In a forecasted and somewhat unsurprising turn of events that, I imagine, can come as a shock to fans of old-school golden age classic rock music, and those that only listen to old-school golden age classic rock music: Genres are dying.
Attempting to delve deep into a modernized music zealot's library to catalog their taste by genre is, now, a futile effort in quantitatively describing a taste in an art so abstract, you can't pen it down. At least, without years of education in doing so — not even including some electronic music that is literally impossible to notate.
It's kind of why I've lost faith in radio services like Pandora — not to say that they aren't well made, but if you're feeling a “Pure Reason Revolution” vibe, I'm afraid your adequate means of vibing are only to listen to the band of the same name. Artists now have the option to be so niche, esoteric and specialized; it's impossible to find groups that decently sound like other band's styles when the rabbit hole stretches so far deep.
That was essentially my biggest disappointment when I was a senior in high school, on a perpetual binge of all the catchy, dense, endorphin-producing music I could sink my ears into.
If you search “Radiohead” on a radio streaming service, will you find the downtempo, thought-provoking somber sounds of their “In Rainbows” days? Or perhaps the experimental electronic vibes of the “Amnesiac” era? Or somewhere in between, maybe like some electronic alt-metal gospel techno rock genre (which is probably a good way to classify the aforementioned Pure Reason Revolution).
And yet, as labels crumble faster than polyp structures in the Great Barrier Reef, I always come back to IDM and shine off another trophy for the weird little family of sounds that it's become.
The acronym stands for “Intelligent Dance Music,” which is annoying, because there's nothing “intelligent” about it. It's complex, and often uses different time signatures, but painting with more colors is hardly “intelligent.”
It's a pretentious designation for a righteous type of music that is both significant and deserving of love. IDM is a celebration of all the potential electronic music has: The odd, strange timings that dramatically change at the drop of a snare. The sickening liberal use of abrasive oscillators that create sonic environments, only to destroy them in the span of a few beats. It's because of how loose the parameters are in its creation why it deserves to be top tier, like its shiny, handsome cousin Electronic Dance Music.
And EDM is no stranger to the limelight. It has permeated the radio waves and pop-star mindset with a scorched-earth method of takeover. Its tendrils have infiltrated the rock music that used to thrive on the charts. Although, if you're looking to the charts to validate your interests you're also probably not reading this.
IDM thrives in the shadows, like some weird urban ninja that throws CDs at people on the sidewalk. It's methodical madness. Inherently, is not suited for the masses, and that's what's delectable. It's intimate, weird, fast, annoying, piercing, unforgiving and so uniquely... contemporary, I suppose. It defines this era of music because in any century of humans, it's not even conceivable. Fly back to the year 45 and IDM would probably be considered unholy devil music, blowing a few old-school minds in the process.
There is a rift, though, between the ‘90s style and current IDM. During its inception, the genre was rooted in “acid,” an early designation of electronic music to describe a particular kinds of synthesizer settings — one, generally, with heavy attack and muted release.
Acid house was exemplified by artists such as Phuture, Human Action Network and 808 State who each went on to cultivate the scene for more mainstream producers like Aphex Twin. IDM was celebrated through the “Richard D. James Album,” which for the most part broke away from acid and had more break-beat and glitch styles; sub-genres that helped give an identity to IDM in a time when producing required more than just a computer.
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However, it wasn't that good. Or rather, I don't really enjoy ‘90s electronic music. I'm thankful that it had a little renaissance period, but I'm more grateful of its sacrifice to get where we are now. Because certain kinds of electronic music, these days, are absolutely amazing. From a production and listening standpoint it blows everything we used to consider electronic out of the water.
MIDI has become ubiquitous and can be integrated with samples so cohesively that one can earnestly make a rock song without using rock instruments anymore. Audio from anywhere can be digitized and manipulated, and, in turn, anything (anything!) can sound like anything (anything!!). The game has changed and nothing makes sense. Electronic music has shed its skin and bloomed into a cacophonic noise butterfly. And no one is talking about it, so let's get into the details.
I want to cover a few artists that, at the very least, produce interesting material, and attempt to connect their dots via similar tropes they utilize. I'm focusing on the arrangement aspect here; how these musicians execute certain techniques over time to convey the weird emotions only something as insane as IDM can convey. In staying true to whoever coined the term to begin with, these songs have at least some element of dance to them. And on that note, can we change the “I” to “intricate”? Do we have time amidst our nation-wide political hellstorm to protest this? No? Okay fine, geez.
David Tipper, perhaps the most genuinely music-oriented musician on this list, releases music under the extremely creative moniker of “Tipper.” He was a force to be reckoned with during the ‘90s DJ scene across the pond and, surprisingly, continues to make high-quality music after 20 years. The noises he samples feel very natural and real, yet I have an itch that's only what he wants us to think.
Since 2010 he's been lacing vivid water sounds with glitchy oscillators and underlying techno melodies that laugh in the face of rhythm. The drums can't escape either; Tipper's pops fill in spots where snares and kicks are supposed to be. His latest album “Forward Escape,” released in 2014, is the main offender; the whole thing is duct-taped together with liquid sounds spilling over every side.
