Monday, July 30, 2007

California boomin'

John Tejada Rides the Wave of L.A.'s Techno Renaissance
By Dennis Romero
Wednesday, July 23, 2008

John Tejada landed in
Los Angeles in the early 1980s at the age of 8. His mother, a Mexican-American opera singer, had left his Austrian father and settled in Panorama City. After a Viennese childhood of piano lessons, touring opera houses with his parents and exposure to the best classical music, the grade-schooler woke up one day in the northeast Valley hoping he wouldn’t get shot on the way to school, hoping that a nerdlike devotion to the sounds of “techno-hop” and true-school electro would keep him under the local gangs’ radar. And so, little John listened on his Walkman as the earth seemed to quake, pop and break-dance to the robotic sounds of the Unknown DJ, Egyptian Lover, Arabian Prince, Afrika Bambaataa and Arthur Baker.

“All these electronic genres came out of these urban environments,” says the techno producer, now 34. “House, techno and drum ’n’ bass all came out of poor environments where people really wanted to express themselves, just like with jazz and blues.”

Today, a new generation has descended on electronic dance music, giving fresh life to a very different kind of electro — a term dubiously bestowed on the likes of Daft Punk, Justice and Simian Mobile Disco. Tejada, sitting in his home studio in Sherman Oaks, chuckles at the nomenclature. “That’s not electro. Slap on something from ’83 — that’s electro. That’s my biggest influence, that early electronic craziness.”

Some of those same nu-electro kids, however, are also digging deeper into the sounds of techno, a close relative of electro that happens to be Tejada’s forte at a fortunate time. There’s been a techno renaissance in L.A., represented by the Droid Behavior crew’s underground parties, promoter Compression’s regular club nights, a techno-heavy booking schedule at Avalon Hollywood on Saturdays, and a new crop of DJs, such as the minimalist trio known as Droog. The city is also plugging into a global wave of boom-tss technology from Detroit (Osborne), Berlin (Ellen Allien), Denmark (Trentemøller), Tijuana (Bostich+Fussible) and even São Paulo (Gui Boratto).

L.A.’s own techno torchbearer is Tejada, who’s been working in the trenches of the Detroit-born genre since the early ’90s, when he enjoyed more success in his native Europe than in L.A. “It was a really lonely ’90s, to get that initial interest in pretty much everywhere else in the globe but home,” he says.

That has changed in the past few years, however, as the city has taken to the “minimal” movement, and Tejada stepped up to feed the need in 2004 with well-received productions, including “Sweat (On the Walls).” Tejada has since deejayed at Avalon and is the resident spinner for Compression’s club nights. Now he’s put an exclamation point on his hometown coronation with a new album that rivals the quality of anything put out on tastemaker techno labels such as Kompakt, Poker Flat or Ghostly International: Where is out this month as the 50th release on Tejada’s own Palette Recordings label.

The album has Tejada in a fully accessible mode, pumping out highly contemporary grooves that bubble, shuffle and boom, seemingly with superclub rooms in mind. Bass is sometimes off the Richter scale (“Feel It”), acidlike synths boil underfoot like Botts’ dots on an open highway (“La Mer”), and throughout the album, there’s a sense of head-bobbing seriousness (“Moogbits”) that would give the Sopranos a chill. If there is an infestation of economic and diplomatic doom in the world, Where rounds it up and stomps on it with glee.

Yet, as brooding as Tejada’s album can feel, it opens up at times, letting in light, chi and gentle keys (“Raindrops”). Where gets downright chart-happy with “Desire,” an icy come-on that builds skyward like an Arab tycoon in Dubai. Vocalist Nicolette, a relative newcomer to electronic dance music, puts it down in jazzy fashion as the track finally kicks in the door with SWAT-like efficiency.

For all its tech-savvy flavor, it’s surprising to learn that Where was made mostly with analog gear, including knob-driven synths and rubbery drum machines out of the Dark Ages. There’s nary a sample, software patch or laptop groove in sight. Tejada took his classical background and musical skills, including drum playing, and built Where from the kicks up. “To me, the album conveys a more simple idea, even though it’s rich in layers,” Tejada says. “In that way, I do feel my music does have that spirit of being influenced by my mother. With this album, I was just trying to have a bigger voice, experimenting with new ideas, trying to be as honest as possible.”

Tejada is 6 feet 1 inch tall, and has wavy dark hair and a cherubic face that can barely contain his teeth. His ideal gig has him twisting some synth knobs and finger-drumming on pads for a few well-behaved friends at an art gallery. Perhaps that’s the future. He and his longtime girlfriend, Green Galactic PR founder Lynn Hasty, have put on experimental electronic events since the mid-’90s. The events were often more wine-sipping than e-dropping. Her cerebral “Twine” laptop-DJ performances at the Knitting Factory were ahead of their time. When you look back, the events seem to reflect artistic innocence. Today’s superclub scene is sometimes repulsive to Tejada. “It seems like the bigger interest is to get high and party,” he says, “and the music comes second.”

