So before I leave London I decided to make a special trip to Rough Trade.
The trip is somewhat perfunctory; I don't have any specific reason for going to Rough Trade except that there are so many reason to go that it seems like it would be a sin to skip it. Maybe you've heard of a little band called the Smiths? The Libertines? Both were signed to the original Rough Trade label (in 1976 when the shop was first opened it boasted both a storefront and a label). The San Francisco branch once hosted none other than Nirvana, back in 1990 before the Internet killed record sales. Of course, these highlights simply serve to underscore the store's long legacy of supporting and shaping the rise of punk and post-punk in modern London. Granted, I don't know shit about post-punk, but I certainly don't want to make people any more aware of this than they have to be. In other words I'm going to visit Rough Trade, not because I have to go but because I really can't not go.
Actually, that's all bullshit. My real reason for going to Rough Trade comes from this video, in which a very ebullient German man takes his audience on a virtual tour of the Testsalon, a synthesizer testing booth installed at Rough Trade courtesy of Schneidersbuero. The Buero is a showroom and retailer of analog synthesizers in Berlin (yes, I will be visiting) about which I can find out very little else. Suffice it to say that the analog synthesizer is undergoing something of a revival as of now, what with electronics getting cheaper and the Internet making information free and available. If the world needs anything it's more places that are willing to curate and showcase the fruits of the garden of analog sound synthesis. To say nothing of the economics that allow for people to spend their time making glitchy, blippy synthesizers instead of contributing to society, I'm very excited to seal myself in a room with some noisy electronics and to see what happens.
In case you didn't watch the video, the Testsalon offers a suite of rotating synthesizers for the curious customer to play with. Some synthesizers live inside the soundproof test booth, a couple others hang around outside the booth and can be played over headphones with no special permission. This, I firmly believe, was a terrible idea: the synthesizers outside the booth are of course thoroughly and completely broken to the point where they aren't even interesting anymore. This is saying something, as it's not uncommon for some of the best analog equipment to be slightly broken. Some might even say that a synthesizer doesn't really have a personality until it starts to malfunction just a little bit. Weird quirks can be desirable. Your volume knob just controls volume? Bo-oring. My volume knob controls volume and filter cutoff, my filter cutoff controls my LFO, and my LFO determines whether I want my output to sound more like a square wave or an angry cat trapped inside an espresso machine.
The devices outside the Testsalon, on the other hand, straight up don't work. All switched on, all faders maxed, and the result is nothing but silence.
Inside the booth however, things are different. Hopefully you're not the kind of person who gets overwhelmed by apparent complexity, because this is the first thing that you see upon walking into the test salon:
Hiding off to the right is actually the most interesting thing in the test salon: the black phone which offers a direct link to the offices in Berlin. If you get stuck you're encouraged to phone the Deutschkapital to get help; you may also get a spontaneous call from Schneidersbuero home base, where they probably spend most of their time getting drunk, eating currywurst and watching videos of people failing to play their synths properly.
Speaking of the synths, how about some sound and fury?
MFB-503
First a tiny bit of background:I'm pretty sure all this *B-503 business is a reference to the Roland TB-303, the infamous little device at the heart of the rise of Chicago House music. Basically, the TB-303 was intended to be used by guitarists who needed a bass line to accompany them but didn't have any friends who could play bass. In filling this role the TB-303 felt on its face, but it was great for adding driving, unrelenting basslines to disco drum breaks in sweaty Chicago clubs. Just to give you some idea of how much the sound of this underdesigned, throw away musical toy has come to define the character of modern music, we owe to the TB-303 the 16 note bass line, gliding note-to-note portamento and the idea of creating musical expression by twisting knobs and moving filter cutoffs. Sound familiar?
Anyway, you might astutely protest that the MFB-503 is a drum machine while the TB-303 is a general purpose sequencer, but I think the argument that one is an allusion to the other still stands. After all, the TB-303 could always be configured to play analog drum sounds anyway, and the MFB-503 still offers a 16-note sequence in addition to an array of knobs for your quasi-erotic tweaking pleasure. Of course, it offers some other nice features as well, including onboard distortion, bitcrushing and waveshaping, all features so common to modern analog sound that it seems like they should be onboard everything. Most importantly, though, it's pretty and it lights up with rewarding and encouraging colors, to say nothing of the satisfying lo-fi sound it emits.
