I have to admit, some of the coolest parties I’ve ever attended haven’t been in legendary clubs but rather tucked away loft spots that court the best crowds and most intimate sets you’re likely to hear. I even had the pleasure of throwing one for my birthday. On November 14th, it could be your turn to enjoy one of the coolest and most exclusive parties this year. Giles Smith (Secretsundaze) and Alex Ruello (Need2Soul) have put together a hell of a night, headlined by Chicago house pioneer Chez Damier with support from Sven Weisemann and Smith himself. Oh yeah, and only 200 people will have the privilege to be there. If you’d like to be two of them, simply answer our trivia question: under what guise and with whom did Chez Damier make his vinyl debut? Send your answers to editor[at]littlewhiteearbuds[dot]com by Nov. 13 at 9AM CST. One winner will be chosen at random from the correct answers. Good luck!

Margaret Dygas’ position as an avant garde techno producer has been achieved with only three proper releases to her name but backed up by years of formidable DJ sets around the world. Born in Poland, she spent her formative teenage years growing up in America and now, like so many other dance music producers, lives in Berlin. Her exquisitely executed tracks have been released on Contexterrior, Non Standard Productions and Perlon, each showing a progression in her abilities and slowly revealing a distinctive type of sound. LWE hoped to learn much more about the budding artist in our interview but it turns out that Miss Dygas prefers to let her music do the majority of her talking. Read on for the words we managed to glean out of her and check the stunning podcast after the interview for a more revealing glimpse into the world of Margaret Dygas.

Download: LWE Podcast 35: Margaret Dygas (78:17)

Tracklist:

01. Daniel Stefanik, “Reactivity 6″ [Statik Entertainment]
02. Cirkel, “Cirkel003.1″ [Cirkel]
03. Murmur, “Barrier” [Meanwhile]
04. Intrusion ft. Paul St. Hilaire, “Angel Version” [Intrusion]
05. Luke Hess, “Reel Life” (cv313 Dimensional Space Mix) [Echocord]
06. Bernd Maus, “Tell Me” [Statik Entertainment]
07. DJ Joey Anderson, “Oval” [Strength Music]
08. Terrence Dixon, “Emergency” [Meakusma]
09. Peter F. Spiess, “Wortkarg” [Adjunct]
10. Moritz Von Oswald Trio, “Pattern 3″ [Honest Jon's Records]
11. Baby Ford, “Westway” [Autoreply Music]
12. Avus, “Boute Diabolique” [Stolen Moments]
13. Theorem vs. Stewart Walker, “Too Distant Images” [M_nus]

Judging by your bio you’ve done lots of moving around in your life from a young age. Musically did this help you discover a lot of different types of music?

Sure, traveling helped a lot, but I know I’ve only scratched the surface so far.

Having experienced the laid back lifestyle of California, the club-kids era of New York, as well as living in London and Berlin, what place do you feel has shaped you the most, both creatively and as a person? And are the sounds that you assimilated with in those different parts of your life and love of music creeping in to your current productions?

Every place left a mark in different ways. If I have to point a finger, it would be New York. I loved that place! Amazing times with lots of great memories, as with London and Berlin. There are very specific sounds that remind me of New York, for example, but I’m not sure if they are creeping in to my current productions. I will check it out.

You’re known for having a distinct sound of your own. A DJ’s sound is one that is always evolving but also there is a moment when it clicks for them. When did you think to yourself that you’d found a unique sound and what were you doing at that time in your life?

I don’t look for a specific “sound” as such, so it’s very nice to hear that people think I have a unique sound.

What has been your most enjoyable residencies to date?

Panorama Bar, a very, very special place for me!

Where did you get the vocal samples from for “Invisible Circles”?

From an Internet radio station.

Your productions have a very free form element to them. Rather than regular floor tracks which tend to be more predictable with their arrangements to the point of knowing when the bass/kick/synth is going to come in etc, how do you write and sequence your tracks so that they are cohesive and resolve themselves?

I don’t have a “formula” as far as arrangement. Listening to it over and over and over again (with some tea breaks in between) helps to see if something is annoying or doesn’t belong. I keep playing around until it feels comfortable somehow — and in a way, because it’s never really finished, or am I alone on this one?

