It’s A Spiritual thing > A Robot thing


A few days ago we brought you the news about MySpace interviewing Slam’s Stuart McMillan about Daft Punk’s debut album ‘Homework’, and not we turn the focus to their new album ‘Random Access Memories’. Australian electronic music website In The Mix wrote more of the more unique and in-depth reviews, using a DJ Sneak tweet abiyt the album as their focus. It’s a great read, here’s a extract, click for the full article.

This story begins as so many others must: with an in-depth analysis of a DJ Sneak tweet.

This week, after Daft Punk began streaming their latest album Random Access Memories (you may have heard of it), as the penultimate stroke in has to be the most diabolically clever marketing campaign in human history, the Chicago-house gangsta and impresario posted the following on Twitter:

Not Everyone Understands Daft Punk Music, It’s A Spiritual thing> A Robot thing> a Soul thing. great Job guys> the story continues.

In case you missed it, the reference is to Eddie Amador’s 1998 single House Music – a movement-defining anthem from an era when the pre-helmet Daft dudes were just starting to make waves on the international scene along with their French brethren like Bob Sinclar and Alex Gopher. “Not everyone understands house music – it’s a spiritual thing, a body thing, a soul thing.” For a house-head like Sneak it’s the ultimate compliment.

If reading news posts on inthemix has left you with the conclusion that Sneak is an unforgiving bastard who lives to torture European dance-music wannabes – well, you’re probably right. But why doesn’t Daft Punk fit into his axis of evil that includes Swedish House Mafia and now Seth Troxler? Why does one of the most overexposed acts on the planet – and Euro as they wanna be – get a free pass from the arbiter of underground cool? And why does Sneak seem to be indicating that this radically ambitious collection of polished pop, Euro-disco and indie-R&B qualifies as house in the first place?

I’ll get to the issue of why Random Access Memories is a supremely house album despite the fact that it doesn’t contain one housey-house dancefloor-first 125-bpm track later. First, let me tell you a badly kept secret about house music. Real house-heads, no matter how hard or ghetto they may seem, are big softies, pussycats at heart. They don’t judge by race, sexual orientation, creed or border. They only care about one thing: how the music sounds, preferably in a darkened basement. And they tend to be equally passionate about any kind of good music, made by anybody, from the Doors to Depeche Mode, as long as it carries a certain intensity of feeling.

(I should mention that the saltier side of Sneak did show up when a follower tweeted a reply, inarticulately questioning his agenda in promoting this admittedly over-hyped album. Sneak, who after all collaborated with the Daft gang years ago, snarled: “I’m going to ignore your ignorance you Lil prick. U know nothing about nothing.”)

In 1979, in one of the most notorious incidents in American pop-culture history, 50,000 people flooded the gates of Comiskey Park in Chicago for ‘Disco Demolition Night’. A radio shock jock named Steve Dahl rallied the frenzied multitudes, mostly young white guys, into chanting “Disco sucks! Disco sucks!” as a crate containing the offending vinyl was dynamited on the baseball field; the scene then escalated into a near-riot.

Today this explosive moment is widely seen as a paranoid and resentful backlash against the black, Latin and gay subcultures that disco represented in a society divided along hard economic and racial lines. “It felt to us like Nazi book-burning,” Chic mastermind Nile Rodgers has said. (Sneak, née Carlos Sosa, would have been about 10 and living not far away on the South Side.)

A little bit younger than Sneak, and probably a lot more sheltered, I was blissfully ignorant of such tension. My musical memories of that era are of spending hours in my cousin’s bedroom in Oregon, listening and dancing to 7” singles of hits by Blondie, Lipps, Inc. and a little act known as the Bee Gees – or watching Dionne Warwick introduce the same acts on Solid Gold. Hugely popular but undeniably weird tracks like Heart of Glass and Funkytown were readily digestible by my young psyche but contained a mystery and fascination that would eventually open up a larger world for me. Read more.

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