New Order - Complete Music

Mute: 2016

I made a bold claim in declaring this 'remix' album New Order's best body of work outside of 'Best Of' packages, and now I get to show my receipts. Actually, no, I don't think I can, at least without bringing up the context that led to the album this sprung from, Music Complete. And that would eat up way too much word count that I'd rather spend detailing the tunes here. Besides, as my purchase of Complete Music included a free download of Music Complete, it'll at least leave me something to ramble on about whenever I get around to that record.

And the honest truth is, had my 'Surveying' stipulation not forced me to check out Complete Music, I may not have in the first place (or much of New Order in general, but stick with me). Yeah, there's been some ace remixes handed out to New Order's catalogue over the decades, but this was an entirely in-house project, simply taking the existing songs and extending them for maximum dancefloor efficiency. Hey, that's great, as I already liked the clubby nature of the originals, so more of that isn't so bad. A little more rhythmic intro here, a lengthier bridge there, and holy cow, these seven-to-nine minute versions are just so much better! I don't think I can even go back to the Music Complete variants, coming off like radio edits now. It almost makes me wonder if these were the finished songs, but in realizing it'd balloon the album to double-LP length, were forced to pare things down for commercial interests, rendering Complete Music to 'Director's Cut' side-project status. Probably not, but it's a fun notion if so.

So Restless comes in with all those peppy rhythms, hooky guitars (but no Peter Hook, he gone), emotional string swells, and synthy punctuations. And then, some two minutes in, Bernard comes in, and if this track hasn't fully won you over, then I don't know how you've been a New Order fan. Right, it's not Blue Monday, but hardly anything else in their catalogue is.

This is the sound of a band that's been through it all, having the skill to incorporate all their learned influences, and still find room to add some (then) contemporary tricks. A festival-ready breakdown in Singularity. A festival-ready build in Unlearn This Hatred. A little d'n'b momentum in Stray Dog (complete with a gravely Iggy Pop) and Superheated, and so on. Nor have they side-stepped other eras of their career, like the NRG pulse of Plastic or synth-pop campiness of Tutti Frutti (a song I dreaded going in based on title alone, winning me over regardless), both vintage '80s without sounding canned or retro-trendy. Or jubilant '90s funky piano house vibes of People On The High Line. Or the '00s indie rock janglyness of Nothing But A Fool and The Game. It's a little bit of everything you know of New Order and then some.

And then performed extra length, just because they can!

Pan Sonic - A

Mute: 1999

(a Patreon Request)

Who knew Scandinavians to be ahead of the techno curve? While Detroit was getting minimal and Germany was getting dubby, a little trio out of Finland were exploring the extreme end of experimental. Consisting of Mika Vainio, Ilpo Väisänen, and Sami Salo, their productions bridged the decades-old gap between techno's futurist outlook and musique conrete's dated art-noise. Okay, that's unfair, plenty of 'interesting' electronic sonic doodles and Pollock paintings by way of vacuum tubes and radio transistors having emerged from this scene. Still, you gotta' be all in with this, or it'll just come off as the random sounds heat radiators or telephone boxes create on a fussy night. Of course, this all became super-trendy once Very Important techno DJs began raiding labels Mille Plateaux and Raster-Noton for a little variety in the sets, but Panasonic was among the first to do it with some level of recognition.

Whoops, sorry, I mean Pan Sonic. Obviously their original handle wasn't gonna' fly with the increased international exposure. Along with losing the 'a' though, they also lost Sami Salo, who had a promising NHL career ahead of him, sporting one of the heaviest slap-shots the league had ever seen. Perhaps not a Hall Of Famer, but still, a top four d-man on whatever team he played for. Just a shame his career was derailed by frequent injuries, such that- Eh? It's a different Sami Salo? Wow, the odds! I mean, he joined the NHL right about the same time as the Panasonic Sami Salo left. That's too much of a coincidence.

