In the same way the patronizing liberal in me shrugs his shoulders as loudly as possible when confronted with dubious sexual practice (“Dear friend, I shop at Whole Foods. Do what you please in your own bedroom.”), I’ve adopted the live and let live attitude toward EDM. Whatever gets your ass in the upright, pop and locked position.
Of course, this kind of rave sucker relativism banks more cultural currency than critical value. I am supposed to have opinions about this stuff, yanno? Even when its field is a hundred thousand barely distinct baby psilocybins boffing each other at 145 bpm. And let’s not forget those remixes, hyperdubs, overdubs, mashups, rips, flips, syphilis, and candy carts. Those factor into the whole.
Which leaves me feeling sorta down about my job here at Odyshape, or anywhere, really - even if this went up on Pitchfork, I’d be screaming opinions down a hole while rave circuit gleefully rocks what I hate, ignore what I love, and move on in three days anyway to Tiesto’s MIA’s remixes’ overdub ft. Iggy Azalea again, but not as you heard her the first time.
Reviewing EDM in 2014 is like slapping a Post-It note to a hollow point .357 as it whirs toward ten thousand millenials too busy with Snapchat to recognize they’ve been fancifully herded into an Esther’s Starbucks line of infinite recession. Er… regression.
And though the capital-A Album isn’t dead in the same way the rheumatic elite of populist NYT, NPR, WashPost want you to believe, EDM might well be diagnosed as the album’s fetid lower appendage - the lifeblood from which is drawn always by any thoughtful (read: poor) young DJ with a Mac and the patience to stay in a Starbucks once he’s there. Of the nearly dozen legitimately outfitted DJs in my undergrad frat, none owned an entire album’s worth of material from a single artist. In fact, many of their tracks were dubbed and redubbed so extensively, the origin became a guessing game.
What I’m saying is - reviewing an EDM record is quaint: like rotary phone, Windows XP, moderate Republican quaint. But I’m going to do it because exploratory old farts like myself (I’m not exactly aged yet, so maybe old fart in the same way nice young people are old souls) will spend time and money to rave out in a recliner, offering up pacifiers and water bottles to babies and diabetics, respectively.
deadmau5 - while(1<2)
Big Freedia - Just Be Free
This is one fucking awesome song. Except that it’s an album. I don’t know much Java, which must mean I’m not as sm4rt as wunderkind Joel Thomas Zimmerman, so let me draft a Just Be Free song for you in form of an equation:
((z > 808 + threatening man queen vocals(notated as xy for clarity)) x 16) + .5xx
Change literally nothing but the singular word you should expect to hear over and over and over. So lemme ask: which one strikes you as the most compelling hammer hook? “Wiggle,” “Dangerous,” “Jump on the booty,” “Lift Dat Leg Up,” “Explode.” Take that one, put it in your stanky playlist and move on. Who gives a fuck about an Oxford Comma?