Monday, 23 January 2017

Wiring Your Brain / Prostitutes - Dance Tracksz

Processing Needs, RTomens, 2016

More art over here

I 'speak' to you from an awkward, I am not a Trump supporter (which would presumably be awkward for you and I only assume that because I've yet to meet one whilst everyone I know, on Facebook, which, I admit, is not really knowing a person, hates Trump). No, I am literally in an awkward position, leaning forward slightly over a keyboard that's perched on top of a pile of books because that's the only way it receives the signal in order to work, being wireless. A new one is on its way, the problem having beaten the expert I talked to on the phone at the week-end. Previous wireless problems have lead me to believe that wired is better. I blame that MTV Unplugged music series for starting this craze, although, admittedly, back to basics isn't the way technology usually moves forward and in this case 'basics' means plugged in...which amounts to me preferring electrified originals to Kurt Cobain singing The Man Who Sold The World whilst strumming his acoustic...

...where was I? Yes, technology. The old computer (all wired-in) never failed (or rarely) in it's direct access technology and lasted over ten years. This new one is three months old. Still, the expert on the phone bragged of being able to type from the other side of the room, just to unintentionally rub it in, so perhaps I just have a dud.

Not for the first time, techno failure reminded me of my reliance on this machine. LJ asked me what I used to do without it. She should know, she was there. But we just laughed and recalled my electric typewriter from the pre-PC age. I got more fiction written then...and made a fanzine. These days I've no urge to write fiction. 

Whilst in the store picking up my repaired computer I noticed someone in the Google area wearing virtual reality googles (is that what they're called?). It's not enough to want to almost permanently escape our immediate surroundings by living through a screen whilst at home, on the street or public transport, we might want to actually be there, in the Other Place, any place away from where our physical self happens to be. I doubt that the desire to escape is new; I speak as a long-time daydreamer, especially at school, but technology's seductive role in ensuring that we can escape is worrying. Ironically, someone else's reality is often where we end up via news feeds. We become absorbed in events around the world to the point of marching against them, even though they have no direct bearing on our lives. Because, hey, it's an 'interconnected' world, right?

The future dream of many must be to rid themselves of cumbersome physical devices altogether and be wired in, mentally, to the The Network. No more carrying stuff around. Computer repair centres will become surgeries - book in to get your brain wiring sorted out. I won't live long enough to see it, but if I did, I'd no doubt be one of the few still pining for the old days...when you plugged your brain into the machine...


James A. Donadio (Prostitutes) is so smart he's acting dumb in order to drive me insane with his relentlessly simplistic tub-thumping Techno, especially with vocal repetition as on Ah Yeah and, well, every track - smart-arse - he knows that 'intelligent music' isn't worth a light, not unless you can do it really well; in other words, have some kind of PHD in electroacoustics, which he doesn't. Unless he does and is being really clever. No, no, that's not right - don't applaud dumb music, Robin. Dance Tracksz sounds like the kind of stoopid shit idiots dance to in clubs...except they're not necessarily idiots, just young and full of energy, like I was once, dancing to Hamilton Bohannon which, let's be honest, any older music-lover cradling his Genesis album would have sneered at whilst calling me an 'idiot'...

...if I was still DJ-ing I'd be caning tracks from this album...with only a dash of irony (which isn't easy to detect in a DJ set, unless you're a Guilty Pleasures DJ, who are twats anyway). Take a track such as Prey, which is totally bass-ic, utilising the tiredest old break routines going with a hint of ancient 'acid' - pah! Meanwhile, Rudeboy exploits one brief sample totally and makes Fatboy Slim sound sophisticated. Luv U Bruv mines the rave-retrovisionist school as you guess by the title. Actually, perhaps it's all a retro-revisionist Dumb Dance homage in the vein of recent Jungle/Rave returns rewritten by others. That's probably it. By now you're wondering, if you're a regular reader, what I'm doing wasting my time with an album I don't like because I never do that. Here's the rub, I do like this album. More than that, I love it for it's totally stupid simplicity. OK, Motherfuckers?

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