ATTACK MAGAZINE X DIMENSIONS FESTIVAL 2017 ANNUAL

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WWW.AMPERE-ANTWERP.COM

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EDITOR’S NOTE
Music doesn’t exist in a vacuum.
Whether you see it as art or
entertainment, even the most
abstract combination of beats and
melodies reflects the world in
which we live. When our friends at
Dimensions asked us to put together
this magazine, we immediately knew
that we wanted to explore the same
interaction of culture, life, politics
and social issues that we cover at
attackmagazine.com. We picked
a very small selection of our favourite
artists from this year’s instalment of
the festival and asked them to talk
about all of these things. That’s exactly
what you’ll find inside. Whether it’s
Jeff Mills talking about the untapped
potential of techno, Resom discussing
how music can be a force for social
change, or Amp Fiddler explaining
the politics of Detroit, we hope you
enjoy exploring the bigger picture
surrounding this year’s Dimensions
festival.
With love,
Greg Scarth
Editor, Attack Magazine
August 2017

AMP FIDDLER
10
JEFF MILLS
22
Published by
Attack Media
Editor
Greg Scarth
Words
Kristan Caryl
Greg Scarth
Design
John Carrington
Produced by
PM Agency
© 2017 Attack Media Ltd
attackmagazine.com
RESOM
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MIKE G
40
DIMENSIONS
SOUND
SYSTEMS
52
KNOWLEDGE
ARENA
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THAN THEY HAV
-
“TRUMP INFLU
PEOPLE TO BE
I THINK HE’S A
IDIOT...”
8

ENCED
MORE RACIST
E BEEN.
FUCKING
AMP FIDDLER
9

Words: Kristan Caryl
AMP FIDDLER
“It was beautiful, man. Beautiful.” Amp
Fiddler is remembering the Detroit of
his childhood. “The architecture and
big old houses and mansions were
amazing. The streets were amazing.
When I went downtown with my
parents it was always a metropolis,
it was busy. The Paris of the west,
they called it. You had big department
stores – ours was JL Hudson’s at the
time, and JL Hudson’s was amazing.
You could buy everything from a car
to toys to jewellery.”
The 52-year-old producer, keyboardist
and singer-songwriter is talking about
Conant Gardens, an area on the
north-east side of the city, right next
to the Davison Freeway, the very first
of its kind anywhere in the States.
One of the most prosperous black
neighbourhoods in Detroit, much
of that stemmed from the booming
motor industry. “Most people I knew
worked in a factory and they were
pretty well-to-do. They had nice cars
and clean homes.”
Indeed, Amp’s own father – who
arrived as a child from the Virgin
10

Islands – worked at Uniroyal Giant
Tyre, while his mother was a
salesperson at JL Hudson’s. Though
his father’s work gave the family a
comfortable life, he never wanted the
same for Amp.
“That job basically killed him,” he
explains. “He died in his early 50s,
not even 55. He worked in the area
where they dyed the rubber black
and eventually, when he came home, I
started seeing the ring [of dye] round
his head wouldn’t go away. It was
lighter where his hat was and darker
below the hat line, so my dad and I
talked and we agreed whatever I did, I
would never work in a factory.”
At that time, in the 60s, there was
always another possibility, and that
was music. As Berry Gordy’s Motown
label blew up all over the world, it
served as inspiration to the kids in the
Motor City who realised they could
be successful on a global level in ways
never seen before. “It let everyone
who loved music know you could
be successful if you studied, sang or
did anything musical, so my mom was
always a fan of that. She taught me the
piano I still have, the baby grand, and
that’s how I got involved.”
With a CV as impressive as his, it’s
always hard to understand why Amp
Fiddler is as under the radar as he is.
Not only did he famously teach gamechanging
producer J Dilla and A Tribe
Called Quest’s Q-Tip how to use
the Akai MPC sampler, but aged 20
he joined Parliament-Funkadelic and
toured the world with funk pioneer
George Clinton for the next 11
years. He’s also worked with Prince,
Brand New Heavies and Jamiroquai,
recorded with Moodymann, toured
with “good guy” Theo Parrish and
to this day releases solo records as
well as working with myriad up and
comers from Detroit.
Still living in the exact same
neighbourhood of his childhood, Amp
reckons, “It’s still beautiful. It’s funky. I
have a beautiful yard, My house needs
painting and I need a roof, but you
know, it is what it is. You have to see
beauty in everything, don’t you?”
Behind his positive outlook there is a
more uneasy truth. Amp admits that
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when he graduated high school – a
private one at that, because education
in the city was, and still is, “fucked
up” – the decline started. In the 60s
it was down to major auto plants
relocating to the South, to Canada
and to Mexico. In the 70s, arson
rates rocketed and the city became
the murder capital of America. In the
80s, automation took over remaining
manufacturing duties and rising gas
prices slowed car sales. It meant that
by the 90s, unemployment was at an
all-time high and Detroit was left all
but a ghost town.
“That’s when I met Slum Village and
Dilla,” Amp recalls. “They were living
not far from me, two blocks away [and
Ma Dukes, Dilla’s mum, still is]. They
had a group called Ghost Town ‘cause
the city was in array. When you went
downtown it was deserted.”
This lack of distraction, agrees Amp,
is what makes the people of the city
so creative. “If life is simple and just
about music, then that’s what we do
all day. If you’re born and bred in a city
that’s one of the most innovative ever,
it’s evident in your mind you’re gonna
have to be creative.”
If the 80s and 90s were tough, the
new millennium was no better. The
sub-prime mortgage crisis of 2008
that eventually crippled economies
around the world hit the city hard.
“People thought they could mortgage
their home and it would be a free
ticket. I was offered it because I’m a
home-owner, but I didn’t see the light
at the end of the tunnel with that one.
It just looked like a black hole to me,
so I ran from it. A lot of people didn’t
and eventually lost their homes. Most
of my friends and family stayed, they
were smart.”
Stats show that those who did leave
were mostly those rich enough to
do so, namely white people. But now
they are coming back: from 2013 to
2014, 8,000 white people arrived in
the city, the largest increase in whites
since 1950. They are there to buy up
property at hugely reduced prices
and set up “yuppie businesses”. One
man in particular, multi-billionaire
Dan Gilbert, has become known as
the city’s sugar daddy. He founded
Quicken Loans, the nation’s largest
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online mortgage lender, and bought
more than 70 properties downtown
to seed dozens of start-ups.
“He bought businesses and buildings
in some of the most beautiful areas,
so it’s gentrifying really fast, but I just
don’t see how he is helping anyone
in the inner city. All he’s about is
getting money, making money and
rebuilding downtown to bring more
white people into the city and push
the black people out.”
Amp believes there should be grants
for people who already own their
homes but can’t afford to do them up.
But he’s not hopeful that will happen.
Although the city mayor, Mike Duggan,
is white, and the city voted for
Democratic nominee Hilary Clinton,
Michigan State went for Republican
Donald Trump (despite huge
irregularities that showed 782 more
votes than there are voters were
counted in Detroit). Though amiable
and calmly spoken throughout, the
mention of the president’s name gets
Amp angry. He starts to swear for the
first time in an hour.
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“Trump influenced people to be more
racist than they have been. I think he’s
a fucking idiot saying certain things
about Muslims, Mexicans, other
races, that are fucking ridiculous. It’s
a way to make it OK for people to
be prejudiced against a certain race.
People think if the president of the
United States hates these people,
then I can too. He’s justifying it.”
Though Amp doesn’t see any tension
on the streets between different
races and communities, he does
have some dark stories about “one
brother I know who owns a building
downtown and wouldn’t sell. They’re
forcing his wife to sell all his property
because they already killed him.”
On the effects Barack Obama, the first
black president, had on the country,
Amp reflects. “I never believed he
would be the saviour. Some people
did. He did what he could. We just
need to learn to love each other. I
have this song, ‘Unconditional Eyes’,
and maybe I need to remix it because
those words need to be somewhat of
an oath in this world. The way we see
such differences in each other is crazy,
outlandish.”
As socially and politically aware as
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Amp Fiddler is, you might not assume
so from his music. Often couched in a
deep and easygoing funk, his grooves
are languid and soul powered, while
his vocals range from buttery croons
to steamy growls. That will be the
case again on a new album coming
later in 2017. It’s a collection of songs
from the last five years, written during
a time away from music that came
about after the loss of Amp’s son,
who went to school with Jay Daniel
and Kyle Hall. Shaped and edited with
the help of his friend Moodymann, it
will be one of two albums. The other
is with another Detroit live outfit,
Will Sessions, on Fat Beats.
“I also have this other band,
Digitarians,” he says. “We talk about
everything, and I push more of my
energy towards social and political
commentary there. We talk about the
food industry, drugs and everything
else they push on us that’s screwed
up these days.” Another of Detroit’s
less proud titles is that it is said to
be the fattest city in America. Amp
says it’s all down to the fact that
the education system in the city has
always been a mess. “White schools
get all the funding, so those kids get all
the good jobs. They don’t want black
people to know their own history. Just
lies. Instead, they get their education
from the streets, so if you keep the
schools fucked up, you keep the
people impoverished. They stay in a
financial funk where they can’t afford
to eat at Whole Foods, or whatever.
They eat cheap, mass-produced and
processed stuff that is labelled all
wrong, claims to be healthy but isn’t.
I can get a complete meal for $2.99
– a sandwich, fries and a Coke – but
if you eat that shit every day, you will
be sick.”
For Amp, music has always saved him
from a similar fate. “I’ve always been
happy to keep creating, guided by the
spirits of the family members I keep
losing to some tragedy or death,”
he says, audibly shrinking. Though he
might not have had the big break and
big cheques of some of his peers,
its clear that’s not what makes Amp
Fiddler tick. “At some point maybe
I’m better off than they are, because I
don’t need a whole lot of things to be
happy. My life doing what I do makes
me proud.”
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“POPULAR CUL
BY PEOPLE WIT
CULTURAL MOT
BEEN HIJACKE
20
00

