Mike Paradinas
For Mike Paradinas the need to make beautiful and crazy music is paramount. The need to explain it isn’t, as Overload’s Richard Wilkes discovers.
“In these [soon coming to an end] days of static recorded media you are presented with an unchanging recording of a performance. What then is the point of constructing a justification – constructed by and for your frontal lobes – for a piece of music which primarily has emotional effects on your lower brain?” Okay, it may sound like he’s theorising, but Mike Paradinas would much rather enjoy beautiful music than read about the text that goes with it. “Take the Ovalprocess album [from German sound experimenter Oval] for instance” he continues, “I am glad I don’t know all the academic bullshit associated with it’s release ’cos what I bought was a CD with, it must be said, very nice artwork and some great music on it. Which made me happy.” Happy, that’s the bottom line – music changes the way you feel, theories only divert from that essential fact. Of course there are exceptions as Mike is all too aware. “If there is a process involved in the composition, it can be very worthwhile knowing it, such as John Cage where the process can be more important than the end result.” But for Mike, along with many of the Rephlex crew, what he strives to create is an honest recognition of music’s unique ability to affect us, to stir deep emotions from anguish to elation.
The unknown and the unpredictable within music can often intimidate and alienate listeners, and consequentially much of what we hear is unexciting. With Mike you rarely know what's coming next, which is ultimately what makes it so stimulating. However, like Rephlex cohort Aphex Twin, Mike is refreshingly open, far from highbrow, and as he explains it doesn't all need to be intellectually invigorating: “I can listen & enjoy pop music on Radio 1 all day and then listen to Parmegiani in the evening and not feel any conflict within myself.” But balancing the fact that his recorded output – like others from the Rephlex fold – is unpredictable yet often undeniably funky, would he say he adheres to the dancefloor domain? “I’m a dance music lover and it should come through in the music. It’s not meant to be all cerebral, although there is that aspect. Dancing combines the physical to the mental and that is where I’m coming from. I would describe the majority of what I’ve done as dance music, however much this would offend American IDM-ers. Even the beatless ones like The Wheel off Bluff Limbo [his µ-ziq album from 1992] have got a rhythm to them.” So, like Luke Vibert you’re addicted to beats? (Luke told Overload in issue 1 that he finds it hard to omit them…). “It goes back to the dancing thing. I like beats. It’s whoever doesn’t like beats that’s weird. Pasty-faced Ritornell fans…”
It only takes a quick root through his back-catalogue to realise Mike doesn’t at all ride the conveyor belt of formulaic dance music. Take Hector's House, the opener to Bluff Limbo, funked to the max but with distorted beats and far from metronomic boom-boom-boom. Or 1997’s Urmer Bile Tracks; two EPs of dancefloor friendly aggressive drum‘n’bass action, and yet Let Let features samples from Ornette Coleman’s free jazz master piece Virgin Beauty. Loading his records with melody is an obsession. Snake-like refrains weave a hypnotic spell, wrapping their sugary forms around the beats of so many of his tunes. Layer upon layer of melody and harmony feature often, not to mention a profusion of ethereal chords. “It’s just the same as variations in classical music,” he justifies. He applies this classical structure to any number of dance forms; fat hip-hop tinged beats form the backbone for children’s lullabies instead of sinister street music, killer drum‘n’bass cuts come replete with twisting high frequency refrains substituting the dark aura of gunshots and fight scenes. To add insult to injury these melodies so often make use of naff old keyboard sounds. Like the infamous “soundtrack” preset, developed by Eric Persing for Roland. Cheesy and staid it may be, but it still has much mileage for Mike. It even crops up on his new Kid Spatula LP on the track Snork Maiden, which ironically is one of the most arresting and out-there tunes on the album. Where most would scrimp and save for a new keyboard for its futuristic sounds, he is able to reach the same utopian depths with kit most would rather leave in the shed. But how? “I have always used shitty preset sounds, making them fit by timbre combination and repetition.” But, I figured, he clearly sometimes spends a lot of time on sound design – so I put it to him. “Got the right bloke?” he deadpans. That’s a good producer, I thought. Someone who can make utopian futuristic dream music – an area where the sounds are paramount – using just cheesy presets.
