DJ T. tour blog: Week 4 and 5

DJ T. tour blog: Week 4 and 5

13 August, 2009 | 2.32AM

• Written by: Beatportal
• Filed under: Music News: dj t, dj t blog, get physical, technology

DJ T. from Get Physical uses week 4 of his world tour blog to discuss a currently hot topic: the relationship between DJs and their studio engineers. He shines a light on the studio techniques that went into the making of his album ‘The Inner Jukebox’, and how his engineer Thomas Schumacher contributed to the project.

In week 5 (also here), T. revisits the dancefloor as a clubber with a three-day bender in Berlin, which includes a long stint at the city’s legendary Bar25 - and he updates us (to the best of his knowledge) on the current farce surrounding the imminent closure of the beloved afterhours venue.

His extended diary, videos, and photos are after the jump.

Hey, all of you out there, perched in front of your computer screens. After a very long stretch without a single day off, I finally had a bit of a break.

So, this week, I won’t regale you with tales from the road, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be hearing from me. Instead, I’ll use this space to delve a bit deeper into the mysteries of club culture and try to clear up some misconceptions.

As those of you who’ve followed my diary from day one might remember, I appreciate the scope of this great project and I’ll try to go beyond a straight recollection of my latest party exploits.

I want to use this opportunity for the odd peek behind the scenes, for some deviations to the left, right and all the way off the beaten track; it’s my chance to tell you about the cultures and societies of the cities and countries I visit on tour, and the things that move those I encounter.

In addition, I’d like to explore some themes from all realms of club culture and welcome your input and enquiries. So, please post your comments and questions in the space below – that’s what it’s there for! Although I might not be able to answer them all, I will try to pick up on topics that might be interesting to the Beatportal community as a whole and work them into later diary entries.

One of the things discussed in the comments of one of my earliest entries, and this turned into quite a lively and controversial debate, was the engineer’s role and influence on the majority of DJ releases. This seems to be on a lot of people’s minds right now – and has produced some very different conclusions.

How much does each participant contribute? What’s the chemistry in the studio like when, let’s say, Loco Dice joins forces with Martin Buttrich, or how do the Tiefschwarz guys interact with their producers, what about my label mates M.A.N.D.Y. or Booka Shade and, last but not least, how do I create my own recordings? How much of a DJ’s official release is really his or her own input?

Well, to be honest … it brought a bit of a grin to my face when I found out that some of you think that DJs depend on their producers like cookie cutter boy bands or second-rate eurodance starlets.

Or that they get others to ‘write’ their music for them like popular singers who take a finished song and simply add their own vocal performance. Barring the fact that this simply wouldn’t wash in the DJ realm (what could they interpret, after all?), I personally don’t know a single ‘produced’ DJ or non-DJ artist in electronic music who didn’t contribute a major part to the final product released under his or her moniker.

A quick trip to the past might help in this context, to highlight the gradual dissolution of the previously strict separation between artist and producer.

Way back, years before any of us were a twinkle in our parents’ eyes, producers were traditionally employed by the record companies and only responsible for the smoothest possible organisation of the overall recording process.

Back then, this was a full-time job and no easy task considering their often wild and unruly charges. The studios, too, belonged to the record companies and in turn employed the sound engineers. So, everyone played their set role in the game: while the producers rather had often very little to do with the actual music, it was the sound engineers who reigned behind the giant mixing desks and tweaked the bands’ sound to perfection – they were the masters of the recording process.

In the early 1960s, a man appeared on the scene who went on to produce the most successful pop band of all time – The Beatles. George Martin, who later put the finishing touches to some seminal James Bond soundtracks, soon became better known as ‘the fifth Beatle’ because he played a much larger and more influential part in the band’s overall sound and direction than was previously customary for a producer.

Ever since this watershed moment, the boundaries between producers, engineers and artists have been getting increasingly blurred. Quincy Jones, for example, still did a relatively straightforward production job for Michael Jackson (‘Off The Wall’, ‘Thriller’, ‘Bad’) and relied on the legendary Bruce Swedien’s engineering talents.

Swedien remains one of the best-known sound engineers of all time and it is his distinctive touch we hear on songs like ‘Thriller’ or ‘Billy Jean’. Trevor Horn, on the other hand, turned the tables with his work for Frankie Goes To Hollywood, ABC, Heaven 17, The Art Of Noise, and Propaganda.

A musician himself (he’d played in bands like the Buggles or Yes), Horn considered himself one of the band and joined his protégés behind the desk as a fully-fledged musician. Naturally, this doesn’t mean that all those singers and bands had no say or sway in their own music – they played their instruments or sang their hearts out, while the engineer twiddled the knobs.

So, where does this leave us today, another 20 years into the future and firmly entrenched in the digital age?