TURE HAS
D, MOSTLY
H NON-
IVES.”
- JEFF MILLS
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Words: Greg Scarth. Photos: basic_sounds
JEFF MILLS
“It’s easier to just accept the norm –
to just go with the flow and not have
to re-think or question.”
Jeff Mills has always been willing to
question the norm. As a founding
member of Underground Resistance
alongside ‘Mad’ Mike Banks, Mills
spearheaded the second wave of
Detroit techno back in the late
80s, but his musical output quickly
expanded and his own artistic identity
became more complex. Alongside his
continually inventive releases, his hiphop-influenced
DJing style and his live
909 drum machine workouts became
legendary; his 1995 Live At The Liquid
Room mix CD was a genre-defining
milestone for techno, relentlessly raw
and creative. More recently, Mills has
focused his work on higher concepts,
frequently collaborating with classical
musicians and exploring concepts
of space exploration and extraterrestrial
life.
I’ve asked Mills why he thinks so many
people in electronic music are cynical
about these kinds of high-minded
concepts, or the very idea of techno
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having more meaning than just making
people dance. “In more popular or
commercial forms of art and culture,
it’s somewhat understandable,” he
continues. “People are constantly
being fed what’s new. People tend
not to want to be left behind, so they
accept the information ‘as is’. Everyone
is supposed to be happy and content,
but the truth is that popular culture
has been hijacked, mostly by people
with non-cultural motives. So people
are cynical – and with good reason –
but this system doesn’t always apply
to everyone, for everything, all the
time. In my case, I take pleasure in
questioning what we know as facts. I
very much like to re-examine, to look
at things in different perspectives.
Not for the sake of conflict, but more
out of pure curiosity.”
This year’s Planets suite, performed
alongside the Orquestra Sinfónica
do Porto, is the next step in Mills’s
efforts to create ‘electronic classical’
music, blending the two styles. Holst
considered himself a socialist and
valued the political act of making
music for the masses. I ask Mills if
he considers his own Planets to be a
political work. “No I don’t,” he replies.
“I’m not a socialist, but I consider the
subject of Planets as being universal –
it applies to everyone. I consider it a
bit beyond politics or religion: simply,
one can’t take sides on the existence
of other worlds, no matter how selfindulgent
we’re taught to be. Does
the fact that I – an Afro-American
man of non-classical music roots –
imagined and composed this project
[make it political]? Maybe. But if one
really thinks about it, maybe it speaks
to my ancient ancestral thread and
how I’ve evolved through, under and
around all the circumstances of my
life. Maybe [something like] Planets is
what happens when one has always
questioned the world we’re spinning
on and looks beyond Earth’s inner
atmosphere for answers. The answers
I’ve been taught are too often tainted.”
It’s hard not to draw comparisons
with the fact that Holst’s Planets
was written during the First World
War, an era of huge global turmoil.
I ask how Mills’s take on Planets
engages with society in 2017. Are
there parallels with the state of the
world a century ago? “I do think there
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are similarities in the sentiment and
mentality of people [today], which are
the result of the advancements and
human displacement in industry and
economics. I think the idea of mixing
genres speaks volumes to where
people and societies are headed. And
I think it makes perfectly good sense
as the idea of addressing the planets
is not just only examined, studied and
addressed by particular cultures. The
subject of ‘other worlds’ runs through
humanity, so combining minds and
efforts to address such an enormous
subject is a step in another direction.”
I ask whether there’s a single unifying
thread which Mills think ties together
his creative output, from Underground
Resistance to his Liquid Room mix,
key releases such as ‘The Bells’ and
through to the present day. “For the
most part,” he explains, “I’m trying to
connect and widen the boundaries
of electronic music to as many other
things as possible. By even attempting
to do so, I’ve opened up new paths to
connect to other artists and people I
would not have had if I just remained
a techno producer and DJ.”
This desire to push techno forward
has been consistent in Mills’s output
since the 1980s, both musically and
in terms of the concepts and ideas
that should represent something
more than just mindless dancefloor
escapism. In another interview a few
years ago, Attack’s Kristan Caryl
asked Mills whether techno was too
serious. “No,” came the definitive
reply, “it’s not serious enough.” I ask
whether Mills still agrees with that
point of view and his response shows
he’s not wavered at all in his belief. “[I
hold that view] even more so now,”
he explains. “I’m still not convinced
that we – all the artists, producers
and DJs in techno music – do all
that we can to make techno more
interesting, more innovative and
alluring. With the genre and all the
creative freedom it allows, I think too
many of us choose not to use it. Many
prefer the practical way, by literally
making music specifically to dance
to and not making enough efforts to
make music about something more
important that one could also dance
to. There is a difference.”
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With that in mind, I wonder where
Mills has left to go with techno. At the
age of 54, his passion for innovation
continues to shine through, so what
ambitions does he have left within
music? What would he most like to
achieve as his career continues to
evolve? “I think one significant turning
point could be that I could figure out
a way to make people truly believe
that they are no longer where they
were,” he suggests. Altering people’s
perception of reality on a neurological
level might seem a tall order, but the
way Mills talks about it you believe he
might really be capable of achieving
it. “[If] the effect of manipulating
people’s senses is so profound that
reality seems to have changed, that
would be something I could really
use…”
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WAY TO COMMU
A VERY EMOTIO
“MUSIC IS NOT
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HING BUT A
NICATE. IT’S
NAL THING.”
- RESOM
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Words: Greg Scarth. Photos: Camille Blake
RESOM
Nadine Moser’s Skype profile picture
is a photo of a woman’s fist, clenched
tightly and raised in the air. You
couldn’t ask for a better image to
represent Moser herself, the symbolic
gesture simultaneously calling to
mind ecstatic moments of dancefloor
escapism and political defiance. These
two activities have played major roles
in her life, from politically active
student days in Leipzig through to her
current DJ career and residency at
Berlin’s ://about blank.
Growing up in East Germany in the
1980s, Moser remembers music
being an important part of her life
from a young age. The first music she