Mika and Ilpo may have lost an 'a' (and a Salo), but they still got some use out of it, cheekily sliding the letter onto the spine of the CD case and using it as the title of their third album. As Pan(a)Sonic were definitely in the mix of the new Trendy Techno discourse, there was probably a little pressure in crafting an album that lived up to whatever hype was generated in their favour. Figures they'd almost completely abandon techno for the sake of sonic experiments, then.

I suppose A firmly sits in the IDM camps, though the clinical sterility of the genre isn't so prevalent. Tracks like Maa, Askel, and A-Kemia, for instance, feature nice reverb and echo among its low throbs, clicky percussion and drone tones. Lomittain has a cool, low-ridin' groove going for it. Telakoe is almost an 'ardcore track, though sounds more jokey than po-faced. And Voima could have fit snuggly as a b-side remix on some industrial rock single.

That's only five tracks out of seventeen though, and while a number of the rest are ninety second doodles, there's a wi-i-i-ide gap between 'real' tunes and musique concrete dithering on this album. I get that's the point, Pan Sonic crafting a huge pit of near-nothingness between the noisier tracks on A - makes Talakoe and Voima stand out more. If you've never dug the experimental side electronic music's non-musical potential though, A won't convert you either.

Paul van Dyk - 45 RPM

MFS/Mute: 1994/1998

I cannot deny being amused at seeing this album in the used shop. The thought process of its former owner vividly played out in my head: “Gosh gee, I sure do like myself Paul van Dyk, what with that lovely song For An Angel on all these trance-tastic mixes! But, the song wasn't on Out There And Back. Which one had For An Angel? Oh, it's this one, 45 RPM. Hey, it's even got two versions of it! I didn't even know you could do that with trance.” *plays the album* “Uh, what is this? This doesn't sound like trance. It's all so... plain, and simple, especially that first version of For An Angel. There isn't even any vocals or plucks on here. How can I 'OMG I DIE' to stuff without big, anthem singalong breakdowns? Ah, this is an old album, before Paul Oakenfold invented trance. Guess I'll sell it. It's not what I wanted.”

Myself, of course, was all up in getting my hands on some old school Paul van Dyk! Okay, not really, my interest in his musical output middling at best. However, finding any early '90s trance album in the used shops is rare 'round these here parts, so snagged that CD up I did so. Why has my grammar gone so wonky all of a sudden? Trancecrackeritis?

Beyond being Paul van Dyk's first album and initial home of For An Angel though, 45 RPM isn't a terribly remarkable trance LP, even for the year 1994. MFS had already released a number of memorable singles cementing the Mark Reeder print as one of trance's earliest tastemakers, with acts like Cosmic Baby and Effective Force leading the way. Known for having an ear attuned to catchy melodies through the DJ circuit, Paul's style caught the attention of the MFS team, bringing him on to lend his talents to various productions and remixes. When it came time to tag his name to his own work, however, instead of the type of trance MFS was known for, van Dyk opted for something a little more club-friendly and commercial in Pump This Party as a lead single. It didn't survive the '98 re-issue, for good reason. Stepping stones and all that, but it's hilarious to hear that as the intended hit single, rather than initially looked-over For An Angel. Different eras.

As for the rest of 45 RPM, yeah, it's an early trance album from Paul van Dyk. It's all competently produced and arranged, most hooks simple and subtle, though folks with cracked copies of Fruity Loops were knocking this stuff out by the turn of the century. A Magical Moment has a slower, groovier vibe going for it, while Ejaculoutro ends the album-proper on an ambient note, but little else leaps out from the norm. The '95 additions from the Emergency! EP replacing the Pump This Party tracks add more flavour to Paul's formula, which only highlight his earlier works as him still in a developmental stage.

Depeche Mode - The Singles 86>98

Mute: 1998

Depeche Mode, the band everyone loves when they want to get in touch with their darkside, and will get beaten to a bloody pulp by the South Park goth kids for it. Depeche Mode, the band that’s seen so much reinvention over the years, even their long standing fans have formed tribes based on which version is the one true Mode. A band that had a singles package released before their most recognized songs hit the radio waves, followed the year after with another ‘greatest hits’ album to accommodate those, and was still followed upon by some of their most famous songs. They soundtracked everything from foppish New Wave clubs to nebbish S&M dungeons to family friendly mall speakers. They’re the band you enjoy until their sound falls out of fashion, secretly admire while no one’s looking, then proclaim a long-standing devotion when it’s cool to do so again.