Mike has long refused to get involved in the technology race: “All my released stuff was on Atari using midi instruments.” But now things are all set to change. Mike has spent his recent months getting friendly with a new set up, the latest Kid Spatula album being the last of the old guard. “It was after Royal Astronomy [last year’s µ-ziq album] that I decided to take the plunge and buy a Mac and get into a new set of sounds and a new way of working. It has taken a long time to get into, but I am now on track for a new album. The new Kid Spatula album – Full Sunken Breaks was recorded during the same sessions as Royal Astronomy but released 10 months later. My future stuff will be a whole new way of working...” Mike seems uncertain what people will make of the change – “I couldn’t release it on Virgin” he admits, somewhat unsurprisingly. Bearing in mind he sat on Full Sunken Breaks for ten months it could be a while before we hear the change. Indeed most of his releases are old when they reach the shops. But one thing’s for sure, when it comes it’ll be a far cry from the comfy slippers of staid dance.
The unknown and the unpredictable within music can often intimidate and alienate listeners, and consequentially much of what we hear is unexciting. With Mike you rarely know what's coming next, which is ultimately what makes it so stimulating. However, like Rephlex cohort Aphex Twin, Mike is refreshingly open, far from highbrow, and as he explains it doesn't all need to be intellectually invigorating: “I can listen & enjoy pop music on Radio 1 all day and then listen to Parmegiani in the evening and not feel any conflict within myself.” But balancing the fact that his recorded output – like others from the Rephlex fold – is unpredictable yet often undeniably funky, would he say he adheres to the dancefloor domain? “I’m a dance music lover and it should come through in the music. It’s not meant to be all cerebral, although there is that aspect. Dancing combines the physical to the mental and that is where I’m coming from. I would describe the majority of what I’ve done as dance music, however much this would offend American IDM-ers. Even the beatless ones like The Wheel off Bluff Limbo [his µ-ziq album from 1992] have got a rhythm to them.” So, like Luke Vibert you’re addicted to beats? (Luke told Overload in issue 1 that he finds it hard to omit them…). “It goes back to the dancing thing. I like beats. It’s whoever doesn’t like beats that’s weird. Pasty-faced Ritornell fans…”
It only takes a quick root through his back-catalogue to realise Mike doesn’t at all ride the conveyor belt of formulaic dance music. Take Hector's House, the opener to Bluff Limbo, funked to the max but with distorted beats and far from metronomic boom-boom-boom. Or 1997’s Urmer Bile Tracks; two EPs of dancefloor friendly aggressive drum‘n’bass action, and yet Let Let features samples from Ornette Coleman’s free jazz master piece Virgin Beauty. Loading his records with melody is an obsession. Snake-like refrains weave a hypnotic spell, wrapping their sugary forms around the beats of so many of his tunes. Layer upon layer of melody and harmony feature often, not to mention a profusion of ethereal chords. “It’s just the same as variations in classical music,” he justifies. He applies this classical structure to any number of dance forms; fat hip-hop tinged beats form the backbone for children’s lullabies instead of sinister street music, killer drum‘n’bass cuts come replete with twisting high frequency refrains substituting the dark aura of gunshots and fight scenes. To add insult to injury these melodies so often make use of naff old keyboard sounds. Like the infamous “soundtrack” preset, developed by Eric Persing for Roland. Cheesy and staid it may be, but it still has much mileage for Mike. It even crops up on his new Kid Spatula LP on the track Snork Maiden, which ironically is one of the most arresting and out-there tunes on the album. Where most would scrimp and save for a new keyboard for its futuristic sounds, he is able to reach the same utopian depths with kit most would rather leave in the shed. But how? “I have always used shitty preset sounds, making them fit by timbre combination and repetition.” But, I figured, he clearly sometimes spends a lot of time on sound design – so I put it to him. “Got the right bloke?” he deadpans. That’s a good producer, I thought. Someone who can make utopian futuristic dream music – an area where the sounds are paramount – using just cheesy presets.
Mike has long refused to get involved in the technology race: “All my released stuff was on Atari using midi instruments.” But now things are all set to change. Mike has spent his recent months getting friendly with a new set up, the latest Kid Spatula album being the last of the old guard. “It was after Royal Astronomy [last year’s µ-ziq album] that I decided to take the plunge and buy a Mac and get into a new set of sounds and a new way of working. It has taken a long time to get into, but I am now on track for a new album. The new Kid Spatula album – Full Sunken Breaks was recorded during the same sessions as Royal Astronomy but released 10 months later. My future stuff will be a whole new way of working...” Mike seems uncertain what people will make of the change – “I couldn’t release it on Virgin” he admits, somewhat unsurprisingly. Bearing in mind he sat on Full Sunken Breaks for ten months it could be a while before we hear the change. Indeed most of his releases are old when they reach the shops. But one thing’s for sure, when it comes it’ll be a far cry from the comfy slippers of staid dance.
