Ever since
I almost entirely missed it (I only really got into techno and rave in
1992-1993), I've been fascinated by the short period of time – at most 1990 to
1994 – where “rave music” seemed able to take over all of popular music, but
somehow just didn't. It's a pet theory of mine that one of the main reasons
that rave never really won – that is, that it never really replaced rock and
pop as the default mainstream music that everyone (and the media) takes for
granted – was its overall failure to work out how to function as album music.
There's certainly many other reasons, the most obvious probably being the
general lack of lyrics/narrative content, making the “content” less
straightforwardly relatable, but this problem was worsened by the lack of a
convincing way to make the relatable content that the music did have, ie. its
palette of emotional fireworks and abstractions, fit the album format. Some
would say that the mistake was to even try, that rave music is simply not album
music, but I don't buy it.
When
rock'n'roll began it certainly didn’t seem like album music either, it was
dance music driven by singular hits, and it needed to come up with a way to
make albums work as albums, a way to piece them together as wholes rather than
just containing a few hits and a lot of fillers. And eventually this got worked
out, the “fillers” evolved from fast attempts to reinvoke the hit formula over
and over, to an open space for trying out a variety of different types of
stuff, without necessarily trying to make hits. Not that it always worked, but
there never really seemed to be a constant question of “how to translate rock
music into album music” - the solution just sort of developed by itself and now
appears to be an intuitive understanding. If you're setting out to make a rock
album, a bunch of songs of different kinds, and it doesn't work, it's not
because you haven't squared the album circle, it's simply because your material
isn't good enough. With rave music – well, with the whole post acid electronic
scene, really – that never got to be the case. It wasn't just a matter of
making good stuff, you also had to make a proper album context for it.
So why
didn't rave music find a way to turn into album music, if it wasn't simply
because it was too ecstatic, too lost-in-the-here-and-now-of-the-dancefloor-experience,
to make sense outside of that context? I think there's several reasons: First
of all, and unlike rock, “electronic dance music” never really lost its
identity as “dance” music – which is why I'm using that rather clunky name for
it, rather than simply calling it “rave” or “techno”, both of which have much
more specific meanings for a lot people. This is something that the older
generation of rock critics embraced wholeheartedly, because it meant that they
could dismiss it as mere faddish functionality – not something you'd really
need to pay attention to, let alone try to understand on a deeper level,
because it didn't have a deeper level, it was just about stupid fun on the
dancefloor and nothing more. And sadly, a lot of rave insiders fully accepted
this traditional, rock derived idea of musical substance (authenticity,
narrative), and took it as a badge of honour that rave didn't contain any of
that. Rather than figuring out how to understand and describe the music on its
own terms, the easy option was to stay in the reservation and just use it as a
defence: Yeah, you old farts don't understand it because you have to experience
it in the context of the dancefloor and the lights and bass and the drugs, to get it – it can't work on its
own, so of course it doesn't sound good at home. As if there wasn't plenty of
people who did listen to it at home, or got it fine without the
drugs'n'dancefloor-context (I'm one of them, and I've got several friends for
whom it worked just as well).
That one of
the most common umbrella terms for everything from deep house to eurodance to
hardcore techno is simply “dance music”, is exactly the problem – suggesting
not just that it's music that can be used for dancing (unlike rock or jazz or
hip hop?), but rather that it's the only use, that listening to it is
pointless. This leads directly to the second reason that rave never fully
managed to turn into album music, namely the split between electronic “dance
music” and electronic “listening music”. The “electronic listening music” was
seen as the obvious way to approach the album market, because albums are, after
all, something you “listen to”. As a result, far too much of this stuff
deliberately avoided everything that had made rave music so great – the brutally
inhuman machine structures, the raw synthetic sounds, the harsh viscerality -
in favour of a polished and pleasing mood music that too often came of
strangely regressive compared to the dancefloor-stuff. I remember that the
whole “ambient”-movement seemed inexplicable and disappointing to me at the
time – not because I didn't like ambient, but exactly because I already knew it
well: Ambient was an old style by the nineties, and it appeared to me such a
ridiculously regressive move to go back to that just when something as
radically new and exciting as rave and techno was happening, I couldn't
understand why anyone from the electronic scene would rather look back just
when electronic music was at its most revolutionary peak ever, let alone how
they could claim that something as safe and well-established as ambient was a
new front line.
Not that
the ambient/”electronic listening music” camp didn't produce some really good
stuff, they certainly delivered their
share of the brilliant and incredibly inventive music that made the first half
of the nineties such a golden age, but there was also a huge amount of it that
sounded as tame and regressive as you'd expect from a movement that used a
return to decades old contemplative mood music as the “mature” and “sophisticated”
response to the not-just-music of the kids. Most of all, though, both parts
suffered from this divide, as it meant that almost everything was forced into
one of the two options, and the synthesis needed to make it work as versatile
album music never really materialized – the “listening” albums all too often
ended up as far too long “mind journeys”, lacking the straightforward buzz and
urgency of rave, while the pure rave albums either became collections of
hits+fillers, trying to repeat a successful formula over a whole album, or
tried to create variation through awful “rave ballads” or annoying guest
vocalists.
The need
for variation was worsened by the third obstacle for rave as album music: That
rave just happened to break through at a time where everybody thought that the
CD had won over vinyl, especially as the album format of the future. Even
though rave and techno probably were the most resilient vinyl strongholds of
the nineties, they still subscribed to the logic of vinyl = singles and CDs = albums.
The consequence was that far too many electronic albums from this time were
simply too long for their own good – the 74 available minutes of the CD became
a standard that you were expected to fill out, whether you had the material or
inspiration for it - there were even
buyers who felt “cheated” if they didn't get their “money’s worth” (apparently
it was of less importance if the music was any good, as long as they got more
of it). As a result of the 74 minutes as the default album length, just making
a collection of straightforward rave tracks became a much more problematic
option.
The
pioneering “album rock” of the sixties had the great advantage that no one
expected it to exceed forty minutes (and even thirty minutes or less was
perfectly acceptable and far from unusual), which meant that even relatively
single-minded rock or pop albums rarely dragged on for too long and became
monotonous. It's hard to imagine that most classic rock albums would have
gained much by being twice as long – even if the hypothetical extra material
was as good as the original stuff, it seems likely that the end result would
eventually become to samey. The sharp and precise format of the classic rock LP
simply meant that even more-or-less one trick ponies could get away with
presenting a handful of slightly different variations of the one trick. In the
CD age that approach became increasingly problematic, and releasing an album
started to be seen more and more as some sort of “project”, something that had
to show ambition, versatility and the ability to envision – as well as fill – a
vast canvas. Which is all in all not the most obvious way to go when doing a
“rave” album.