It's more groovy than dancey, but that shouldn't discredit Tipper when push comes to shove. His EPs are where the “dance” songs are, and by dance I mean freak spasms of polyrhythm. “Usul” is the second track off his latest EP “Flunked” that uses aforementioned bubble-pop noises in a sonic environment where robots are probably destined to fight to the death.
It's a pulsing, relentless, hip-hop power track that refuses to let the audience breathe in. The song itself I'm pretty sure is in common-time but it seriously doesn't feel like it, besides during the bouncy chorus. And there's something to be said about skewing a song like that so thoroughly.
From how frequently he releases content it's easy to tell how passionate Tipper is about making music. I had the awesome opportunity to see him live at Red Rocks summer of 2015 and the man does not kid around. No theatrics, hardly any suspense, nor build up; the man just comes on stage and starts spinning. Game, set and match Mr. Tipper — you are the winner.
Iglooghost, compared to Tipper, is much less known but conveys similar emotions. His song “Peanut Choker” is slightly closer to a dance track in the conventional sense, but, in my opinion, is still adequately screwed up enough to transcend EDM. This was, without a doubt, my favorite electronic track of 2016. It's a song with drops that just keeps dripping into even crazier drops.
His vocal samples act more like chirps, and the lyrics sound to be copy-pasted from rap songs that are pitched-shifted to suit the playful, light-hearted chaos. Tracks like “Xiangjiao” exhibit almost a ‘90s breakbeat vibe, partitioned with enough breaks to sound more “contemporary,” to say the least. It's more aggravating than the former track and doesn't let up as easily.
Iglooghost arranges exciting songs, because there's often a vocal sample that adds some perspective to the crazy everything else. He finds four measures to repeat and beats the rhythm senseless, all under constantly growing automation that keeps bars feeling endless... until the song ends.
Benn Jordan, also known as The Flashbulb, creates music under various pseudonyms such as Acidwolf and the aforementioned Human Action Network. Under his own name he releases technical ambient music for planetariums.
It's shocking to me how varied Jordan's arsenal can be, it spans the entire spectrum of electronic music. As for his IDM, Jordan went above and beyond with his album “Hardscrabble.” A tormenting acid roller-coaster that, as he put it, he wrote “around a monophonic oscillator that is being automated and effected as much as possible.” The song “Back of the Yards” is the standout track on the album. It's not too break-beat like “The Bridgeport Run,” nor as down-tempo as “Seq Changing Airborne.”
Rather, “Back of the Yards” is so very almost off the deep end, but not quite, it stands as perhaps one of the best IDM tracks of the decade. Its fury, bittersweet emotion and unforgiving synth punches on every hit is something to write home to mom about.
So many noises are packed into the three-minute run time, you can often find new MIDI inklings with each listen. His latest foray into IDM, a track called “Monolite,” is a throwback to 2003 when hyper break-beat music was selling big time in Europe. I don't know how many synonyms I can find for the word “relentless,” but this song does them all to shame.
“Monolite” is organized chaos, an inexorable screaming forest fire that is... oddly inspiring? Seriously, it's not a depressing or dark track. It's heavy, yet evokes emotions that aren't necessarily overwhelming. I find it more of a show-off track, as if Jordan is telling us, “Yes, this is what can happen if you spend 15 years refining a unique sound.”
If you follow us on Twitter (@DailyLoboMusic) you'll know that I had the exciting opportunity to see Jordan live in Los Angeles a few weeks ago. He played “Monolite,” as well as a plethora of other tracks spanning anywhere from gorgeously soft soundscapes to what sounded like drum-sets falling down a staircase.
I relished every second.
British Theatre is an experimental electronic duo comprised of former Oceansize members Richard “Gambler” Ingram and Mike Vennart. Their debut album “Mastery” is definitely the most pop-sounding work on this list, but I loosely consider it IDM as their rhythms are just ever so slightly off.
“Blue Horror,” unless I'm counting wrong, is in 5/4, based around a synth lick that performs a small filter sweep every fifth beat — it's addicting trying to comprehend it. Even the most poppy track on the record, “Capra,” follows a nauseating rhythm. I can't count it, but the drums stutter every so often and re-start with snare/kick in swapped positions.
Despite this, it's a song I can definitely see, or rather hear, on the radio. It's a charming, urgent love anthem that grows into a vivid garden of breathtaking electro-violin sounds, preceding Vennart’s yearning vocal melodies.
“Mastery” would be a pretty run of the mill synth-pop record, if everything wasn't just a little bit messed up. It boggles my mind how Vennart could sing pop melodies over such strange timings, which he explains in an article by Upset Magazine: “Everything about it was outside my comfort zone. Singing these weird intervals, these weird scales and whatnot. That’s the one thing I’ll really take from this. If you don’t feel right doing something, sometimes that’s a really good thing.”
It's definitely not a polished record, with both members touring and recording with Biffy Clyro during most of 2015. They both had to fit the production into their schedules, and I'm glad they did, because “Mastery” is truly unique in that you have these well-versed instrumentalists throwing their guitars away and trying to create something of the same caliber with only software.
Audrin Baghaie is the music editor at the Daily Lobo. He can be reached at dailylobomusic@gmail.com or on Twitter @AudrinTheOdd.