remembers falling in love with came
from radio and her older sister’s
record collection – Depeche Mode,
George Michael and the dubious
charms of Milli Vanilli – but one record
that particularly struck a chord was
Der Traumzauberbaum (The Dream
Magic Tree) by Reinhard Lakomy and
Monika Ehrhardt, a popular children’s
album released in 1980. “It tells the
story of two fantasy monsters sitting
in a tree, and the leaves of the tree
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create dreams – both fantasies and
nightmares. I still listen to it. It’s one of
the most important records for three
full generations in the former GDR.
It’s musically fantastic – so fantastic
for a children’s music production.”
I’m speaking to Moser at home in
Berlin, the city she’s called home
for the last six years. At one point
in our conversation I ask when she
first realised that music goes hand
in hand with broader social issues.
“Always,” she replies. Her response is
punctuated by a look of bewilderment,
as if in complete disbelief that anyone
would even question the idea. “Music
is nothing but a way to communicate.
It’s one of those things where people
can come together and from their
inner heart say they like it or don’t
like it. It gives them a chance not to
think. It’s a very emotional thing.”
The idea of creating soundtracks to life
experiences resonates strongly, but
not just in the sense of music. “A lot
of people say music is the soundtrack
of their lives,” Moser continues. “The
point for me is not really music which
keeps me alive, but sound. There are
so many sounds which remind me of
special situations, like the sound of
wind or water or birds. You hear the
sound of trees and you feel so relaxed
– I really think that it’s a connection
to your emotional state. Sound keeps
me alive, music is my way of making
other people understand me – I think
other people have better ways of
finding expressions for emotions that
I’m not capable of, but music lets me
make myself understood. It’s really all
about feeling for me – I think that’s
the most important point, to be able
to feel things.”
It’s that love of sound which continues
to define Moser’s life and creative
output. Whether on radio, in a club
or at a festival, her sets can be wildly
eclectic depending on what mood she
finds herself in. Raw electro one time,
harder house and techno another,
mellower ambient sounds when
they suit. “For me, music is not one
sound or genre,” she explains. “It’s
not one beat or one rhythm. Life isn’t
straight, it always has ups and downs
– it’s boring sometimes and exciting
sometimes. You find music for every
situation. I really like to mix it up.”
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We’re speaking in the week after
Giegling co-founder Konstantin has
hit the headlines for his comments
about female DJs (brief synopsis:
women aren’t as good at DJing as
men, so it’s not fair that female DJs
are so heavily promoted). Moser had
asked not to discuss the issue but
brings it up somewhat reluctantly to
illustrate a broader point about the
social responsibility of prominent
house and techno artists. “If you look
at what happened in the last two or
three years with statements from DJs
or musicians who are on the status of
being pop stars, I would say they have
responsibility. Konstantin is a pop
musician now, he’s not underground
anymore. There is no fucking
underground.”
She continues: “If they say something
which doesn’t fit with your inner
beliefs, you have to do something
about it, but the question is how do
you do something about it: do you just
talk about it and complain, or do you
try to change things? For me, political
activism means that I try to change
things for the better. It’s common
sense, based in political roots which I
would say are more to the left. I try to
bring people together and not divide
them. To me it’s all about diversity.”
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I suggest that homophobic and
misogynist views are fundamentally
at odds with the politics of house
and techno, but Moser corrects me:
“You have to see that there are other
roots as well. Russian electronic
music in the 70s and 80s was more
about art, which doesn’t really mean
that it has to be political [in the
same way]. There’s so much influence
coming from avant-garde electronic
musicians in Russia; you can’t expect
the same things anymore. You have to
get in dialogue with people, and that’s
what’s happening. I’m really thankful
that these things [the debates around
gender and sexuality in dance music]
happened, but you have to discuss it
and not expect that everyone’s on the
same level.”
She continues on the subject of
whether electronic music necessarily
has overt political implications:
“People like Tiësto and Armin van
Buuren, you can’t expect that those
people transmit something political.
This is an industry. Something like
Boiler Room has so many sponsors.
On one hand it gives attention to
what was formerly a subculture, but
it’s not a subculture anymore; there’s
a need to change the whole of society
and we can’t just take ourselves out,
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we have to stay in dialogue with the
rest. If we don’t do that, we lose the
connection.”
The idea of corporate sponsorship
in dance music is one which clearly
rings alarm bells in Moser’s world.
“I’m not going to work with Boiler
Room and I’m not going to work
with [Deutsche Telekom-funded]
Electronic Beats anymore,” she
explains. “I don’t want to be used as
a commercial ambassador, so working
with sponsored events is always a bit
tricky. I don’t want to have Telekom
paying my rent.” I suggest that most
artists and DJs never question the
commercial dynamic at play in these
sponsorship deals. “You have to be
careful what you give to the industry.
In the end it’s always like that: artists
create something new, and all that
creativity is taken by the industry and
sold out. If you really want to stay in
the subculture, just stay there.” Even
so, she clarifies that she would never
say never to playing at sponsored
events; it depends on the context.
“A small promoter in a country with
lower income and different standards
might have more justification to
ask for sponsorship than a festival
in Germany or the UK, but this
is also connected to the growing
expectations some artists have [when
setting their fees].”
Moser continues to work as a booker,
although she’s keen to point out
that she keeps her parallel careers
separate. Nevertheless, she’s very
aware of the pernicious influence that
celebrity DJ culture and attendant
rising fees can play: “I don’t want to
destroy a club because a DJ’s fee is
too high to pay. If you see how gross
artists sometimes are in requesting
fees, I’m shocked. How can you even
get the idea of doing that? You’re
destroying a lifestyle! It’s not only
about a political life, it’s about how to
work within a so-called community
in the electronic music scene.” She
pauses for a moment to consider her
choice of words. “OK, it’s not really a
community, we can say so…”
She may not believe in the myth of
the dance music community, but
Moser continues to play a vital role
in her local scene, despite claiming
to have retired from political
34