You have spent a good many years based in London and are now residing in Berlin. What do you feel are the differences in the working patterns of producers and DJs and how have you operated in each city?

Some have studios at home, some like to go to another location to make noises.I would guess there are quite a few night birds around here, like myself. I don’t know the patterns and operations enough of those two cities to compare.

What are the pros and cons of living as a DJ/producer in each city?

That “cons” can be “pros” and sometimes “pros” may be “cons.”

Tobias Freund has helped out on a couple of your releases with some mixing and production. How did you two meet? What did he bring or unlock in each track he helped out on?

I met him at a party in Berlin. Tobias helped me with pre-mastering and levels in general. Made the sound warmer, more detailed. [He has a] very cool pair of ears.

Your output so far is somewhat teasing to those who are encountering your music. Can we expect more frequent releases from you soon?

I’m sweatin’ ova’ here, workin’ ova’ time. There will be something on Power Shovel Audio, in the spring.

What can we expect from you next year?

Maybe some gray hair?! Wishing you all lots of warm vibes out there! Give earth a kiss!

Download: LWE Podcast 35: Margaret Dygas (78:17)

Related:

LWE Podcast 01: Terrence Dixon

LWE Podcast 02: dOP

LWE Podcast 03: Nick Höppner

LWE Podcast 04: Leonid

LWE Podcast 05: Tama Sumo

LWE Podcast 06: Adam Marshall

LWE Podcast 07: DJ Bone

LWE Podcast 08: Solomun

Talking Shopcast 01: Even Tuell

LWE Podcast 09: Pär Grindvik

LWE Podcast 10: Andomat 3000

LWE Podcast 11: Simon Flower

LWE Podcast 12: Andrey Radovski

Talking Shopcast 02: echospace [detroit]

LWE Podcast 13: Paul Frick

LWE Podcast 14: DJ Sprinkles

LWE Podcast 15: Duplex

LWE Podcast 16: Mike Shannon

Talking Shopcast 03: Kenneth Christiansen

LWE Podcast 17: Louis Guilliaume

Talking Shopcast 04: Efdemin

LWE Podcast 18: Patrice Bäumel

LWE Podcast 19: John Daly

LWE Podcast 20: Stefan Goldmann

LWE Podcast 21: Le K

LWE Podcast 22: Portable vs. Bodycode

LWE Podcast 23: Aki Latvamäki

LWE Podcast 24: Arnaud Rebotini

LWE Podcast 25: Peter Van Hoesen

Talking Shopcast 05: Steffi

LWE Podcast 26: Ripperton

LWE Podcast 27: DJ T.

LWE Podcast 28: Paul Brtschitsch

LWE Podcast 29: Black Jazz Consortium

LWE Podcast 30: Santiago Salazar

LWE Podcast 31: Spencer Parker

Talking Shopcast 06: Kez YM

LWE Podcast 32: Shaun Reeves

LWE Podcast 33: Chilling the Do (aka Kassem Mosse & Mix Mup)

LWE Podcast 34: St. Plomb

[Ostgut Ton] (buy CD) (buy mp3s)

In his LWE interview with Will Lynch, Seth Troxler let this morsel slip about Berlin’s famed club scene: “…it feels like people are going through the motions sometimes, you know?” When he comes to America, he goes on to say, “it’s a lot easier to blow people’s minds.” I haven’t partied in Berlin since the fall of 2006, so I can’t weigh in personally. But I got to thinking again about Troxler’s bittersweet observation while listening to the latest Ostgut Ton mix, Tama Sumo’s Panorama Bar 02. Unlike Cassy’s epochal Panorama Bar 01, mixed at the height of Berlin’s mythical status among underground club music heads, or Marcel Dettmann’s techno masterclass Berghain 02, Tama Sumo’s mix feels less like a codification of a local sound than a nudge towards getting a legendary dance floor excited again. Those of us across the Atlantic have had our minds blown endlessly by sounds imported from Berlin this decade; is one of that city’s most respected house DJs now trying to scramble brains with sounds brought over in the opposite direction? America is heavily represented, as are Canada, Russia, Ireland, the Netherlands, the UK, Norway, and a sizable contingent of Berliners bearing exclusives. But regardless of an included producer’s place of residence, it’s the sounds of Detroit, Chicago, and New York that cast the widest shadow over Sumo’s vision of house music.

