I know far, far too many DJs. Hell, I used to be one (way before the echo chamber became the place to lock gossamer-plucked guitars and to lodge high-hats, delayed ’til infinity, I was doing that shit with samples from the coolest song ever, Michael Jackson’s “Scream”. No, really, I was. I was there on the beach in Ibiza when Sasha woke up naked…but that’s a story for another time).
It used to be that everyone’s friend was in some crappy band playing some crappy bar. Now, everyone’s friend has a zip drive full of blog remixes and the assumption that there’s no such thing as “practicing” at deejaying techniques (specifically: mixing and sequencing. Get familiar.). To save you the shame and embarrassment of rocking your haircut all the way to the neighborhood Memorial Day bloc(k) party, only to find that the OTHER guy with the OTHER haircut played the OTHER remix of “Slow Hands”, I got drunk and compiled a bunch of older-school rave-esque (as in, what we were playing at being “rave” in the U.S. in the early 00s, back before some of you were born and when most of you gave a shit about Fugazi) anthems guaranteed to rock a sunny poolside day. I know, I know, this is way more Hacks territory, but he’s too busy posting stuff I’ve never heard of and, in my way-vodka-drizunk-in-the-hizizzizouizouse memorial day state, I just want a last chance to dance to Trance.
Without further ado, your Memorial Day party starts here
Motorcycle: As The Rush Comes
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The catalyst for this whole damn post. Granted, by ‘anthem” and “old-school” we’re talking about the 2004-era club scene, but if you were a part of that there is absolutely no way this song didn’t make you act the MDMA fool. Produced as a vocal, pop-influenced project of the brilliant duo Gabriel and Dresden (who have gone their separate ways because, apparently, they felt they just couldn’t suck without following in the footsteps of folks like Deep Dish or (Trixie’s ex-boyfriend) Sasha and his former live-in housemaid Digweed), “As The Rush Comes” is an overlong, imperfect piece of utter TRANCE-endent bliss.
From a conversation between Hacks, the only Res staff member who can consistently be counted on to beatmatch (it’s a thing you do when DJing, kids…oh, forget it):
shaun bateman: i just loaded a bunch of stuff from my firewire drive, and
shaun bateman: itunes put on as the rush comes
hacks: L.O.L.
shaun bateman: like, the 10 minute version
shaun bateman: it’s blown up about four times now, and it’s only two min in
shaun bateman: that means there’s at least six more to go
hacks: dude, you’ve got at least 8
hacks: it’ll do the fake out blow up twice
And he’s not kidding. This is epic with a capital “E”. Nice how that works, hm?
Avril Lavigne: I’m With You (Leema & Moor remix)
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It blatantly acknowledges that I’m not as hedonistic and nutso as you’d (I’d) like to think, but I heard this the very first time I ever tried acid.
(Yeah, I’m probably not supposed to say shit like that, but both Hacks and Trixie are all “Oh, we want Resonator to be used in our respectable day-to-day lives” and I’m like “but we blogged for 364 days about staying up and listening to the Knife and crying and Greys A-fuckin-natomy, that’s NOT respectable OR day-to-day”, so they can bite my glowsticks. )
Sandra Collins, the 82 year old Grandpa of the Tranceport series of mixes, dropped it, and it was about the only *good* hallucinogen experience I’ve ever, ever had. This mix is pretty, poppy and, if you’ll close your eyes and think about sexy things you’ll almost forget it’s an Avril song. Fortunately, the rave scene has long forgiven flaccid pop its’ trespasses, preferring a pretty much neutered vocalist and some heartstring tugging to stick a helicopter blowup underneath. This is exactly such a choon. If you wanted to finally get Miley Cyrus naked while she’s on ecstasy (this means you, Billy Ray), this would be the song with just enough nostalgia appeal to do it.
Mara-Desanitize
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I really fucking wish Mara had survived the Great Rave Inevitable (aka ever monster-smash or important producer or production team ending up fuck-all poor and temping somewhere in Sheffield), but they didn’t, or so an hour-long Google scouring last night had led me to believe. I fucking loved them. The husband-wife duo of Sarah and Barry Gilbey made dark, goth-inflected dark Progressive House and prog-trance anthems, and inflected a sense of foreboding drama and stabby, ominous pads into everything they touched. This is an early version of “Desanitize” (it became a Garage jam on their only full-length LP, which is now terminally out-of-print), and is certain to creep folks out and send them running from you if played on a hot summer day. It’s beautiful that way.
Have fun. Drink Lots. <3, PLUR, etc.