activism on a formal level. “I started
a project in Leipzig called do, running
workshops for women in the culture
industry: debates, sound engineering
workshops, Ableton workshops and
that sort of thing. We always had the
position of showing that there are
way more women in the industry, not
only the dudes.”
When the ://about blank venue
opened in Berlin, it made sense for
Moser to get involved, partly because
she knew some of the people behind
the scenes, but also because the club’s
mixture of politics and electronic
music chimed with her own interests.
She soon became a resident and,
for the last three years, has run the
Amplified Kitchen events, trying to
bring the kind of conversations that
you’d have in the kitchen at a house
party out into the public. “It’s based
on dialogue and communication, not
organising demonstrations. That’s
the next level, but we’re more into
the theory. Demonstrations are a bit
boring for me, because I already did
that for so many years.”
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TIMES HAVE CH
“THE STIGMATI
WORLD MUSIC
ACCOUNT FOR
38

SED VIEW OF
DOES NOT
THE WAY
ANGED.”
- MIKE G
39

Words: Kristan Caryl
MIKE G
“Say ‘world music’ and people might
think of Paul Simon dancing around
on stage with Ladysmith Black
Mambazo, something with bongos
and esoteric chanting, an audience
of 50-somethings wearing beads and
hemp clothing…”
Mike Greenwell is well aware of the
preconceptions that come attached
to the sort of music he loves. Still,
that doesn’t stop him playing it during
his residency at esteemed Leeds
party Cosmic Slop, writing about it
on his World Treasures Music blog or
playing it on his KMAH Radio show of
the same name.
“But this tunnel vision and stigmatised
view does not account for the way
times have changed,” he continues.
“Get anthropological and trace
where we, and music, comes from,
and it’s all connected. Top DJs play
music that is from Africa, or at least
directly influenced by it. Listen to
how Brazilian music and US soul
are weaved together so expertly by
numerous DJs nowadays. No one
calls them ‘world music DJs’, it’s just
40

great music.”
His own experiences of this music
are as real as they come. Rather than
a slapdash education via the genre
categories of his favourite record
stores, Greenwell has experienced
Zamrock, kwaito, bubblegum and
myriad Afro styles firsthand. As
a former news journalist at the
Nottingham Post turned lecturer
at the Centre for Broadcasting and
Journalism at Nottingham Trent
University, work opportunities have
taken the Bradford-raised, Beestonbased
36-year-old to Zambia
(to media train young business,
newspaper and radio journalists) and
South Africa (to report on Balls To
Poverty, a township football coaching
project) on a few occasions.
so-called world music category, but is
about covering music that resonates.
“I think that the world music tag can
be pretty vague and unhelpful, as well
as connoting a set of assumptions
about what it is trying to describe,”
he explains to me while on a trip to
Japan. “I think there can be an inherent
guilt complex with consuming this
music: predominantly white, middle
class, privileged music fans are able
to visit developing countries and
it can be perceived that there is
an exploitative process going on,
resources being extracted. It doesn’t
sit well if you know the history of
certain countries and the west’s
interaction, but enjoying this music
also means learning about a context
and, subsequently, issues are raised.”
He has also travelled to South America,
Africa, Morocco and Asia, has an MA
in Peace, Conflict and Development
studies at University of Bradford and
has interviewed some of the world
music stars that are fawned over in the
UK. These experiences inspired him
to set up his blog, which is not about
just selecting new releases from the
After studying with people from
conflict-prone areas for an MA
in Bradford, and during his work
in Zambia and South Africa, Mike
engaged directly with these issues.
“The people I spoke to all said
that history teaches us and we are
evolving as people all the time; that
the structural powers which impose
41

evil things are not the same people as
those who are celebrating a country’s
culture. Arguably the international
students I have encountered are
already coming from a more privileged
position and are in better positions
than others from their country, so
they can say that. And anyway, how
much good does music consumption
do in the bigger picture of unequal
power relations between nations?”
As such, Mike recognises that
appropriate recognition and formal
licensing processes are essential when
it comes to reissues of world music.
Some labels do it right, and some
don’t. Some source original masters,
others bootleg from ripped MP3s,
and in doing so bypass any payment
to original rights owners. And then
there are artists who try to sidestep
the issue with increasingly subtle
‘edits’ that give them some tenuous
claim over ownership.
“I wrestle a lot with these issues,” he
says. “But often that’s because of my
own background in cultural studies,
having examined appropriation
and counter-culture in history.
My favourite sets of edits are by
Lovefingers, on the Mindless Boogie
label, or Theo Parrish’s Ugly Edits.
They’re all interesting in various ways.
Some were really obscure and helped
[draw attention to] music that would
otherwise be lost. Some were really
cheeky and helped to redefine my idea
of what would work on a dancefloor.”
An example Mike gives of how to do
it right and market this sort of music
sympathetically involves Awesome
Tapes From Africa boss Brian
Shimkovitz, who he has interviewed at
length. “He has forged the ethical and
moral kinds of deals that have paid
artists appropriately for their art, and
even relaunched careers, such as in
the case of Ata Kak [who, along with
his label boss, will play Dimensions
this year], while Invisible City Editions
is a label that has worked closely
with artists to sell dead stock from
the artist’s own archives, interviewing
them and bringing some grails to the
light with comprehensive research.
They have even halted reissuing
something when there has been a
subsequent family dispute with an
artist’s legacy.”
42

