DJ Spooky & Metallurgy

In the May 2000 issue of Guitar World magazine, I recall that the late Dimebag Darrell, guitarist of the metal band Pantera, voiced his opinion about the hybrid rap/metal music in vogue at the time. Darrell remarked that it wasn’t “pure”, thus less “powerful” than his brand of thrash. This seems to be a blunt, instinctive comment spoken with pride and prejudice, yet when it crossed my mind today, especially after reading/listening to Paul D. Miller’s (aka DJ Spooky) Rhythm Science, it serves as a fitting start for this discussion.

So what is it that I wish to engage? Let’s begin by saying that Miller’s exegesis, both sonically and verbally, revealed elements of conservatism and orthodoxy in my musical taste. So in relation to Miller’s proclivity for experimentation, my love for metal and heavy rock – not the most experimental genres of modern music per se – can be examined under a new light. After giving Miller’s album a spin, it is not difficult to notice the abundance of theoretical/conceptual content in every single track; coupled with his injunction for the audience to engage with these sounds imaginatively (not passively), the 33 tracks are dense, challenging and thoroughly intriguing. Most of all, I believe he accomplished what many electronic artists fail to, that is to create an organic, not processed audio experience. “Turntablism” is what critics refer to Miller’s ilk, though he prefers “Rhythm Scientist” and just “artist” for categorical description, but it is worth noting that he never refers to himself as a “musician” once in the text. So for Miller, the DJ is the artist, the master of sound permutations and also the rebuttal of a fixed point of originality – cut, paste, mix, loop, repeat.

But for a musician like Darrell and I, the purity, simplicity and brutality of a heavily distorted guitar sent through tube amplifiers communicates a primal power like nothing else. The passages and riffs in heavy metal are often compared to Wagner’s compositions (another figure Miller mildly lambasts). No matter how experimental, chaotic, lengthy, dissonant or technical metal gets, there exists a structure, something to be followed by the musician. This technical and structural rigidity stands in stark contrast with Miller’s work, especially perhaps in a live environment. One rarely hears of a DJ’s “track list”, as he/she is free to construct music accordingly, and the interpretation/reaction is left to the audience; the DJ then absorbs the audience’s reactions and forms a reciprocal loop. Whereas in a metal concert, most audience are familiar with the repertoire, and the performers dictate the channeled emotions, with flawless precision. Onstage, the musician, though also a product of his/her influences and a long-winding history of predecessors, can act as the music’s origin in that transient moment (or hour, given that they aren’t lip-synching or air-guitar-ing). It is perhaps this pre-arranged quality that gives rise to the genre’s theatricality. We could say that in a metal/rock concert there is generally less active participation from the audience and more power enjoyed by the performer, though there are some exceptions, such as a Yo-La Tengo show (well, they’re not metal); there usually exists a fixed power-relation. When the performance itself contains indicators of power, and one plays a phallic-shaped instrument and inscribes order to the seemingly chaotic cacophony, it’s no wonder Slipknot’s singer Corey Taylor claimed in an interview that “metal is the last bastion of masculinity”.

From this standpoint, despite its rebelliousness towards sugary modern pop, religion and certain moral issues, musically & conceptually, metal seems to be a relatively conservative genre compared to Miller’s aural adventures. But there is beauty in that too: in the measured chaos of sound and technicality, in crowd’s employment of the band’s primal ferocity for catharsis, in the blistering repetition and precision which certainly also exists in the classical pieces of Paganini or Chopin. The rush one feels after playing a complicated song note-by-note (and better, with one’s own interpretation) is something that keeps musicians like me from experimenting too much. A biological reason also supports this activity, surprisingly: on our fingertips are receptors that trigger the brain to release dopamine after every successful operation. So it’s not only the little fascist in my head that makes me fond of a musical genre that is obsessed with power – both abstract and aural. I now see its conservatism in relation, yet I don’t feel, nor is there a necessity to be apologetic for my fondness of metal.

If originality, according to Bernard Stiegler’s conception of the “genius” as one who is adept at re-composing available technical objects, who is to say that simply playing one instrument cannot yield innovation? The innovations are just less observable, subtler to the non-trained ear or hand. Contingencies for the musician in different environments also illustrate their difference while playing. This directly ties into the LIVE question, also raised in Miller’s text. I strongly feel that Dj-ing as a musical exercise in soundscapes, drastically differs from a band’s live show, as it lacks a “human” element of uncertainty. Sure, one could say that Vinyls and CDs can be squeezed by a DJ to procure new sounds, but there is an already determined sequence of sound etched on its rails, whereas the human performer is an unstable piece of clockwork. The venue, the crowd, the anticipation built up for them and them only designates the uniqueness of a live experience. I can never forget how Linkin Park’s Chester Bennington sang “Pushing Me Away” with only piano accompaniment by Mike Shinoda that November evening in Taipei. His notes vibrated, exploded and cut through the air like a razor, sending shivers up my spine – I think most of the 40,000 attending that night felt it too.