-Eighties, he was the drummer in indie-janglepop hitmakers The Housemartins. Swerving in a seemingly unlikely dancefloor direction with his next group Beats International, Cook scored a UK Number One with a dubbed-up remake of SOS Band's "Just Be Good To Me," before retreating underground, where he crafted a series of clubland smashes in a plethora of styles and using a number of aliases: Freakpower, Pizzaman, Mighty Dub Katz, and now Fatboy Slim.
"I try to make underground music, but it always comes out as pop," he says. These involuntary crowd-pleasing instincts stem, he says, from his desire to connect with the female side of his audience. "I make music for girls," he admits. Where techno purist boys, he complains, get really hung up on a specific kick-drum or synth sound, "girls just like a good tune. Until recently I lived with three women. When I was working in my studio, if they'd didn't come in and say 'what's this?", I'd always scrap the tune. That's the difference between pop and underground music."
Norman Cook's home--nicknamed House of Love, and decorated
with a collection of Smiley-face
memorabilia from the early
days of
The Skint sound is a hyper-eclectic mash-up of hip hop boombastics and stadium-rock dynamics. "When I DJ, I'll play anything --hip hop, disco, house, drum and bass, " explains Damian Harris, Skint's boss and producer under the name Midfield General. "Big Beat DJ-ing is more like listening to a jukebox, rather than a steady flow of mixing. I used to work in a record store for years, where I learned that there's probably 25% of any genre that's any good. So I play the good bits from everything. The only common denominator is that they've got to have a really big beat."
It sounds open-minded, but some would accuse Big Beat of parasitism--creaming off the the crowd-pleaser elements from different sounds and scenes, but without ever innovating anything for itself. Genres like jungle, house and techno evolve through tunnel-vision focus and needlepoint intricacy. "I have a helluva lot of respect for musical purists," concedes Harris. "It's true that you need that focus for the music to progress. But on the other hand, it's frustrating that anyone involved in that process seems to get blinkered towards other forms of music. "
Blinker-free, Big Beat uses Technics turntables and sampling technology to steal anything that isn't nailed down. In the digital age, where any recorded source can be converted to zeros and ones, this means that everything is fair game. A true Big Beat brigand loots across the spectrum of rap and rave sub-genres, ignoring the class and race boundaries that separate different scenes.
In the early Nineties, British house and techno were shaped to heighten the rush and buzz of Ecstasy. DJ's favoured long, fluidly mixed sets that enhanced the sensurround, cocooning sensations caused by MDMA. Big Beat's jagged eclectism reflects a post-E dance culture. Kids are fuelling their fun with polydrug cocktails that may include any or all of the following --E, amphetamine, cocaine, ketamine, 2CB, pot, booze,acid, psylocibin mushrooms, downers like Temazepam, and so on. Big Beat music similarly jumbles up sounds that were originally associated with specific drugs: marijuana/jungle, MDMA/house, cocaine/garage, amphetamine/hardcore, alcohol/rock.
"I do think
The amyl connection goes back to the birthplace of Big Beat--a now-legendary club called the Heavenly Social, where the Chemical Brothers were resident DJ's. Back in the club's 1994-95 heyday, nobody used the term Big Beat, though. Instead, people talked about "amyl house", a reference to the club's most popular high: the inhalant 'amyl nitrate', whose fumes offer an instant peak akin to Ecstasy but much briefer.
A small Sunday night club in the basement of a Central London pub , the Social was the brainchild of Heavenly, a record label /artist management and PR company famous for its hedonistic punk-meets-rave attitude."We started the Social in August '94," recalls Heavenly's Robin Turner, "because the Chemicals were DJ-ing all these back-rooms in glitzy house clubs. Ed and Tom would be spinning in the back to about 30 of their friends --people who looked like freaks and who wanted to go out and get fucked-up on pills, then wake up the next morning covered in bruises and think 'Oh God, how did I get that? Must've jumped off the speaker stacks!'". Turner decided that somebody had to take The Chemical Brothers backroom scene and turn it into the main event.
Even though the 200-capacity Heavenly Social was tiny compared with other London clubs, it rapidly acquired a high profile. On a typical night -- or so the media mythology runs --you'd find Tricky and Paul Weller propping up the bar with Manchester indie-dance band The Charlatans, and various members of Primal Scream, Oasis and the Stones Roses sharing a drink or three. Alongside these Britpop luminaries were many of Big Beat's future prime movers: Mark Jones and Sarah Francis respectively founders of the currently hot labels Wall of Sound and Bolshi), while Richard Fearless (now in Death In Vegas), Jon Carter (a/k/a Monkey Mafia) and Norman Cook shared the DJ booth with the Chemicals.