In these globalised times where
anyone with an internet connection
can delve deep into the history of
African music via tasteful reissue
labels like Analog Africa, Voodoo Funk
or Strut, Mike is mindful of a slight
paradox. “I don’t recall such a broad
interest in music from around the
world previously compared to now,
yet it’s a time when the UK has voted
to become more isolated from, and
less connected to, its neighbours [by
leaving the European Union]. It seems
absurd. That being said, it’s pretty
unlikely that those who voted to leave
are listening to music from around
the world, strongly admire different
cultures, or feel that globalisation is
particularly positive.”
And he should know, because he
sees firsthand who buys this sort of
stuff at newly reopened Leeds record
store Tribe Records. Mike is in charge
of world music and the shop is run
by Simon Scott, a Dimensions and
Outlook director as well as the man
behind the influential Sub Dub parties
at the West Indian Centre.
“Old customers are coming back in
and new ones are enjoying the range
we have. It’s a really popular section in
the shop and we have male and female
customers of all ages who are buying
it. We also share Tribe with Artofficial,
43

which is a shop dedicated to graffiti
and street art materials, so there’s a
great community of people and lots
of characters knocking around.”
DJs claiming to be diverse and eclectic
in their taste are nothing new, but in
2017, it means something different:
rather than just mixing up house and
techno, maybe some breaks, heavy
bass and a dash of disco, eclecticism
has been taken to whole new levels
by DJs like Antal, Hunee and Floating
Points. Smooth mixing is second to
subversive selections that go from
Japanese electronics to South African
jazz via blue-eyed soul. And that is
the vibe at Cosmic Slop, the now
seven-year-old Leeds party that was
started by Tom Smith and which funds
Music and Arts Production, a charity
that offers music and arts courses
for young people who struggle in
mainstream education.
After growing up with records
scattered around the house, meeting
Tom on a Leeds dancefloor aged 17
really opened Mike’s eyes and made
him want to start DJing. “When I was
a student it was about going to techno,
44

house or jungle nights and seeing
who could get the most wrecked.
But Tom introduced me to Fela Kuti
and my broad tastes exploded from
psychedelic music and the great rock
bands into what they are now.”
These days, you can find the pair
most weekends – as well as together
at Dimensions Festival – at Hope
House in a gritty creative enclave on
the edge of Leeds city centre, where
they play back to back and alongside
unannounced (and unpaid) guests
like MCDE, Floating Points and Mr
Scruff. The crowd is as diverse and
open minded as any in the city. “Many
students I encounter in Leeds are
much more into a wide range of art,
music and culture now,” says Mike.
Musically, Freddie Hubbard might
sit next to Wiley. John Martyn may
well make way for Shackleton. As
such, Slop is unlike many other club
nights and is inspired more by David
Mancuso’s Loft than anything else.
Mike says he and Tom often chat
about political things such as issues
of appropriation “I say this with the
caveat that I am only playing music.
The world is a troubling place in
troubling times and there’s not much
that can be done individually, but I
think at Cosmic Slop we have always
been mindful of playing music with a
message, and the artwork illustrated
by Johnny Cosmic also draws
attention to a range of ideas about
wrongdoing in the world.
“The artists we play are often from
countries or places that suffer
inequality, or have been inspired
creatively to express that oppression.
How it is consumed and interpreted
is up to the listener, but we’re lucky
at Slop to have such an appreciative
crowd. I am white, I am immensely
thankful and lucky to have such
a privileged existence, relatively
speaking, but I also feel I am doing
positive things.”
Using music as his medium, Greenwell,
his blog and Cosmic Slop are spreading
the right kind of messages. They are
messages that ask you to think much
deeper than your average dance party;
messages that repurpose world music
as something much more than a way
to posture eclecticism.
45

ATTACKMAG

AZINE.COM
47

48

49

- KY
NEURO
“WE’VE BLOWN
OF SPEAKERS
BUT WE’RE FIN
LIMITS.”
50

UP A LOT
IN CROATIA,
DING THE
LE MARRIOTT,
N PRO AUDIO
51

Words: Greg Scarth
KYLE MARRIOTT,
NEURON PRO AUDIO
“There’s no such thing as the perfect
sound system, they’re just different
flavours of sound.”
I’m sitting in the Manchester
warehouse of Neuron Audio with
the company’s founder and managing
director, Kyle Marriott. Over the
space of a couple of hours, I’ve had a
crash course in sound systems, from
70s New York disco legends Richard
Long and Gary Stewart through to
the complex mathematical analysis
used to refine today’s club rigs. It’s
a staggeringly complex world of
acoustics, electronics and digital signal
processing, but fundamentally it all
boils down to one thing: delivering
the best sound to the crowd.
The only problem is that ‘best’ is
a subjective term. “It’s all about
picking your compromise,” Marriott
explains; numerous factors play a
role in shaping what you hear. Do
you aim for minimal distortion in the
name of purity or accept that a more
imprecise signal might actually sound
better to most people? Which of the
thousands of different speaker units
52

on the market do you like the sound
of most? How do you account for
the fact that everyone in the crowd
is standing in a slightly different place,
hearing a slightly different blend of
the speakers around them?
Pro audio is a relatively young industry
compared to hi-fi or studio recording,
but it’s still hugely competitive. As Kyle
explains it, each manufacturer has its
own ideology when it comes to sound,
and its own distinct philosophy when
it comes to designing equipment.
Funktion-One has its roots in cofounder
Tony Andrews’ previous
company Turbosound, which was one
of the leading live sound companies of
the 70s and 80s. Martin and Void both
come from similar backgrounds but
with very different solutions to the
same problems (“Void are the loudest
kids on the block. Scary bass.”). The
French company L-Acoustics are “a
little bit more arty in their approach,
talking about integrity and passion”,
while German D&B Audiotechnik
“talk about numbers and science
and efficiency”. The highly technical
American brand Danley Sound Labs,
whose products are used in the
Stables at Dimensions, is designed
by former NASA employee Tom
Danley (Marriott describes him with
understatement as “a bit of a smart
cookie”). How different are the end
results? “When you get to a certain
level, it’s just a flavour. It’s like, they’re
all crisps, but I like ready salted.”
I ask how different modern club sound
systems are to the technology found
in typical hi-fi setups and, perhaps
more importantly, studio monitors.
Marriott says that the differences
in technology are relatively minor:
“The core principles of sound are
the same everywhere in terms of
the components, it’s just the way
that the designer works with it.”
Fundamentally, it’s still just a collection
of amplifiers, crossovers and speakers,
but the stereo signal runs through a
digital processor first before being
separated into highs, mids and lows,
each of which runs to its own channel
in an amplifier before being fed to
the speakers. Many of the speaker
boxes, from the high-frequency ‘tops’
down to the low-end subs, employ
horn-loaded designs. That means the
shape of the enclosure allows the
53