She opens the mix with its most recognizably Teutonic moment — “Constant Confusion,” Tin Man’s grooving anthem in the Perlon style. But she quickly springboards from that mode into effervescent deep house from John Daly (his gorgeously dubby “Birds” from 2006) and UQ’s white-hot Nina Kraviz (Jenifa Mayanja’s soaring, sexy remix of “Voices”). The string of new Ostgut material material that follows — fellow Panorama Bar resident Steffi’s “24 Hours” and Lerosa’s “Plesso,” which were both recorded specially for this mix, and Prosumer & Murat Tepeli’s current single “U & I” — sounds straight out of New York’s decidedly laid-back contemporary house scene, less an invitation for weekend-spanning debauchery than the kind of thing you’d drink a bloody mary to on a Sunday after a decent night’s sleep. Tracks from John Roberts (”Blame”), Trus’me (”W.A.R. Dub”), and Kassem Mosse (”Zolarem”) continue to build a danceable vibe without really ramping up the mix’s energy much, letting Sumo’s first act close with good vibes not too far removed from their launch pad.

I like Sumo’s subtle build quite a bit, but I really start to love Panorama Bar 02 when Shed’s tragically unreleased “Stiff Job” starts to blow things up. Continuing to prove his worth as one of the best producers in dance music right now, Rene Pawlowitz lends one of his lightest, funkiest, most difficult-to-pigeonhole tracks in some time to a critical moment in the mix, tugging into ecstasy the steamier house that follows. We get a beefed-up and jagged remix of Newworldaquarium’s seminal “Trespassers” care of Redshape, a career highlight from Levon Vincent in his mix exclusive “Late Night Jam,” brilliant Chicago machine music from Marcus Mixx and Ron Hardy (”Without Makeup,” from the rare first release on Let’s Pet Puppies), and even a couple of excellently goofy singalongs (The Oliverwho Factory’s “Together” and Ost & Kjex’s “Continental Lover”). Sumo herself, with an assist from Panorama Bar colleague Prosumer, shows up on production duties for part one of her victory lap. Undoubtedly indebted to the aforementioned Marcus Mixx but with a tracky tidiness that’s pure Ostgut, “Alien Mutts” helps bring the mix back to its Friedrichshain digs. And Soundstream, Berlin’s to-the-point and clubbed-out cousin to Moodymann, offers up one last indicator of Sumo’s musical thesis.

On her excellent (if we do say so ourselves) LWE podcast from 2008, which included transmissions from the stables of Underground Resistance and Ibadan, Tama Sumo proved she’s no Berlinist. But she’s resisted the urge, in a year when Europeans are complaining about how expensive our 12″s are to import for a change, to stitch together some cash-in American house pastiche here. The tracks certainly pay homage to generations of North American dance music, but the presentation — effortless, patient mixing with an emphasis on the music itself, not on the selector’s ego — has the touch only the world’s most talented circle of residents can deliver. Has U.S. house gotten the Berlin treatment, or did Berlin get the injection of American swagger it’s been craving? Either way, it’s tough to imagine minds aren’t getting blown somewhere.

Modern Love have made a huge impact in 2009; the past few months alone have seen crucial releases by Claro Intelecto, MLZ and Demdike Stare. Now it’s label staple Andy Stott’s turn as he returns with only his second release this year, and it’s one that’s been well worth waiting for. Where Stott’s “Brief Encounter/Drippin” twelve dropped earlier in the year pandered to his late night deep techno and dubstep sides, the single sided “Night Jewel” finds Stott in a much more lively state of mind, ready for some serious sneaker squeaking.