First things first: when it comes to so-called club or DJ music, the studio situation is quite different from that of mainstream pop or dance productions. And the different roles in the studio change according to the individual requirements of each production.

So, the only rule for the type of music sold on Beatport is: there are no rules anymore, it always boils down to the chemistry between the two people who lock themselves in the studio – and the outcome varies every time.

In some constellations, the artist, i.e. the ‘produced’, is the sole brain behind his own sound, in other words, he defines the aesthetics, the sound and the arrangement of his music 100%.

If both of us were visual artists, I would be the one who sketched the motif and set the scene, afterwards we would take turns to wield the brush.

Either by telling the producer in so many words (on the premise that both speak exactly the same, highly specialised and precise lingo), or by taking an active part in the production process, e.g. by playing the respective melody sequences or bass lines on the keyboard, by adding their own vocals or specific hardware, plug-ins, samples etc. to the production and by stating exactly how these should be used.

Other artists come to the studio with far more advanced ‘blueprints’ of their tracks, pre-produced on their own equipment and only in need of a quick polish by the producer or engineer. In other cases, the producer plays a more active part and makes suggestions that the ‘produced’ only has to okay. Depending on the particular set-up, both partners might take turns as engineers and/or producers; the roles can become hard to separate and – as stated above –tend to change from one collaboration to the next.

So, what about myself? I have always had a strong musical streak. When I was a kid, I played the piano for four years, learned to read music and developed a pronounced sense for rhythm and harmonies.

In the studio, this translates to a very distinct and concrete vision of the tracks I want to make; I might describe, play (on the keyboard) or sing the particular melodies, bass lines or drum figures to my producer. Some people prefer hardware and plug-ins, but I am more of a sample guy.

Since my very first 12-inch in 2002, recorded with my business partner Walter Merziger of Booka Shade, most of my sound’s aesthetic has been defined by the samples I literally drag into the studio.

My average production day might see me emerging from the studio after 8 to 10 hours of gruelling work, only to head straight for my 20,000+ vinyl collection where I spend another four hours sifting through hundreds of hidden gems to pick out just the right sounds for the next day.

Back in the studio, I will record these snippets, cut them up, maybe tweak and distort them a bit and finally load them into the archives as raw source material for the production.

To paint you a picture of my collaboration with Thomas Schumacher (and other producers): if both of us were visual artists, I would be the one who sketched the motif and set the scene, afterwards we would take turns to wield the brush.

Thanks to Thomas’ extensive experience as a producer and DJ in his own right (he’s been doing this for 15 years and counting), my album ‘The Inner Jukebox’ has benefitted a lot from his expertise – and I am very happy to admit it!

On the other hand, Thomas could never have created the DJ T. sound on his own. And the same applies to most of the people mentioned above and the majority of Beatport artists.

So, I hope this helped to clear up some of the misconceptions about DJs slapping their own name on albums ‘written’ by their producers! ☺

Monday, 10th of August, Berlin

It feels like someone has emptied a pack of thumbtacks into my skull.

It’s early afternoon. Last week’s heat wave still has the city in its grip. I guess that’s fortunate because I love it when things get hot.

It has only been five hours or so since I left Bar25. Please forgive me for assaulting you with another bunch of superlatives, but this wasn’t just one of the best parties of my life, but also one of the most exciting weekends since moving my life and existence to Berlin. So, what happened?

Well, instead of succumbing to the usual – and probably natural and self-preserving – impulse to take a break from the nightlife on this rare free weekend, a break from the microcosm that invariably swallows me whole whenever I follow my profession, I took a daring, headfirst dive into my chosen city’s party culture: three nights in a row, for full measure.

The age-old and ever-new revelation: it’s one thing to be contractually ‘obliged’ to attend a party in some kind of official matter (e. g. as a DJ), but things are totally different if you get to pick the party yourself and delve right in as a guest. It’s more anonymous, relaxed, free and – most of all – far more inspiring. And while we’re on the topic of inspiration: this can make or break the career of a DJ, just like that of any other artist.

It’s far too easy and tempting to follow the path of least resistance, of routine and complacency, where your passion slowly, almost imperceptively and in minute increments, turns into a job like any other.

All of a sudden, you have become your own administrator. You probably have your own routine down pat, pushing the right buttons to entertain the masses and definitely worth the promoter’s fees whose clubs you’re filling, but once you take a closer look, you realise that the inner fire and motivation has long gone out and that you have morphed into a well-oiled machine.

One of the most effective antidotes: just go out without obligation, dance a few nights away and stand there in slack-jawed admiration at the brilliance of your colleagues’ DJ sets.

But let’s begin at the beginnings: for the first stop of my Berlin party marathon, I decided to check out the La Pena and Fumakilla label night at Watergate. Besides label host Arno Völker aka Einzelkind (remember him from my Belgian adventures?) the club hosted Danish deck wizard Martinez and Frankfurt’s own Christian Burkhardt, ready and eager to fly the flag for La Pena.

