Modernism is the new minimalism

Modernism is the new minimalism

This month, the D*ruffalo Hit Squad pays their dues to Northern Soul, the most stubborn of all underground dance music scenes. And in contrast to nearly all compilations documenting decades of ridiculously dedicated digging, this two hour set consists entirely of supreme anthems. Or “oldies”, as the veteran rare soul jocks and dancers call them (meaning neglected guilty pleasures that opened sesame all those years ago, more or less). Which is the same twisted logic applied that led to the term “Modern Soul”, the majority of which is not that modern at all. But that is another story that shall be told even more indulgently on you know where, but you don’t know when, but it could be soon.

In the meantime, lay out the towel, spread the talc, put on appropriate gear, turn it up some, and get seriously going. And keep the faith, of course!

It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

The Berlindian Summer of 2011 will be one to be found in the history metereology books of the 21st century. The soundtrack: one for the fluffy girls (not the fluff girls, mate) and the cute cuddle boys living in a sunny autumn puperty soft romance dream (wearing colourful day glo classic couture and not this Skandinavian Yale sophomore type of fall colour plait shit (brown, beige, red brown, light brown) nobody in their right mind really likes). DM56 is the work of the romance scientist. A guy who loves the warm sun beams shining through the reddish leafs  of the late summer trees.  This is the sound of love. You gotta love it.

(c) DM56 tmmf? /(c) Picture Alfie K.

Now we’re the king of the swingers, the jungle VIPs. We’ve reached the top and had to stop and that’s what’s botherin’ us. So we want to be like the other people, people, and stroll right into town. We’re tired of monkeyin’ around!

Here, have a banana:

The D.H.S. returns to the dance.

The D.H.S. gives the dance the D.H.S. treatment, in a punky reggae fashion.

The D.H.S. rules the dance.

Seen?!

The D.H.S. DJ selector mixing selecting a M-A-S-S-I-V-E special post- (or pre-) carnival set selection. Praise!

Spring again. Schallertime. After last year’s Springaganza, here comes the bwoy from Cologne with a very official Druffmix. And the Schallster goes – as it is this time of year – nuclear! Hit by gamma rays he comes down all Red Hulk on us – for a total meltdown on all 52 meta-worldly omniverses possible.

Imagine DJ Hell in good looking and with actual good music.
The mix commemorates Maccie’s (and our) holoerotic return to Soju Bar on May 6th, the place that was literally smashed by the Marcster last time they asked him (and us) to dj there. So sit back, drink 2 gallons of Korean superbooze, log on to Schalli FM and enjoy  this stroller coaster ride of adult entertainment.

Or as the head of the Red Tornado said: “52…52…52….52″

The D.H.S. gonna cause talk and suspicion, give an exhibition. Perfect vision. Now push it along…

The Druffmix story so far:

The Druffalo Hit Squad boldly went to wild places, persuaded a ridiculously famous high class DJ to contribute, emanated lysergically to the roots of lysergic, came out of the shadows and looked to the light, lived the pop life to a 4/4 beat, had a three hour tempo downer, went holiday reminiscing, went sailing, said yeah forever, kept waiting for it to come in a double feature stylee, were all drama, were humbly militant, made goth balearic, took eclecticism to the sewer, said that vocals matter, kissed the duke goodbye, called for last orders twice, shed a tear for Levi, danced the art school dance forever, cooked up a storm, gentrified the hood, raved Canada, raved UK, proposed a toast, made an urgent call, continued the mission to save hip hop, sent a message to Michael, raved New York, cut some beards, cut some more beards, went down, went up, heard Frankie say “horny”, raved Detroit, raved Continental Europe, hailed BB one time, hailed BB two time, lit the lighter, raved Chicago, went a bridge too far, set the tempo, increased the tempo, increased the tempo, increased the tempo, increased the tempo, increased the tempo, increased the tempo, increased the tempo, increased the tempo, increased the tempo,

and

increased

the

teeeemmpppoooo

The Druffalo Hit Squad would like to thank all of you wonderful people for listening. To be continued.