Big Beat's ethos of mixing up the styles and listening without prejudice is admirable. But when it comes to mixing up different races and classes, Big Beat looks less impressive than it sounds. Slip inside Sonic Mook Experiment, a new club promoted by longtime London scenester Sean McClusky. The DJ, Barry Ashworth is sliding dancehall ragga into hard-nosed hip hop. In the basement , a crap band think they're the Beastie Boys, a skinny white boy who can't sing trying to chat and flow over tightly programmed breakbeats and sprawling guitar feedback.. Sonic Mook's crowd is wearing the Big Beat uniform: top of the range Nikes, camouflage trousers, pencil skirts, spanking new Levi's, fur-collared parka coats, and fleeces. They dance to hip hop, jungle and dancehall reggae. But the weird, unnerving thing is that the crowd is almost entirely white.
"I can't fucking stand it here," offers a boy in the toilets, in between dabs from a sachet of pink speed, "Everyone's wearing black fashion and moving to black beats but the only black people in the club are the three Ecstasy dealers. It just doesn't feel right."
It's tempting to take Sonic Mook as a symbol of what's wrong with Big Beat --a mainly white, self- consciously cool, media/music industry set turning onto old skool hip hop (Schoolly D, Eric B) ten years after the fact. Racial tourism is a long running syndrome in British pop, going back to the Mods with their passion for black American R&B. But there's another twist to this story: Big Beat is in many ways a replay of another British sound from six years ago -- the multiracial, working class style of rave music known as "hardcore". Like Big Beat, 1991-92 hardcore was made from fast breakbeats, dub bass and zany samples, a hybrid that eventually evolved into jungle. Which makes Big Beat something like jungle's unsophisticated cousin--sharing the latter's hectic breakbeats and heavy bass, but favouring much more simplistic rhythm programming.
"Jungle producers come up with some great production tricks, but as music I just can't get into it," says Norman Cook. "It's all very intelligent. I don't really do intelligent music, I'm more into mindless boogie."
"Mindless boogie" just about sums up Big Beat's undeniable appeal--disco's glitterball cheese fused with Seventies greaseball rock-riffage. As such it recalls an earlier phase of British rave'n'roll: Manchester bands like Happy Monday and Stones Roses, tracks like Primal Scream's "Loaded" and EMF's "Unbelievable". Like the early Nineties indie-dance crossover bands, Big Beat's star DJs and groups--Jon Carter/Monkey Mafia, Derek Dahlarge, Dub Pistols, Death In Vegas-- fill column inches with drug talk and outrageous anecdotes.
Often it seems like Big Beat DJ's and artists are more out-of-it than the kids on the dancefloor. It's chemical excess as a spectator sport, and the opposite of club and rave culture, where DJs know how to tantalise the drugged bodies of their audiences but are usually sober themselves while on the job.
"With Big Beat, it's the other way round, " confirms Norman Cook . "It's the old rock'n'roll thing--you want the stars to be larger than life and more fucked up than you are."
Like rock'n'roll stars, Big Beat DJs get groupies too. Take the Girls Brigade, a gang of female London media-types who frequent the scene. Their exploits--which include sharing LSD with The Headrillaz, attending debauched post-Boutique sessions at Norman Cook's Brighton apartment, and vomiting at the feet of the Chemical Brothers during a Heavenly Social boat party--make the girl-hooligan's behavior in the Prodigy's "Smack My Bitch Up" video look relatively tame.
"From a groupie's point of view, Big Beat is wicked," says Miranda, one Brigade member. "The Big Beat lot are people you can get pissed with, 'cos they like to get really pissed. It's not hard to end up back at a DJ's flat after a club. I've met loads of people who've shagged Jon Carter."
Although its boorish antics seem to cross gender divides, Big Beat has become synonomous with the British phenomenon known as New Lad. Behaviorally equivalent to the fratboy, the lad is working class rather than a college student. A backlash against the Eighties notion of the sensitive, feminized New Man, the New Lad has spawned an entire industry of masculine-and-proud-of-it products and media in the UK. Perhaps the most successful is the huge-selling magazine Loaded-- named after the Primal Scream rave''n'roll anthem "Loaded" and its Roger Corman biker-movie sample "we wanna get loaded and have a good time".
New Lad is also a form of class tourism: middle class English males envying the coarse vitality of their working class counterparts, aping their pleasures in a cartoonish flurry of soccer, porn, lager and kebabs puked up on the pavement in the wee hours of Sunday morning. Happy Mondays's Shaun Ryder and Bez were proto-New Lads; Noel and Liam Gallagher are Superlads. When Noel collaborated with The Chemical Brothers on "Setting Sun", it was the cultural coup of the decade --Britpop's delinquency fused with rave's 'aving it hedonism.
Apres "Setting Sun", the deluge. "You've got groups coming up now like Regular Fries and Campag Veloct," says Heavenly's Robin Turner, "all trying to approximate The Chemicals or The Prodigy, who themselves were dance bands trying to approximate rock bands."