Ekdahl Moisturizer
My personal favorite. Hopefully my shitty little iPhone camera managed to take a good enough picture that you can see everything that's going on here. As you might expect with any synthesizer, you've got a bunch of knobs. You can turn those knobs to modulate the sound. I know, snoresville, right? Except with this synthesizer, to get the sound in the first place you actually stroke and pluck the three metal springs on top of the housing. Needless so say, this results both in an absurd and other-worldly noise and in a medically unsound level of boyish giddiness. I, without a touch of irony, found myself making little fists and shaking them in the air, like a schoolgirl about to open a new package of novelty eraser toppers (no, I have no idea why these are so popular either). I can only assume that this was right at the point where Germany was getting ready to call and say hello, saw what kind of a person (child) they were dealing with, and thought they'd leave me to my own devices. Probably a wise choice.
Anyway, I really don't have enough praise to heap on this synthesizer. In my mind the key responsibility of a synthesizer is that it should create new noise in a new way. The TB-303 restricted musicians to short, difficult to program sequences with a limit array of options for adding expression and dynamics to those sequences. In response, they learned to use external gear and clever tricks to make the repetitive loop of the TB-303 into something amazing, into nothing less than the defining sound of modern house music. A good synthesizer must do the same thing: it must use its design to suggest new musical spaces. The Moisturizer is a perfect example, not only for the sound it produces but also for the way it produces that sound. I suggest you go buy one, immediately. You probably won't regret it.
MFB Nanozwerg
Last but not by any means least, we have the MFB Nanozwerg. Not much to say except that it's a synthesizer and technically a sequencer as well, although you're on your own trying to program it. I'd wager you'll get a lot more mileage with an external sequencer or note source, but unfortunately in the test salon it was set up as a standalone unit. I was still able to have a blast playing it, though; whoever had gone in beforehand and programmed in the three onboard sequences had done a standup job.
Of course, my date with the Eurostar back to Paris meant my time in the Testsalon was limited, and with great sadness and a heavy heart it finally came time for me to leave London. My parting thoughts? More so than any other city I've ever been to, everything I liked about London came from the people in it, rather than the place itself. Obviously I'm disappointed that I didn't get to spend more time with Marta the Marxist, but I'm thrilled that I got to hang out with Henrique and his roommate Tom, probably two of the most dedicated and self motivated people I've ever met. Especially you, Henrique. It takes some potent combination of hefty, sweaty balls and a touch of manic craziness to work a ten hour day plumbing the ins and outs of a plaintive javascript framework, only to stay at work until four in the morning with nothing but a studio and a pot of coffee for company. Here's to you, mate, I can't wait to see you again and to hear what you've accomplished.
On the other hand, I had no desire to spend a second longer than necessary at King's Cross St. Pancras.
The train ride home brought with it both severe delays and severe drinking. A group of French tourists, riding the wave of endorphins that comes with returning from the UK to a country with actual culture, decided that they were going to spend the train ride back drinking at least a bottle of champagne each and doing wind sprints up and down the train cabin. I should emphasize that these were not young dudes, either, but rather accomplished, well-traveled French retirees. You know, the least self-aware people in all of history. Personally old drunk people are probably my favorite crowd on God's green earth, but the American couple in the seat next to me was not having it. I'm sure you can picture it: the wife buried in her Sudoku, the husband looking back and forth between his Macbook and the inebriated spectacle in front of him, they outlined exactly the archetype of "The Miserable Couple on Vacation". I felt bad, bad enough to offer some encouraging words in their native tongue, but ultimately I got bored and headed to another cabin.
In the next cabin I sat next to two French guys about my age, talking about visiting different parts of Europe and about the music kids were listening to these days. Of course it was only a matter of time before the word Dubstep floated over, followed by a dusting of the word Hipster. "On les appele 'Hipster'...", "Les Hipsters portent les patalons des filles et ils n'aiment que le Dubstep." And so on. As an erstwhile San Franciscan I couldn't help but offer my take on the elusive Hipster.