This is a mix for all you big-heads out there who think disco music is lower than the irrelevant musical gibberish and tired platitudes that you try to impress your parents with…

We’re The Druffalo Hit Squad, we’re much cleverer than you and this is called Druffmix 49:

We don’t care where we go
When we’re with you
When we cry
You don’t laugh
‘Cause you know us

We’re in you
You’re in us
We’re in you
You’re in us
‘Cause you gave us the love
Love that we never had
Yes, you gave us the love
Love that we never had

You and us don’t pretend
We make love
We can’t feel anymore than we’re singing

We’re in you
You’re in us
We’re in you
You’re with us
‘Cause you gave us the love
Love that we never had
You gave us the love
Love that we never had

Come so far where you think of last fall
You can die but remain you and us
We’re in you
You’re in us
We’re in you
You’re with us
‘Cause you gave us the love
Love that we never had
Yes, you gave us the love
Love that we never had
You gave us the love
Love that we never had

We don’t care where we go
When we’re with you

We’ll never see daylight again

Once started it’s on to the end

We’ve tried but we can’t break away

As we

Dance dance to the music

Dancing dancing

Dance dance to the music

Dancing dancing

First step you forget where you are

Next step is you forget who you are

I’ve tried but I can’t break away

As I

Dance dance to the music

Dancing dancing

Dance dance to the music

Dancing dancing

Dancing is dangerous

Gently embraces us

Then won’t let go ’til the end of our days

Dancing is dangerous

Gently embraces us

Then won’t let go ’til the end of our days

Tell me is there life out there

This seems like a dream or a dare

Try leaving, you won’t get away

As you

Dance dance to the music

Dancing dancing

Dance dance to the music

Dancing dancing

Dancing is dangerous

Gently embraces us

Then won’t let go ’til the end of our days

You saw us standing alone in the dark,
Lost in the silence of our heart,
Crying for angels, crying for light,
Crying for someone tonight

No time for wasting, no time for truce,
No time for innocent lies,
Touch us like heroes straight from your eyes,
Lead us to worlds far beyond

And we know it’s you for freedom,
And we know you can fill the space in us

We need secrets in the dark, love in the shadows,
Passion burning out from under our skin,
Take us for a ride until the night time’s over,
When daylight steals the magic of the dark

We’ll give no reasons and no border lines,
Kill the fire that brakes the heart of love,
No more crying for angels, crying for light,
Crying for someone tonight

And we know it’s you for freedom,
And we know you can fill the space in us

Lost amongst the crowd
On the torso’s pumping iron
A man with a horn takes to the stage
The drum beat cracks in time

Harder and bolder the bodies move
Shoulder to shoulder skin feels smooth
Hot, sticky, still so cool
The crash of the anvil and the nightclub school

Watch the moving bodies
As they react to the sound
Feasting on the visions
See the figures going round

Graceful and flowing the fashion shows
Sensual and glowing the passion grows
Pick your playmate still so cool
The crash of the anvil and the nightclub school

Take it as it comes up
Leave it when it’s done
Put a number in your matchbook
And call when you want fun

Living the nightlife to the end
Giving the right life like a friend
One more rover still so cool
The crash of the anvil and the nightclub school

“Now Iapetus took to wife the neat-ankled maid Clymene, daughter of  Ocean, and went up with her into one bed. And she bare him a stout-hearted son, Atlas: also she bare very glorious Menoetius and clever Prometheus, full of various wiles, and scatter-brained Epimetheus.”

“Sorry – We don’t need no education.”

Nobody can tell ya
There’s only one song worth singing
They may try and sell ya
Cause it hangs them up
To see someone like you

You gotta make your own kind of music
Sing your own special song
Make your own kind music
Even if nobody else sings along

It can’t be nowhere
The loneliest kind of lonely
It may be
Just to do your thing is the hardest things to do

You gotta make your own kind of music
Sing your own special song
Make your own kind music
Even if nobody else sings along

And if you will not take our hand
Then we must be going, we’ll understand

You can listen to this groove
It’s for you
We’ll be free for only you
Just for you

Yes our voice is coming near
Near to you
Lovely music in your ear
Just for you

Listen to this new song in your life
You can dance and romance in your home
Fly our sound everywhere you can see
Only music can save you and us

We will make you dream again
Just for you
We can get into your brain
Once again

Only music survives
Only music survives
We can play music where you wanna be
So the sunshine will rise in your heart

Druffmix quarantuno !!! Un ballo nuovo porta ritmo nei fiancho della cittá. Ci vendiamo, trovimo, chiediamo che cosa si fa. Ma non cercate die volori, e magari sensation La notte e’nostra fin al mattino abbiamo illusion no. E’la fine del viaggino, ce’ sempre un domani e. Ci sono dimensioni, con illusioni e sensazioni. Give me more … Young romans – there is a night before each day and that price is still to pay. Never stop this old erosion phantastic voyage…

Dancing makes strangers friends

But what happens when the night ends

Bodies can say so much

Language lies in a touch

Dancing uncovers two lovers by chance

Wanna dance?

