One of the biggest beefs that both critics and the public seemed to have in
the late 1970s was about the "processed" or "artificial" sounds of dance
music. As opposed to the "pure" sounds of live instrumentation and the
"spontaneous" acts of creation that supposedly accompanied rock music, disco
and its ilk were seen as hopelessly studio-centered, the "product" of
hundreds of faceless producers. (To be fair to the disco haters,
post-Saturday Night Fever, the music seemed to march in unison to a
crippled 4/4 lockstep; as there was more of an emphasis on creating
something that produced ching in the chinos rather than boom in the
behinds.) Because of this bias, which was as much pro-aesthetics as
anti-urban, anti-woman, anti-black, and anti-homosexual, history often
resigns disco to a separate "forgettable and regrettable" category.
As many champions of disco have pointed out, though, this felt dichotomy is,
in reality, a false one: rock musicians have access to just as much
spontaneity as disco musicians; rock music can be just as processed and
produced as disco (Anyone remember Shadow Morton? Phil Spector? Steve
Albini?); rock is just as grounded in 20th century capitalism as disco is.
This is not to mention the fact that disco arrangers and producers such as
Vincent Montana, Jr., Patrick Adams, and Walter Gibbons all used live
instrumentation to complement their dancefloor-friendly sounds. In fact,
one aspect of disco that can signpost it as such is the swelling of a "live"
string section, as on MFSB's "Love Is the Message" or The Salsoul
Orchestra's "Salsoul Hustle".
Unfortunately, though, this bias continued through the 1980s and 1990s,
albeit with a slight about-face at the end of the century. The initial
popular and critical resistance to Eurodisco and hi-NRG, hip-hop, house,
techno, and the various genres of electronic-based dance music that disco
birthed, was based on the same reaction that people had with mother disco:
it was too artificial, too amateur, and too all-about-the-benjamins. What
with the current trend for advertisers to use these types of music to
signify youth and hipness, to sell watches and sports cars, it seems only
appropriate that the ghosts of disco and her children should be jiving in
their graves.
Enter Metro Area, the best types of gravediggers, the ones who are more
interested in dusting those bones off and making them groove, rather
than putting them together in interestingly chin-scratching postmodern
millennial ways. Made up of Morgan Geist and Darshan Jesrani, both techno
musicians and producers, the duo came together in 1999 New York and released
a 12-inch (their first as Metro Area, on their own Environ Records) to the
surprise and enjoyment of dance music heads everywhere. Metro Area,
their first CD release, compiles this first groundbreaking 12-inch and their
three equally-astounding subsequent ones (spanning 1999-2001) with four new
tracks.
This release reminds us of dance music's myriad pasts without sounding
retro, reheated, or sample-heavy. Sure, there are percolating basslines
that sound like a classic Giorgio Moroder lope-along, Curtis Mayfieldish
chicka-chicka guitars, strings straight out of a Gamble-Huff melodrama,
squelches and electronic washes resurrected from any number of homemade
techno tapes lost in the attics of Detroit, percussive accents from the
Incredible Bongo Band, and handclaps from the files of Arthur Baker -- and
that's just the first track, "Dance Reaction" -- but everything is woven
together with an incredible sense of dynamics.
Geist and Jesrani are perhaps most indebted to the producers who wedded live
instrumentation to electronic sounds: Patrick Adams (Cloud Nine, Phreek,
Musique) is an obvious example. (It goes without saying that Adams is one
of many disco artists who proves the original detractors of disco to be
short-sighted.) In his productions, squiggly synthesizers and Moogs do the
bump with live and electronic drums, while pitch-shifted vocals slide over
slinky Latin percussion. Metro Area's head-expanding first hit
"Atmosphrique" (track seven here) owes more than a title to Adams' way of
making weird elements sound good together.
Adams is part of a micro-genre of dance music that's as Janus-faced as Metro
Area; this style draws on everything from dub to disco, funk to punk, new
wave to techno. In fact, Geist and Jesrani bonded over a shared love of 12"
slabs of this style of dance music that can probably only be called
"experimental" or "avant-garde". However, it's important to note that,
despite their obvious inspiration from and debt to these musics, Metro Area
is more interested in making people move than in tickling their cerebellums.
First of all, the atmospheric and spacious production gives the head more to
discover with each listen. The powerful "Miura" sounds like a pulsating
Gary Glitter number until the cooing vocals and percussion start; all this
gives way to a synthesizer section that would do New Order proud. "Pina"
starts with a gentle and mournful Spanish-style guitar and a muted piano
line; someone whispers "fuck" in the background and the song morphs into a
Latin-tinged house track. "Machine Vibes" begins with some monster drums
and a bubbling bass, which are eventually complemented by wispy flute and
organ. Fortunately, the lush and organic arrangements on this record give
something for the body to discover with every listen, too.
In other words, dichotomies notwithstanding, what's ultimately great about
this CD is that Metro Area inspires both the head and the hips.
— 30 October 2002