So yeah, Depeche Mode has had a career, one lengthy enough for retrospectives dividing their different eras. Obviously the mid-‘80s record The Singles 81 → 85 covered the early portions of their discography, but albums Black Celebration, Music For The Masses, and Violator came after. These LPs held the songs Stripped, Strangelove, Behind The Wheel, Enjoy The Silence, A Question Of Lust, A Question Of Time, A Question Of Your Personal Jesus… Basically every song we’ve come to associate with Depeche Mode (that reverb!), even those who contend Just Can’t Get Enough is their crowning achievement.

Naturally another greatest hits package had to capitalize on these singles. Like, shortly after the ‘90s took form, when their darkwave synth-pop sound could no longer stand toe-to-toe with trendier sounds like industrial rock and raving techno. Get a few extra dollars from their fans and- wait, Depeche Mode’s still going? What’s with this ‘adapting with the times’ strategy of theirs? It’ll never work, “never” claims the critics! Well, the band must have been doing something right, for they managed a whole second CD of singles from their ‘90s efforts.

Honestly, CD2 of The Singles 86>98 isn’t as memorable as CD1. The albums released during that period - Songs Of Faith And Devotion and Ultra - have their fans, and it’s remarkable the band navigated the ‘90s as capably as they did before ‘80s revivalism gave them another boost with 2001’s Exciter. Yet, hearing them go all distorted in I Feel You and Useless, or try trip-hop with Barrel Of A Gun, doesn’t quite mesh with how I, a passive fan, fancy the group. Leave the angst-ridden sonics to Nine Inch Nails, and give me more of that cinematic melodrama bombast in Little 15. Wait, why is that song on CD2?

I guess there’s no harm in slapping a second disc of material to an essential first, but was there no other way of summing up thirteen years of band’s career? CD1 has all the songs you know and love, CD2 has the fans-only material. So much cake that needs eating too.

Paul van Dyk - Seven Ways

MFS/Mute: 1996/1998

I could never understand the praise heaped on Paul van Dyk's second LP. “Really?” my brain puzzled as I listened to the album proper. “This is considered one of trance's all-time greatest efforts?” It’s decent enough, if rather simple for 1996, but my gold standard for the era is, was, and always will be whatever Oliver Lieb was kicking out at the time. And Seven Ways is no Rendezvous In Outer Space.

I can’t even give it the pass I normally allow cheesier hard German trance of those years, the production much too slick and polished for that. There are charming moments for sure, like the old-school vibes of I Like It, the unabashed bliss-out of Forbidden Fruit, the snarling acid work of Beautiful Place, the floating space-trance of I Can’t Feel It, and Words tickling all my vintage German trance pleasure centres. The whole album is mostly continuously mixed, a nice flow maintained between energetic bangers and melodic groovers. Paul and his helping hands in the studio (MFS head Mark Reeder, Wolfgang Ragwitz, Johnny Klimek) put together a decent enough product here – nothing sounds cheap or lame but I dunno’. For something considered one of the best albums of ‘90s trance, I figured Seven Ways would be more definitive of the genre. Then again, van Dyk’s style has been copied and expanded upon so much over the years, his second LP can’t help but come off sounding rather ordinary in comparison. Such has long been his handicap anyway.

Eh? The second disc? Oh, how good could that be? It’s just remixes and B-sides for collectors, ain’it? Yeah, that killer BT mix of Forbidden Fruit lurks among the ten tracks, but do I really need to hear three alternate versions of Words? Oh fine, I’ll spring for the double-discer set – it’s about the same price as the single CD version anyway.

