There are many reasons to love the latest Turbo Recordings label compilation, Omnidance ("not pandance, not multidance, but something so much more … "). There is the glorious neo-rave of Proxy's Raven; the blissful trickshot minimalism of Guy J's Shaman; Jori Hulkkonen's oddly moving remix of Chromeo's Bonafied Lovin, and much more besides. Too much, arguably, as it runs to an unwieldy 26 tracks.
Then there are the sleeve notes. The double CD comes packaged with an 82-page booklet of arrant, entertaining nonsense that Tiga, or, as he likes to style himself: the "41st best DJ on the planet", issued in lieu of proper press releases for Turbo releases 031-061. Sample quote:
"If you don't understand Chromeo it's obvious you are a racist. Only racists and deaf people are immune to the Montreal duo's funky funk. Just go buy this ... or are you a Nazi?"
It isn't just journalists who will appreciate his tangential commentary. Anyone sensitive to the 24/7 banality and hype of the modern media, will instantly warm to a label owner who accurately describes Kolombo's coke-addled Sniff as "borderline embarrassing", and repeatedly slags off his one big crossover hit, Sunglasses At Night.
The tone is somewhere between Smash Hits's "crap joke corner", the jaded scenester sarcasm of Jockey Slut, and the juvenile, PC-baiting of Viz. Tiga loves a painful pun (Tomas Barfod is "Dane-generous", his remix "Dope-N-Hagen". You can guess where he's from), almost as much as he likes inventing ridiculous new genres (midimal, GLU-rave, pub-techno).
There is a treatise on the overuse of the word bomb in dance music circles ("Battle tested is when it works for 60,000 in Argentina and for a bar mitzvah of 26"); unflinching insight into the "true" private lives of leading celebrities ("I own Morcheeba records ... Steph from Soulwax thinks Alanis Morisette has 'incredible eyes' … "); and wry reflections on recent electro history: "It's hard to imagine now, but at the time the idea of covering a pop song in a techno style seemed interesting," he writes of Miss Kittin & The Hacker's take on Sweet Dreams.
Elsewhere, Tiga, tongue-surgically-implanted-in-cheek, takes time out to offend the Finns, bedroom musicians, women and dwarves (he won't sign either to Turbo), and the recently demobbed Israeli ravers who wash-up in Goa: "Dragon-stick juggling, hard-partying stoners, with cosmic space-trance pants, and post-military abandon. [There is] nothing quite like a bad-tripping and Mossad-trained 19-year-old naked on a motorbike." The French, meanwhile, are given a pass on the basis that while "it's not easy to forgive the Vichy collaborator swine for helping Nazis rule Europe for six years", they do make "amazing luggage and bread".
Pathetic? Well, yeah, it is a bit. But it's also very funny, particularly if you're open to gently daft tales about how Tiga's pooch, "one of the finest A&R dogs in Canada", pivotally preferred Boys Noize to Tiesto; or how Russian producer Proxy ("championed by DJs as shockingly diverse as Erol Alkan and 2ManyDJs") was contacted via Vladivstock's Interior Ministry of Getting Down. Frankly, it's just good to hear techno, often the most self-important of genres, laughing at itself.
But enough Tiga. What about the sleeve notes you have read and loved? They needn't be funny, they rarely are, but whose scribblings have added interest to your favourite records? Personally, I used to like the whimsical short stories that would turn up on Brilliant Corners albums and, of course, Paul Morley's early ZTT sloganeering. But, then, I was 12 at the time. Today, they make me cringe. That said, I still like Elvis Costello's pithy notes on Girls, Girls, Girls. As a description of Little Palaces, how could you beat, "Soap opera, without the soft soap"?