Tejada’s red-trim-on-white ranch home is a sanctuary, and his studio inside, while imposing and complex, is old-school to the bone, featuring odd-named gear, such as a Poly-Box filter, Jomox XBase 999 step sequencer and a Vermona synthesizer. It’s all very hands-on and DIY for an age in which software programs such as Ableton Live or Propellerhead Reason can do it all within the confines of a laptop. Overlooking the racks of knobs and massive 10-inch studio monitors is a poster of Kraftwerk’s Computer World, circa 1981. It’s all coming back — techno, electro and a collision of classical sensibilities and ghetto rhythms.

One of the things that’s cool about Where, too, is that it’s an Angeleno homecoming for a genre that has been taken over by overseas producers and DJs. Longtime Tejada collaborator Arian Leviste contributed in the studio. And British transplant Nicolette penned the lyrics to her track. To date, Where is shaping up to be L.A.’s most solid contribution to global techno.

“The goal for me is to always kind of unplug and get back to that original feeling,” Tejada says. “But I wouldn’t mind stepping out of the underground at all.”

Getting “Respect” at the Echoplex

Drum and Bass party is now at Eastside club
By Dennis Romero, Special to the Times
July 3, 2008

Though it has made its name as a sneak-peek critics' venue (Beck and Mars Volta have performed there), the Echoplex in Echo Park is also shaping up as a local epicenter for edgy, left-of-center dance music (M.I.A., Cut Copy, UNKLE).

Case in point: The homegrown Junglist Platoon crew of DJs recently moved their 9-year-old Respect drum-and-bass night to the 'Plex on Thursdays, after the owners of their last home base, a Hollywood lounge, couldn't stand the volume of d-'n'-b's rumble-and-roll. (If you can't stand the beats, stay out of the kitchen.)

At the Echoplex, the hyperkinetic soul of Respect's break-beat arrhythmia gets proper staging, complete with stacks of loudspeakers, a wide-open stage, two-screens of Paleolithic visuals, and enough b-boys to start a break-dance army. The DJs take center stage, flanked by as many as three MCs.

Strangely, as foreign and foreboding as British drum-and-bass may seem, there's something truly Angeleno about this phenomenon. It features rap in the fast lane, hyper-speed hip-hop for the digital generation. MC XYZ, in a camo hoodie and slim jeans, spits, "RESPECT, Respect, respect," fading out like a turntablist as DJ CRS? (pronounced "curious") spins the high-tech soul of Calibre's "Hustlin.' " Later, MC Zezo shouts, "I don't care what they do, I don't care what they say -- I represent the bass from L.A. to the Bay."

There's also something defiant and exclusive about the drum-and-bass community in Los Angeles. While d-'n'-b was a staple at local club nights such as Science at the peak of the genre's popularity in the mid-to-late '90s, when the likes of Goldie first burst on the scene, drum-and-bass faded from the tastemaker limelight by the new millennium. Core fans, however, continued to embrace the scene's darker, angrier elements, and the community went underground and after-hours, keeping the KCRW crowd at bay. The scene seemed to split up into two factions: the "intelligent" denizens into LTJ Bukem's ethereal, semiannual performances, and the weekend underground, where faster, harder, louder was always better.

There's still a sense that their perseverance in the face of challenges by new genres such as dubstep and grime has made d-'n'-b survivors a tight-knit clan, almost reclusive.

Members of the Respect crew -- founded by Hollywood post-production engineer Justin Ford and longtime d-'n'-b DJ Machete -- are trying to change the harder-than-thou image of the drum 'n' bass scene in L.A.

"We're trying to let people know that it's not just b-boys in hoodies," says Respect's resident graphic designer, Gil Mojarro, 35. "We're cleaning the scene up a little bit."

Indeed, the hundred-strong crowd at the Echoplex is infused with a new wave of d-'n'-b fans -- the night is 18-and-older -- and there's an urban, Pacific Rim energy that's not manufactured. Breakers crash into cholos, ghetto geeks with glasses and shaved heads text their friends, cool kids in neon tights find their own awkward body rhythms on the concrete floor. A curious aroma floats in the air while hipsters sip Stella Artois. For sure, it's no gangsta rave.

"You won't find people with glow sticks here," says Respect co-founder Ford, 35. "If people bring them, they'll get clowned."
(Photo by Lawrence K. Ho; copyright Los Angeles Times)

Booka Shade, Avalon Hollywood, July 26

LA Weekly
July 28, 2008 8:13 AM
Text and photos by Dennis Romero

It’s a relatively new medium boxed in by opposing conventions: rocking out versus remaining faithful to the linear, lockstep groove of the modern dance floor. Few – perhaps Kraftwerk, the Chemical Brothers and the first incarnation of Deepsky – have breached the envelope. We’re talking, of course, of live electronic music – an oxymoronic pursuit to some. On Saturday the Berlin nu-tech duo Booka Shade took its live show for a second time to a packed house at Avalon Hollywood, sincerely attempting to put a fresh spin on its two-album catalog that includes its sublime spring release, The Sun & the Neon Light. Did beautiful, cobalt grooves emerge as Arno Kammermeier and Wlater Merziger sweated over two laptops, a digital drum kit and several synthesizers and sequencers? Of course. Who could resist the bittersweet, voice-box serenade of of its latest single, “Charlotte,” or the melancholic break-house of one of its first breakout tracks, “Night Falls”?