Stott’s productions are founded on keeping things raw and relatively simple. You’ll not find unnecessary clutter filling out any of his tracks or plastic sounding digital effects tweaking them into oblivion; what you get is an analogue feel of uncooked moodiness crafted with absolute precision. “Night Jewel” is no exception to this method, using only a repetitive, building chord pattern and a sickeningly overweight bass to provide the melody for the track, with equally unfussy percussion to compliment it. The chords are filtered down to shards sharp as sharks teeth before rounding out again, creating a cyclic movement throughout the track, a sense of it almost breathing. The bass, when it finally drops, creates a vacuum that almost sucks the very life out of the other elements surrounding it. Simplistic to the end, “Night Jewel” adds and subtracts its components over the course of its duration, fires off subtly changing percussive hits and scores a direct bulls-eye with a track just wants to be re-cued the second it’s over.

[Sound Signature] (buy vinyl)

Though “Red Lightbulb Theory” has been charted by, among others, Lawrence and Tama Sumo, and comes “highly recommended” at nearly every vinyl outlet, one wonders if anyone besides Theo Parrish, whose Sound Signature label put the record out, and Omar-S, who is credited with engineering and editing work, knows just who the hell Leron Carson is. Dude has the sparsest Discogs entry I’ve ever seen, with only one previous release listed: the B-side of SS012, “The 1987 EP,” which featured his (almost literally) hypnotic “China Trax” along with Parrish’s “Insane Asylum.” Apparently, the five tracks on this two-record set come from the same sessions as “China Trax” — recorded when Carson was fifteen years old. In Parrish’s own words, this music was “hand made, meaning no sequencing was used for the keys on any of the songs featured, using cassette tape overdubs — a lost science.”

“Lost science,” indeed. This release feels like an artifact of ancient technology, one of those primitive contraptions in sci-fi movies that does things none of the modern scientists can figure out. Appropriately, the fidelity on the record is marred by tape hiss and distortion; whether this sounds thrillingly raw or unacceptably amateur depends on the listener’s sympathies and the context (a Theo Parrish DJ set comes to mind). As for the music itself, produced by this precocious teenager during the later years of Chicago house’s golden age, it may surprise you. While the scene’s music was at its maximum pH level, a year after Phuture’s debut, Carson’s sound was an almost polar opposite of acid’s aggressive squelch. This EP’s A1 track, “Mechanism,” opens the record by epitomizing its aesthetic principles: minimalism, dissonance, and textural complexity. Its almost unchanging bass line — an occasional key modulation keeps it from crossing the line of boredom — lays the groundwork for a meticulous exploration of the rhythmic potentialities of house’s eternal 4/4.

“The Unknown,” a high-speed, atonal banger, is hard enough to demonstrate that Detroit’s influence on Chicago in the late 80’s had become just as profound as its inverse. “Dedicated” is a more subtle take on the same vibe, with a boogie-funk drum roll tempering its attack. It seems at first to take a page from Kenny Dixon’s playbook with the gratuitous crowd noise, but close listening reveals this is the sound of Martin Luther King Jr.’s introduction at the 1964 March On Washington. With all the controversy today over politically-charged deep house voiceovers, “Dedication” offers a compelling historical precedent. “China II” is, appropriately, a reprise of “China Trax,” with its melodically and tonally modulating melody reminiscent of Steve Poindexter’s “Computer Madness.” The title track closes out the set with its most surprising, and most contemporary cut. “Red Lightbulb” matches a floating pad to a dubby bass, with the most melodic and rhythmic variation of any track on the record. It proves that this record is no museum piece. If used with care, its components sound as good today as anything that came out this year.

When it comes to artist collaborations, there are some that pique interest and others that positively get mouths watering. For me a Fabrice Lig and Titonton Duvante pairing falls closer to the latter category. Both bring a defined perspective to each project they tackle, usually resulting in something interesting if not down right essential. For Lig, his productions have used Detroit and Chicago as a touchstone for inspiration, focusing on potent melodic themes that guide his techno and house creations into vibrant areas of musicality that can put a collective smile on whole dance floors. His recent Evolutionism album as Soul Designer took that approach in full, yielding salient references to jazz and funk seen through a white European lens. While not as prolific, Duvante’s output has been ripe with genre stretching creativity from day one. His aptly titled “Embryonic” EP melded moody strings with time stretched electro breaks, foreshadowing the broken beat movement by several years. Since then Duvante’s attacked techno from several angles but always with a firm attention to complex rhythm structures and frequently eyebrow-raising explicit song titles.

