As concise formulations of essential tropes go, you could do worse than Twain's "Pirates at Their own Funeral" for a glimmer of that old back-office gnosis radiating thru a crack in the floor of time. The set has gone dark, we've all clocked out, the categorical and the affective drop anvils on each other all day then slouch off to annihilate beers at American John's. Of course we'll cue it up once more, roll the boulder up the hill, saddle up and give that windmill another go, and so forth. After all, your soles never wear thin on the via negativa.
So what does that have to do with anything? Let me put it this way: I've long loved and admired really bonkers DJ tools, but I always thought that I was making something else -- a sort of after-afterhours chamber music, levitating living rooms and all that. A couple years ago when I began to catch rumors of my work being played in a soundsystem context, I felt like I'd been handed a Rubik's Cube; I wanted to know how what I had been doing functioned there, to find the connections I couldn't previously see between the two worlds. Chasing that understanding has pretty much been the story of my 2012/13; it's what I chose to do instead of "what's up I make techno now" and this record, which features remixes of "The Story of Keys and Locks" and "Unripe Pears" from Surgeon and Abdulla Rashim is one piece of that process. The desire to hear one's work through someone else's ears is a "pirates at their own funeral" scenario of the first rank, and really good remixes are interesting precisely because of the way they wrap that unreachable object of desire and the functional means of approaching it into a unified thing with the weight of inevitability.
When we get it right, records are powerful and important because they're time made material, ritual implements for stepping off That Vector. Once you've really had it between the eyes, no one can wholly convince you that they're without value, only so much "content" or just another run of scrip to flip for social capital in some VC-inflated panopticon, some rote means of escape or distraction, of shutting out reality, rather than joyously embracing that reality which includes records and everything that's happened to any of us because of them. If you don't see it that way, you should probably get out more, or stay in more. After all, what's any of it worth if we can't stick our necks out for those experiences in the world of records which have given the most to us? Why else would anyone even do this if not for the privilege of being one small node in that colossal and distinguished circuit? So fuck it: this is a killer plate. Let it flex the floor, spin it in a late-night burner with good friends; go get them coded messages, then go get them all over again or gtfo.
This is the first release by Pear Growers' Series, an irregular concern which I hope to operate as an unapologetic vanity imprint; in no sense is it my intention to "start a label" insofar as the phrase now entails positioning oneself as the Sphinx of some Thebes of interchangeable pseudo-outsider artists. Instead, this is a backyard in which my own preoccupations can oxidize and grow moss, a belltower for their compulsive permutation, a forge for strange tools, and a Firdous e Bareen of spite. PGS01 was mastered by Neel at Enisslab, Rome, cut by CGB at Dubplates & Mastering, Berlin, and pressed at Record Industry, Haarlem. It features typography and layout by Mark Price. 12" vinyl and download (including lossless formats) are available at peargrowersseries.com
beginning December 3, 2013. Thanks to John Elliott and Spectrum Spools for guidance and support.
Philadelphia, November 2013