Swaying with the music

We’re on our way

So true funny how it seems
always in time but never in line for dreams
head over heels when toe to toe
this is the sound of our soul

Welcome to the final chapter of the Druffalo Rave Chronicles. In sharp contrast to the usual brouhaha surrounding the city’s contributions to club music history there is no particular reason why we conclude the series with Chicago. It’s just the one we still had left for release, and we wanted to stop before we were even tempted to invent rave scenes that don’t really exist (given that all of it was a very subjective D*ruffalo take on the rave phenomenon anyway). So, as sad as it may be, we would like to kiss the rave goodbye with some real Windy City classics, and this is the way we jack the house:

Bring the lights down, bring the lights down, we’re gonna do something real serious! If you have a lighter in your pocket, light it up!

1957
Belgium, France, Germany, Italy, Luxembourg and The Netherlands club together and create the European Economic Community (EEC)

1973
Denmark, Ireland and UK join the EEC

1979
The first European Parliament elections take place and the Single European Currency Unit was introduced (later to become the Euro)

1981
Greece joins EEC

1986
Portugal and Spain join the EEC

1991
the EEC is renamed the European Union (EU)

1995
Austria, Finland and Sweden join the EU

2002
The Euro is introduced in 12 of the EU member states

2004
On May 1st 10 new member states join the EU. On June 10th, European Parliament elections take place in the UK

2005
UK takes its turn as President of the European Council of Ministers

2007
Bulgaria and Romania set to join the EU

2009

Ours is the last mix that you will ever hear. Do not be alarmed.

“hip hip hooray ay, yippee ai yippee aiay .”

“For whoever is lonely there is a tavern.”

“Do not go gentle into that good night.”

Welcome to another Druffmix edition. The Druffalo Hit Squad is dedicating this one to the old school chapter of the International Disco Deconstructivist Conspiracy. Venceremos!

The Druffalo rave saga continues. This time round the Druffalo Hit Squad travels back to the New York City of the early 90′s, when labels like Nu Groove, Strictly Rhythm and many more dropped several bombs each week on the city’s manic floors, and the according sound was a sample-heavy and stylistically irresponsible mixture of roots in Disco, Hip Hop, Freestyle and clues from worldwide House and Techno proceedings. An overdose of signals both deep and kicking, and a decidedly street approach to structure the madness.

At that time you could even dance to that, whenever and wherever you wanted to.

We sure did, and still do.

How about you?

The Druffalo mission to save Hip Hop continues!

Bridging the generation gap right here, the Druffalo Hit Squad lends a helping hand with a heads up call to the hopes and dreams of boys and girls anywhere, anytime, anyplace. You might feel disillusioned, disenchanted, shattered, heartbroken, isolated, ignored, left over, left out, misunderstood, mistreated, underestimated, unwanted and unloved. We’ve been there. We suffered. We nearly dropped. But we draw conclusions. And we reached out. And we set in motion. And we found what we were looking for. This is for the survivors…

Fellas, We’re ready to get up and do our thing

(yeah go ahead!)

We want to get into it, man, you know

(go ahead!)

Like a, like a milk toast, man

(yeah go ahead!)

Movin’ and doin’ it, you know

Can we count it off?

(go ahead!)

One, two, three, four!

We’re sorted out for E’s and Wizz, the stereo of the overcrowded Jensen Interceptor heading up the M25 is blasting out The Spinmasters, while the Druffalos either make guestlist calls, read the latest Morley or WSC, sort out which trainers to wear or look nervously on the fuel display. We await 20000 hardcore members in longsleeves in a disused hangar in the middle of a field. We saw the lasers a while ago but we already missed the exit three times, ran out of water and beer, got police on our back, and it’s getting pitch dark.

This is the sound of the Druffalo Hit Squad’s UK edition of the international Rave Chronicles. Now hear this!

The Druffalo Hit Squad welcomes you to a new irregular series of showcases, which will feature our personal highlights from the international bastions of rave. For no particular reason whatsoever, we would like to dedicate the first installment to the most underrated rave nation: Canada. We assembled some extra hi-biased strobe anthems for the occasion, and played them on +8.