One
solution to this problem was focusing on EPs for straightforward
rave/techno/hardcore-releases. Rather than having to live up to the
expectations of “the album”, you could simply do 4-6 tracks that were good
enough to stand on their own, yet with sufficient variation and ideas among
them for the record to work as a whole. Effectively hijacking 12” singles and
turning them into the rave scenes equivalent of the “classic”, “handful of
songs” rock album, the early nineties was a golden age for the EP format. As
for actual albums, though – rave albums as well as those with a deliberate
“listening-oriented” ambient/IDM-approach (which also had their troubles with
the 74 minutes) –, the problem was never really solved. Or rather, the best
solutions seemed more to be down to pure “luck” – that is, simply having enough
good and sufficiently varied material to pull of not doing anything but more of the same (i.e.
the same “luck” that made many straightforward rock albums work, except that
much more luck was needed in the CD age) – or some unique visionary twist that would
only work with the specific style and approach of the artist coming up with it
(this was of course more often the case with the IDM-leaning stuff – in the
rave department, very few even remotely succeeded with this trick).
THE BRITISH
SCENE: I've grouped the albums according to the regional scenes, starting with
the British, which perhaps had the largest amount and broadest variety of rave
albums. The breakbeat sound was almost uniquely British (a few continental
producers used it occasionally, but basically as a deliberately added “British
flavour”), and in retrospect, we think of it as being what early British rave
music was, laying the foundation for jungle. But as we'll see, there was a lot
more going on.
The
Prodigy: Experience (1992)
Pretty much
the gold standard of rave albums, this is exactly how it should be done – presuming
you've got the endless supply of explosive energy and inventive ideas that Liam
Howlett had at this point. Despite being pretty much all hyper intense break
beat 'ardcore from start to finish, Experience simply has so much going on,
such an abundance of rhythmic-melodic twists and turns, that it never seems
even remotely samey or single minded. It's only a slight exaggeration to say
that every moment of Experience is a highlight, at the very least there's never
any part of it that come off as uninspired filler material, and it's especially
amazing how the tracks constantly morph and change direction – no part of them
ever get a chance to grow dull or predictable before they're suddenly taken
over by a new, insanely catchy hook leaping out of the speakers, taking the
intensity and excitement to a new level. You'd think that this could become too
much, but the greatest achievement of the album is perhaps that the sheer
originality and freshness of the riffs and the way the tracks are structured,
enables it to keep up that insane level of hyperactivity without ever getting
exhausting or monotonous. There's the one more “experimental” track, “Weather
Experience”, which is perhaps not quite as memorable as the rest, but it still
has enough jittery drive to not feel out of place. And the rest – well, whether
it's stone cold classics like “Hyperspeed”, “Charly”, “Out of Space” and
“Everybody in the Place”, or tracks made especially for the album like
“Jericho”, “Wind it Up” or “Ruff in the Jungle Bizness”, each of them is pretty
much a mini breakbeat masterpiece in its own right, all while forming a whole
that is even greater than the sum of its parts. It's hard to imagine it done
better than this!
Altern8:
Full on - mask hysteria (1992)
Much in the
same vein as Experience, albeit still with some vestiges of Archer and Peats
background in acid house/detroit techno/bleep (of which there were no traces in
Howletts sound), and generally considered the lesser album. Which it is. It's
not so much that it's closer to the hits-and-fillers-formula, it's rather that
neither the hits (quite numerous, actually) nor the fillers are nowhere as good
as The Prodigys hits and fillers. Most of the tracks are still pretty good, but
they're also more or less standard run-of-the-mill breakbeat 'ardcore. Lots of
catchy riffs and nice samples, and thankfully it never goes into crossover
dance territory, so all in all not bad at all, it just doesn't really blow your
mind, and in the end the genericness do get a bit longwinded in just the way
that Experience so impressively manage to avoid. It definitely would have
benefited from being a couple of tracks shorter. That said, it's perhaps a bit
unfair to criticise it for not being of the same calibre as the definitive
masterpiece of the form, and had Experience not existed, Full On - Mask Hysteria might be remembered as the purest album destillation of breakbeat
rave: Far from perfect, but with plenty of the lumpen throw-away quality and
cheap synthetic excitement that is all part of the charm.
Urban Hype:
Conspiracy to Dance (1992)
While Full On is better than its reputation, this is pretty much the platonic ideal of getting
it wrong when it comes to British breakbeat rave. Known mostly for the novelty
“toytown” hit “A Trip to Trumpton”, you'd think Urban Hype would, at least
partially, go for a playful and “tasteless” approach a la The Prodigy, but instead
most of the tracks seems to aim for a slightly more “deep” vibe, or the most
anonymously bland rave-pop-by-numbers combination of italo piano and soul
divas. On tracks like “Relapsed” and “The Dream”, the rave elements are still
sufficiently raw and ecstatic to drown out the worst sirupy samples and keep
them at least pretty exiting in the moment, but with “The Feeling”, “Embolism”
and “Living in a Fantasy”, it's unfortunately the other way round, and they
leave no other imprint on the memory than a slight nausea. And while the
“deeper” tracks actually have some potential – especially “Teknologi part 2”
and “Emotion” strike a good balance between groove, melody and atmospherics –
for some reasons the lame divas and pianos are also tacked on here, as if Urabn
Hype didn't actually believe that they would work as more moody pieces after
all, and eventually ruining them in the process.
Shades of
Rhythm: Shades (1991)
Shades of
Rhythm were unusually prolific on the album front, although a lot of the same tracks
appeared on 1989's Frequency, 1991's Shades and 1992's The Album. Where the
last one was pretty much just a slight update of Shades, Frequency is in a more
rough, house/acid-derived bleep’n’breaks style, and not quite rave yet -
despite the presence of the hits “Homicide” and “The Exorcist”. In any case, I
guess Shades is the “classic” Shades of Rhythm album, but unfortunately it gets
it wrong in much the same way as the Urban Hype-album. There are some good
tracks on it – in addition to the aforementioned hits there's also heavy
bleep'n'breaks workouts like “The Scientist” and “666 – the no. of the bass” -
but then there's also the archetypical
potentially-great-but-ruined-by-soul-diva-sugar-coating of “Sweet Sensation”,
as well as far, far too much horrible soul-jazzy deep house-ish dreck like
“Shakers”, “The Sound of Eden” and “Lonely Days, Lonely Nights”, making it a
bit of an endurance test listening to the album as a whole.
