Perhaps no batch of techno records has been more influential in the grand scheme of things since the initial rush of Basic Channel records, courtesy of Moritz Von Oswald and Mark Ernestus. I can only listen to these records with a tinge of revisionism, partially due to my age and, with it, the fact that I was just not listening to techno at all at this point in time. But when you consider the musical landscape of the early 90s, even as far as techno is concerned, they really were forging new ground. This was the heyday of hardcore and rave, and labels like Warp had only just barely shifted out of their much-loved "bleep" phase into the so-called "Artificial Intelligence" of early Autechre, B12 and Black Dog.
The music pumped out by this pair, however, completely deviated from the norms of the time. They started with techno cut from the same approximate cloth as American visionaries like Jeff Mills, but theirs was a different touch. Whereas Mills could be fast and furious, something about Von Oswald and Ernestus's approach seemed understated, muted, almost sublime. They harnessed the power of repetition and created a plodding, minimal hypnosis through their early records, tools for the floor just as much as compelling, mesmerizing home listening. And they released it all on vinyl with little to no information about the label, producers, or sometimes even track titles.
Of all their various aliases (which include Rhythm & Sound and Maurizio), Basic Channel is perhaps the deepest and most spacious. Their records moved from minimal functional tools into progressively more and more distilled, sublime material, sometimes dropping out the kick altogether and letting the repetition and patterns of their synths run indefinitely, with only subtle variations and nuances to indicate progress. It's a testament to how well-crafted most of their tracks are that they are able to hold a listener in captivity for upwards of ten or fifteen minutes with only slight variations on the surface. One might argue that it is the lifebreath, the pulse of the music, that is really doing the work, and all the sounds and surface are merely utility to lend some context.
The duo has championed vinyl over any other format ("Buy vinyl!" appears on their CD releases), but they are not so opposed as to avoid digital media altogether. In 1995 they pressed a variety of tracks to CD as
BCD, which went through a variety of packaging (one of which required that you nearly destroy the exterior to get to the disc, another of which – the metal box – was notorious for actually cracking the disc itself when removing it from the case) and seemed to showcase the act's most abstract, understated moments. "Radiance" and its variations were often totally beatless, as was the shuffling, shapeshifting "Mutism" (if ever there was a track that lived up to its title, this is it) and "Presence."
BCD-2 is a long overdue companion to that first compilation disc, basically populated with tracks that were left off the first installment. Herein the tracks are preserved in their full original length, and, as a result, many tracks are significantly longer. The variety is more dramatic, and the tracks themselves are ordered in chronological order. It's much more of a retrospective for the moniker than the first disc.
If "Enforcement" seems slightly foreign or bolder than most of
BCD, it's for a reason; it's one of their earliest releases from 1993 and is sometimes credited to Cyrus ("Produced by Cyrus" appears on the sticker). It's a good indication of their presumable influences, channeling the energy found in the likes of US producers Jeff Mills and Robert Hood, but in a more streamlined, minimal nature. "Phylyps Trak" owes even more to that harder edge, bristling with electricity and a decidedly faster tempo. But the trajectory of their sound becomes clearer from there; gone is the more aggressive touch of "Phylyps Trak" as we navigate through the deep waters of "Inversion," an extended, meditative pulse that is here in its full near 18-minute glory. The quicker pace of "Octaedre" and "Octagon" do lend a different quality than the near-perfection of "Inversion," but they all work to complement one another. In a way,
BCD-2 is just the other side of the coin from its predecessor comp; whereas
BCD was all open space and subtraction,
BCD-2 is more utility, but without sacrificing the keen minimal edge that set these records so sharply apart from their contemporaries.
The fact that a genre was borne from these releases is a testament to how much the two nailed this sound the first time around. Put on Daniel Stefanik's "Starless" from last year and you'll hear a dead ringer homage to these seminal releases, and that's just one of any number of so-called dub techno efforts to hit shelves in the past 15 years that owes pretty much everything to Basic Channel. Despite how much I've attempted to summarize these records in this post, there really isn't a whole lot to say about them that hasn't probably already been said before (and perhaps better, or at least more concisely). Thankfully Von Oswold and Ernestus have seen fit to release this sister companion to their first CD, even if it pains them to press something other than vinyl. It opens their music up to a whole other arena of listeners whom it would supremely behoove to acquire, listen and learn.
mp3s:
Enforcement |
Inversionmore info:
Basic Channel |
Discogs |
Circonium Discographybuy it:
Hard Wax |
Bent Crayon |
Forced Exposure |
Boomkat |
Amazon MP3 |
iTunes
