Sticker Shock: IMAGINARIUM

November 18, 2004

IMAGINARIUM

I like records that describe a world that does not exist. D.J. Chuck Chill Out's "Hip Hop On Wax—Volume 1" is like that. Unless I missed something, or went to the wrong parties and listened to the wrong radio stations, nobody sat around in "the day" listening to non-stop scratching. Not the people listening to WHBI in 1983, not the people buying records on Fulton Street in 1981. (Someone who went to the right party at the right time can correct me.) This is because nobody really wants to hear scratching. It is worse than the boodley-oodley guitar soloing to which it is often compared, because a little curve of vinyl can only yield so much information, no matter how scratch pickly you are. Scratching should happen for a second and then stop. That said, some DJs make great records, often because they make edit records. These records switch rapidly from one phrase to another, using scratching only as a transitional move between sections. (DJs also seem to like the same sproingy noises I do.)

But here's a record with a lot of scratching and little else. It was released in 1984, when there were no Casio keybaords with built-in scratch pads, no video games that burped out a wikky-wikky before you blew away the zombie. The idea of scratching was so uncoded that Vincent Davis thought a record containing little information beyond scratching might actually sell. You can hear Vin and Chuck trying to figure out how to make a narrative inside the constraints they've assigned themselves. Chuck varies between stabs (good) and wiggles (not so good), hoping to squeeze dynamics out of "It's Just Begun," which should be easier than it sounds. "Cavern" becomes a drop that never catches fire, probably because its sonics are soft and not particularly stabby. The rarity, as much as the music itself, is hearing hip-hop be vulnerable, unable to turn a draft into the final thing. The coolest thing may be the very end, when the tape runs backwards for a measure.

There was no Volume 2, though there is also a Red Alert Hip Hop On Wax.

(PS: For this release, Vintertainment introduced a new generic sleeve and label, a move up from the black hole-cut sleeve seen on "2, 3 Break.")

Posted by Sasha at November 18, 2004 01:10 PM


	« Comfort Stew \| \| They Shoot Electric Horsemen, Don't They? » November 18, 2004 IMAGINARIUM I like records that describe a world that does not exist. D.J. Chuck Chill Out's "Hip Hop On Wax—Volume 1" is like that. Unless I missed something, or went to the wrong parties and listened to the wrong radio stations, nobody sat around in "the day" listening to non-stop scratching. Not the people listening to WHBI in 1983, not the people buying records on Fulton Street in 1981. (Someone who went to the right party at the right time can correct me.) This is because nobody really wants to hear scratching. It is worse than the boodley-oodley guitar soloing to which it is often compared, because a little curve of vinyl can only yield so much information, no matter how scratch pickly you are. Scratching should happen for a second and then stop. That said, some DJs make great records, often because they make edit records. These records switch rapidly from one phrase to another, using scratching only as a transitional move between sections. (DJs also seem to like the same sproingy noises I do.) But here's a record with a lot of scratching and little else. It was released in 1984, when there were no Casio keybaords with built-in scratch pads, no video games that burped out a wikky-wikky before you blew away the zombie. The idea of scratching was so uncoded that Vincent Davis thought a record containing little information beyond scratching might actually sell. You can hear Vin and Chuck trying to figure out how to make a narrative inside the constraints they've assigned themselves. Chuck varies between stabs (good) and wiggles (not so good), hoping to squeeze dynamics out of "It's Just Begun," which should be easier than it sounds. "Cavern" becomes a drop that never catches fire, probably because its sonics are soft and not particularly stabby. The rarity, as much as the music itself, is hearing hip-hop be vulnerable, unable to turn a draft into the final thing. The coolest thing may be the very end, when the tape runs backwards for a measure. There was no Volume 2, though there is also a Red Alert Hip Hop On Wax. (PS: For this release, Vintertainment introduced a new generic sleeve and label, a move up from the black hole-cut sleeve seen on "2, 3 Break.") Posted by Sasha at November 18, 2004 01:10 PM