Ital’s been here before

Featuring : Ital + Rhythim Is Rhythim

Our good friend Ital suits up and strays into the the irradiated zones of Minimal Techno to retrieve the Detroit archives, once held as sacred tablets by the mid-00s hordes but now in danger of falling into  a state of disrepair.

With percussion ripped from an agitated Geiger counter, Ital wades into a landscape scared by years of Ketamine abuse.  Great mounds of earth hang in the air, connected with blue neon thread.  With space time anaesthetised the light from these threads appears to pulse as it moves in and out of pockets of localised distortion.  The sky, the sky can’t quite decide what time of day it is, running from the purples of dusk to the blacks of night like tape dragging itself off the reels at variable speeds.  All this might be quite unsettling to those of us unaccustomed to this zone but Ital, Ital’s been here before.

Culture Clubs manages to drag the spirit of Rhythim is Rhythim’s ethereal melodies through some rip in the zone’s fabric but it can’t quite bring it through the intervening decades without picking up a little reel slippage and tape hiss along its journey.

Ital – Culture Clubs

Speaking of which…

The almost incomparable Dereck May put this out as his penultimate Rhythim is Rhythim release (see this post for Kao-tic Harmony from his final 12″).

Rhythim Is Rhythim – The Beginning (Aztec mix)

Still managing to sound like the future over twenty years later — partly because, like Kao-tic Harmony, it pays scant attention to what would be the codified structures of Techno.  Mostly because he invented it.

The Beginning only breaks, in its final third, from the celestial synthetic strings — that are played like a neon grid ripped from Neoromancer — to unleash a thumping drum sequence, teased constantly by the phalanx of snares that, pretty much from the off, promise some huge break but instead flirt with the pulsing synths and morse-code percussion.  The meme goes that Detroit invented techno in the oscillating walls of its factories.  The seemingly endless repetition of the machines seeping their way into the leisure time of their operators.  Some strange god alone knows what machine inspired May to create this free-fall through a wet ware dreamworld of mono-hued light and velocity.  But we’re ever so glad he did.

* apologies for the abrupt ending.