Lo-Fidelity All Stars--Skint Records bright hopefuls for 1998-- typify the new breed. Performing at a series of gigs organised around weekly music paper New Musical Express's Brat Awards, the All Stars combine rave music's sequenced rhythms with live musicianship. Or at least the appearance of live playing: for all the presence of a drummer onstage, most of the audible rhythm comes is programmed. Despite the fact that the euphoric highpoints of their show come from the machine-beats and samples (like the vocal intro from The Breeders's "Cannonball" that's looped on their single "Disco Machine Gun"), the Lo-Fidelity All Stars project themselves as a rock band; the singer emulates Liam Gallagher's surly cool. And the All Stars are received as rock by the audience, who mosh violently as if attending an Offspring gig.
"It's great that indie bands have realised you don't have to be rigidly stuck to the guitar/bass/drums/vocals format, that you don't have to sit there and think it's enough to rewrite the Beatles songbook," says Turner. "If that's what Big Beat has inspired then that's fucking brilliant."
Not everyone agrees. Dance purists think Big Beat is just rock music tarted up with ideas ripped off techno and house. They think Big Beat's shift of emphasis from sonic innovation to rockstar posturing is a regressive move; Jon Carter's forthcoming cover version of Creedence Clearwater would confirm their worst fears. Trad rock fans, for their part, are not placated by these nods to rock's heritage. They dismiss Big Beat as inane party music without songcraft or meaningful lyrics, let alone the redemptive power and resonance of your Verves or Radioheads. And it's true: despite the critical plaudits, Big Beat's long-players lack the widescreen emotional range and depth you expect from a great album. Like dance music, Big Beat reaches its aesthetic peak on the 12 inch single; even a brilliant Big Beat LP like Fatboy Slim's Better Living Through Chemistry is more like a greatest hits collection than an album.
Big Beat could so easily alienate both sides of the pop divide its music rampages across. But at the moment, it seems all-conquering. It uses rock'n'roll's hell-for-leather attitude to show up how so much of today's electronic dance music is po-faced and purist; it deploys club culture's sonic science to make trad guitar bands look terribly dated.
And that science is all about triggering the rush, the quintessential sensation that unites house, techno , hardcore and jungle. The rush is the peak of the drug-DJ-dancefloor interface, a synergy of MDMA, music and sheer adrenalin. Not all club musics service the rush (trip hop and ambient interface better with marijuana's langor, for instance.) But Big Beat rushes--faster even than its ancestor-sources, in fact, its velocity boosted by amyl nitrate's heart-bolting metabolic-acceleration effect.
Norman Cook is king of Big Beat because he knows how to manipulate the rush. His druggernaut remixes of Cornershop's "Brimful of Asha' and Wildchild's "Renegade Master"--two records that united rock papers and dance mags in delirious praise-- aren't deep or meaningful or any of that classic rock crap; nothing exists but strategies for excitement, a collection of climaxes and multiple orgasms.
"The less time I spend on a record, the better it seems to work," grins Cook. "It's about capturing the moment. I don't try and make it too complicated."
From punk to funk, rockabilly to rave, simplicity is what counts, immediacy is all. Big Beat, for all its faults, understands this.
See, the truth is that the greatest secret never told about rave culture was that it was always more rock'n'roll than rock itself. Instead of the rock star living out your wildest dreams for, you were your own private Jagger chemically-hurled across an ocean of delirious peaks and insatiable desires. Commandeering rave's pills and thrills, its rushes and explosions, but packaging those illicit energies inside the appearance of rock form, Big Beat is 1998's number one bullet.
Which leave just one million-dollar question: Are you gonna bite?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
SIX OF THE BIGGEST BIG BEATS EVER
measured by
Simon Reynolds
FATBOY SLIM
"Punk To Funk", from Better Living Through
Chemistry (Skint/Astralwerks)
Of all the Fatboy's classics--"Going Out of My Head", "Everybody Needs A 303", "Song For Lindy", the remix of Wildchild's "Renegade Master"--"Punk To Funk" is Norman Cook's finest moment, by a whisker. For a small eternity, it's just chunky breaks and phat-verging-on-obese bass that wobbles like love handles at a Weight-Watchers disco, then a cheesadelic EZ-listening horn section fades up, huffing and puffing and blowing the roof off the sucker.
THE CHEMICAL BROTHERS
"Loops of Fury", from the Loops of Fury EP (Junior
Boy's Own/Astralwerks)
The Chems at their most crudely rabble-rousing--a black-and-white riot of stuttering beats, convulsive fuzzguitar-riffage and floorquaking electro sub-bass, plus sampled crowd uproar designed to trigger a feedback loop in the audience. Cheesy and proud of it, the Chemical Brothers have yet to meet an old skool rap or classic rave cliche they haven't wanted to steal. But when their collage of potent cliches sounds so electrifying, who cares? Extra back-in-the-day points for the title's twist on Rakim's "Lyrics of Fury".