We’ve been commissioned to lend our music expertise to one of the most feted and anticipated appartment property projects in Berlin-Kreuzberg (once erected, there’ll be parades and balloons and lollipops all across the district forevermore), and as crisis hits hard and this gives us enough cold hard cash to instantly fund both the Druffalo black-and-white masque ball at Potsdam’s Orangerie and the garden party at the Hoppegarten race track, we negotiated mercilessly and settled the agreement. So while you elevate skywards with your Russian escort girl, think about whose sublime sounds she’s tapping her McQueen heels to. The program we designed is a 24/7 in-house entertainment concept but here’s an exclusive excerpt:

The Druffalo Hit Squad with yet another hurricane session for the party boys (and girls) who only come out at night. We own your lonely hearts, and we show you images of heaven. Yes, it is love, and we don’t move away from it, darlings. We got the gloves on, we dream electric, and we don’t stand back. Reason? No. Boredom? No. Orchestras? Yes. To a Debussy beat, the city waits forever. It shines like destruction, it lives inside us. We can make you see it. And we think hard about the weather, too. We’re pretty sure it must have rained. We dress for action, and howl at many moons. Who do you love? Is it us? Is this a test?

Despite the demolition of most of its former playgrounds (FAC 51 pictured above), the legacy of the classic era of European punkfunkateers remains indestructible. The Druffalo Hit Squad was actually raised on a diet of edgy dancing, nervous drinking, and romantic industrialism. As we move to the vicious dub, panic horn sections, flat snares, slap basslines and vigorous chants like we used to, we press record. Now you press play:

For this edition of the Druffmix experience, the D.H.S. hop the bus for the weekender. Gazelles are on, talc is prepared, purple hearts are still broken and faith is kept.

We dedicate this mix to Levi Stubbs. Reach out, we’ll be there…

Welcome to the D.H.S. After Hours, the time when things make sense, friends will be friends and love is in the air. We firmly believe in the art of ending a night in style. In fact, we believe in it so firmly that we have become notorious for extending the very last song for quite some time. After all, there is always a next tune. Always. And who knows what tomorrow might bring?

Dedicated to those who are the last to order and the last to leave:

May Memphis, TN be everywhere!

The CJ Macintosh of Berlin, the Clubsoul Defmixer of Neukoelln, the Vibraphone Jacker presents his own cozy Vibrazone: Druffmix Fifteen (one before Sweet Little Sixteen) for all the birthday kids today.

“Wet me for one, Mr. Sprinkler I’m heatin’ high-five in a daze ….”

At long last, here’s the 14th installment of our cherished mix extravaganza, provided by our new junior posterboy D.H.S. recruit. This mix twirls, growls and swishes, takes no prisoners and bubbles underneath. What a start! We already promise there will be more by this young hopeful trooper, if his hopes survive our company, that is. Watch him go!

There were the two veteran goth girls generously trying to teach goth dance moves to a veteran mod in the backyard of a hater’s party where the wall once stood. One deckchair, a bench, and a table were destroyed in the process. The veteran goth girls were still able to perform the moves most authentically, but the veteran mod failed disastrously due to stubborn groovyness, and not being able to remember that it’s one step forward, two steps back, and not the other way round. He could not produce the claws of desperation and a doomed expression either. This for you, veteran goth girls!

It’s been too long, but now the Druffalo Hit Squad decided to skip the distractions (and there are so many!) and get back to duty. The result is a most exquisite invasion of your audio senses, laden with strings, drama and a thorough analysis of today’s society and the detours of love.
We dedicate this Druffmix edition to Katherine Hamnett and Super Hector.

At last, The Druffalo Hit Squad comes down from the mountain for the tenth time. And you better believe the gospel according to:

Hello friends near and far. The D(r)uffalo Hit Squad is back in full swing. And we brought something with us.

In the meantime, the Druffalo Hit Squad sat down, took some sips, pondered and went selecting. This time we decided to drop the tempo and go all epic. Monolithic beats, sweetest tunes and late night to early morning street cred, rhyming and scheming, with a pinch of stardust. We even went busy with the crossfader at some point, if only on one record. It’s a new technique we call “The Absorber Scratch” that will wreck competition worldwide and can only be used sparsely. The first one to locate it in the show gets a free round of kisses, hugs and Anchovy Bellinis at Berlin’s Roses pub on Oranienstr, next time we crawl there.

We are a problem that no one can fix, with Druffmix 6!

We’re still wiggling from the fabulous boogie investigation that was Druffmix 4, but that Druffalo Hit Squad won’t stop for long. And you know us, we’re equipped with hearts and taste buds of equal grandness, and we’re going to use it. So let us take us you on a sentimental journey that embraces the meltdown of most supreme moments in House Music and P-O-P, incorporating some of our favourite adoration targets, as remixed by classy top old boys from Chicago to Madchester and all points in between.
On display: classy divas of all genders, startling cover versions, in your face camp, boundless love, utter confusion, hip swing, liberation anthems, hedonist mantras, and pianos pianos pianos pianos pianos pianos

Brothers and sisters, you better believe in the gospel according to:

The new Druffmix 4 ….rough and tough and totally boogie down produced dubby discominimalism and singer songwriter breakdance music…. selected and delivered by an up and coming boy on the alcoholic dj circuit…and the funniest sweetheart around (you should hear his girlfriend swearing..ragga!). If we are lucky he will host the bingo room for our Thanksgiving Party.

