From The Stories Issue
The comeback hype around Octave One’s instrumental techno, made the old-school way on (tons of) analog machines, does us a world of good. Thomas Bangalter isn’t unrelated to that…
That warm, round, groovy kick and the bouncing bassline of this all-time Detroit classic landed in the middle of Thomas Bangalter’s set, surprise guest on New York web-radio The Lot, the first mix from one half of Daft Punk on American soil in seventeen years. In the stickercovered container — the graphic signature that built the worldwide reputation of the indie Brooklyn radio where techno’s biggest names have come to drop their DJ bags for a residency — Thomas Bangalter paid tribute to the techno of before: Aphex Twin, Plastikman, Boards of Canada… And so, Octave One and their 2000 track Blackwater, which Bangalter very delicately set down in safe hands, the way you’d lay an offering, right after two of his own home productions (Mythologies XV and Mythologies XIX).
With its soaring strings (from London’s Urban Soul Orchestra), its rippling synth pads and its poignant vocal hook ("Just open your heart, just open your mind"), Blackwater is a monument of techno, 8'14" of tension and grace, pure organic bliss whose melody grabs you by the throat instantly. File it under "sacred techno tracks," somewhere between its Detroit twin brother, DJ Rolando’s (Underground Resistance) towering "Knight of the Jaguar," which inspired it, and Laurent Garnier’s "Man with the Red Face," barely a bit longer (9 minutes 10), just as instrumental and produced the same year.
The Montmartre giant’s curation is a statement. At a time when DJs walk around with USB sticks smaller than the cameras filming them, it’s a tribute to "real" live performers, whose setup of massive, analog machines, nicknamed The Mothership (see photo), fascinates audiences. "The machines, that’s how it all started," the techno duo tells Exhibition — we’ve seen them perform several times at the Rex and the Palais de Tokyo these past few months.
"In the beginning, not that many people practiced this art; today, few still do it the way we do. We’ve stayed rebels." As they like to put it, "There’s nothing like hearing a synth roar live through the speakers and watching people feel that power. It’s a real moment of synergy." That’s what you call techno.
Brothers Lenny and Lawrence Burden were touched by Bangalter’s shout-out. "It’s an honor, of course, Daft Punk are pioneers and there’s always been so much love between the French scene and Detroit’s." Thirty years of love exactly, dating back to Daft’s track "Teachers," where they namecheck all their inspirations (Jeff Mills, Lil Louis, Joey Beltram…), that was in 1997. And especially since — same year — the thunderous live shows in Chicago, where it all began, even before Detroit, courtesy of the kids from Lycée Carnot. At the time Daft couldn’t believe it: all those big Chicago names (Marshall Jefferson, Roy Davis, Gemini…) had come to check out the two frenchies from Montmartre in person.
A few hours after their live set, having lunch on-site with Alexis Bernier from Libé, the two Daft told it like this: "It was mystical. You tell yourself, we’re gonna play Chicago, sick, and then you realize the guys actually come straight up to you. 'Hey, I’m Roy Davis…' Us, twenty-yearold white kids, with the big ghetto ke-bla. Us, from a more comfortable background, without ever really having struggled. And them, the big godfathers of house, from the real ghetto, who struggled way too much and who are sometimes half gangsters."
On a vacant lot in Brooklyn, in a beatup container, Bangalter made a point of saying thank you to those who taught him how to dance.