The Hypnotist: Let Us Pray – the complete hypnotist 91-92 (1992)
Refreshingly
devoid of crossover dance and soulful “deepness”, this is pretty much a
collection of straightforward rave singles with a few unreleased tracks added,
and drawing on both the continental brutalist sound as well as British
breakbeats. While this is obviously a good thing, Let Us Pray unfortunately
doesn't work quite as well as it could have, because even though none of the
tracks are bad, a lot of them are also sort of generic and samey, and as a
result it isn't able to stay exciting for the 80-minute playing time. Too many
tracks follow the same minimally surprising structure, and lack the wellspring
of original ideas and hooks that made Liam Howlett able to pull off an hour of
the same hectic sound without ever getting boring. That said, and despite missing
“The Ride” - arguably his greatest track ever -, there's plenty of classics
here (“House is Mine”, “Hardcore you know the score” and “God of the Universe”
to name a few), and as such it works pretty great as a collection, an archival
overview of Caspar Pounds contribution to rave music. It's just not something
that it makes much sense to listen to as a whole. Had it been trimmed down to
half the length, it could have been really great, but as it is, the sharp blast
of the Hardcore ep is a much better suggestion for the definitive Hypnotist
record.
Rhythmatic:
Energy on Vinyl (1992)
A
wonderfully compact and straightforward little album - basically an EP extended
to an eight track mini LP -, and more or less getting it right where Urban Hype
and Shades of Rhythm got it wrong: There's plenty of stylistic variety,
stretching from full on rave mania to more atmospheric sparseness, but it never
degenerates to mainstream dance or tasteful, tedious “deepness”, and
it's never
just doing styles-by-numbers. This might actually be the best thing about it –
there's elements of breakbeat 'ardcore, bleep'n'bass, Belgian techno and even
some house/Detroit vestiges here and there (it is on Network), but it's all
mixed up into unique, constantly morphing concoctions, doing all sorts of weird
and unexpected tricks and twists and never really being one single thing –
except that it's all, in one way or another, rave music, pulsing with synthetic
energy and jittery intensity. Sure, there's a few elements I could do without
(the rapper on “Nu-Groove”, the few examples of soul divas, i.e. the usual
suspects), but exactly because the tracks change and evolve all the time, those
elements never get stuck long enough to become annoying. Energy on Vinyl is one
of the greatest overlooked gems of the early British rave scene.
N-Joi: Live in Manchester (1992)
Despite
being some of the most successful hitmakers on the British rave scene, N-Joi
didn't release a proper album until 1995, the rather tame and polished,
progressive-housey Inside Out, long after the heyday of their original
signature sound. They did make this brilliant “live” mini-LP, though, a
just-short-of-30-minutes non-stop barrage of breaks, hooks and buzzing riffs
that seems like a much better shot at finding an effective rave album formula
than most proper rave albums. Reputedly an after-the-fact studio reconstruction,
Live in Manchester creates a cheap laboratory-facsimile of the “real” thing, a
buffet of one-dimensional, yet thrillingly synthetic, empty rave calories.
Eon: Void
Dweller (1992)
Every time
I start listening to this, I immediately think it's going to be a brilliant
album, which is hardly surprising, given that it takes off with three of Eons
catchiest tracks – “Bakset Case”, “Inner Mind” and “Fear” - , all offering an
abundance of exiting riffs and samples, as well as a highly original sound
somewhere between the dominating rave of the day and a kind of proto big beat,
as you might expect from something that involves J. Saul Kane. So why doesn't
the album stay brilliant? Well, it's not just that the majority of the rest of
the tracks are a bit more laid back and atmospheric (with a few exceptions,
i.e. “Spice”), it's more that this means that they're less intent on being
exciting, and the resulting slightly lower quota of wild sounds and samples
draws your attention to the fact that the compositions in themselves haven't
that much to offer – there aren't any really memorable hooks or melodies, or
exiting structural ideas. Not that there has to be, of course, it's still an
original and enjoyable album in many ways, it just doesn't grab the attention
all the way as it should, and would have benefitted highly from being two or
three tracks shorter.
Shut Up and
Dance: Dance Before the Police Comes (1991)
Ragga Twins:
Reggae Owes Me Money (1991)
Rum &
Black: Without Ice (1991)
I've talked
about Ragga Twins and SUAD before, and they only tangentially belong here,
given that rave elements only appear as parts of a broader, cross over-hybrid
sound with an emphasis on vocals. There's some quite ravey tracks on them for
sure, but there's even more where the rap is the main thing, and though
enjoyable (well, mostly SUAD, I've never been completely convinced by the twins
I must admit), neither Dance Before the Police Comes or Reggae Owes Me Money really work as rave albums. In comparison, Without Ice is a much “purer” album,
in that it's pretty much proto breakbeat darkcore from start to finish. Not
that it makes it one dimensional, there's both energetic rave, more sparse and
gloomy atmospherics, as well as a lot of tracks that combine a bit of both. As
such, I suppose it could have been great, but unfortunately, there's really not
a lot of ideas in each of the many, many tracks – there's some good and
interesting sample choices (Sakamoto, lots of Art of Noise), and the breaks are
often treated so that they have a great, synthetic edge to them, but in the
end, all tracks more or less just consist of a couple of simple, interchanging
loops. It can sound great in smaller doses, but with a 50 minute playing time
it eventually becomes a bit of a drag, where it's difficult to tell the tracks
apart.
THE GERMAN
SCENE: Despite being the only rave scene with a size and variety comparable to
the British, early German rave has always been a bit overshadowed by its Belgian
contemporaries, which had a few more hits of a broader, international impact.
They do have a lot in common – in particular the EBM and new beat-elements, but
in Germany that became even more pronounced and electroid, reflecting the
importance of the early Frankfurt scene and its roots in new wave and
industrial. Still, there's also many other elements present.
Time to
Time: Im Wald der Träume (1991)
Equal parts
rave euphoria, EBM/synth wave-coldness and infantile German humour, Im Wald der Träume is still as charming and paradoxical as the first time I wrote about it. As much an absurdist deconstruction as perhaps the purest distillation of
rave silliness around, it's an unique
and wonderfully bizarre artefact from a time where it was still pretty open
what rave could and should be – there isn't really anything else like it.
Twin EQ: The Megablast (1991)
Much like
Rhythmatics Energy on Vinyl, and as mentioned elsewhere, this is a short and
intense LP that very much sound like it was slapped together in a hurry (as I'm
sure it was, the Lissat/Zenker-duo was hyper-productive back then), and it
contain no recognizable classics, yet it's all the more charming for it. In
addition to plenty of buzzing riffs and stomping beats, there's also 8-bit
elements (“Hardcore Keyboard”) and even weird machinic acid (“Enjoy”), but in
the end it all has a sort of clunky functionality that suggests that this was
made by people who were fully aware that they were churning out soulless rave
fodder, and just decided to have fun with it, revelling in the cheap,
inauthentic-synthetic aesthetic.