driver itself to operate more freely.
“Partly that’s to improve efficiency,
but for dance music it carries a lot
more impact. It adds a certain colour
to the sound as well, so it’s not
necessarily the purest and most hi-fi
sound in some respects, but it has a
lot more energy to it. There’s a bit of
resonance but that’s actually quite a
pleasing sound. It creates harmonics
that we enjoy.”
Of course, picking the equipment
itself is only one small part of the
process; far more important is the
role of the engineer in making sure
that everything is tuned and optimised
to deliver the best end result. “Up to
a certain point, the gear itself is all
good enough,” Kyle explains. “There’s
not a huge distance between the midrange
product you could buy as an
enthusiastic hobbyist and the gear
you’d buy at a professional level. It’s
all about how it’s integrated. What
you’re competing against is the guys
at the top of the game who can afford
to pay a team of people to sit there
and play with the [speaker] boxes,
measuring them and aligning them
and tuning them.”
This experimental aspect is clearly
what motivates Marriott, who jokes
54

that the company would probably
make a lot more money if he’d just
settle for an off-the-shelf system
rather than constantly buying new
“toys” to play with. Dimensions is
a rare opportunity for engineers
to have fun and push the limits of
their equipment, free from the noise
meters and complaints that you’d get
in just about any other club or festival
setting. One Neuron employee
describes it as something of a “willy
waving contest” between the friendly
rivals who supply sound systems to
the different stages at the festival.
Although there is undoubtedly an
element of macho posturing involved
(pro audio is still an overwhelmingly
male industry), it’s really more
about putting the systems through
their paces to deliver the best sonic
experience for artists, DJs and festival
goers. “The only stage at Dimensions
that has an integrated, out-of-the-box,
ready-to-roll system is the Clearing,”
explains Marriott. The rest of the
festival is based around companies
playing with their toys, showing off
their skills.
Like so many people in the industry,
Kyle got involved through his own
passion for music, putting on “notso-legal”
free parties with the
55

Manchester-based Daylight Robbery
sound system in warehouses and
fields. He was working in IT at the
time, but when his housemate Nick
inherited some money around 2004,
the pair decided to buy a sound
system of their own and start hiring it
out. Their first system was a secondhand
setup bought from a free party
forum: “A pair of subs designed by
Rog Mogale of Void Acoustics, a pair
of Turbosound 15-inch kick copies,
and a pair of Martin Audio Philishave
tops.”
The aim was never to become a
serious business, but things developed
quite organically. “We didn’t come
into it wanting to make cash, we came
into it wanting to put on a good party.
Even if we weren’t necessarily the
most professional people at the time,
we gave so much of a crap about it
sounding good and we worked our
arses off.” Coming from a drum and
bass background, the duo’s bass-heavy
taste fit in perfectly with the nascent
dubstep scene. “We rode that wave
because we came from parties where
we liked to have it loud, and people
came to us because we were well into
56

the music.” (As far as endorsements
go, the fact that a DJ as exacting
as Mala still calls on Neuron to
supply sound systems for his Deep
Medi nights speaks volumes.) “As it
exploded,” he continues, “it became
a lot more interesting than my real
job.” Within a few years, things got
much more serious. “We got a few
people together and in 2009 Neuron
officially started. Void had brought
out the Stasys system and through
them I went out to work at Outlook
2010, then it all sort of spiralled from
there.”
Void Acoustics were only a couple
of years old when Kyle bought his
first system, but the purchase of a
few early pieces of the Dorset-based
company’s gear sparked the beginning
of a long and fruitful partnership. Void
now supply most of the equipment
that Neuron use at Dimensions, with
the obvious focus being the Void stage
itself, where the company’s Air system
gets tested to destruction. “We’ve got
to the point with Void where we’re
basically beta testers, and there’s no
harsher environment than Croatia,”
Marriott explains. “It’s hot, it’s cold, it’s
wet, it’s dusty, it’s full volume all the
time and they’re all very discerning
artists. We’ve blown up a lot of
speakers in Croatia, but the people
who buy the final version of those
products a few months later will
know they’re rock solid because
we’ve taken them to their limits.”
These days, Neuron supply sound
systems for clubs and festivals across
Europe; from Manchester venue
Hidden in the adjoining warehouse,
all the way to Croatia and beyond.
With time has come a wealth of
knowledge and experience that really
can’t be underestimated. Kyle explains
how the system in Hidden has been
tweaked and upgraded every time
he’s taken part in a sound check with
one of the many visiting DJs that pass
through the club. The current setup
has been refined again and again
until it almost takes on part of the
character of all the people who’ve
been involved. “It’s a combination of
Jeremy Underground, Floating Points,
Hunee and Prosumer,” he says. “It’s
all about collaborative efforts. Even
though I’m the head geek in the
company, I’m left-leaning and I don’t
57

elieve in forcing people to do what
I say.”
So, if there isn’t such a thing as a perfect
sound system, or even an objective
‘best’ setup, what about picking
favourites? Kyle is lucky enough to
hear some of the best sound systems
money can buy as part of his job. I
ask what kind of setup he most enjoys
listening to. What would he choose if
he could listen to anything? “It’s not
the be all and end all, but with the
right guy at the helm I do love a really
good vinyl setup done properly with
an analogue rotary mixer. I grew up
going to gigs in the 90s with lots of
loud boxes, so having your face kicked
in by a wall of massive speakers gives
some kind of nostalgic pleasure; it’s
not right, but it’s fun. It comes down
to the best tool for the job. Without
being big-headed, our systems are
some of my favourites around the
world, but for me it tends to be the
smaller ones. I do love a good old sixpoint
Gary Stewart-style stack, but
it’s just different flavours. Fortunately
I’m in a position where I can have
multiple flavours at a time. I’ve got the
biggest multi-pack in the world…”
58

59

60

61

CREATING THIS
MUSIC TO FLOU
KNOW
“WHAT’S MORE
THAN ANYTHIN
PLAYING FIELD
- TONY
62
00

IMPORTANT
G IS
LEVEL
FOR NEW
RISH.”
NWACHUKWU,
LEDGE ARENA
63

Words: Greg Scarth
KNOWLEDGE ARENA
Like so many good teachers, Tony Nwachukwu is modest about his own talents.
The Londoner had a successful career as a member of trip-hop group Attica Blues,
signed to James Lavelle’s iconic Mo’ Wax label, but when his relationship with
the music industry turned sour he decided to direct the majority of his energy
towards inspiring others.
It started with a simple idea in the form of CDR, a club night where producers
could bring their works in progress and discuss them with friends as Tony strung
them together in a DJ set. That basic concept turned into a full-time career in
music education, and the club night evolved into CDR Projects, a multi-platform
operation that now encompasses a variety of events.
The Knowledge Arena at Dimensions is perhaps the biggest project Tony and his
team have been involved in to date, offering a broad range of daytime sessions
where anyone with an interest in production – no matter their experience level
64