“That Connection EP” isn’t Lig and Duvante’s first meeting. The pair’s first collaboration came on 7th City in 2001 and yielded “Even Deeper,” a soulful techno number that apparently became a rallying anthem in the NYC club scene post 9/11. “That Connection” isn’t much of a departure from the material found on that earlier release both in terms of style and quality. The title track comes on strong with an old-school techno vibe, placing punchy bass and toms front and center; the 909 snare is slightly truncated but no less powerful when the hi-hat swing and drum syncopation comes into full view. The funky interplay between bass and bleepy synth lines serve as the driving force for the melody but are raised to a higher level by the reflective minor chord progression and a subtle dose of strings. It plays slightly more to Duvante’s strengths, but regardless this is a classy piece of deep techno funk. Beanfield’s remix stays very truthful to the original in terms of retaining its prominent melody strains but gives it a push toward club play viability. Ditching the analog drum patterns, they use organic drum sounds to lend a house feel. The remix is really buoyed by the pairing of the original chord sequence with an intensified string arrangement as they expand the melody from sustained bow usage to a compact plucked sound. In the end it simplifies the track but grows its impact by creating an epic melody crescendo that stays faithful to both its original creators’ vision.

[Vizual Records] (buy mp3s)

There is a long tradition in aesthetics presupposing that art should aspire to resemble nature. Art’s artifice, all the craft and design, should disappear from view, leaving behind only a surface on which elements seem to move with natural necessity. The enjoyment of art stems in part from experiencing something that seems almost like nature, while all along still knowing somehow that it’s artificial, shaped by the hands of man. The chance of enjoying the four tracks offered up by Joshua Iz for his second release on his own Vizual Records thus seems summed up by the title. “Flower Sparks” reflects how these numbers seem to unfold organically, yet also use a distinctly synthetic sound palette that reminds you of the electrical energy whirring through machines that makes it possible. What’s more, I wouldn’t be surprised if “Flower Sparks” was the name of the VST plug-in Joshua used to generate the synth lines that take center stage throughout — buzzing with electric warmth, they wind through twisting melodies in fluid undulation.

This synth style is in full effect on “Rydim Culture” lending the track a breezy, effervescent air, snaking over a series of brisk, bright synth stabs. Like its three kin, “Rydim Culture” has a glitzy, uptempo house vibe well-suited for Friday night at a high-rise bar in midtown, white leather sofas, high heels, and an expansive terrace view of city lights glowing through the rain. It’s futurist-escapist, soundtracking a pleasure-centric throwdown hidden far away from the stress, anxieties and lurking paranoias of the urban jungle. The EP’s titular opener derives its enthralling, bouncy momentum from the gloriously wild throbs of an acid-y synth riff. Even though all the filters and distortions on the synth have a distinctly digital sheen to them, their rich tonal variety would support the idea that digital is at times just as capable of sounding alive as analog is.

While Joshua’s tunes are in the pocket, the result of more than ten years in the house music game, a number of vocal sentiments here appear a bit tacked on. “Rydim Culture” includes a rasta shouting the title over a house groove that has ostensibly little to do with “rydim,” while “Alpha & Omega” touts a diva asserting “I am the alpha of kinky hair… and the omega of your dreams… gaze upon me.” Such new age mythologizing seems more appropriate for some psychedelic disco than chic house. That’s to say, while Joshua’s production style tastes like champagne, his vocal samples smell like weed. Not a contradiction, perhaps; what’s deep house after all but regular house just more stoned?