Interactive:
Intercollection (1992)
Interestingly,
and despite obviously trying to build on their previous hits, the debut album
from Lissat and Zenkers most successful and well know project was not nearly as
convincing as the practically forgotten Twin EQ-LP. In addition to “Who is
Elvis”, the first and most likely biggest in what would eventually become a
series of gimmicky novelty-hits, many of the tracks here were minor hits on the
early German rave scene, and exhibit the typical combination of EBM-coldness
and Belgian brutalism (with new beat as the mediating factor). Arguably, the
more minimal and restrained approach of this sound didn't work in Interactives
favour, they didn't let loose with as many deliciously synthetic sounds and raw
ideas as on The Megablast, though that is not to say that there isn't some
pretty great tracks on The Intercollection - “The Techno Wave”, “No Control” and
“Dance Motherfucker” are all brilliant examples of the style – they just do
lose some immediate freshness as they go on. The albums biggest problem,
though, and the reason it isn't nearly as good as it could have been, is the
fillers, which don't really offer much – again unlike The Megablast, which
pretty much was nothing but exciting fillers.
Westbam: A
Practising Maniac at Work (1992)
Westbam is
an interesting character in German rave history; one of its most successful and
enduring DJs, figurehead and main brain behind the massive, epoch-defining
Mayday mega raves, yet at the same time having a somewhat unusual background,
more resembling the British DJ-tradition, raised on hip hop and proto-house,
than the typical German EBM/new beat-route. Already a bit of a veteran in 1992,
his previous two albums were more in a clear hip house-vein, and it would seem
obvious that he would go into breakbeats when going full on rave with A Practising Maniac at Work, but instead, at least to some degree, he approached the
more straightforwardly bruising, linear sound domineering the continental
dancefloors at the time. Not that we're talking full on Belgian brutalism,
there's still hip house vestiges and plenty of uplifting breaks and samples,
but rather you get a kind of fusion between these elements and the harder, more
cyber-cubist stuff. This actually makes it a somewhat original album, though
not a very consistent one – some of the more housey and/or eclectically
experimental tracks, like “Acid Snail Invasion” and “Street Corner”, just goes
nowhere. Westbam is definitely best when he's clearly trying to make fast paced
dancefloor functionality or straight up anthems, and he is able to make
invigorating and somewhat cheesy rave fodder if he wants to, but here there's a
bit too little of that to make a really powerful album. It's still enjoyable,
the boring stuff is not too dominant and there's thankfully no cringeworthy
dance-crossover attempts, but as a pure rave album, it's too uneven.
U96: Das
Boot (1992)
I love the
humour of the cover hyperbole: “The TV-advertised mega-seller album including
at least 10 top-ten hits”. Das Boot contain exactly ten tracks, with several
clearly being fillers, included only to reach a playing time of at least a
short album. But clocking in at slightly over 40 minutes is actually a benefit
here – U96 doesn't have that many ideas, so the fast pace of the whole thing
means that some weaker elements (mostly) doesn't become annoyances. As a
result, this is definitely one of the best cashing-in-on-a-one-hit-wonder
albums of the entire rave era. In addition to some actually convincing examples
of slow and dreamy “atmospheric fillers”, including an odd yet oddly charming
“Moments in Love”-pastiche, Das Boot is basically abrasive Belgian brutalism
tinged with a few whiffs of the colder, EBM-derived German sound, and except
for the misnamed “Ambient Underworld”, which could have been good but is
completely ruined by lame rap and a histrionic soul sample – it delivers just
the kind of great “more-of-the-same”-rave tracks that you usually hope for with
this kind of album, but far too rarely get.
Time Modem:
Transforming Tune (1992)
By far the
best album based on the EBM-derived rave sound, and basically just one of the
greatest, most consistent and convincing solutions to the whole rave album conundrum.
Eventually, at least on the shorter and more condensed vinyl version, it's only
50% rave tunes, with the rest being atmospheric mood tracks, but the two
elements frame each other so brilliantly that it all just seems like a whole,
simultaneously a blinding rave album that works as pure listening experience,
and a sort of futuristic concept album that just happen to work as blinding
rave music as well. The softer tracks are interesting in that they're not
really excursions into already established moody electronics, like ambient or
soft house, but mostly a further mutation of the elements used in the harder
rave-tracks – epic chorus-pads, fanfare-like melody riffs, driving EBM
sequencer-bass –, all turned dreamy and melancholically introverted. The
bittersweet ambiguity is obviously a part of Time Modem's EBM/new wave-genes,
and even permeates the rave tracks, most brilliantly on “Welcome to the 90's”,
the pinnacle of, and key to, the album. Over hectically opulent, yet
mercilessly focused rave, an aloof voice embody naïve early nineties
cyber-futuristic excitement, with sentences like “we don't need the sun
anymore” and, as far as I can hear; “greed is the means to success”, but
countered by what sound like movie samples in German, shouting bitterly about
the horrible state of the world, including the phrase “es ist alles luege” (“it
is all lies”). I get the impression that Transforming Tune reflect the
ambivalence felt by rave artists coming from older EBM/industrial-derived
techno – on the one hand swept away by the hope and celebratory spirit of rave
as the soundtrack to the future and a unified Germany, on the other hand still
influenced by EBMs dystopian, cyber-punk view of technology. This seems further
supported by the closing track “Space and Time”, sort of a defeatist hymn to
isolation and alienation through technology, with a melancholy girls voice
uttering phrases like “take the headphone and flow away, want to be one with my
sound” and “cannot forget my reality, eternally apart and loneliness” - a
heartbreakingly precise prediction in many ways, and the perfect way to end an
album that successfully manages to be invigorating rave, ambiguous electronic
mood music, and conceptual futurism all at once! A lost gem if ever there was
one.
New Scene:
Waves (1992)
Coming from
the same scene as Time Modem, but with the EBM and new/cold/dark-wave elements
much more dominant, this is only full-on rave music on two tracks – “Sucken”
and “PSG 22” - while the rest is somewhere between proto trance and the same
sort of slowly drifting, atmospheric not-quite-ambient that was also found on
Transforming Tune. The more streamlined, dark and restrained sound makes Waves
a contemplative experience rather than a rave album, but I think it's still
worth including here, not just because it pretty good on its own terms, but
also because it represent a strange and unique alternative way to turn techno
into home listening music, completely different from the path taken by the IDM
and ambient scenes, and in many ways not really sounding like anything else:
Beneath the dark and dreamy surface, the underlying structures of the tracks –
the way they're built – is still clearly recognisable as early nineties
continental rave techno.