– can find out more about making music. As the day draws to a close, evening
sessions with artists allow a unique insight into the creative processes of some of
the top acts at the festival.
Attack editor Greg Scarth sat down with Tony for a chat about his story so far and
what you can expect from Dimensions Knowledge Arena this year.
Greg Scarth: When did you
first come up with the idea of
getting into music education?
Tony Nwachukwu: I was in Attica
Blues in the mid 90s, touring with
people like DJ Shadow, Moloko and
Plaid. It was a really exciting time, but
then that all came to an end around
2002. We went from Mo’ Wax, which
was very eclectic and open, to Sony.
In some respects it was great because
we were on the same label as people
like DJ Rap and Leftfield, but being in
a company like that has repercussions:
you get dropped if you don’t sell
records or if you don’t chart.
want to do something else. I knew
I wanted to continue making music
but I also wanted to think about how
artists can develop without having
to play this whole game with the
industry, which is basically do some
demos, play it to some A&R person
and they decide your fate. Things have
changed a lot now, but I wanted to get
away from all that and create a space
for new music to exist.
So the birth of CDR as an
idea was very much based on
feeling that you’d had your
fingers burned by the way the
industry worked?
Anyway, to cut a long story short, after
that experience you obviously come
to a crossroads where you decide the
music industry is not for you and you
Yes, definitely. Also, up until that
point, I was the guy in the band with
the [E-mu] SP12 and [Akai] S1000
[samplers] all linked up by MIDI and
65

program changes and all that kind
of stuff, so I was up there with a lot
of technical responsibility in Attica. I
wanted to actually get back into DJing
again – just have a couple of tunes,
some CDs and just play music.
Whenever I was DJing, I was always
fascinated that if you’re playing good
music people actually don’t care or
don’t know who it is. I thought what
would be really interesting for me is
to create an opportunity for that to
happen somewhere you consciously
know that the music is new and it’s
developing. So I decided to start an
event and call it CDR because that’s
what people used at the time for
burning tracks. I told a few friends
who were producers at the time –
some of them well known, some of
them not so known – and started
putting up a few flyers, putting them
in record shops. The very first flyer
actually had a blank CD in it – we just
posted them around London basically,
asking people to burn some of their
tracks [and bring them down].
I will never forget the first session
because it was really poignant. We
did it at this place called the Embassy,
which was on Essex Road – a small
club, maybe 100 people in there, but it
was a really nice vibe in there. Usually,
the whole idea of DJing is that you
prepare in advance and you’ve got
this box of records that you have a
connection with. You have an idea of
what journey you’re going to take
people on, right? But this was the
complete opposite. I had this stack
of stuff with no idea what it was, and
I found that really inspiring. It was
just taking this big risk, but because I
knew who was being invited – friends
of friends – I knew what the quality
would be like.
Playing that first DJ set was just such
an inspiration. So we stayed at the
Embassy for a while and then we
moved on to a club called the Bridge
& Tunnel, which was run by the guys
from Nuphonic. That’s when it really
took on a shape of its own because it
really galvanised this really good crew
of people.
And the CDR sessions quite
quickly started attracting
people who have gone on to
66

pretty big things since?
Yes, totally. To me, the most important
thing was the development of artists
and producers. A lot of the time
with producers, sharing what you’re
working on is something you don’t
do, do you know what I mean?
Particularly back then. This idea of
sharing music that you’re working
on with like-minded people is really
powerful.
The Bridge & Tunnel phase was almost
like when it was really taking form. It
was great. We had a cool set of people
who used to come down and it got
a bit of traction but Bridge & Tunnel
closed down – that was the beginning
of the Shoreditch gentrification.
Same old story that we’re
dealing with today.
Yeah, same old. People in the flats
upstairs were complaining, court
injunction, blah blah blah... So that
closed but then I knew Ade [Fakile]
from Plastic [People]. I met him for
a coffee and I remember he said yes
before I even finished the sentence.
67

“I do this thing, CDR...”
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
Plastic was at a very, very special
place. We’re talking like 2004, 2005.
You had FWD going on one Thursday
then CDR on another Thursday,
then you had maybe Theo [Parrish]
or François [Kevorkian] playing on
a Friday. In London it was a really
exciting time. Dubstep was new, all
this new kind of London stuff, you had
grime happening as well. CDR was
almost like the barometer for that.
When something was emerging, you
could hear it at CDR.
It was so powerful and what was
also beautiful was that we had lots
and lots of regulars coming down, so
it got to the point where you could
hear a track and be able to tell who
made it. “Oh, this is a Floating Points
tune...” Obviously, the system was
fantastic. It was beautiful. It was really,
really beautiful. A whole bunch of
labels and connections have come
from that whole period. People like
Sampha, Floating Points, Maya Jane
Coles, Eglo Records.
For me what’s more important than
anything is creating this level playing
field for new music to flourish and
68

for people to gravitate towards each
other. You could be Mark Pritchard or
whoever, and you’d be the same as a
16-year-old kid who brings a track
down for the first time from their
bedroom.
doesn’t matter. Things were obviously
great at Plastic until the end in 2012. I
am sure in history, once people start
writing about it a lot more, London
between say 2003 to 2008 was a
really, really significant time.
Everyone’s on exactly the
same level.
Yes. It’s about the music and about
the use of technology and about
ideas flourishing. That’s been the
strap line forever. Likewise, there are
times where we’ve have had like 30
people at an event and there were
times we’ve had 400 people. To me, it
It takes a bit of time before
you can look back with a bit of
distance from it and see how
things took place historically.
That must have been around
the time you decided to
start running the Knowledge
sessions?
Yeah, in 2009 I had this idea to extend
69

CDR’s propositions, because a lot of
the time at CDR, apart from listening
to music obviously everyone geeks
about what equipment you’re using
and your process and your workflow.
So I thought what would be fantastic
would be to create this other idea
which looks into that. Hear the track
at CDR, then you can talk about it
at this other thing. So I started this
thing called CDR Knowledge, which is
basically an opportunity to get some
of the people from CDR to show a
track that you might have heard on
the radio or at CDR and just break
it down. But alongside that have an
opportunity to make stuff and for
people to hang out with each other.
The first Knowledge session
was Bullion, Simbad and Floating
Points. What was brilliant about that
event was that all of the tracks they
shared were ones that were either just
hot at that point or really resonated
with people. I hosted the thing and
we had people like SBTRKT working
on stuff and Morgan Zarate working
on beats in real time. That was the
seed of this education attachment to
CDR. I did a couple of others, one in
Birmingham with Danny Red Rack’em
and a couple more with Funkineven
and a few other people.
So those were really the
roots of getting involved with
Dimensions and Outlook to
put on the Knowledge Arena.
Whenever I saw the announcements,
I’d look at the line-up and there’d be
a lot of people I knew from CDR. I
liked the line-up, I liked the vibe.
Then it turns out that Andy Lemay,
who was the marketing manager,
was a big fan of CDR and wanted
to get us involved. Obviously we
jumped at the chance because it was
a good opportunity to extend CDR’s
values beyond a few geeks in a club
on Curtain Road. And knowing that
CDR had this reputation, it was just
good to take that somewhere else
and see where it goes.
We first went out in 2014. I’ve been
involved with festivals in the past, but
there was something really special
about being in Croatia and particularly
with Dimensions. Outlook was great
as well, don’t get me wrong, but I think
70