As expected, I got treated to a night of the latest and greatest house sounds. It’s always impressive and slightly disturbing to enjoy fantastic sets by other DJs – only to realise that you hardly know a single track!

Well, I guess we are fortunate that every week produces a rich, endless stream of new releases, more than a single person could ever hear in a lifetime … you could spend all your spare time checking out new tracks without ever snaring all the pearls. After a sneak peek at Livio & Roby on the main floor, it was time for a Polish exit to save some energy for the following nights.

Saturday was dedicated to two of my oldest female friends: Patricia Weil of Wilde Bookings (my booker) and Tania Capeluti, who also runs her own agency Playkula, had organised another one of their seminal Playkula & Wilde events.

With a line-up boasting Matt Tolfrey, Italoboys, Bill Patrick, Matt Tollfrey vs Inxec, Mia and Parisian special guests Masomenos they had pretty much outdone themselves.

I was only too happy to join the preceding artist dinner on the Spree embankment as these kinds of get-togethers (before the excess) are a great way to get acquainted and – if the sympathy is mutual – a great basis for getting lost in the night and working up a sweat on the dancefloor together.

I guess I was most intrigued by Masomenos. A long-time fan of their releases, I had often asked myself what kind of people were behind this music, their distinct flavour of tongue-in-cheek playfulness also reflected in the label’s visual branding (I love those tiny Masomenos creatures that populate their covers).

My curiosity was rewarded with a textbook artist couple, two people who live, work, travel and play together, a couple of DJane and live musician, blurred boundaries and all.

In the flesh, they were at least as lovable as their music, spreading their infectious message and pure joy via heavy, bouncy grooves and gaga vocal shreds.

Thought of the day: it’s not only possible to survive such a night without a single drop of alcohol, but also a great boost for dancefloor stamina and performance.

Sunday, noon. I can still feel the last two nights in my bones. But I was scheduled to play the Wilde Renate open air, followed by the promise of salvation at Bar25. When body and soul crave nothing but peace and quiet, but your own inherent Dionysian streak drives you to drain the cup all the way to the (bitter? no, let’s stay optimistic, shall we?) dregs, then you witness the clash of titanic powers … and it’s an open-ended and thrilling battle every time.

In this case, the opposing parties between the parties were physical body and willing mind. Working up enough motivation wasn’t a problem; after all, this perfect summer day lured me out of bed and into the open, and the last WR open air held a top spot in the hall of fame of this year’s personal favourite parties.

So, I was awake and raring to go! The new location was fantastic. Tucked away between derelict homes and wooden shacks, the WR crew had invested plenty of TLC on building their own, makeshift autonomous zone, an undisturbed, sheltered oasis for hanging out with like-minded souls.

Those who went barefoot could dance in the sand, the sound was pumping and everything around me felt pretty much perfect … I wasn’t totally up to scratch, but still managed to enjoy my own set. But after the last track had spent its beats, my circadian rhythm decided to go into freefall and all tried and tested revival measures failed to perk me up again.

So, time for a brief break at home with tea, food and chat with a friend. And – who would have thought – somewhere, tucked away in the deepest, darkest corner of my existence, I tapped into another reservoir of emergency energy.

If there is one thing all creatures of the night – excuse my pinch of pathos – have perfected to a T, it’s this desperate revival of our spirits, just enough to survive the next party, that might desert us in other circumstances. And how might this look to the outside world? Well, let’s not think about it ;-)

It must have been around 11pm when I passed through the gates of hell, the Titty Twister amongst the clubs, with what can only be described as mixed feelings.

Two minutes later, my dizzy spell was long forgotten. I had claimed a great spot overlooking the Bar’s circus floor and found myself spellbound by the short performances on the tiny stage, changing over at breathtaking speed.

I could probably fill pages on the freedom this place has to offer, on the complete suspension of time and space that engulfs you after crossing the threshold into this alternate realm, on the love and meticulousness that has gone into the club’s design and choreography, on the humour and absurdities you will encounter every other yard or two, on the total surrender to spontaneity and insanity, on the beauty of the supposedly ugly and on many other aspects that make this place not only unique in this world, but also unique in the history of club culture – anyone who loves this place will know what I am talking about.

Not everyone grasps the game played here – many never discover its hidden secrets. Only the chosen few have the right aerials to pick up the signals and that’s probably not a bad thing to keep the onslaught of new faces in check. In the early 1990s, Underground Resistance defined their music and attitude as “for those who know.” I guess this would work equally well emblazoned above the entrance to Bar25.