O: From
Beyond (1992)
The first
album from one Martin Damm, who would eventually release countless records of
almost all kinds of hardcore, rave and techno, under a plethora of pseudonyms
like Biochip C, Search and Destroy and The Speed Freak. Though there aren't
many remnants of it on his later releases, he started out in much the same
EBM/new beat/electro-based area of continental rave as Time Modem and New
Scene, and From Beyond is also a combination of old school German rave, proto
trance and epic synthscapes. It's a bit on the long side, with a few
less-than-inspired tracks, which I guess could partly be blamed on the fact
that, unlike Transforming Tune and Waves, this is a CD-only release, and
therefore doesn't benefit from being trimmed down to a more focused single LP,
as those albums were. Still, there's a lot of really good stuff here, and
especially the atmospheric synth tracks have an endearingly-dated period charm,
though many would probably find their swelling pads and cod-epic melodies too
much. Personally, I find this aspect of the album fascinating – as with the two
previous ones, a glimpse of a completely forgotten road not travelled.
Space Cube:
Machine & Motion (1992)
A bit of an outsider here, Space Cube started
out making more ravey tracks, and are often remembered as one of the few early German
rave acts to use breakbeats, but on the debut album Machine and Motion, they
worked with a lot of different elements, including pounding techno and drifting
acid, as well as – unfortunately – quite a bit of house, foreshadowing Ian
Pooleys later career. The result is simultaneously varied and somewhat more
“pure” than most records on this list – as in “not cheesy” and “closer to
proper dark'n'deep minimal techno”. Which eventually makes it a bit too “nice”
and anonymous to my ears. There's some really good tracks on it, such as the
80Aum/T99-ish brutalist “Disruptive” and the UR-acid-spacey “Forbidden Planet”,
but as a whole there's too much good taste and relaxed smoothness for it to be
really convincing as a rave album. Perhaps it could be seen as a good example
of how there still weren't any clear genre borders at this time, and how an
album from the rave/techno-scene could contain many different styles and ideas,
and on those terms I guess it has merit – many of the softer tracks are not bad
at all – but I'd still much rather listen to an album one dimensional “rave
fodder” than this exercise in well-crafted style and diversity.
THE
BELGIAN/DUTCH SCENE: It's strange that Belgium usually gets all the credit
here, because the infamous brutalist sound was as much the responsibility of Dutch
producers – several of the classics that are by convention considered Belgian
(like Human Resource or 80 Aum) were indeed Dutch. Of course, the Belgians did
have the EBM and especially new beat-scenes to draw on, which could explain why
– when it came to albums – they seemed a bit more prolific. In the end, though,
the rave made in the two countries was generally so similar that it makes
little sense separating them, which actually is a bit strange, considering that
the Dutch producers had roots in hip hop and italo disco, rather than new
beat/EBM, and eventually went on to create gabber, while the Belgian producers
more or less disappeared from the techno map subsequently.
Human
Resource: Dominating the World (1991)
According
to some guy on discogs, this was actually released prior to “Dominator”
becoming the huge hit that it was, making it a very odd thing on this list: An
album that produced a classic track, rather than being produced to cash in on
an already established classic. Given the title, though, they were at the very
least aware of the tracks potential, but in addition to that, there's actually
a lot of quality stuff present here, especially in the beginning, with
inventive and well produced, slightly more atmospheric (but still highly
invigorating) tracks like “The Joke” and “Faces of the Moon”. Unfortunately,
much like Eons Void Dweller, as the album goes on the tracks become less interesting
– still very well constructed, but more or less lacking really memorable hooks
or sounds, or the general raw power usually associated with the Belgian sound
that “Dominator” played such a big part in developing. Furthermore, remixes of
“The Joke” and “Dominator” - nice as they are – makes the album longer than it
had to be, and the lack of new ideas on the second half becomes even more
obvious.
LA Style:
The Album (1992)
Of all the
one hit rave wonders, LA Style had the biggest challenge with creating an
album, and sadly, they weren't up for that challenge at all. Not only was
“James Brown is Dead” the biggest and most iconic of all the brutalist hits, it
was also based on such an idiosyncratic and immediately recognisable riff that
it was pretty much impossible to expand upon it – it was painfully clear how
the countless clones that sprouted overnight tried to recreate the exhilaration
of the fanfare blast, and you'd recognise this right away. “James Brown is
Dead” is simply impossible to take any further (the sound alone – it actually
managed to give the impression of realizing the old joke: make everything
lounder than everything else!), and it might seem a bit like a novelty-track in
this way, but don't get me wrong; it's arguably the greatest rave track ever
exactly because of this – rather than a “gimmick”, it's a singular stroke of
genius. And how do you cash in on that, without repeating yourself ad nauseam?
Well, don't ask LA Style, because that's just what they did – pretty much every
single track on The Album recycles the “James Brown”-riff in one form or
another. At best it gets more baroque and exaggerated, as on “LA Style Theme” -
though that track could pretty much be called a “James Brown is Dead”-remix -,
other times it regress back into something slightly more italo-piano-ish, and
far far too often there's added a hearty dose of the most generic early
nineties dance rap-and-soul imaginable. A few moments have merit, but only when
they're repeating what was already perfect on “James Brown is Dead” - that
single is still all the LA Style you need, and nothing is added here that
changes that.
T99: Children of Chaos (1992)
Next to
“James Brown is Dead” and “Dominator”, T99s “Anasthasia” is probably the
greatest belg-core hit of all time, but unfortunately the album based on it
isn't much better than the two previous ones. It's not for lack of trying,
though, as T99 clearly wants to make a varied and coherent whole, rather than
just a bunch of “Anasthasia”-clones. Now, a bunch of “Anasthasia”-clones would
probably have been a lot better than this mess of crossover rave and more or
less successful attempts to make laid back tracks, but the latter actually do
have some merit, Patrick De Meyer and Oliver Abbeloos are excellent craftsmen
and they know how to create a good tune with good futuristic sounds at low
speeds as well (despite some annoyingly “musical” elements like the nauseating
sax sample on “After Beyond”). The biggest problem on Children of Chaos is the
insufferable amounts of tacked on vocals - the usual lame rapping and
cringeworthy soul divas – that render otherwise brilliant rave tracks like
“Maximizor”, “Cardiac” and “Nocturne” almost unlistenable. And it's really a
shame, for had the album kept to just raw synthetics, and perhaps scaled down
the amount of atmospheric tracks slightly while developing some of the shorter
rave sketches a bit, this could really have been the Belgian rave album. But then, you could say something similart about most of these.