And... oh. Oh! Oh my...! CD2 is awesome! Production that’s beefier. Ample wicked acid. Arrangements working the progressive trance template to perfection. Right out the gate, you get Seven Ways (Star Wars), a mix that sounds so much fuller than the CD1 version of the titular cut. Why the Hell didn’t Paul use this one there? Following that is Today (Trance-Ambient Mix), a lovely bit of Balearic business, and after that Words (For Love), jettisoning the older-leaning sounds of the original in favour of something far more cutting edge for the time. Even the hard, bangin’ Curbed Headcase Mix of Words doesn’t sound out of place. Then there’s two killer versions of Beautiful Place, an additional tech-trance stormer of Forbidden Fruit, and even a bit of that pseudo-genre epic house going on with eleven minute Sundae 6 A.M..

I get it now. CD1 of Seven Ways was van Dyk of old, closing a chapter of his career. CD2 of Seven Ways is the van Dyk everyone loves and pines for a return to. Though futile at this late stage, let me throw my voice in with that choir.

Moby - Last Night (Original TC Review)

Mute: 2008

(2013 Update:
Not much to add to this review, as it holds up just as fine as it did when it first came out, though calling it "his most accomplished album since Everything Is Wrong" is a bit of a stretch on my part. Kind of a shame this was just a one-off return to early club music on Moby's part, but it was only ever intended to be as such. I wonder if we might see another one though, what with classic house again back in vogue after a couple-year gap of not. Man, was 2008 ever a weird year for house music.)


IN BRIEF: The Moby ravers enjoyed returns.

I don’t think anyone expected Moby returning to dance music in such a fashion, if at all. Granted, he tested the waters a few years back with a Voodoo Child album, but for the most part everyone figured Mr. Hall’s most recognizable project had forever gone the way of quaint bittersweet pop-rock. Still, it’s not like the mainstream readily accepted Moby. Although they enjoyed the music off Play (if anything because you couldn’t escape it) and the odd tune here and there if it fit the times, Moby remained the butt-end of numerous jokes, an all-too easy target of ridicule.

Perhaps it isn’t surprising, then, that as he nears mid-life, Moby has begun reflecting, recalling a time and place one was accepted no matter who you were or what you did. The second Summer Of Love certainly was such a time, and thanks to anthems such as Go and Next Is The E, Mr. Hall emerged as an underground darling of the early American rave scene. So if such fond thoughts have been on his mind lately, producing an album which captures those free-wheeling hedonistic years in sixty-five minutes is an intriguing idea; the fact this comes at a point when classic house music is seeing something of a revival just so happens to be a bonus for both parties.

Still, there have already been plenty of question marks, accusations and critical responses to such an endeavor. Cynically, you have to wonder why Moby would go back to a sound he hasn’t touched on in over a decade, especially when his last Best Of release ignored nearly all of his pre-Play output. Also, will his current fanbase even be willing to accept such blatant romanticizing of early ‘90s dance music when it hasn’t been in vogue since Madonna’s Vogue? And does Moby even have much chance of standing toe-to-toe with admittedly much trendier revivalists like Hercules & Love Affair or Dixon?

Last Night will probably fly right over your head if you’ve been fussing over such thoughts. On this new album, Moby doesn’t seem to care whether the popular press or the bloggers or even the current crop of EDM followers accept his retro-direction; it’s primarily the old-schoolers whom enjoyed his early output that will dig on this. As much as he says this is a love-letter to New York City of the late 80s, Last Night is equally a love-letter to all those fans that gave Mr. Hall his big break, with the giddy rave vibes oozing from every sonic corner.

Were I allowed to wear my Nostalgia Headphones while reviewing Last Night, it’d easily earn high marks. Even without them, though, there is some gosh-darned good music to be had on here. Take Everyday Is 1989: it’s an incredibly simple track on paper, consisting of rolling pianos, soul-sista’ samples, and string stabs looping over vintage house beats. It should sound old, it should sound dated, it should sound like a bygone relic. Yet every time those pianos emerge - and I do mean every time - my head can’t help but bobble along. There’s a groove to be had here, my friends, and it’s more infectious than most of what’s come out from the house camps in the last few years.