More than any other label I know, the Berlin-based White is the antithesis of the white label culture that’s bubbled up over the last few years. Where white label producers obscure their identity, ostensibly to keep the focus on the music, White brings audiences literally face to face with its artists care of record sleeves adorned with their pictures. Considering their manifesto of “foster[ing] an environment for young artists to play and work, create and destroy,” I suspect their aesthetic is not the result of runaway egos but rather an attempt to reconnect in an era rife with music lacking personality and labels that do little to stand out. The label’s eighth release features the mug of Tristen, a long time member of the White crew who makes his vinyl debut, and Edward, the imprint’s most prolific producer. His first release for the label, “Raw Structure,” counted Âme among its most notable fans and found its way onto the duo’s Fabric mix (and was used to spectacular effect, I might add). Coincidentally, an undercurrent of Âme’s influence runs through “Along These Strings/Calm.”

Tristen’s first track is a cautious affair that falls in line with a lot of contemporary house. Dusty percussion loops salted with tambourine shakes set the stage for the quivering, Wild Pitch-esque strings referenced in the track’s title to thicken the air with tension. Tristen unrolls thick, glimmering pads that break apart into descending arpeggios before congealing again and disappearing into the ether. It’s a decent first attempt that could feasibly warm up a crowd, and I have high hopes that future cuts will leave “Along These Strings” feeling amateurish. Edward’s “Calm” offers a more nuanced take on a similar theme of pairing anxious elements with soothing pads. Incessant marsupial chatter nips at the heels of chunky percussion swimming in sustained organ chords, all the while a woman deadpans the track’s title, as if to emphasize the contradictions. Like the A side, “Calm” is up to the task of keeping dancers in motion but it’s not a dazzler. And when compared with Edward’s previous tracks, all of which find their own distinct path through techno and house, “Calm” falls to the back of the pack, zeitgeisty and somewhat disposable. White label producers have one certain benefit that eludes the White stable: being able to walk away from one’s less successful records with nary a trace.

[Perlon] (buy vinyl) (buy CD)

Despite his dubstep pedigree, Sam Shackleton’s association with Perlon really hasn’t raised many eyebrows. “Blood On My Hands,” his seminal 9/11 anti-anthem caned by Cassy and eventually remixed to mindblowing effect by Ricardo Villalobos, introduced the minimal scarf-wearing set to the British producer’s tribal, ethereal take on bass music. By the time Shackleton returned Villalobos’s favor with his labyrinthine, original-besting take on “Minimoonstar” for Perlon in 2008, the technoid wing of dubstep — thanks in no small part to the Shack’s beefed-up Muslimgauze breaks — had already burrowed itself so deeply into techno that Shackleton actually felt like a logical and hardly controversial addition to Zip’s and Markus Nikolai’s fabled roster.

I have one complaint for the most prestigious record label in European house and techno, and it’s a somewhat fussy one: while I honestly can’t name a bum Perlon release off the top of my head, I can’t think of one from the last couple of years that’s transcended the label’s quality standards and freakish consistency to offer truly surprising music. Shackleton, sort of by default, seems the hired gun most likely to muss up our expectations, but Three EPs — Shackleton’s Perlon-fronted debut LP — hardly shakes off the label’s reduced-yet-enhanced aesthetic. But can one honestly boil down such jaw-droppingly definitionless beat science to a “subtle tweak” on an established formula? Shackleton’s productions have often mined a primordial, unknown quadrant of the human psyche (though when Skull Disco wound down at the end of last year, his under-pitched excursions sounded fatigued and overly dependent on stereotypically near-eastern flourishes). Going two or three steps beyond our usual conception of deep, not to mention leaping ahead of Shackleton’s “Rusty Nails” white label remix for Moderat, Three EPs shelves dancing skeletons and the light at the end of the tunnel for a more open-ended exploration of whatever unnamed terror lurks just beyond our comprehension.