Quadrophonia: Cozmic Jam (1991)
Prior to
his succes with T99, Oliver Abbeloos also had a couple of hits together with
Lucien Foort as Qadrophonia. Containing many of the classic Belgian elements –
exhilarating blasts of raw angular bombast – as well as a surprising amount of
breakbeats, Cosmic Jam unfortunately also contain extremely dated rapping on
all tracks but a few short interludes. I guess this was a conscious choice,
trying to give them a bit more personality (much like with added vocalists of 2
Unlimited) bit it completely ruins what could otherwise have been a pretty good
– if perhaps a bit long – rave album.
Pleasure
Game: Le Dormeur (1991)
Le Dormeur
I've talked about before, and though it still has its flaws – most tracks are
slightly abbreviated, and there's a couple of somewhat uninspired “ambient”
fillers – it also remains one of the most straightforward and convincing of the
early nineties rave albums. Actually, of the Belgian albums, only one was
better, and interestingly, that was made more or less by the same people.
DJ PC: 100%
(1992)
While DJPC
was fronted by DJ Patrick Cools, the production team behind the project
included Pleasure Games Jacky Meurisse and Bruno Van Garsse – both coming from
the EBM/new beat-outfit SA42 – and with 100% they made the ultimate Belgian
rave record, the album that Human Resource or LA Style or T99 should have made.
Some tracks are better than others, but even when they're a bit too gimmicky
('Return of Tarzan', 'Di Da Da, Di Da Di Da Da'), or ridiculously
bombastic-by-the-numbers ('Control Expansion'), they're still super effective,
focused and exhilaratingly brutal. And the best tracks are just incredibly
good, all ugly angular machine music, relentless mentasm madness, and not a
guest vocalist or smooth'n'laid back track in sight.
Hypp &
Krimson: Rave Sensation (1991)
Containing tracks released under six different names, this is sometimes listed
as a compilation. Everything is produced by the duo of Jeff Vanbockryck and Patrick
Claesen, though, with different collaborators here and there. We get the
instrumental versions for a couple of Miss Nicky Trax productions, well known
Ravebusters-classics “Mitrax” and “Power Plant” (though for some reason the
latter is accredited to Hypp & Krimson)showing their roots in new beat, and
in addition several unknown (to me) gems in the same vein, like “Torsion”,
“Dreams Forever” (as Code Red) and “Liquid Empire” (as Cold Sensation) – heavy
rave fodder that isn't all that inventive or catchy, but makes up for it with
precision-locked efficiency. The weakest part is the more floaty, atmospheric
offerings – one of the Nicky trax and the not very aptly named “Rave Banging” –
they're not exactly bad, just pretty uninspired, and they do create a couple of
dull drops in the overall energy flow. As a result, Rave Sensation doesn't
completely live up to its name, but it's not too far off either, and certainly
one of the more consistent of the belgian albums.
Holy Noise:
Organoized Crime (1991)
Perhaps the greatest of the Dutch rave
producers, Holy Noise was where DJ Paul got his first real success with tracks
like “The Nightmare” and especially “James Brown is Still Alive!!”, his riposte
to LA Style, before he became a key player on the emerging gabber scene. As
such, he's one of the only Benelux producers to have a noteworthy career after
the rave heyday, as well as perhaps the most obvious link between gabber and
the early brutalist rave sound. Organoized Crime is one of the better lowland
albums, even though it sort of disappoints because it could easily have been so
much better. While no tracks are bad as such, and several are really great,
there's also a couple that are a bit too mediocre – in particular more
minimalist ones like “House Orgasm” and “The Noise”, and since the album is
much longer than it has to be, it just becomes a bit exhausting overall. If the
two aforementioned tracks were kicked out, as well as one of the two versions
of “Get Down Everybody”, we'd have an absolute classic here, one for the rave
album top ten. Instead, we get something that do contain a lot of good stuff,
but eventually looses its steam before you're through.
OTHERS: Two
(or perhaps rather two and a half) other local scenes needs mentioning, being
big enough to eventually produce full length rave albums (that I've heard of).
Yet they're very different – the Italians produced endless amounts of generic
(and often brilliant) rave fodder, a variant of the brutalist sound more or
less infused with elements of italo disco and italo house, while the rave
proper produced by the American scene seemed like maverick attempts to
participate in what was going on in Europe, rather than a reflection of an
overall American sound. Finally, the odd Spanish “makina”-scene was arguably
closest to the early German rave, with EBM and new wave still very clearly
present.
Moby: Moby
(1992)
This
amazing LP will be a bit of a surprise to anyone only familiar with the later
emo-Moby – or anyone who think “Go” is representative of his early style. What
you get is a tour de force of almost perfect rave intensity, with “Go” and the
closing “Slight Return” being the only softcore tracks. Sure, the first half is
by far the best, and there's a house piano here and a soul sample there that
you could certainly do without, but there's only a few of these (and let's be
fair – even The Prodigys Experience had a couple), and they're not prominent
enough to do any real damage to what is otherwise a brilliant collection of
tracks, action packed with jittery ideas, catchy sequencer riffs and dynamic
twists and turns. Whether it's near-claustrophobic EBM-ish tightness (“Yeah”,
“Have You Seen My Baby”), strings'n'acid-driven brightness (“Help Me to
Believe”), or explosive, unhinged rave-insanity (pretty much all of side A),
none of the tracks are bad – and some of them are simply among the very best of
the era. This is pretty much the only Moby album you need – but if you're after
early nineties rave then you really do need it (and who'd have thought you
really needed any Moby at all?). As rave-albums-that-works-as-albums go, Moby
is among the very best.
Oh-Bonic:
Power Surge (1992)
A brilliant
little album that sadly seems to be completely forgotten. As far as I can
figure out, Oh-Bonic was basically Omar Santana, who has followed a long and
pretty weird trajectory through electronic dance music: Starting out as a part
of Cutting Records early electro/house famil, and eventually ending up (last
time I checked, anyway) producing bizarre “patriotic gabber” in the wake of
9.11 – presumably distancing himself from his earlier New York Terrorist-moniker,
which I guess didn't seem that funny anymore. In between, however, there was both
a more ordinary gabber/hardcore phase (much in the typical Industrial Strength/Brooklyn
vein), as well as an earlier phase of awesome, brutalist rave – with Power Surge as the crowning achievement. Here, all the most obvious and effective
rave elements are supercharged by generous inspiration – every track is jam
packed with ideas and variation, constantly shifting and adding small
electrifying details – as well as a knack for catchy riffs. Much like the early
Prodigy in this respect, actually. The only downside is the tacked-on rap that
makes a couple of otherwise excellent tracks seem cringeworthily dated – in one
case made even worse by a liberal dose of soul diva samples. With the rest of
the album being so pure in its super synthetic sound design, these attempts at
adding a human emotional element just makes it seem much more mundane and
backwards-looking. Not so much, though, that Power Surge isn't still a small
gem in the same vein as Energy on Vinyl and The Megablast, well worth tracking
down.