PS: After we listened we just felt like these people below in NY breaking it down to the main Man.

And now it’s time to… Kick Out The Jams, Motherfuckers!!!

You, our beloved readership, flattered us so much that we decided to put up a sequel to the ravishing Druffmix 1.
And again, we stand and deliver, with a stunning blend of mos definite raps, haunted tunesmiths, religiously sexcrazed midgets, beautiful songstresses, cakes at the seaside, Parisian multi-instrumentalists, roots awareness, screeching incest bigamists, disco cellists, black continent maps and even the odd scientologist. Ah, the audio joy of the druff eclecticism!

We got a hot one for you, can you take care of it?

We start our excursion with an excerpt from Sandra Bernhard’s “Without You I’m Nothing”, because we’re suckers for tasty intros and she’s gorgeous. Next up drops the ton of bass from The The’s “Flesh And Bones”, which is a firm favourite among all the urban blues standards. This track is also supporting cigarettes and self pity. And it is damn slow, so we use the trusted technique of combining Trip Hop and Drum & Bass, only we take David van Tieghem’s “Night Of The Cold Noses” instead, thus appealing to people who like Laurie Anderson but can’t really admit it. For the next track Steve Winwood seems the obvious choice. We ignore the balearic credentials attached to some of his other work and head straight to “While You See A Chance”, which may lack in flamenco prog  but more than delivers on singalong appeal. Still humming along we then let Patrick Gleeson twist his Moog for an old fashioned rocket up interlude, leading straight to two chief executives, who found their conscience in a pub crawl and emerged as Sun Yama, and Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” was their weapon of choice. A bit brisk, Dee D. Jackson’s “Galaxy Police” is patched up after that. This is not included to impress Cosmic Disco afficionados, but a heartfelt futuristic tribute to R. Dean Taylor’s “Indiana Wants Me”. You know that makes sense. And hola, there comes Connie who out-roxanned Roxanne during the Roxanne wars and told Sheila E the news. Shame that nobody noticed but we at least remember that bass and silly synths go together like Sonny and Cher. It is very likely that Paul Haig knows that too. Just listen how he injects “Time” with both wisdom and a cheap keyboard. There’s too much happening! We m-u-s-t have Terry Hall now. Hm, yeah… “Take”! We think that it would be an even better song without the bit about him and his cat (piss of all cats!), but we like to pretend that this was a compromise to calm down the other band members, whose names ever escape us, while those of his Fun Boy colleagues don’t. We see a pattern. We break a flower in reminiscence to lost love, but we also know that deep down we don’t care. Like Ian Dury. “Wake Up And Make Love With Me”, rarely there was a better mix of brutal honesty and Pub Disco groove alert. We carry on riding the wave of charme with Antena’s “Be Pop”, exchanging knowing smiles because we know that they look as pretty as they sing. Or were that other Belgian Dance Intellectuals? We are confused, so we segue rather harshly to bohemian Soho’s answer to Kid Creole, Blue Rondo minus the à la Turk bit, with “Samba No Pé”. There seems to be no reason to not go on with clean verging on aseptic dancing, so in come 400 Blows… “Movin’”! Now the Hamptons Country Club Alldayer incident: Michael McDonald, shine a light on us. Preserving natural grace on +8. Then introducing the style emperors: Bryan Ferry and Robert Palmer. The former with “Kiss And Tell”, a glorious meeting with the Latin Rascals, and the latter with the neglected weirdo bassline surprise that is “The Silver Gun”. We look for clues concerning the lyrics. Another quick crossfade to Visage’s “Move Up” from their underrated second album. We maintain that Steve Strange and Rusty Egan were responsible for everything that was good about them, and by no means Midge Ure. More Fop Pop with A Certain Ratio standing in line: “Wild Party”. A subtle prologue to Billy Mackenzie, the only plausible rendition of “Love Hangover” apart from La Ross. And another diva entrée, cruiser extraordinaire Bette Midler and her Black Leather Knights, quite possibly resulting in black leather nights to boot.  Ah, the plot thickens! We won’t let go of Duncan Browne’s “The Wild Places” so soon, so here’s another round. Marvel at the climax with the acapella of Bridgett Grace’s “Love to The Limit” on top. If only she would keep the beat! We test the effect buttons and then head home with “Last Time Forever” by Squeeze, because we’re suckers for tasty set enders.