pitch shifted vocal perfection, todd edwards only has one trick but i'm still not bored of it.
Crisp electro with a lewd deportment! these sassy Mix-a-lot babes bring their booty bump and grind to Kraftwerk's numbers. Classy girls. I'd take em home...
Effervescent electronica. This must be Luciano (I genuinely don't know) delicately embroidering the primary colour chords with fizzing detail; no one else is so shamelessly playful. Exuberant, with an endearing instability - a childs painting of a track.
Mercury phunk, Atom Heart's disjointed collage of funk-through-the-ages does everything but drop the bass, yet true to the title's intent the precision pause and pivot deliver.
Brooding dub blueprint, Sly and Robbie's taut eighties slick can't hide the trappings of a classic spaghetti western: that widescreen swagger, the muted melodrama, simmering expanse and overbl0wn performances. A self-proclaimed epic.
Haken Lidbo takes his patented micro house template and applys it to pop with great effect, go and buy the album !
Electrohaus stomp. Ripping designer dancefloor material: searing trance stabs, rogue klaxons, and chest bursting tension, all underscored with THE B-line of 2002. Striktly disposable; exactly what I need in a club.
Early house noises from Carpark records hot tip for 2003..
Surpisingly soft track from DJ Scud (other than the slightly disturbing crying) with an almost 2step beat..
Skyscraping Hip-Hop from LEX. TES surfs the streets on a string surge from '77, tearing up the city sheen with his kick-flip rhymes. A triumphant blast from the underground: fresh, sharp, he's unstoppable!
Deft 80s restoration. 'Unnamed' remixers fillet the sorely dated original, replacing surplus phat with their damp bounce and scuttle funk. Hollowed out with the graceful dawn-of-creation synths it takes on a poigniancy, a twist of unease.
Dub compression. Strong bay area micro-haus resonance from Clayton, his slippery sub-aqua production builds around a gnawing groove, a faux analogue burble that ripples and chimes with subliminal detail, showing his assured restraint.
Ragga over a school ground electro clapp, get some credits for your phone!
Visceral acid. Teeth bared, this brutal rave behemoth is back from 92, blocky and raw, with slow twisting snarl it looks like he wants to fight. Turns out he's just here to dance.
Vintage 80s, on the line between hip-hop and electro, the raw mix is full of freak inspiration: stuttered, jagged, but smooth and elastic, playing an pouncing melody off the ticker-tape clicks, the chunky flo against flat droid loops. A favourite.
Italo Disco from 1985, tho it might as well be erm, "electroclash" from 2002, a classy slice of exotic electro-disco..
The perfect partner to the Charlie track, brutish house from the ever excellent International Deejay Gigolos label...
Jittery Hip Hop. The track swivels and jumps with gratifying thump, while Kosa, when not dodging low flying 'copters, fights himself and the caffeine psychosis.
Fizzy house. Nervous, but somehow assured, this spills and bounces with a sloppy lurch, it's warmth echoing Isolee's analogue clunk.
Stiff determined house, no matter how the bass seems to tumble the clanky echo tech keeps it staggering forward.
Apologys in advance for this one, a bit of a novelty tune. A lineup of dancehall allstars do some default bragging over the Star Wars Riddim ..
Wistful pop, more evocative than film, less indulgent than poetry. I've never been to Wichita, I don't know what a Lineman is, but for these three minutes I understand...
Another pounding Neptunes track, Kardinal swirls off in a blizzard of ricochet melodies, whoops and tweets, while a cast of thousands stumble stomp in sync outside. [thanks to Juke]
Demented surf rock, it keys us back to a dark thrill. Not as apt as Flight of the Valkries, but the desert's just a big beach, right guys?
Micro faceted german pop, producted by Pole.
on point hiphop, banned by the bbc, always a good sign.. (thanks matt)
Fey house. Seductive, close and catchy with an irresistible analogue buzz. Sheer indulgence, like catching a flattering glimpse of yourself in the mirror.
Widescreen House. Such a tease... never quite revealing itself, this Kompakt remix generates planet sized anticipation, hinting at something extra-ordinary, it keeps driving without telling us where we're going. Trust 'em.
