By Emma Silvers
By Gary Moskowitz
By Alee Karim
By Ian S. Port
By Ian S. Port
By Derek Opperman
By Emma Silvers
By Alee Karim
Tadd Mullinix can make a fella feel old.
The 24-year-old Ann Arbor-based electronic musician -- who records a startlingly varied array of styles under a number of aliases -- first gained attention in 2001 with his debut release as Dabrye, One/Three (making him but 22 at the time).
That LP, a short-but-sweet collection of intentionally rickety tunes modeled out of buzzing bass synthesizer, corroded bell tones, and drum machines on the fritz, approached instrumental hip hop as a series of etchings and helped distinguish Ann Arbor's Ghostly International as one of North America's few electronic-music labels worth watching.
Saturday, Sept. 20, at 10 p.m.
Tickets are $10
But One/Three wasn't Mullinix's first outing. Earlier in the year Ghostly had released his Winking Makes a Face, on which Mullinix (recording under his own name) applied the more experimental, anything-goes ethos of Aphex Twin to a surprisingly lyrical song cycle bristling with chimes, ungrounded wiring, and assembly-line robotics. Even before that, in the late '90s, enamored with the rough cuts of classic breakbeat hardcore but put off by the clean-lined drum 'n' bass then in vogue, Mullinix had begun producing ragga-jungle under the name SK-1.
As if this weren't enough ground for one producer to cover, Mullinix has also started releasing overdriven techno and house as James Cotton, whose choppy, Chicago-meets-Berlin style carries a menace rarely heard in stateside productions.
Mullinix and his uncommon diversity (should we call him Multinix?) represent a new generation of computer jockeys for whom genres are as swappable as the faceplates on a Nokia. While everyone from The Guardian's pop critic, Alexis Petridis, to dance-punk buzz band the Rapture's Luke Jenner is busy proclaiming the death of dance music, Mullinix and his multifold identities suggest another possibility: Positively Hydra-headed electronic music is more resilient than ever. While the used-up, one-trick-pony celebrity DJs are being sacrificed in the pages of NME and buried in an Ibiza graveyard, the young guns are coming to their craft with catholic tastes and the skill sets to match.
Mullinix's range, it turns out, is not in spite of, but precisely because of his age: Having grown up in a climate -- the mid-'90s -- in which dance music's genres had already solidified themselves, Mullinix was spared the fractionalization that plagued so many electronic forms in their nascent stages. As a teenager, recalls Mullinix, "I found my liberties to listen to music that people said wasn't the 'right' music to listen to. I got on the rebellious tip and started listening to a lot of hip hop and punk and metal" -- music that was the lingua franca of Mullinix's circle of skateboarding friends. A hop, skip, and an ollie away lay the Midwestern rave scene. "Some of the skaters started going to raves as well, and I went to one and was like, 'Oh shit, this is sweet.' It was illegal, so once again it had my anarchistic approval."
Mullinix soon immersed himself in the Detroit techno scene, buying records from artists like Plastikman, Jeff Mills, and Robert Hood, and learning to DJ himself. But an encounter with DJ Rotator -- a Detroit drum 'n' bass selector known for furious sets played on customized, pitch-accelerated decks -- sent Mullinix down the jungle path. He began playing the genre in the side rooms at Detroit-area techno parties and eventually producing his own reggae-influenced tunes. Meanwhile, his explorations of other genres were providing the groundwork for projects yet to come.
The radically different sounds of Mullinix's various aliases suggest vastly different intentions, but Mullinix says he doesn't typically have a given identity in mind when he sits down to compose. "That's the problem -- I can't stick to one sound, because I like too much music. I think it's almost the opposite: The aliases exist because I can't decide which track I'm going to work on today. It's just sit in front of the computer and go wherever my head's at; that's how I get the best results."
"All the 'practice songs' -- all the tracks I made while I was learning to use the software -- were all different kinds of music," recalls Mullinix. "I think I just accumulated enough that finally I selected the good stuff, and released that on Ghostly." Today, he says, "I'm pretty sure I have enough aliases to account for all my tastes. If something's danceable, it goes to Cotton; if something's hip hop, it goes to Dabrye; if it's experimental it's Tadd Mullinix, and jungle is SK-1."
Dabrye has undoubtedly been Mullinix's greatest success so far. The One/Threealbum -- the first of a projected three-part series for Ghostly -- drew the attention of fellow glitch-monger Scott Herren, better known as the critically adored Prefuse 73, who released Dabrye's Instrmntl on his own Eastern Developments label, and invited him to contribute to his album One Word Extinguisher. Even Detroit hip hop producer Jay Dee -- a veteran producer of Common, D'Angelo, and Slum Village -- declared himself a fan; he and Mullinix recently completed a collaboration to be included on a forthcoming Dabrye album.
Still, instrumental hip hop is increasingly coming to seem like a dead end. Dabrye's lovingly tarnished production proved that there was still room for a few last tricks, but how many ways can you take a boom-bip drum break, wed it to horn stabs or soundtrack samples, and make it new? (Accordingly, Mullinix will incorporate MCs on his next Dabrye record, possibly pointing the way for further experimentations in vocal hip hop.)