FRI., OCTOBER 26, 2007
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Taster’s Choice: Gilles Peterson and Kon and Amir
by Hua Hsu
It is hard not to envy Gilles Peterson: he is paid to have taste. This is no small feat in his native England, where taste is hotly contested terrain. There, every micro-niche from Northern Soul and “rare groove” to trip-hop and dubstep enjoys a day in the sun, “trainspotting” is part of the lexicon and record collecting can seem a vaguely manly pursuit. Yet for the past decade Peterson has created his own worldwide community of devout fans, an alternate universe where “fusion,” “trip-hop” and neo-soul are not bad words. For his citizens, the DJ, producer, radio host and label head’s stamp of approval means everything: Jill Scott, Spacek, Zero 7, Cinematic Orchestra and Nicole Willis number among his “discoveries.” For us part-timers, Peterson’s occasionally stunning compilations and remarkable longevity offer an object lesson in how taste is created, nurtured and expanded.
Peterson grew up in a quiet suburb outside of London but quickly developed a fascination with American jazz and soul of the mid and late 1970s. As soon as he learned how to drive, Peterson bought a transmitter and turntables, starting his own pirate radio station in the mid '80s. By his twenties he was a fixture in clubs and on the radio, thanks largely to his interest in something that would become known as “acid jazz.” (Peterson and colleague Chris Bangs coined the term in 1987.) Peterson’s kick was making people dance to the unlikeliest of sounds. Rather than playing the dance records of the day, Peterson’s DJ sets underscored the subtle, inscrutable rhythms of 1960s and '70s spiritual jazz (Yusef Lateef and Pharoah Sanders) and drew connections between the din of Latin percussion (Fania All-Stars) and the sounds of contemporary hip-hop. Acid jazz was an attempt to fuse these interests in a new, syncretic style of music, and while little of it holds up nowadays, the Brand New Heavies' albums give a good sense of Peterson’s vision.
His eclecticism found a home with the Talkin’ Loud label, which he founded in 1990. Where acid jazz acquired a reputation for putting forth stiff imitations of back-in-the-day sounds, Peterson’s new label defied a signature feel. The only common attribute that the Roots, Detroit techno don Carl Craig’s Innerzone Orchestra, Germany’s Jazzanova and England’s 4 Hero shared was a love of jazz and an unwillingness to simply ape the past. Talkin’ Loud’s broad vision allowed artists to stretch out and experiment with their own visions of the future, as on the Masters at Work side-project Nuyorican Soul or Roni Size’s early records. Soon returning focus to his wildly popular radio shows, the Peterson sound consolidated around these eclectic face-offs between old and new, attempts to graft the ideologies and textures of the past with the technologies and rhythms of the present. Anything he discovered and liked became assimilated into his open-minded aesthetic.
When even the tracklisting looks cool, that’s when you know you have untouchable taste.
Much Peterson mythology revolves around a semi-mythical place called Brownswood. It’s a four-bedroom apartment in northern London that has become his de facto storage warehouse — so mighty was this Brownswood collection that Madlib recorded a song in tribute, “Diggin’ in Brownsville” off his Peterson-influenced DJ Rels side-project. Peterson has recently issued two excellent volumes culled from the American wing of his Brownswood collection: Gilles Peterson Digs America: Brownswood U.S.A. The first compilation was an incredible exercise in kitchen-sink DJing, finding room for the simmering, bedroom soul of J.R. Bailey, the sputtering honky-tonk of folkie Ellen McIlwaine and the free-form jazz of the Ensemble Al Salaam. It’s likely that the rediscovery of Darondo, a colorful Bay Area O.G., resulted from the inclusion of “Didn’t I,” the delicate, sweet opener to this compilation.
Peterson is a master of finding the lone gems buried in the deep catalogues of otherwise snoozy or long-forgotten artists: the graceful “The Kingdom Within You” by Ira Sullivan — a noted jazz veteran not known for his funkiness — and the scampering, mournful “A Perfect Day” by one-time Judy Garland collaborator Bobby Cole are perfect examples. The second volume is similarly classy, opening with Lorez Alexandria’s elegant “I’m Wishin” and a swinging gospel cut by the Bethlehem Progressive Ensemble titled “Call to Worship,” which features the closest thing there is to a Peterson sound: vibraphones. Other strong moments include the sassed-out, foot-stomping soul of Dee Edwards’ “Why Can’t There Be Love” and the Diddys’ appropriately titled “Intergalactic Love Song.” It also further expands upon Peterson’s fascination with over-clean, cascading vocal jazz numbers — in this case, Irene Kral’s borderline cheesy “Going to California.”
Peterson recently started Brownswood, a small and sporadic label. Thus far the releases have embodied that same delightfully schizophrenic sensibility: Japanese jazz-punks Soil & Pimp Sessions, London’s Heritage Orchestra — a 45-piece jazz band boasting an average age of 25 — and anything-goes one-man-band Ben Westbeech — a human Peterson compilation in the flesh — are among the first signees.