The more interesting part of our conversation covered culture, out of which I squeezed confirmation for another suspicion of mine: the French still think they own culture. They look at the technological and economic marvels of the east and west, and they see themselves sitting at the center in the high court of good taste. France's role on the world stage, according to France, is to bring to bear class and sophistication, to filter and curate the world's offerings, giving guidance from a position of historical and cultural authority.
There is of course one small sticking point: music. Surely France doesn't claim to have a more sophisticated musical culture than the United States? From the city streets all the way to IRCAM itself, the concert call that is Paris reverberates with hip-hop, jazz and rock music, and with names like Philip Glass and John Cage. That may be, came the reply, but the best music still comes from France. Look at Daft Punk. You must be kidding, I said. All of Daft Punk's most famous tunes are essentially DJ music, sampled tracks with electronic backing. Where do those samples come from? Disco, Motown and Funk, all as American as red, white and apple pie. Take away the samples and all you have left is a couple of synthesizers (made in America) and a couple of French dudes in robot helmets (also designed in the States).
So there. You're pretty great, France, but not at everything. Although if we're going to talk about food next then I freely concede your victory, unless we're talking about hot dogs. You really need to work on your hot dogs.
The trip is somewhat perfunctory; I don't have any specific reason for going to Rough Trade except that there are so many reason to go that it seems like it would be a sin to skip it. Maybe you've heard of a little band called the Smiths? The Libertines? Both were signed to the original Rough Trade label (in 1976 when the shop was first opened it boasted both a storefront and a label). The San Francisco branch once hosted none other than Nirvana, back in 1990 before the Internet killed record sales. Of course, these highlights simply serve to underscore the store's long legacy of supporting and shaping the rise of punk and post-punk in modern London. Granted, I don't know shit about post-punk, but I certainly don't want to make people any more aware of this than they have to be. In other words I'm going to visit Rough Trade, not because I have to go but because I really can't not go.
Actually, that's all bullshit. My real reason for going to Rough Trade comes from this video, in which a very ebullient German man takes his audience on a virtual tour of the Testsalon, a synthesizer testing booth installed at Rough Trade courtesy of Schneidersbuero. The Buero is a showroom and retailer of analog synthesizers in Berlin (yes, I will be visiting) about which I can find out very little else. Suffice it to say that the analog synthesizer is undergoing something of a revival as of now, what with electronics getting cheaper and the Internet making information free and available. If the world needs anything it's more places that are willing to curate and showcase the fruits of the garden of analog sound synthesis. To say nothing of the economics that allow for people to spend their time making glitchy, blippy synthesizers instead of contributing to society, I'm very excited to seal myself in a room with some noisy electronics and to see what happens.
 |
| Brick Lane, the über-trendy neighborhood leading to Rough Trade |
 |
| Not yet Rough Trade, but definitely British |
 |
| Almost... |
The devices outside the Testsalon, on the other hand, straight up don't work. All switched on, all faders maxed, and the result is nothing but silence.
 |
| Intricate, sophisticated, junk |
 |
| I can at least imagine it making a cool sound... |
 |
| Fuck. |
Speaking of the synths, how about some sound and fury?
MFB-503
 |
| Pretty... |
Anyway, you might astutely protest that the MFB-503 is a drum machine while the TB-303 is a general purpose sequencer, but I think the argument that one is an allusion to the other still stands. After all, the TB-303 could always be configured to play analog drum sounds anyway, and the MFB-503 still offers a 16-note sequence in addition to an array of knobs for your quasi-erotic tweaking pleasure. Of course, it offers some other nice features as well, including onboard distortion, bitcrushing and waveshaping, all features so common to modern analog sound that it seems like they should be onboard everything. Most importantly, though, it's pretty and it lights up with rewarding and encouraging colors, to say nothing of the satisfying lo-fi sound it emits.
Ekdahl Moisturizer
My personal favorite. Hopefully my shitty little iPhone camera managed to take a good enough picture that you can see everything that's going on here. As you might expect with any synthesizer, you've got a bunch of knobs. You can turn those knobs to modulate the sound. I know, snoresville, right? Except with this synthesizer, to get the sound in the first place you actually stroke and pluck the three metal springs on top of the housing. Needless so say, this results both in an absurd and other-worldly noise and in a medically unsound level of boyish giddiness. I, without a touch of irony, found myself making little fists and shaking them in the air, like a schoolgirl about to open a new package of novelty eraser toppers (no, I have no idea why these are so popular either). I can only assume that this was right at the point where Germany was getting ready to call and say hello, saw what kind of a person (child) they were dealing with, and thought they'd leave me to my own devices. Probably a wise choice.
