At the turn of the millennium, Kid606's name appeared so frequently in post-techno review sections and new release bulletins that it became a little overwhelming, even for those (like your reviewer) whose attention (and record-buying budget) was devoted almost solely to electronic music. It felt like every 606 single or CD was a window onto both a restless post-teen imagination and an American underground violently remaking European electronic innovations, whether brainy or boneheaded. But tastes shift, spending money dries up, life intervenes, shit happens. So caveat emptor: my lapsed fandom means I can't say with any certainty how Shout at the Döner fits into the still dense Kid606 discography as a whole.
What I do know is that it's a hell of a lot of fun-- a rough, dirty party album, a trawl through two decades of abusive bass and dancefloor bad taste. Then as now, it's the sort of digi-noise terror mixed messily in firetrap lofts and warehouses with crappy acoustics. On "Hello Serotonin, My Old Friend"-- nice to see he hasn't lost his way with a punning title-- good ol' mechanical "Mentasm" synth effects shriek, eventually swallowed by a chaotic breakdown. But being dance music, rather than fried-circuit free noise, it's the viciously jacking drum track that's the real head-flattener. Make no mistake, Shout At The Döner is a rhythm record. It just takes its programming cues from those foolhardy German and Dutch pioneers who sped Chicago snares and Detroit kicks into a gleefully abusive pummel.
Not every track is necessarily as abrasive as "Hello Serotonin"; a few could even slot onto a quasi-mainstream comp, if not quite your average super-club set. "You All Break My Heart" is more-or-less diva house. But even with the noise turned down (just a notch), those R&B ad libs and crashing electro drums can only be described as "manic." Like the rest of the best of Shout at the Döner, "You All Break My Heart" feels ripped from that moment in any great DJ's set when the audience's screams start to challenge the din coming off the decks and you start eyeballing the exits just in case. This is an album that celebrates a history of hysteria and claustrophobia, of adverse reactions and temple-clutching come downs. A throwback to early 90s dark rave ("Dancehall of the Dead") even induces tongue-in-cheek panic via a sample of Nick Cave asking dancers "who wants to die?" Somewhere a half-forgotten hardcore producer is listening at his day job and kicking himself for not having combed the Birthday Party catalog first.
As all of these references to 10- or 15- or even 20-year-old subgenres might suggest, yes, Shout at the Döner will feel mighty familiar to anyone who's spent time exploring the fuglier side of dance, the gabba greats and acid addicts who flayed their black boxes until they cried "oom" (or "onkel"). But call it retro in service of sweat and smiles, celebrating the ridiculousness of dance music at its loudest and most unmannered. To illustrate how little distance separates the frenzy-inducing floor-fillers of 1989 and 2009, the Kid even offers a cheeky "cover" of 4 Hero's "Mr. Kirk's Nightmare", connecting the grotty hip-house of first-wave rave and the shamelessly cheesy bass wobble of current dubstep. If the recent noisy excesses of the Ed Bangers and Alter Egos of the world left a bad taste in your mouth, Shout at the Döner is not for you. If you're old enough to need earplugs, but also lament dance music's 21st-century slide into gentility, here's a way to relive its dumb-ass glory days in the safety of your home.