Digital Boy: Futuristik (1991)
Digital
Boy: Technologiko (1991)
With two
albums in one year, Digital Boy was one of the most prolific of the Italian
producers, and probably the closest we get to a household name from that scene.
In a lot of ways I really want to like the ambitious Futuristik double LP, it
has a lot going for it: A good title and a ridiculous cover, a couple of really
good, catchy rave tracks, and some unexpected oddball moments (a
bleep'n'bass-ish xylophone-riff here, a playful rip off of Speedy J's
'Pullover' there, a live track that actually sounds live). And while there's
also a lot of more uninspired, clumsy fillers that doesn't quite reach escape
velocity, there's only a few tracks that are really awful (especially “Touch
Me”, a horrid attempt at a kind of smooooooth hip house torch song). The
problem is that it just goes on for such a long time, which means that the
mediocre stuff that would be acceptable in smaller doses on a more focused
album, eventually becomes the defining character here, and rather than being
invigorating like the best rave should be, it kind of loses all momentum in the
long run. Luckily, Technologiko gets it right – a super condensed eight track
mini-LP that just deliver functional rave fodder in the most hook-filled,
simple and electrifying way. None of the tracks are lost classics, but there's
no real duds either: They all work the formula brilliantly, and like The Megablast, Energy on Vinyl or Power Surge, the result is a record that captures
raves single-minded, disposable hyper-excitement perfectly, exactly by having
no other ambition than being a short, one-dimensional energy blast.
Bit-Max:
Galaxy (1992)
Pretty much
as concentrated italo-techno as it gets: Generic-yet-explosive rave tools by a
bunch of virtually unknown producers (the only ubiquitous one on the album
being one Maurizio Pavesi), overdosing on all the most effective euro-rave
elements (mentasm stabs, hypnotic EBM arpeggios, bombastic fanfare blasts –
though, thankfully, no pianos), with half of it sounding suspiciously like something
you've heard somewhere before. And – of course – there's several otherwise
brilliant tracks that are ruined by relentless diva samples, which prevent
Galaxy from being up there with the very best. But there’s still plenty of good
stuff to make it highly recommended to anyone into golden era rave at its most
gloriously mercenary.
Teknika: Yo
No Pienso en la Muerte (1991)
This is the
only example I've got from the Spanish “makina”-scene, basically a local take
on EBM-influenced rave in the same vein as German acts like Time Modem and 'O'.
I suppose there's a lot more out there, but at least for albums, I've not
located any others (not that I've tried that hard, it must be said). In any
case, it's an effective mini LP, where most tracks deliver a relentlessly
propulsive, slightly more minimal and machinic version of the aforementioned German
sound. A couple of melancholic tracks are thrown in for variety, sounding
somewhat dated, but in a charming way – sort of instrumental “minimal wave”
rather than the floating, complex mood pieces that the German acts were doing.
A nice little album that holds together very well.
AFTERTHOUGHTS: By 1993,
“rave” as an overall term had more or less disappeared, or rather, had split up
into fully self sufficient and clearly distinct niches like
darkcore/proto-jungle, trance, gabber/happy hardcore or even “techno”, which
had hitherto been an overall term used for pretty much all the rave forms, but
now suddenly became more and more synonymous with pounding minimal
functionalism. Still, there were some producers left who in one way or another
continued making “rave” at a time where there wasn't really a scene for
non-specialized rave any more. Whether they simply were a bit too slow
following the changing landscape, just had some tracks left that would have
been perfectly up to date a year prior, or deliberately tried to create a
continuation of the general, all-encompassing rave spirit, I find these
out-of-time rave albums fascinating, and deserving some mention. Indeed, some
of them are truly brilliant in their own right.
GTO: Tip of
the Iceberg (1993)
In many
ways a very sympathetic album, wrapping the classic “old faves + some new
fillers”-formula in a pan-stylistic, almost meta-rave
“unite-the-scene”-concept, at a time when the rave scene was busy splitting up.
We more or less get everything from piledriving gabber and hardcore over cold,
monolithic trance to softer, more housey tracks, sometimes with an almost
bleep'n'bass-feel. The weird thing is how none of this sounds quite right, but
rather like someone decided to make trance or gabber, rather than growing it organically
from within a scene. This certainly gives Tip of the Iceberg an original sound,
but it also means that it doesn't really manage to create the feel of rave-distilled-in-album-form
that it seems to aim for. In particular, there's an awkward minimalistic
restraint to it, at odds with the cutting-loose-and-going-mental effect you'd
usually expect with these styles. This goes for the sound design – strangely
polished and empty even in the raw'n'ruff hardcore tracks – as well as the
compositions, where there aren't that many ideas or really memorable hooks
around. It eventually becomes a problem for an album as long as this. In
smaller doses – like side B with its metal machine gabber, or the more
hit-oriented side C –, it's quite enjoyable, but as a whole, and especially
with the two somewhat uninspired and monotonously minimal closing tracks, Tip of the Iceberg gets a bit tiring. Which is a shame for a record that so
deliberately and head-on try to solve the rave-album-problem. That said, it
remains refreshingly odd.
Sonic
Experience: Def til Dawn (1993)
An
unabashed “meta rave” effort, where raw and ruff breakbeat tracks are
interlaced with sound clips from open air raves (mostly police confrontations).
The clips are sort of charming, I guess, but they do make the LP feel more like
a kind of “historic document”, rather than simply a great collection of
generic-yet-invigorating 'ardcore at its most unpolished – which is basically
what it is. But perhaps what Def til Dawn shows is that by 1993 this sound was
already seen as something to look back upon nostalgically, as things had moved
much further ahead. A great snapshot of an era that was over almost as soon as
it had started.
Sonz of a
Loop da Loop Era: Flowers in My Garden (1993)
Just a mini-LP, but worth including here as it's the closest we get to a Sonz
of Loop da Loop Era-album. Perhaps its shortness is an advantage, as all six
tracks capture Danny Breaks at his b-boy derived best, filled to the brink with
jittery riffs and hyperkinetic breaks (more proto big beat than 'ardcore on
“Breaks Theme pt. 1”, but still great), with no time to fall into any of the
traps so many others fall into when having to deliver a full album. Flowers in My Garden might not be as catchy and relentless as Experience, but it's a pure
distillation of 'ardcore at its most un-assumedly loose and playful.