Yardcore, gritty furious ragga, almost tearing itself to pieces. Kevin Martin's (The Bug) test-dept production reins Daddy Freddy's thirsty chat in on a saw toothed riddim but leaves him space to twist and freak.
Unrefined HipHop. A muscular orchestra swoop puts Ghostface's invincible flo up front. With oxy-acetylene determination, he's blazing: ahead of the beat, breathless and gloriously out-of-tune. BLAOW!!!
Sound of the Summer '97. Yes! that's 5 years ago. A staggered explosion, so raw and urgent it takes Glamma Kid's staccato toasting to match it's coruscating blast and unremitting jak. It's all too much... fine with me.
Woozy 80s pop oddment. More absurd than sinister, due to the sneaky (non-creepy) casio. Not sure which is funnier: Rockwell's melodrama or Michael, fabulously out of place.
Hard Techno. Aural op-art is a more descriptive tag as Mills eschews melody and structure in favour of interference patterns and shifting contrasts, but the sound's so penetrating it doesn't want explaining, it needs to be felt.
Bay Area microedit. Lurid cut-ups and brittle funk from Drew, neatly pasted together while the bass dozes in the background - something like lewd conversation at a party where the neighbours are having more fun.
Frantic acoustic electro that feels like its gonna fall apart at any minute...
A Guy Called Gerald with Goldie, from when Jungle really did sound like the future of music, before Goldie started modeling for topman rather than making music. A Guy Called Gerald is at All Tommorows Partys this weekend, see you there..
Dancehall Legend. From loose strut to pouncing riddims, babbling skat to a tuff swagger, Barrington 'mellow canary' Levy's smooth vocal catches all the hooks, without a breath.
Epic Hip Hop. Chuck speaks with untempered purpose over Shocklee's cinerama production: intercontinental bass, itchy wah-wahs and gospel. Cool and focused, we need their 'black CNN' more than ever. E.T.A. = Friday night. Location = A.T.P.
Glock-talk and menace from Littles, backed with Prodigy and the Alchemist's stone bass and shimmer. Marking territory with his sharp flo Littles' time is due.
Garage Star. Dizzy delivers - all rhetoric and front, chewing his everyday demons over an electro twinkle. But inspite of his success, and abundant fury, there's still that insecurity, that ache.
Disco echo. So fuzzy and distorted this sleazy house sounds almost like sleepy electro, a thick mix of raw chords, deep reverb and gorgeous e-blurred vocals. Monstrous, overbearing - this is a dark pleasure, with a slink. [thanks Piers]
A highlight of the weekend at ATP..
Soulful Hardcore. These Brixton raggamuffins were the first to decide 'things are gonna get dark' back in 91. The Dredd bass, blistering breaks and O-T-M toasting of the last couple of minutes make for one of those seminal moments in 90s underground music.
Stuttering electronic music from the Berlinette Album..
Mentalist soundclash from the mid-90s, worth it for a ludicrous Bounty howling off-key about blazin' up in the House of Windsor over a medley of Squarepusher riddims.
Impassioned plea for peace (can't argue with that.) A jaunty but heartfelt slice of hammond cheese. The musing tablas and suitably screechy organ seemingly play out Timmy's anxious train of thought. [thanks James]
Boooo!, DJ Maxximus is back with an 8-bit 2-step maxi rave blast..
Subdued Electro, smooth and slinky. Echoed percussion, hushed vocals and guitar taunts give it motion, but it has an almost frictionless glide. A low-key classic.
Perky electro-pop. Quantizing the vocal trembles and using the perfect clunky beat, Mike sweetens the lo-fi elements and finds a silky squeak consistency.
A little pop song about computors, with some random lyrics and a great chorus..
Planet surfing house. With a slack acid-reverb and bass gear box Justus clears the clouds and almost reaches..... something.
Libidinous Hip Hop. The Neptunes' sly d-double k-kick and acoustic twangle may seem dated now, but my love of this track is undiminished. From the playground call and response to the gang braggadocio it's a fantasy - one I shamelessly indulge.
Bhangra 2-step. Driving West London's empty streets, it's hot and sunny, this is THE music. Forget the MC's dry toast, it's the syrupy groove I'm hearing.