The last time I saw Omar S DJ, I was in a coffee shop in downtown Detroit drinking screwdrivers out of 5-oz plastic cups. We'd shown up early to an afterparty for the Movement Electronic Music Festival, Detroit's big-for-America electronic-music showcase. On arrival there were 15 old heads dancing to a pre-Omar set on a still coffee-shop-y dance floor, tables and chairs tucked neatly into corners. The booze, we were told, was in the back, and we were led by an elderly woman past the employees-only area, behind the DJ booth to a folding table with three handles of Popov, four cartons of orange juice, and a donations shoebox (these somewhat unofficial venues being legally unable to charge for drinks).
Omar (Alex O. Smith) probably wasn't intimately involved in that night's planning, but he could've been. Everything about the long-running house producer feels local and homemade (to wit: when his self-run label FXHE Records finally released t-shirts last year, the design was a "D"-- for Detroit, presumably-- fashioned out of 12" labels; he wore one at that coffee shop). It Can Be Done, But Only I Can Do It is Omar's second full-length for FXHE; his profile-raising mix for London's Fabric club and his recent (free) High School Graffiti EP for, of all companies, Scion (last time he bothered talking to the press, Omar worked for Ford) notwithstanding, he still prefers to release his music at his pace, for his label.
Omar's style remains his own: construction-paper house, dance music in which the materials seem crude but the product is crafty and confident. He operates differently from most producers, worrying little about mood or architecture. Omar remains refreshingly uninterested in the unspoken pissing contest that is every producer's attempt to make the "deepest" record in the DJ crate. The core elements of any given Omar track-- modest, cymbal-heavy rhythms, orbital synth lines-- are those necessary to inspire them most movement with the least cognitive interference. His music isn't soulful by way of signifiers-- though he does feature the occasional Motown sample or muffled diva-- it's soulful via its hardscrabble grooves and undeniable mettle. He isn't interested in replication, in tuning knobs until he has the finest approximation of a Rhodes piano or sawing strings; every element here is slightly indelicate, remnants of its synthesis scattered about. You aren't meant to recognize the elements of Omar's music; you're meant to dance to them.
Though obviously indebted to artists like Theo Parrish (a frequent collaborator) and Carl Craig, one of the greatest achievements of It Can Be Done is how easily it avoids feeling retro. Nor, though, does it imagine the future; It Can Be Done is the rare techno/house album that feels inimitably of its own time. This is born of Omar's indelible style, the way he dials rhythms into his sequences and lets trace hints of melody come to him. They always do, too: the title track finds a vaguely Kraftwerk-ian groove-hook, while "Supported Solely" casually alternates between prickly treble and roiling bass. When he does offer a transparent genre plug-- "Here's Your Trance Now Dance"-- he does so with verve and enthusiasm: "Trance" is 10-plus minutes of uncharacteristically major-key sunshine.
It's all too simple to tie Omar's sound to his native city (if not necessarily its trad dystopian techno sound): both offer utility in the face of style and a shabbiness that's easy to love for those of the right disposition. Maybe he likes it this way-- he certainly seems smart enough to change this perception (though whether he is aware enough is up for debate). It Can Be Done won't increase Omar's stature or change the landscape of electronic music; he is a cantankerous, secluded (by choice) artist, arrogant enough to make music for himself but expecting you to dance to you it. Those patient enough to play by his rules probably will.
(Note: Omar's distribution is notoriously spotty; the best place to find his music, especially on CD, is through the FXHE website.)