There is no lone American equivalent to Peterson’s multi-platform reach, but the East Coast DJ duo of Kon and Amir probably come close in terms of record collections. They first became known for their On Track tapes throughout the 1990s and early 2000s, hip-hop-influenced mixes of little-known singles and breakbeats and recently discovered samples that entranced generations of record collectors. They recently put out Off Track, a three-hour mix of their best gems, including Quest’s highly sought-after disco cut “Boy Scouts” — it pays soaring tribute to the Boy Scouts of America, and must be heard to be believed — Le Stim’s pepped-up, percussive “Tribute to Muhammad Ali” and Jacqueline Dee and Johnnie Wal’s charmingly titled “Farewell to Welfare.” When even the tracklisting looks cool, that’s when you know you have untouchable taste.
Peterson grew up in a quiet suburb outside of London but quickly developed a fascination with American jazz and soul of the mid and late 1970s. As soon as he learned how to drive, Peterson bought a transmitter and turntables, starting his own pirate radio station in the mid '80s. By his twenties he was a fixture in clubs and on the radio, thanks largely to his interest in something that would become known as “acid jazz.” (Peterson and colleague Chris Bangs coined the term in 1987.) Peterson’s kick was making people dance to the unlikeliest of sounds. Rather than playing the dance records of the day, Peterson’s DJ sets underscored the subtle, inscrutable rhythms of 1960s and '70s spiritual jazz (Yusef Lateef and Pharoah Sanders) and drew connections between the din of Latin percussion (Fania All-Stars) and the sounds of contemporary hip-hop. Acid jazz was an attempt to fuse these interests in a new, syncretic style of music, and while little of it holds up nowadays, the Brand New Heavies' albums give a good sense of Peterson’s vision.
His eclecticism found a home with the Talkin’ Loud label, which he founded in 1990. Where acid jazz acquired a reputation for putting forth stiff imitations of back-in-the-day sounds, Peterson’s new label defied a signature feel. The only common attribute that the Roots, Detroit techno don Carl Craig’s Innerzone Orchestra, Germany’s Jazzanova and England’s 4 Hero shared was a love of jazz and an unwillingness to simply ape the past. Talkin’ Loud’s broad vision allowed artists to stretch out and experiment with their own visions of the future, as on the Masters at Work side-project Nuyorican Soul or Roni Size’s early records. Soon returning focus to his wildly popular radio shows, the Peterson sound consolidated around these eclectic face-offs between old and new, attempts to graft the ideologies and textures of the past with the technologies and rhythms of the present. Anything he discovered and liked became assimilated into his open-minded aesthetic.
Much Peterson mythology revolves around a semi-mythical place called Brownswood. It’s a four-bedroom apartment in northern London that has become his de facto storage warehouse — so mighty was this Brownswood collection that Madlib recorded a song in tribute, “Diggin’ in Brownsville” off his Peterson-influenced DJ Rels side-project. Peterson has recently issued two excellent volumes culled from the American wing of his Brownswood collection: Gilles Peterson Digs America: Brownswood U.S.A. The first compilation was an incredible exercise in kitchen-sink DJing, finding room for the simmering, bedroom soul of J.R. Bailey, the sputtering honky-tonk of folkie Ellen McIlwaine and the free-form jazz of the Ensemble Al Salaam. It’s likely that the rediscovery of Darondo, a colorful Bay Area O.G., resulted from the inclusion of “Didn’t I,” the delicate, sweet opener to this compilation.
Peterson is a master of finding the lone gems buried in the deep catalogues of otherwise snoozy or long-forgotten artists: the graceful “The Kingdom Within You” by Ira Sullivan — a noted jazz veteran not known for his funkiness — and the scampering, mournful “A Perfect Day” by one-time Judy Garland collaborator Bobby Cole are perfect examples. The second volume is similarly classy, opening with Lorez Alexandria’s elegant “I’m Wishin” and a swinging gospel cut by the Bethlehem Progressive Ensemble titled “Call to Worship,” which features the closest thing there is to a Peterson sound: vibraphones. Other strong moments include the sassed-out, foot-stomping soul of Dee Edwards’ “Why Can’t There Be Love” and the Diddys’ appropriately titled “Intergalactic Love Song.” It also further expands upon Peterson’s fascination with over-clean, cascading vocal jazz numbers — in this case, Irene Kral’s borderline cheesy “Going to California.”
Peterson recently started Brownswood, a small and sporadic label. Thus far the releases have embodied that same delightfully schizophrenic sensibility: Japanese jazz-punks Soil & Pimp Sessions, London’s Heritage Orchestra — a 45-piece jazz band boasting an average age of 25 — and anything-goes one-man-band Ben Westbeech — a human Peterson compilation in the flesh — are among the first signees.
There is no lone American equivalent to Peterson’s multi-platform reach, but the East Coast DJ duo of Kon and Amir probably come close in terms of record collections. They first became known for their On Track tapes throughout the 1990s and early 2000s, hip-hop-influenced mixes of little-known singles and breakbeats and recently discovered samples that entranced generations of record collectors. They recently put out Off Track, a three-hour mix of their best gems, including Quest’s highly sought-after disco cut “Boy Scouts” — it pays soaring tribute to the Boy Scouts of America, and must be heard to be believed — Le Stim’s pepped-up, percussive “Tribute to Muhammad Ali” and Jacqueline Dee and Johnnie Wal’s charmingly titled “Farewell to Welfare.” When even the tracklisting looks cool, that’s when you know you have untouchable taste.
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