Anyway, I really don't have enough praise to heap on this synthesizer. In my mind the key responsibility of a synthesizer is that it should create new noise in a new way. The TB-303 restricted musicians to short, difficult to program sequences with a limit array of options for adding expression and dynamics to those sequences. In response, they learned to use external gear and clever tricks to make the repetitive loop of the TB-303 into something amazing, into nothing less than the defining sound of modern house music. A good synthesizer must do the same thing: it must use its design to suggest new musical spaces. The Moisturizer is a perfect example, not only for the sound it produces but also for the way it produces that sound. I suggest you go buy one, immediately. You probably won't regret it.
MFB Nanozwerg
 |
| Sexy |
Of course, my date with the Eurostar back to Paris meant my time in the Testsalon was limited, and with great sadness and a heavy heart it finally came time for me to leave London. My parting thoughts? More so than any other city I've ever been to, everything I liked about London came from the people in it, rather than the place itself. Obviously I'm disappointed that I didn't get to spend more time with Marta the Marxist, but I'm thrilled that I got to hang out with Henrique and his roommate Tom, probably two of the most dedicated and self motivated people I've ever met. Especially you, Henrique. It takes some potent combination of hefty, sweaty balls and a touch of manic craziness to work a ten hour day plumbing the ins and outs of a plaintive javascript framework, only to stay at work until four in the morning with nothing but a studio and a pot of coffee for company. Here's to you, mate, I can't wait to see you again and to hear what you've accomplished.
On the other hand, I had no desire to spend a second longer than necessary at King's Cross St. Pancras.
 |
| Ugh. |
The train ride home brought with it both severe delays and severe drinking. A group of French tourists, riding the wave of endorphins that comes with returning from the UK to a country with actual culture, decided that they were going to spend the train ride back drinking at least a bottle of champagne each and doing wind sprints up and down the train cabin. I should emphasize that these were not young dudes, either, but rather accomplished, well-traveled French retirees. You know, the least self-aware people in all of history. Personally old drunk people are probably my favorite crowd on God's green earth, but the American couple in the seat next to me was not having it. I'm sure you can picture it: the wife buried in her Sudoku, the husband looking back and forth between his Macbook and the inebriated spectacle in front of him, they outlined exactly the archetype of "The Miserable Couple on Vacation". I felt bad, bad enough to offer some encouraging words in their native tongue, but ultimately I got bored and headed to another cabin.
In the next cabin I sat next to two French guys about my age, talking about visiting different parts of Europe and about the music kids were listening to these days. Of course it was only a matter of time before the word Dubstep floated over, followed by a dusting of the word Hipster. "On les appele 'Hipster'...", "Les Hipsters portent les patalons des filles et ils n'aiment que le Dubstep." And so on. As an erstwhile San Franciscan I couldn't help but offer my take on the elusive Hipster.
The more interesting part of our conversation covered culture, out of which I squeezed confirmation for another suspicion of mine: the French still think they own culture. They look at the technological and economic marvels of the east and west, and they see themselves sitting at the center in the high court of good taste. France's role on the world stage, according to France, is to bring to bear class and sophistication, to filter and curate the world's offerings, giving guidance from a position of historical and cultural authority.
There is of course one small sticking point: music. Surely France doesn't claim to have a more sophisticated musical culture than the United States? From the city streets all the way to IRCAM itself, the concert call that is Paris reverberates with hip-hop, jazz and rock music, and with names like Philip Glass and John Cage. That may be, came the reply, but the best music still comes from France. Look at Daft Punk. You must be kidding, I said. All of Daft Punk's most famous tunes are essentially DJ music, sampled tracks with electronic backing. Where do those samples come from? Disco, Motown and Funk, all as American as red, white and apple pie. Take away the samples and all you have left is a couple of synthesizers (made in America) and a couple of French dudes in robot helmets (also designed in the States).
So there. You're pretty great, France, but not at everything. Although if we're going to talk about food next then I freely concede your victory, unless we're talking about hot dogs. You really need to work on your hot dogs.
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