to me Dimensions resonated more.
to perform or DJ at Dimensions.
Dimensions is more in keeping
with your own taste musically,
right?
Yeah. It just really worked. There’s
synergy in terms of artists that come
through Dimensions and CDR, there’s
huge synergy there. We decided that
we would do two things. One would
be to create this project #LocalAudio,
which was to get people to represent
their area in sound. You record a sound
and compile this pool of samples,
then people use those sounds to
make a track. The producer of the
outstanding track gets an opportunity
The other thing was to deal with the
programming side of things in terms
of what the education proposition
would look like. The beauty of it being
a festival is there’s a huge opportunity
because there’s a lot of DJs and artists
there. It was just almost like a match
made in heaven.
You can just cherry pick the
highlights from the existing
lineup and get artists involved
with Knowledge Arena
sessions.
Totally. It wasn’t easy, but the idea is
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simple. The day is split into two, so
in the daytime people can make stuff
independently and we do Ableton
workshops, Maschine workshops
or workshops around particular
skills, whether it’s compression or
whatever. Knowing that most of
your audience are fans of music as
opposed to producers, the daytime
sessions have to almost be tasters for
non-producers.
Regardless of their level of
experience, anybody can drop
in for five minutes to see
what’s going on.
Exactly. The Knowledge Arena team
that I’ve recruited all have this balance:
if there’s someone who’s a complete
beginner, you mentor them. If they’re
a producer and they know what to
do, let them do their thing then check
in with them. We get people who’ve
wanted to make music for years and
there they are in their swimming
trunks and some headphones,
learning what 808 kick drums and 909
hi-hats sound like. We’re really able to
give people that connection to music
making in a way that they hadn’t had
before.
What about in terms of artist
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sessions in the evenings? What
have been the highlights over
the last few years of those for
you?
Obviously, because it’s at the festival,
we can pick who we’d like in terms
of artists, but without a shadow of a
doubt my favourite has been George
Clinton. That was unbelievable for
a couple of reasons. One, because I
didn’t know he was going to do it until
literally an hour before. I’ve done my
fair share of last-minute preparations,
but obviously with George Clinton, as
you know, given his fantastic history,
how do you even pull that off?
You definitely don’t want to
fuck up when you get that
opportunity.
Exactly. I needed to go to my chalet
and decide the approach I would take
with him given the time. Knowing
a little bit about him in terms of
interviews, I thought the best thing to
do would be to do it chronologically,
but to really highlight a couple of
tunes and pick some stories from
those experiences. Speaking to him
backstage before we went on, I got a
sense of his character and obviously
his very dynamic personality. As you
know from interviewing people, if
people are dynamic that’s almost half
the story.
It makes it so much easier.
He’s obviously a fantastic personality,
but on the other hand I was absolutely
shitting myself, because you have to
be on it when you’re interviewing
someone like that. He had fantastic
stories for every question that I asked,
and I topped and tailed it with tracks.
So I’d be sitting there playing ‘One
Nation Under A Groove’, everyone
knows the track, everyone’s having a
party, and I’m preparing for the next
question while going on a nostalgia
trip.
Every track was this kind of fantastic
fanboy moment, but also trying to
be professional and articulate in my
questions. I was getting all these
memories and the guy’s sitting next
to me, do you know what I mean? I
was like, “Fucking hell, OK, this is quite
surreal.” I’ve done lots of interviews
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in the past, but this one, just this
combination of sitting there with him
and every track we play is a banger.
It made me remember when I heard
his music for the first time. Things like
‘Atomic Dog’, that was one of the
records when I was growing up that
made me want to make music.
He was brilliant. He really broke it
down for people, particularly around
the whole idea of sampling. You would
have thought that someone of his age
and history, a lot of his contemporaries
are very anti-sampling, but he was
definitely 100% down with it. He has
a quite interesting take on it, because
a lot of the Parliament/Funkadelic
rights he doesn’t actually own, so he’s
like: “Do your thing!”
That is definitely a highlight, but all of
them are very special in their own way.
It’s just quite a special time – you’re
either catching people before they go
and perform or after they perform,
so they’re thinking about what they’re
going to do in a few hours, or some
kind of reflective element that can
only happen at a festival.
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The setting helps to shape
what the event is.
One of the things that has been
interesting in terms of getting support
for Knowledge Arena is the question of
whether people would want to stand
with headphones on making music
when they could be sunbathing. You
could argue that that’s a possibility,
but actually it’s quite the opposite.
You could sunbathe whenever you
want or go and eat some wonderful
fish in Pula, but actually you might be
inspired by what you heard Kode 9
playing last night.
want to learn how to make a banging
kick drum?” I can basically respond to
people’s experiences. That to me has
been a really good benefit of doing
the Knowledge Arena at festivals.
Is there much artist
involvement in the daytime
as well? Do people come and
check it out?
We’ve had some artists who want to
participate.
Just to check it out and hang
out?
Even just the chance to check
the gear out as well. I think
it’s quite exciting that you’ve
got a load of stuff like Ableton
and Native Instruments
hardware there so people
can come along and play with
things they might not have
seen before.
And we can link that to the music at
the festival. “OK, who did you check
yesterday? What did you like about it?
That banging kick drum? OK, do you
Yes, exactly – you nerd out. “Can I just
borrow your computer for a minute?
I’ve got a wicked idea for a beat.”
How much have you got
planned for this summer
then?
That is a really good question. You
have to wait and see.
That means you haven’t
figured it out yet!
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It has to respond to the festival. The
framework is there and it’ll be refined
in terms of the education offering and
the artists involved. Some artists are
bang on it and 100% confirmed, then
some confirm a lot later on.
It sounds a lot like putting a
magazine together. Pretty
similar experiences.
Exactly, mate. It’s all held together by
a thread, as you know. The good thing
is that there is a framework in place
and the framework is responsive. If
there is anything that I’ve learnt from
doing Knowledge Arena – and you
must know this running a magazine
– it’s about 70% intent, and then it’s
30% just by hook or by crook. You
just have to respond to whatever
curveball is coming at you – negative
and positive curveballs. At the end of
the day, the experience and the output
will always be to a good standard with
the resources that you’ve got.
be in doing beyond what it
already does?
I think for me it’s definitely about
it being a stage at the festivals.
Knowledge Arena starts at 11 and
the daytime activity goes on till
about five or six, then we take all
the equipment away, switch it up to a
kind of a living room situation for the
artist talks.
We’ve had a couple of situations
after the artist talks where we’ve
been open for a little bit of a party,
which has gone down really well, so
the next step would be to think about
having a stage. Maybe some of the
artists who worked on stuff during
the day present stuff on stage. There’s
a connection between the creation
of music and the performance that
happens at Dimensions. For me, that
is where it needs to go.
What about the future plans,
then? How about five years
down the line, what would
you like Knowledge Arena to
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