Like Zomby on One Foot Ahead Of The Other but with a somewhat smaller bag of skunk, Shackleton eschews separate and distinct album tracks for a kind of multi-part exploration of a single arrangement — hand drums and digital cymbals, nauseous organs, and a whole host of disembodied voices wade with greatest care through various incarnations of purgatory. And then there’s his bass: powerful yet surprisingly plaintive and unpredictable, it nimbly charts one of the strangest melodic courses you’ll hear on anything remotely resembling dubstep. When he’s on point with these elements, he’s unbelievably on point. “It’s Time For Love,” maybe the most subtly impressive moment in Shackleton’s discography thus far, finds multiple, incongruous melodies swirling around each other without quite resolving — an inscrutable arrangement that adds up to surprisingly tender moment. “Skull disco” indeed: despite ripping my cranium nearly to shreds, its expertly nuanced percussion keeps the track from drifting into the fog. The triplet feel of giant toms on “Let Go,” a moment reminiscent of the Villalobos and Andrew Gillings collaboration “Andruic & Japan,” thrusts manic, jazzy drum and bass interplay into moments of slow-motion levitation. When warbling, shroom-brained singers yell “Ay ay ay” over the track’s rapidly-shifting rhythms, you can’t help but wonder how Shackleton had the foresight to include your precise thoughts at that moment in his mix. Though generally keeping his tempos in the unrelenting range currently favored by buzz producers Untold and Joy Orbison, his somewhat slower compositions like “Moon Over Joseph’s Burial” and “There’s A Slow Train Coming” feel fresher, meaner, and more mystic than they have before.

The bass continuum has filled to the brim with wild, expansive productions as averse to genre affiliation as they are to a consistent downbeat. While the rosters of Hyperdub and Hotflush have churned out some albeit excellent wackiness, Shackleton here has thrown down the gauntlet to a scene he was instrumental in forging: eschew the bog standard, sure, but don’t let the prospect of supermassive subwoofers and the purple stuff break your ultimate focus. Like its closest referent in techno, Villalobos’s Perlon triple pack Thé Au Harem D’Archimède, Three EPs just skirts the rabbit hole by combining way-out compositional ideas with exceedingly impressive control over his tools. But I’d encourage Shackleton to continue tightening his gaze. The spoken word samples in a track like “(No More) Negative Thoughts” seems distracting at first blush, and familiar spiritual that bubbles up through “Asha In The Tabernacle,” while melodically adventurous, can feel at odds with the seriousness of the musical endeavor. Despite these minor quibbles, I’d be hard pressed to think of music more on-point and new from any electronic producer these days (save, perhaps, Moritz Von Oswald). It’s precisely the sort of quality we’ve come to expect out of a Perlon release while sounding very little like what we’ve come to expect out of dance music.

Alex Cortex has recently announced his exit from techno music, citing (among other reasons) a lack of gigs and cool label interest. Don’t blame Dan Lodig or Art Vega, though. Three of the last five releases for their Pomelo imprint have showcased the diverse Cortex stylings. The latest of these finds Cortex working alongside kindred spirit Sherard Ingram, here assuming his DJ Stingray 313 handle. Cortex introduces the team-up with “Soliton,” a headlong rush through electro-steeped techno. Echoing stabs give the track a perpetual “dilating pupils” stimulus, while the zig-zagging laser-beam scales highlight the frantic fluorescence that’s linked him up with Wireblock. Reportedly dug out of a backlog of unpublished material, “Soliton” is of a piece with Cortex’s recent output for Pomelo, but it also makes plain the commonalities with Sherard Ingram’s music, to the point that I’d call the last Urban Tribe record “Soliton”’s best point of comparison. Ingram, however, reaches for the dimmer switch for his remix, casting Cortex’s original in black-and-white. Despite its steadily galloping pace, it’s blunted and murky, forbidding and tense — a tougher, more stripped down strain of techno than we usually receive from him.

But perhaps Ingram was saving his bioluminesecent squiggles for his own original track. “Null Physics” advances in a continuous series of quick swells, switching between quivering bubble-funk bass lines and searing, doubled-up electro synths over brisk but spare drum programming. Cortex swings in another direction entirely for his rework, shifting into something like drum & bass, huge crashing drums and machine gun rushes ricocheting about the speakers while a shrill sine wave threads an eerie sense of menace through the track. Though neither remix surpasses the originals in punch or personality, the interaction between these artists is palpably engaged, and the artist pairing proves more than complimentary. Here’s hoping that labels like Pomelo can entice Cortex with more stimulating splits like this one until he recovers an enthusiasm for producing solo tracks.