We at Magnetic have been around long enough to know better than anyone what in electronic is good. We are going to give you a weekly tear-down and re-construction of the Beatport charts. We are Always right. You. Me. We.
Yes, that is a reed pipe opening here that so warms and buoys up our souls, filling to a brimming luster even the most pitted of hearts. Behind it are the lungs of GledrÅ! ’Tis reputed that David Jones traveled to over 25 Renaissance Fairs in the Midwest in order to find a virtuoso of such awesome magnitude, a proper MASTER of not only the reed pipe, but the Pan Flute (firlinfeu) and the recorder. It is rumored that GledrÅ of the Silver Wings defeated pan flute juggernaut Zampfir in a fantasy woodwind mountaintop play-off. STAT SHOT: It was to the achingly beautiful strains of the reed flute that Mahatma Gandhi consummated his marriage to Kasturba at age 13. Music from the noble instrument continued to be a passion in his life, second only to his love of world peace, until the day he ascended, passed… or whatever they do over there. Magnetic rank: #1 | Beatport rank: #7
Piano and string instruments. Not seen every single day in the context of house, but like chocolate and peanut butter they go great together—you’ve got to work hard to fuck them up. And out of Deutschland, Shir Khan—the man behind the curtain here—keeps it simple-jazzy and unassuming. Not heavy, but hefty and swung with a light touch. Good in moments when you’ve escaped for a bit—or somehow convinced everyone that there really is fire on the roof. Magnetic rank: #2 | Beatport rank: #5
Taking Jim Morrison lyrics and setting them against aerobicize beats AND dropping the “g” in your title? Fuck it. You’re winning. And these days, if you’ve got Skrillex somehow involved, even if he’s just farting into the KORG… straight to the top. Magnetic rank: #3 | Beatport rank: #6
Dirty secrets anyone? Takes me back to the olden days of Oakenfold’s first Tranceport. Just take special care not to allow any of the local hardcore Detroit- or Berlin Techno heads (who are also somehow your friends) stumble in on your whilst you’ve got this going. Better to be caught going to work on a snapshot of Oprah wearing a bikini whilst she’s standing near a book—no, not actually reading, as that single picture would spawn an entire generation of illiteracy in the US. Magnetic rank: #4 | Beatport rank: #8
Yea, so? This may be the music Darth Vader puts on when he does his Tuesday night crank calls, but we’ve got Chemical Brothers bastardization going inside. I flipped a coin to decide whether I’d walk away impressed or offended and it landed on an edge, vertical, and exploded. Nuff’ said. Magnetic rank: #5 | Beatport rank: #3
Well, it’s Ultra. His name is Wolfgang and it’s on Ultra. You figure it out. Sleek, but somehow hairy. What I’m saying is that Ultra has always been a little metrosexual, and that’s not a bad thing, I just can’t get with what I’m picturing as a typical listener waxing his body hair and pumping out to tunes by a guy named “Wolfgang.” It’s just not wholesome, Call me superficial, call me old-fashioned, “…call me Mr. Vain (call me insane).” Yeah I went there. Look it up. Magnetic rank: #6 | Beatport rank: #9
“You can’t stop me. No. Non. No. Oh. Oh.” I was excited off the bat. Sounds like she’s boosting up to take care of some cosmic shit here. WE were gonna get it done. Together. But you can have all the epic reach, the soaring intentions in the universe and have it given away by a crap-sounding snare drum. Why the snare? You just ain’t breaking down and walls, not falling in love for the first time, not saving your planet from destruction accompanied by a snare. I thought I’d written a law keeping snares where they belong, in sleazy Vegas stand-up clubs to illustrate a bad punch line. Inga, my buxom Swedish secretary will make it so by the ‘morrow. Magnetic rank: #7 | Beatport rank: #10
I heard this last week when I was in Abercrombie and Finch where the guy whose penny loafers I’d sworn a blood oath to spray paint had chosen to hide. There are a lot of folks credited on this floater, so I’m not sure whom to blame. So I found the guy with the loafers and made him pay. Again. This time it was his braided leather belt™ (with genuine leather, embossed moose detail™, vintage metal buckle and classic fit) which suffered traumatic alteration; but, I paid him the $12 or whatever for a new one, my therapy is satisfied for the week and we’re good. Happy times. Magnetic rank: #8 | Beatport rank: #2
Chris Kaeser, Sven Kirchhof, Max’C, Redd Nose “She’s Playing On U” (Sven Kirchhof Remix) In & Out Recordings
Sven, Seven, Sven. You know, funny thing, I met Sven at Jordan Knight’s (of Backstreet Boys fame) SMS-themed birthday party and can that dude kill a wine cooler!?!? LOL. ROTFLMAO? Fuck. Magnetic rank: #9 | Beatport rank: #4
OK. This ripped to Beatport’s #1 slot. Despite being an older gentleman from a little-loved country in Europe, (44 and French) Guetta’s American train shows no sign of slowing in the race to replace certain faded icons in the halls of Trance / Progressive / GlowStickHappyHandWaveish / Techno House… or whatever in the wide, wide wacky world of electronic genres we are agreeing to call it this year. As far as the track goes? Straightforward and merry, 1,2,3,4 glee. How gleeful? If you combined: this cut on repeat + no means of escape + Richard Simmons + Mesopotamian orgy pit + biological weapon you would get as a sum (=) SIMLES. That gleeful. Magnetic rank: #10 | Beatport rank: #1
Blitzberg’s long-player(s) of the Week
Underworld’s A Collection & The Anthology 1992-2012 (Tomato Recordings)
The “home computer” has made life infinity more convenient. Book a flight, get a recipe for meatloaf, find your wife, become a photographer…a musician. The last one there has really fucked music journalists. It’s widened, deepened… and sloppied the field. Why, then, oh why do we continue to wade through the deepening piles of shit? Music—or art of any kind? Paycheck(s). And hope. Hope that with dumb luck and persistence we will find the nuggets, the scant beats of time where another human being—someone in basic form just like you and me—brought heart and mind together. Hope that we will re-find the final paragraph of For Whom the Bells Toll, Dali’s freehand infinity fields in the The Hallucinogenic Toreador, John Squire’s guitar work on “Moses.” Moments when the emotive and the cognitive are brought together in a singular manner, one which strikes straight to the attentive observer. Now, mind you, Underworld is indeed part of the pantheon of ’90-ish acts including the Chemical Bros, Crystal Method, Orb(ital), Prodigy who began the bridgehead to mainstream for electronic—however Underworld has an rare proclivity for creating those aforementioned “moments” I’m babbling on about. Like any group there is drudge here and there, but ho ho ho, this pair—A Collection and 1992-2012 Anthology—are well-built clusters of the good stuff. A combined total of 37 tracks on my advances— Collection includes novel edits and live versions; Anthology offering more of the classics with a few from the attic and both with plenty of Emerson and noEmerson. I found “Rez,” which I believe was originally on the “Cowgirl” remix CD, while on a jog about fifteen years ago. I won’t go into what gears in my head it turns, but it’s just where I left it on Anthology, preserved in virtual amber. After visiting 2:29 and 5:06 yesterday, I sped home and watched a tearjerker on the Hallmark Network. No. No?