003: Great Moments in Compilation History

One of my reasons for starting this blog was to provide an outlet for one my great passions - compilations. Between 1990 and 2010, commercially released compilations were my musical lifeblood. These little nuggets of musical delight were by far the most convenient, reliable and interesting way to explore new (or new to me) music. Usually they would have an established artist or DJ's name attached to them. Some, like the Back To Mine, or the Late Night Tales series, had dozens of instalments, featuring many of the best electronic and indie artists of their era. Others were more like mixtapes: studio mixes released as a work, much like an EP or LP.   Others still were showcases, or history lessons, presenting music from a specific era, or from a different music culture or territory. Then there were the film soundtracks, which in the 1990s enjoyed a golden age: fascinating and evocative mixes of the popular and the avant garde interspersed with original compositions and dialogue. What is particularly interesting to me is that they are now often very difficult to find. Streaming services have little use for esoteric mixes, with vaguely defined themes from half forgotten artists. They have their own perpetual, procedurally generated mixes for your delictation, and clearly don't wish to pay the licenses to reproduce old stuff in full. This is particularly frustrating when it comes to film sound tracks: how can it be that you can't stream the Jackie Brown soundtrack anywhere in 2020? It feels wilfully neglectful, as there are so many beautifully crafted and unique mixes in danger of being lost to history. 

So I think it's time to celebrate this nearly extinct mix format, and think about what the compilation era might mean within the broader sweep of popular music history. Stemming from DJ culture and the dual-deck pirate mixtape phenomenon,  compilations became a ubiquitous feature of popular music and, I would argue,  a guiding light for emergent streaming services: flexible services wherein anyone can compile tracks, share them and be their own Back To Mine DJ. Artistically, I think compilations represent a highly underrated subdiscipline of DJing, one to which I have always been most at home (pun intended): the ability to play an appropriately pitched, interesting and pleasurable hour long set to people in a private or domestic setting. The audience might be hanging out, having a drink, or everyone might just have got back from an all nighter and need some sonic support while they drink tea and smoke spliffs. A good CD mix is a wonderful thing, and this little sub-blog will document some of the best, in a loose descending order.

32: 4Hero Present Brazilika (Far Out Recordings, 2006) 

Brazilian music isn't for everyone. To say it veers towards cheese would be an understatement. The strumming guitars, glockenspiels, jazzy keys and unctuous vocals to my hears carry strong muzak, or even Mario Kart vibes. Where it excels is the variety and depth of its percussion instruments: beautifully delicate, violently powerful, completely weird and everything between, Brazil is the drum's spiritual home. So when a track hits the right balance between schmaltz and symphonic syncopation the result will go down as easy as a fresh caipirinha.

The balancing act on the 2006 compilation Brazilika was delivered by one half of South London breakbeat pioneers 4Hero, Marc Mac. Ever since their star turn at the bleeding edge of 90s jungle, 4Hero had been moving increasingly towards the jazz, neo-soul, broken beat and Afro-fusion realm, later exemplified by Gilles Peterson. 4Hero's best music is marked by an ability to strike through warm, sunny euphoria with deep, syncopated grooves, and Brazilika easily gives up as many good vibes as Black Gold of the Sun and Les Fleur. Running around an hour ten, it's one big gorgeous "Room 3" type mix: easy on the ear, steadily mid tempo but with just enough gas to keep the ravers on their toes.

It is also laden with Brazilian music legends, such as Milton Nascimento (who's opening track is one of the all time great ear worms), Azymuth and Bosa Nova icon Marcos Valle. Remixes abound, with added drum patterns and raised tempos toughening up what can be a lightweight production style. By the time Black Magic Power Ride drops after 15 minutes we're in that perfect ear canal dance zone, where even if you're staring out of a bus window at the February rain you know that there's a party going on somewhere. It's black atlantic soul music of the highest order. Sure, it's a bit one paced, and the mixing is lacklustre in places, but the high points are very high indeed. It's one of those instant roof terrace party records, of which there can never be too many.

This run down would extend to a hundred or so entries if I wrote up every great DJ studio mix in my collection. I have given it less emphasis here because this genre hasn't become endangered in the way that other types of compilation have. Guest mixes on Boiler Room, Soundcloud, FACT, Mixcloud and elsewhere have kept the form alive and thriving in the 21st century, which is great. With that said, this particular gem is worthy of inclusion for a number of reasons. Firstly it is a pure vibe; a DJ perfectly in sync with his material, laying down a coherent, balanced and sometimes surprising 70 minutes of soulful music. Second, it is an respectful and authentic re-framing of a compelling black atlantic music culture for a new audience: always a great basis for a playlist or mix of any kind.  Thirdly, because through this process it shows us a problematic double edge to 90s/00s music culture: how sounds previously out of earshot to white western audiences came to be increasingly and insidiously repackaged as viable form of popular music. 

To an extent this mix is ahead of it's time. Deep syncopations such as those on display here were very much alien to British ears ten years ago. UK Funky was very thriving in the late 00s, but mostly on the outer fringes of British music culture. The rhythms of the time were the standard house/techno 4 to the floor, or the structured patterns of drum n bass and dubstep. I remember borrowing this CD from Hackney Central library and being unsure about what to make of it to begin with. Over time, it started to make more sense, as my ears adjusted to hearing Latin and African rhythms as a direct equivalent of Anglo American dance music. Eventually this turn became a fundamental component of mainstream pop. This tidy little mix encapsulates a moment of transition, and perhaps not an altogether positive one, between the purist, underground legacies of rave culture and the outward looking, hybrid and, yes, commercialised future of electronic music in the pop landscape. 

Studio mixes may - in and of themselves - represent a process of gentrification within electronic and adjacent global music cultures. Taking these sounds out of their original setting - the rave, or dance hall - and packaging them up neatly into a little £10 slab of plastic, for affluent. culturally sophisticated, middle class audiences, is a transaction made by one culture upon another, on unequal terms. There is no choice within capitalism, when the dominant culture takes an interest in a culture in the social margins. A slow, inexorable process of hybridisation, of fragmentation, of Apollonian sophistication, invariably proceeds. We often get good music as a result, as in this case, but when considering cultural appropriation and gentrification, one must always ask, who benefits from the arrangement?    

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Honourable mentions in this vein include Tiga's 2002 DJ Kicks mix, which might make you almost like tech house, and Tensnake's 2010 double In The House mix. These are all just good examples of professional DJs absolutely nailing the remit of a compilation mix - showing people something new that they'll want to play again and again and again.