The events on stage teetered between demonic and heart-wrenchingly funny. All performers deserve a mention, but that would require a separate entry – for a fleeting glimpse, check out my photos and short movies. For the grand final, all performers scaled the stage to turn the night’s motto ‘Death Of Glitter’ – displayed on a sparkling banner behind the stage – into reality and to wish the Bar a ‘Happy Birthday’. Tears in my eyes.

Afterwards, it barely took a few minutes to transform the circus floor into the same madhouse it had been all day long. Ankle-deep confetti and glitter wherever you looked, blown around by giant fans and the dancers’ busy hands, making it virtually impossible to escape this ‘death by glitter’.

The moment you stepped into the arena, you had already signed your own ‘death warrant’, including the subsequent distribution of vital evidence across your own apartment.

While experienced ‘glitterati’ might make their way straight to the bathroom, shrug off their clothes and shower away the proof of the party, others would spend days picking lost shreds from their outfits, bags and fleshy folds. A souvenir that stays with you and a great reminder of Bar25. Is this what the promoters had in mind?

Nine hours later. In constantly changing constellations I had spent at least six of those nine hours on the Bar’s confetti floor: most of them dancing and shouting along with the other 499 inmates to (mostly) 1980s hits. Yes, you heard right – it couldn’t have been any more politically incorrect.

In-between bouts on the dancefloor, I practiced the usual drift through the site, swinging from branch to branch. That’s what makes the Bar so great: its confusing layout and the resulting hopeless mishaps.

From one moment to the next, you find yourself separated from your gang, only to bump into other friends or complete strangers in the crowd, then you join them for a shared Jägermeister at the bar, a dance or both – a sequence repeated every few minutes, carried by invisible waves that will take you here and there.

Others might find this intimidating, but this is exactly why I love the Bar, I am a bit of an odd duck that way. And then – equally spontaneous and all of a sudden – I realised it was time to go. In a flash – impossible to say my good-byes – I hailed a cab, huge grin pasted all across my face, and drove off towards the sunlit TV tower.

A few more words on the Bar’s status quo. Last summer, if you asked anyone from the venue’s inner circle about the latest news on its imminent closure, everyone would tell you something different, new details popped up almost every day, there were even rumours of another season, while official sources claimed the end was signed, sealed and delivered.

Finally, it transpired that the supposedly last ever days in September 2008 would stay just another act in the Bar’s closing comedy. In December 2008, Bar25’s promoters surprised all by striking a deal with their landlord, the Berlin Sanitation Department (BSR), which granted the Bar one final season, tied to its irrevocable closure in late August 2009.

Hedonists around the world breathed a sigh of relief – they had just secured another summer in paradise. The current, official state of affairs: Bar25 has to vacate the premises before August 31st to make room for the diggers that will level the place. Naturally, the promoters and other opponents of the ‘Media Spree’ project continue to fight and pull strings behind the scenes and on the streets.

A lot has happened since last December, but only a chosen few are privy to all the facts of this complex saga. Ever since this purportedly last birthday weekend, the rumour mills have cranked into overdrive.

The only certainty after a couple of days of research? Nothing is certain, yet again. Many locals and visitors have joined forces to protect the clubs and establishments endangered by Media Spree’s overblown embankment construction projects.

Other locations affected by these measures include Yaam, Watergate, Maria am Ufer and Cassiopeia. Besides plenty of coverage and solidarity in the local and national press, Berlin saw an initiative by the district of Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg for a referendum on the disputed project.

The public decision returned a resounding no (87% of all votes) to Media Spree. In addition, there was a petition initiated by those who ran the bars, signed by sympathisers from around the world, and an initiative called ‘Mediaspree versenken’ (sink Mediaspree), which joined up with a total of 70 (!) other grassroots initiatives to form a ‘Megaspree’ alliance.

Together these groups called a huge demonstration on July 11th, with thousands of protesters marching on Berlin’s town hall to make this issue public. Not counting the many well- or lesser known supporters and institutions who fought for the preservation of this vital cultural stretch on the Spree embankment.

Last, but not least, there was Quentin Tarantino: when he came to Berlin to recruit a bunch of actors for his latest film he soon made the bar his official headquarters.

And it looks as if the sheer volume of support has finally become large enough to sway the minds of politicians. Rumour has it that the urban planners responsible for the Media Spree project have lost some support in the Berlin senate.

Furthermore, the mills of bureaucracy seem to work against the universally hated project. The senate tied its projected grant (to the tune of a few millions) for the restoration of the contaminated embankment grounds to the condition that construction would start before the end of 2009. But for this to happen, the project’s investors need to get the money flowing and their stream has apparently dried to a trickle, not least of all due to the global financial crisis.

I can only repeat – it’s really hard to know what’s what and a lot of what I am reporting here comes from sources that are hard to check on the fly.

So, the question remains: are we this close to the expulsion from paradise or can we hope for another miracle? Well, as you all know: never say die and hope springs eternal!

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