Less than two months after Samuel Beckett’s death on 22 December 1989, Harold Pinter recorded the below memoir of the dramatist under the title “A Wake for Sam” – Pinter shares his memories of his first meeting with Beckett, reads a short appreciation, and finally recites the conclusion of The Unnamable. Double genius…
Hench tunes always make me feel tired and old (and I mean that in a good way). I find it strangely reassuring that there are young men out there wasting their youth on this thoroughly unpleasant, bleak sonic battering ramage. It takes a certain mettle of character to stay unwavering on this particular path and there’s scant reward at the end of the day, let’s face it. Certainly in technicality it’s far superior to the idolised non-entities of “craft” (the Jeff Mills, the Hawtins, and any other cretin variation thereof). So I find and hear hope in it.
‘Death Dealer’ is ultra tech, crisp, choppy stop-start, gnarled wobble business. Functional to the point of pitiless and everything tight and right in the mix. ‘Vortex’ is little more than an angry, mechanistic loop running on and on, filtering nastier as the track progresses. Again expert tech construction. There’s some respite in a sticky, false Trance nirvana halfway before it boshes back into the machine hell.
A fuzzed-out and minimal, head-nodding, clanker. Not sure if this would really cut it in the sound system department and I can’t see this one lighting up any dance floors it’s so muted?, but it shuffles along nicely with all the design for purpose of a bubbling bong.
Very occasionally “Dirty” Dubstep (or is it still “Brostep” I wouldn’t know? or care) throws a curve ball and delivers something have decent, whether by accident or choice is another discussion altogether. Unlike its cousins (“Dungeon”, “Deep”, “Wobble”, whatever) this particular field of production suffers more “problems” than any other – one of which is it shares much with the Hip-Hop world: either the tracks SUCK! – and I mean criminally, or they bang! There’s rarely any grey area, getting away with it, or in-between redemption or interest. Ultra (adolescent) masculine, testosterone laced and more often than not bordering on the clownish, in the producers attempts to “out-goon” each other in the ludicrous bass/midline/pseudo-boombastic wankery, it often seems about as appealing as a sweaty rugby club changing room and dodgy, post match drinking games.
This one’s an industrial banger though. Reined in and stripped back, with quality cybernetic, metallic hammering, drilling beats, cock backs etc and a big underpinning sublow pressure.