As a descriptive signifier, the term IDM never made much sense to me. Playing-up the reclusive-genius schtick to such an extent that some of these cats look like Unabombers-in-training, its major artists have catered to one primary fanbase-- reclusive shut-ins and undersexed college kids-- by maximizing the I and M whilst largely ignoring the D (all respect to Ludacris, yo). The brooding dourness of the scene hasn't just disregarded dancing, though, as many of the major players in the game focus on abstraction to the extent that visceral reaction of any sort is out of the question. In shot, this record did not make me dance.
His music might not encourage conventional dancing, but Donna Summer (obviously not the diva) doesn't suffer idle head-bobbing lightly. A balding, slightly overweight journalist and WFMU DJ named Jason Forrest, Summer works in a manner encompassing every IDM-trend to come along in the past decade-- drill-n-bass, gabba, tigerbeat6-esque laptop trickery, plunderphonics-- all are fair game for Summer to destroy and recontextualize. Part of a loose collective of sample-fiends, including Giorgio Marauder (AKA END) and Duran Duran Duran, all working under the nom de electronique "cock-rock disco," Summer and crew are proponents of what Forrest refers to in a recent Vice Magazine piece as "the new computer music." Musically speaking, these acts have little to do with traditional disco, and while computers surely factor in heavily, things never get too tech-geeky. Performance-wise, however, the banner starts to make sense-- playing out all over Europe to sold-out audiences, they (and Summer in particular) have become renowned as much for their flamboyant, confrontational shows as for their challengingly appealing music.
As a result, and despite the avant-garde construction, a pop feel permeates many of the tracks-- "What You Truly Need" is loaded with fragmented call-and-response vocal cuts, horn stabs, and radio-funk palm-muted guitar chugging, while "We Call It 'The Box'" flays hip-hop conventions, coasting on 808 hits and what sounds like a sample from Planet Patrol's rollerskating-rink classic "Play At your Own Risk". Things get even more pop on "Heels Over Head", during which Summer inverts the classic Go-Go's single. Intercut by a sample of the organ-buildup from J. Geils' "Freeze Frame", Summer rips "Head Over Heels" apart at the seams, leaving the signature melodic hook intact as a basis over which to splatter drill-n-bass heroics.
The "rock" part of the "cock-rock disco" equation does shine through on two of the album's most technically impressive cuts. The album's structural masterwork, "Prog's Not Dead" lives up to its title, as 13/8 time signatures fly by at a disarming pace. Unfortunately, the track also succumbs to the traps of the genre at which it slyly winks-- this is surely digital-virtuosity of the highest-order, but like even the best prog-rock, the musical-masturbation tires quickly. Summer fares better on "Accept the Cheap", where elaborate polyrythms and video games plinks clash with metal guitar riffing, truly fulfilling the promise of his vision of this "cock-rock disco."
