Modeselektor
Happy Birthday!

We first met them in the early 2000s when they were creating a very experimental techno/electro hybrid, raw, dirty, and with a vague punk attitude, somewhat comparable to that mindless Marco Haas. Now, of course, when you put these two words together, techno/electro, one can only think of one thing: BPitch, the label that more than any other recently has combined these two genres, albeit, in my opinion, often with questionable results.

The direction taken by Gernot Bronsert and Sebastian Szary in the new millennium is instead different, with almost entirely vanished techno derivations, electro is more present than ever, in forms of irreverence already widely tangible not only from the brilliant cover but also, and more importantly, from the unexpected presence of a certain key character, here among other prestigious features, one that literally clashes with the noble adjective 'prestigious', the retarded of electronic music par excellence, dementia made music: ladies and gentlemen, the king: OTTO VON SCHIRACH. But there's also the one to whom Gillette owes at least 80% of their revenue: THOM YORKE.

So how the hell can that crazy vomitous, sick and filthy genius Otto coexist with such a well-mannered, introverted, and sensitive person as the leader of Radiohead, in a label like the German BPitch Control, often stuffed with ambiguous intellectual poses? It's nothing more than the snapshot of this "Happy Birthday", (follow-up to the already excellent debut "Hello-Mom!) a two-faced album, an album that is the exact line that separates what is called "commitment" and what is, in fact, "irreverence". We find well-thought-out, well-made, mental, serious stuff, one of those conceptual things you'd expect from a Jeff Mills, and then demented pieces, mindless dances, anthems for all the assholes that populate this earth; musically, in the craziest tracks, the primary influence is definitely hip-hop, often veering towards more 'southern' territories (crunk, ghetto, Miami bass, and assorted trashiness) and therefore exaggerated sub-bass, 808s blasting but never falling into their most mainstream sides, while in the more committed episodes, the reference to various big names of English IDM is very clear.

And then there is HIM, Otto Von Schirach, or what remains of his completely shattered brain. OTTO puts his hands and voice on a piece that is electronic cabaret, it is the usual delirium played by the one who is the bearer of mental insanity made music, it is the resounding "Hyper Hyper" (cover of the famous yet trivial piece by the pop-dance group Scooter, here in a mocking version): the madman, the demented, the human larva, delivers a sick vocal, an almost pronouncing (hip hop intro style) devastated by glitches of all kinds, heralding one of his intros, with a techno beat, followed by another hip hop one, where another of his vocals (vomiting bass bass drum bass bass bass drum drum) replaces the nonexistent imitated beat (the bass + drum, of course); then he comes out with his Miami bass porn-gangsta, which then transforms into a sort of dubstep with trance riffs but with spasmodic noise his way, an acid intermezzo with old-school gabber rhythms but with 303 set in acid house style but with minimal techno percussion that function as turntablism-style scratches...so damn: that's what happens when you invite Otto into the studio, an unstoppable meat grinder.

And if the other two aren't that normal either, it's obvious that a frightening track comes out, as scary as "Godspeed" (yet another excellent mix of hip hop and electro sounds), "Happy Birthday" (gypsy influences?!), "2000007" (French TTC shoots a badass rap over an equally badass electro-hop beat), "EM Ocean" (where the two unfold a soft, delicate, ethereal ambient carpet, which is then brutally ridiculed by coughs, crazy 303s, burps, and random distortion).

It is a track that nevertheless reminds us that the two, when they want, can also take themselves seriously, for example in the idm/electro of "B.M.I." (reminiscent of the dissonant paranoia of Autechre's "Confield") or the dreamy melodies of "The First Rebirth" (which resumes the riff of the classic tune by Jones & Stephenson), the track done with friend Apparat ("Let Your Love Grow", prelude to the future Moderat aka), the naive melodies of "Edgar" and the dubstep influences of "The White Flash" (with a solid base of micropercussions and glitches, which are the perfect territory to lay the vocals - highly reverberated, ethereal, and distant - of an inhuman Thom Yorke.

And then there are the techno-electro trains, reminding us that this is still a BPitch album, and therefore "Sucker Pin", "The Black Block" (they hit, without half measures) and the hugely trashy crunk of "The Dark Side Of The Sun". As for the rest, what can I say, Otto Von Schirach has laid his hands dirty with shit on this record.

So, make it yours.