Much of Last Nights works in this regard. Moby keeps things simple and to the point, doesn’t get bogged down in fancy gimmicks or overproduction, and maintains the old-school uplifting spirit throughout much of the album. And while the house cuts like Everyday Is 1989, Disco Lies, and I’m In Love received most of the pre-album buzz, there’s plenty of other EDM genres dabbled in as well. The Stars and 257.Zero tackles the rave end of the spectrum, while I Love To Move In Here adds some hip-house flavor. The latter portion of the album provides an ambient-house touch; however, aside from Sweet Apocalypse, these offerings aren’t nearly as interesting as the rest of Last Night, coming off as mere sonic doodles compared to some of Moby’s more famous downtempo tunes.

For as much as Last Night honors his roots, though, Moby hasn’t completely neglected some of the fresher influences of his discography. Material like the titular track, Ooh Yeah, Live For Tomorrow, and Hyenas finds blending of melancholic pop and lounge, especially so with the hidden bit of jazz tagged on at the end of the finale. Trumping it all though - and even the retro stuff - is Alice, which melds a whole pile of Moby-isms into a single track: blues-shuffle rhythms, squawking guitar licks, guest raps from Nigerian based group 419 Squad, catchy pop hooks... Lodging it smack in the middle of the album definitely helps prevent the whole of it from sounding like too much of a nostalgia love-in.

Ultimately, Moby’s latest is quite probably his most accomplished album since Everything Is Wrong. He may not be doing anything new on here but that’s beside the point - Last Night is the sound of a musician finding himself quite comfortable with his roots again, and proving he is more than capable of producing a song that remains just as timeless as the era it draws influence from. The mainstream media may not understand it (but, oh, they certainly do when R.E.M. does the same thing); long-time fans of electronic dance music will.

Moby - Everything Is Wrong

Mute: 1995

The only Moby album you’re supposed to have, even if you aren’t much of a Moby fan. At least, that used to be the case, before Play hit the streets - even then, it took a bit for that quanti-popular album to get going (re: heard in every commercial or soundtrack ever), so Everything Is Wrong still held onto its title for a little longer. The funny thing is it’s not like Play was the first of Moby’s releases to do this - tracks off here and even his first album cropped up on various soundtracks - but it was the most ubiquitous of the bunch, thus the one that stuck in the public’s mind.

As for Everything Is Wrong, this was the one that raised his star beyond underground darling, thanks to the marketing muscle his new label Elektra provided. No longer tied to his rave roots, he could explore sonic avenues as never before! Then why does half this album sound like he had trouble letting go of those rave roots?

Feeling So Real, Bring Back My Happiness, and Everytime You Touch Me are all throwback rave anthems, which is weird to type nearly twenty years on. Truth is though, by 1995, almost all aspects of old school hardcore had been snuffed out by the march of musical progress: jungle adopted the breaks and bass, happy hardcore pilfered the piano lines and giddiness, and the riffs went to... oh, let's say gabber. But these tunes by Moby, they sound exactly as you'd expect classic rave to sound in that year had the genre kept plugging on. Fun these days, but kind of odd back then.

What really got folks' attention though, were the lush, cinematic piano-chill tracks. God Moving Over The Face Of The Water's the classic of the bunch, featured at the end of the movie Heat as Al Pacino holds the hand of a dying Robert de Niro (aw, they could'a had a bromance). Personally, Hymn's the track for me, playing to the haunting, melodic strengths many a Moby tune has carried over the years. Elsewhere, the gospel influences and pop-potential hinted in prior releases get more focus this time out with tracks like Into The Blue and Cool First Hive (a dead ringer of a precursor to Play).

So some lovely moments, but ol' Richard also shows his burgeoning musical schizophrenic behavior. I don't recall if The Prodigy made it the in-thing to do, but Moby's first forays into dance-punk fusion appear too. The two cuts, they're... um, punk, that's for sure; heck, What Love? sounds like it could have been an Atari Teenage Riot track.

With so much genre dabbling, Everything Is Wrong doesn't come off like a cohesive album. Instead, it's a snapshot of where Moby was in the mid-'90s, figuring out what to do next with his music as one chapter of it was coming to an end. Despite the lack of any narrative or flow, it's still a fascinating listen.