Criminal
Minds: Mind Bomb (1993)
The flipside to Sonz of a Loop's silly and colourful sound, Mind Bomb is a much more raw and aggressive take on 'ardcore. There's quite a lot of slightly (for its time) backwards-looking techno-elements, as well as plenty of proto-jungle, just not dominant enough for it to actually be jungle (unlike, say, Bay B Kane's Guardian od Ruff or A Guy Called Gerald's 28 Gun Badboy, which are arguably just on the other side of the divide – perhaps not fully developed jungle yet, but still closer to jungle than to breakbeat rave). None of the tracks are super memorable or lost gems, but neither are any of them bad – they're hectic, rough and hard-hitting examples of generic hip hop-influenced 'ardcore of the kind where the genericness is a crucial element, and as such it is perhaps the most “authentic” example of this music in album form.
The flipside to Sonz of a Loop's silly and colourful sound, Mind Bomb is a much more raw and aggressive take on 'ardcore. There's quite a lot of slightly (for its time) backwards-looking techno-elements, as well as plenty of proto-jungle, just not dominant enough for it to actually be jungle (unlike, say, Bay B Kane's Guardian od Ruff or A Guy Called Gerald's 28 Gun Badboy, which are arguably just on the other side of the divide – perhaps not fully developed jungle yet, but still closer to jungle than to breakbeat rave). None of the tracks are super memorable or lost gems, but neither are any of them bad – they're hectic, rough and hard-hitting examples of generic hip hop-influenced 'ardcore of the kind where the genericness is a crucial element, and as such it is perhaps the most “authentic” example of this music in album form.
Biochip C:
Biocalypse (1993)
A quantum
leap from 1992s 'O'-album – just a year later and the early EBM-and-new
beat-inflicted sound now seems like something from a completely different
world. In the meantime, Martin Damm had released innumerable (and uniformly
brilliant) EPs under almost as many names, and had become a master of pretty
much all dominant rave styles (with trance being the only exception), including
some hybrids all his own. On Biocalypse he managed to do what practically no
one else has succeeded with: connecting multiple strands of rave into a coherent
whole without any of it ending up feeling like uninspired stylistic exercises -
and retaining his unique personal twist throughout it all. There's plenty of
breakbeat 'ardcore (ranging from absurdly happy to rough'n'noisy), lots of
acid, some gabber, and what could be called an updated continental rave sound –
and all of it often further mutated and re-spliced into completely insane
contraptions. In addition, there's some unique experimental tracks that simply
doesn't sound like anything else I've ever heard – if the “artificial
intelligence” electronica was based on Biochip C gems like “Wait a Minute” or
“Walking on Water”, rather than a mix of reheated ambient and Detroit
tastefulness, it would have been 1000% greater, and would have conquered the
world. Probably. In any case, I don't think there's any other rave album
simultaneously so varied, so original, so inspired and inventive, and of such
thorough quality – every single track is a total killer. Hell, Biocalypse might
even be the one that manages to beat Experience.
Westbam:
Bam Bam Bam (1994)
In 1994
Westbam was on the top of his game, figurehead of the Low Spirit label and the
Mayday raves at the peak of their popularity (I presume – I haven't really
checked the numbers), and in this position he assumed a sort of connective,
mediating role, rather than choosing one of the many forking paths of the time
(trance, neo acid, jungle, gabber, minimalism). In particular, the Bam Bam Bam-album seem to be envisioned as a kind of keeping-the-scene-connected-statement,
as it's made clear by the cover notes' literal meta rave manifesto “Die ravende
Geselschaft” (“the raving society”), in which Westbam argues that rave should
accept the responsibility of its success and figure out how to establish itself
as the next, all-encompassing mainstream pop culture. Well, things didn't quite
work out like that, but at least it seems that Westbam had genuine idealistic
aspirations for the scene he was the star of. This idealism is mirrored in the
music, which didn't try to have a bit of everything, but rather tried to keep a
kind of “pure” - not to say generic - rave sound alive, at a time when everyone
else was carving out new and yet more specialised territories. This makes it
even more aggravating that the tracks are mostly quite weak, with few ideas and
a somewhat uninspired sound palette from Low Spirits in-house producer Klaus
Jankuhn. Now, it should be clear from many other entries here that I certainly
don't think a rush job is necessarily a bad thing with rave music, but there
has to be some kind of fire burning to make it work, rather than the need to
simply get some tracks done. Especially the more house-leaning/“clubby” tracks
are dull, whereas the straightforward big room rave fodder is at least pretty
effective in its mercenary catchiness. The highlight is the truly brilliant
single “Celebration Generation” - by far the best thing Westbam ever did, and
arguably the ultimate meta-rave track, capturing the rave-utopic belief at its
most openheartedly pure and synthetically sentimental. You could say
“Celebration Generation” manages to distil the essence that the whole album
strived for, which is perhaps why the rest seems slightly forgettable – they
got it right the first time, and didn't really have anything to add.
Marusha: Raveland (1994)
At the time – when a lot of techno was getting increasingly “serious” as either
trance or minimalism or dark hardcore or experimental electronica – Marusha
seemed like an anachronism. She was one of the biggest pop-rave DJs in Germany,
and the Raveland album was pretty much regarded as the ultimate
commercialisation of the German rave scene, as cheap as the hopelessly uncool
cover suggested – hyper bright, silly and sent-e-mental lightweight rave juvenilia,
like everything “proper techno” snobs hated about The Prodigy turned up to
eleven. This determination to stay faithful to the rave spirit at its most
wonderfully ridiculous is just one reason that I have a soft spot for Raveland,
though, because the music in itself is also surprisingly good, heard on its own
airheaded terms. Sure, it's not Experience or Biocalypse, but nevertheless a
charming collection of candy coloured rave with a lot of variety and character,
spanning everything from sickly, hyper-infantile sweetness on “Somewhere Over
the Rainbow” and “Raveland”, over zap-gun-brutalism on “Voltage Pulse” and the
awesome classic “Ravechannel”, to the acid-oddness of “Audio Space” and the
almost Sonz of a Loop-ish breakbeat-opener “We are the Bass”. The rushed
quality that many of the tracks have – likely put together in a very short time
by Marusha and Jankuhn – eventually makes some of them appear like
half-realised sketches that never really come together, but that's obviously
part of the deal here. In all its cartoony, incoherent silliness, Raveland is
still a much more enjoyable album than most of the tasteful “proper techno” (or
jazzy art-jungle for that matter) heralded at the time. Highly recommended if
you're ready to give up any aspirations of coolness or good taste.