UBERZONE
"The Brain", from the Space Kadet EP (City of
The best
producer working in "funky
breaks"--
RASMUS
"Afro (Blowing in the Wind)" from the Mass
Hysteria EP (Bolshi)
Old skool rap sliced and diced into locked-groove glossolalia, 78 r.p.m. squeaky voices, scratchadelic mayhem, farty basslines and jittery beats--Rasmus is shaping up as the most boisterous Big Beat provider after Fatboy Slim.
BENTLEY RHYTHM ACE
"Return of the Hardcore
Jumble Carbootechnodisco
Roadshow", from Bentley
Rhythm Ace (Skint/Astralwerks)
BRA may be a bunch of jackanapes, but they've sho'nuff got skillz. This is simply one of the best dancefloor productions of the late Nineties, a jamboree of pilfered elements each of which is there purely to put a grin on your face and a wiggle in your hips. As with Fatboy's "Going Out Of My Head", the killer hook is a frenetic powerchord-riff that draws the dots between 1966 mod's amphetamine-frenzy freakbeats and 1998 Big Beat's pills-and-Pils fueled pandemonium.
MONKEY MAFIA--"Lion In The Hall" (Deconstruction)
Madcap drum-rolls, stereophonic tomfoolery, dancehall reggae chants "timestretched" jungle-style so that the sample seems to crack apart, more percussion than you can shake a stick at--DJ/producer Jon Carter stoops to all manner of audio-stunts and cheap tricks in order to conquer the dancefloor.
BIG BEAT ANCESTORS
JEAN-JACQES PERREY -- "E.V.A" (Vanguard, 1970)
PIERRE HENRY & MICHEL COLOMBIER---"Psyche
Rock", from Messe Pour Le Temps
Present (Philips, 1968)
These two tracks--one by EZ-listening Moog-maniac Jean Jacques Perrey, the other by musique concrete composer Pierre Henry--sound like the music playing in the discotheque scene in every swingin' Sixties movie you ever heard: Booker T & the MG's hopped up on acid-spiked punch, fatback funky shuffle grooves daubed with woogly synth-gurgles and electro-acoustic blips. Non-coincidentally, "E.V.A" and "Psyche Rock" were both remixed by Fatboy Slim last year.
COLDCUT-- "Beats + Pieces" (Ahead Of Our Time,
1987)
Although their current Ninjatune output gets filed as "trip hop", back in '87 Coldcut pioneered the British fad for "DJ records". Taking their cues from the cut-ups of Steinski and Mantronix, Coldcut --alongside similar crews like S'Express, Bomb The Bass, M/A/R/R/S and Renegade Soundwave--used cheap samplers to make breakbeat-and-wacky-soundbite collages. As funky as hip hop but fast-paced enough to be played alongside house's machine beats, these DJ records were Big Beat avant la lettre.
DJ TRAX--"We Rock The Most", from I Man, I DJ EP
(Moving Shadow, 1992)
HYPER-ON EXPERIENCE--"Thunder Grip", from Deaf In
The Family EP (Moving
Shadow, 1993)
Hip hop on
JOSH WINK--"Higher State of Consciousness (Tweekin Acid
Funk Mix)"
(Strictly Rhythm, 1995)
This dreadlocked Philadelphian made the prototypical "funky breaks" track--simple looped breakbeat, screeching "acid builds" (Roland 303 bass-riffs), vocal timestretched to fraying point--and sold half-a-million records worldwide in the process.
.
Grand Theft Auto is a game series, not a film reference, and the first game (which was a commercial success and a tabloid controversy) was released in 1997, making it the clear reference, Grandad!
ReplyDeleteHonestly, a dance music fan in 1998 who didn't own a Playstation? That makes you either a woman or weird.
It's a crime, smart arse. That's where the game name comes from. You get charged with Grand Theft Auto in the States for nicking a motor.
DeleteI am not a woman. I might be weird. (I am weird, but in other ways). Mainly though, I'm just old. Completely missed the whole games thing. Probably played a game a total of a dozen times in my life, and only then because of our kids.
DeleteA few of my contemporaries got into games in the '90s but they seemed like freak outliers - almost like they'd succumbed to a strange addiction, a regressive syndrome. I remember a very good friend who was a total literati, every surface of his house covered in esoteric books, trying to convince me that games were a new artform but I wasn't having it. My bandwidth was already full.
That said, I did love Pong which my granny had for some reason and that is like the prehistoric, primordial origins of the videogame, right?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYy69qOJWoM If you're curious, this is the theme to the first GTA game.
ReplyDeleteI am going to go out on a limb here and say that Monkey Mafia's Shoot The Boss was a genuinely great album.
ReplyDelete