And still, Booka Shade struggled to connect with a packed dance floor filled with Armani Exchange-sporting beefcakes and 40-year-old Chinese grandmothers modeling Forever 21 miniskirts and $10,000 Rolexes. Avalon’s Saturday homage to the DJ, “Avaland,” was celebrating its fourth anniversary. To be frank, it was a bacchanalian crowd, riding a nonstop wave of bubbly, tech-house rhythms in the hours before Booka took the stage at 1:20 a.m. The minimalist DJ trio Droog warmed up the floor and fed it a protein rich diet of bubbly bass and piercing percussion. Booka Shade tried to keep up the pace with a mostly sequenced, back-to-back series of beat-matched tracks – DJ-style. And still, it’s hard to absorb the breadth of a brilliant remix such as M.A.N.D.Y. vs. Booka Shade feat. Laurie Anderson’s “Oh Superman” when clubland is listening with its feet but ignoring its other senses. The dance floor is blind, and live electronic acts have been struggling for 30 years to open its eyes.

The black-clad Booka duo pounded on drum pads and shouted at the audience with glee, but it’s clearly tough to rock a crowd of rollers. The audience – slave to the rhythm – was just being human; we all get hypnotized by a heartbeat. Still, it’s hard to blame Booka Shade for this disconnect, especially when it’s tried so diligently to find a place between 20th century stage pop and postmodern e-music. Danish techno sensation Trentemoller has had the same problem – translating the nuances of artistic techno for audiences that want it harder, faster and longer than a porno director.

When I interviewed Kammermeier last year, he was proud to point out that Booka Shade refried and remixed its songs during live shows, so that each appearance was unique – “always with a different arrangement.” Few at Avalon Saturday seemed to notice, and the duo got its biggest reactions from its tried-and-true staples. “Let’s see if you know this one,” Kammermeier announced as the pair kick-started its last track of a one-hour set. It was “In White Rooms” and, on cue, the crowd went a little wild – at least until the DJ came back on.

Many flavors of hip feed the Hard fest

Los Angeles Times
July 17, 2008
By -- Dennis Romero

ON NEW YEAR'S Day of 1993, fans of cutting-edge music could have done worse than hanging out with Gary Richards on his 22nd birthday as he rode a roller coaster high above Knott's Berry Farm. Richards was throwing a party for himself, but more important, he was pulling rave culture and techno music out of illicit warehouses and injecting it into the concert-going mainstream, drawing a crowd 17,000 strong to his K-Rave '93 at the Orange County amusement park.

Of course, the rest is history: Rave grew up, DJs such as Paul Oakenfold went on to score Hollywood movies, and fans of the music would one day be sipping wine at the Hollywood Bowl as Underworld performed.

Some of the gentrified dance music events in town now are downright geezerly, which brings up the questions: Where are all the new kids? And what are they listening to?

Enter a familiar face, Richards, now 37, who says he's as thrilled as ever about new music and the promise of the night. Richards thinks he has tapped into a new generation of dance music fans with his Hard Summer Festival, Saturday's seven-hour party that features a mini-skate park and a wide array of hipster, hip-hop and nu-electro acts. It's an entertainment formula aimed directly at those neon punks in American Apparel.

"I went to Venice Beach recently and I was promoting, passing out fliers," says Richards, owner of Nitrus Records. "I'm just scanning and I see the one kid with the purple hat and white pants, and I go, that's my guy! It's a whole new batch. These are not rave kids. I think we're at the beginning of something that's just getting started."

That something is hard to define, except to say that, at least at the Hard Summer Festival, it includes skater hip-hop (N.E.R.D.); electro-tinged spinners (MSTRKRFT); mischievous electro-rap (Spank Rock, Kid Sister); and eclectic DJs (A-Trak, Steve Aoki). "Younger crowds seem to demand -- and appreciate -- a little bit of everything," says DJ Paul V., host of Saturday night's "Neon Noise" on Indie 103.1 (KDLD-FM). "We're witnessing the zeitgeist of the iPod generation."

"The lines between genres and scenes have been blurred so much," adds veteran concert promoter Phil Blaine of Goldenvoice. "I love it."

The event, part of a series of Hard festivals that includes Halloween and New Year's Eve parties, is expected to be the epicenter of L.A.'s burgeoning neon punk community, where acts such as L.A. Riots, Guns 'N' Bombs, Ima Robot and Casxio are mixing turntables, guitars and synthesizers and making this the nation's capital of cool kids.

Still, it's not all shiny and new. Richards finds himself enlisting friends from the rave era, such as KCRW-FM tastemaker Jason Bentley, who's also on the bill. "If I was some new guy on the scene, I would never be able to do it," Richards says. "I'm able to do this because I laid down all these roots."