Why Im DONE with Dance Music— Liam Maloney -
Did you know you can buy a Berghain tote bag? You could pair it with your vintage 90s Pacha snapback and your Jean-Michel Basquiat wayfarers (which I actually own). Now that IKEA and Swedish synthesiser manufacturer “Teenage Engineering” have teamed up to release “Frekvens”, there’s no need to ever leave the house again. You can have the club in your own living room!
Just kill me now.
I am officially DONE with modern dance music culture. T’aint cute anymore. With the release of Frekvens (which we’ll tear a new arsehole in a moment), IKEA have become the ‘Hot Topic’ of techno. And once respected Teenage Engineering; a wholesale pimp. Yes, yes, you call me a snob or an elitist or accuse me of hanging onto the halcyon days before dance music became a 7.9 billion dollar industry. You may call me old-fashioned, but I preferred dance music when my own mother couldn’t tell me the difference the 808 and 909 drum machines, or when every fucking prole didn’t chant along to “house every weekend”, every weekend! What’s even worse is that those scenes that do carry some modicum of authenticity or interest are quickly exposed to gawking tweens via omni-directional sludge pumps like Boiler Room while they masticate their cheesy wotsits in a squalid, baked bean-juice stained Incredible Hulk duvet cover.
I am DONE.
Look at this dross. Apparently, according to the overlords of scandi design, Frekvens offers you “the ultimate home party”. In their opinion, this ultimate party is a man voguing alone in a dreadful shirt while poxy LED lights flash on and off, surrounded by 90s reflective silver soft furnishings, and an inexplicable cajón (a percussion instrument from latin America that appears entirely incongruous). The assumption being that they’re suggesting that you bash away a-rhythmically while your fashion-challenged mate fails a bit of dancing developed by gay and trans minorities in the 80s. Or why not buy the bar table and stool set, so you can pretend you’re smoking outside a sleazy Tbilisi bar, but it’s actually your airing cupboard. Or put on their silver reflective raincoat and stand in the shower, imagining you’re in the rain-soaked queue for Tresor while a burly muscle queen jacks off a twink into a BIFFA bin to the strains of thumping kick drums.
Just leave it the fuck alone. You KNOW that the people who buy these ‘limited edition’ trinkets won’t be testing them out for the first time by playing Joey Beltram’s Energy Flash or commenting on the less-than-subtle nod the colour scene pays to Ben Kelly’s Haçienda decor. The speakers will churn out ‘Dancing Queen’ infinitely more often than they will ‘Acid Tracks. Its just sad. Stop selling the culture before we’ve got nothing left.