Whilst listening to DJ Hell’s intentionally eclectic mix for the Get Physical team, one singular question kept raising its head: what is the purpose of contemporary mix-CDs? More than albums, mixes seem the obvious victims of the internet - whereas once you could hope to expose and educate listeners to rare or under-played tracks and remixes, consumers already have them at the finger tips. Add to this that the internet itself is awash with top-quality free Podcast mixes, and the future for the format looks worrying.
Whilst once mix CDs offered recordings, or replicates, of DJ sets, modern mix CDs sell themselves on concepts rather than music. The opportunity for a DJ or producer’s to promote their own musical tastes and diversity seems to be the key trend behind most of the modern mix series (Late Night Tales, Back To Mine etc). Presenting such generically-varied offerings poses a strange musical conundrum for the format, lost somewhere in the wilderness between Greatest Hits compilations and DJ sets. Certainly this sometimes works, but only when the mix offers insight to just one specific side of an artist (see Fatboy Slim’s sublime and focused Late Night Tale offering). Yet these slices of musical tautness tend to be the exception, rather than the rule.
As Hell opens his with his own remix of Christian Pommer’s sun-drenched Spanish beauty, Sueño Latino, the German producer offers familiar, comfortable territory. A throbbing baseline takes us through the first couple of tracks to the hypnotic riffs of Carl Craig’s remix of Naroibi. Things progress at a steady pace, Hell demonstrates his technical and musical ability to get feet tapping, and the tone seems to have established itself swinging between techy beats and housey riffs.
Then, without warning, the beats, established mood, and tone suddenly fizzle out with a rendition of The Robots by Balanescu Quartet (whose 1992 album of Kraftwerk covers, Possessed, is essential). This is then followed by the sentimental synths of David Sylvian’s Forbidden Colour. A self-indulgent mistake at best, the abrupt positioning of these tracks (and others following it) feel like a forced reminder of the ‘concept’ on offer.
Things eventually pick up again with the brass-tastic Empire, the sort of house track that the term ‘anthem’ was coined for. Back on track, things get into gear with the squelchy acid of Club M.C.M’s It’s Me and Dollkraut’s mind-blowing house track Loot (if this isn’t the track that people go away from the mix whistling, then I’ll eat my hat). The mix builds and builds and …. fizzles out again.
Perhaps it’s that clunking ‘concept’ that should get the blame again, but as the tone changes once more (disco taking centre stage this time) all momentum is lost. As the forced over-the-top notes of Walter Murphy’s A Fifth Of Beethoven kick in, four tracks from the end, you know things are already trailing off and shutting down.
Serving us the one-minute long extract of his own Germania (the brilliant original is over nine-minutes) as the pen-ultimate track, Hell sums up all that is wrong with the compilation. With most tracks lasting only two to three minutes wrong, the mix feels like a selection of track samplers, as a result stopping any conisistent mood, tone or idea from establishing itself.
In terms of content itself, the album demonstrates Hell is still at the top of his game: promoting the best emerging underground talents, whilst still in touch with his very distinct musical roots. What this doesn’t offer, is a good health-check on the future of the mix CD format.