words
by
Matt J. Simmons
“
S
it cross-legged on the floor and close y our eyes.
Relax. Breathe deeply. Can you feel the lo from the
ve
universe as it flows through you? Let it in. Breathe
it in. Feels good, doesn’t it? Caribou’s latest album is like
ecstasy. Everything is sensory; an immense feeling of love
surrounds you, a sonic dose of ser otonin. Do you need
drugs to appreciate this kind of music? Here’s a debate that
has raged in kitchens and coffee shops for decades. Parents
of club kids lo ve to decry the electronic music scene as
drug culture for all its associations with pill-popping club
junkies and tab-taking freak-outs. Cops watch closely for
the alarmingly well-dressed attendees of drum and bass
shows or the sketchy guy with the bac kpack. Raves and
outdoor electronic music festivals supply their own first
aid attendants, good people who aren’t expecting to treat
twisted ankles or sunstr oke; instead the y’ve got a bag
full of sedatives and a bo x of stomac h pumps. Sure, the
association between psychedelic dance music and dr ugs
isn’t entirely a stereotype. There really is a culture of drug
use that goes hand in hand with belly shaking bass, driving
drum lines, and tr ippy synthesizer w ashes. But while
drugs may be a peripheral part of it, they don’t define
the music.
Music is the drug
In a recent interview with FACT Magazine, Dan Snaith,
the mastermind behind Caribou, said he doesn’t drink or
do drugs, but loves DJing at clubs or par ticipating as an
audience member. This is something I get. I’ve danced
to drum and bass for hour s on nothing str onger than
adrenaline and water. The music is the drug.
His early tunes as Manitoba
sound like someone doing
blackboard equations on a happy
hit of LSD: complex, strangelystructured rhythms interplay
with flutes and pennywhistles,
the whole thing suffused with
odd, often unintelligible vocals.
”
Snaith’s sound is incongruously mathematical and sensory
at the same time. Having listened to his m usic for years,
from his quirky percussiv e beginnings as Manitoba to
the more-recent rib-rattling bass lines and soul samples
released under the moniker Daphni, I feel a little lik e an
addict. It’s been a weird trip, when I think bac k on it.
Snaith is an ex-mathematician and his music reflects this.
His early tunes as Manitoba sound like someone
doing blackboard equations on a happ y hit of LSD:
complex, strangely-structured rhythms interplay with
flutes and pennywhistles, the whole thing suffused
with odd, often unintelligible vocals. Then came the
name change to Car ibou and with it a slo w, inexorable
evolution of the music itself. The bass got a bit deeper ,
an occasional tune became vaguely danceable. The singing
became clearer, more defined. Caribou’s fourth album,
Andorra, took the Polaris Prize in 2008, for its denselylayered psychedelic sound and car efully-crafted songs.
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[sic] fall 2014.indd 13
14-10-07 7:00 PM