4onephonics Unleashes Boogie with Dam Funk

Over the last few years living in the Bay Area seeking out Hiphop and its multitudinous offspring, I became quickly familiar with the innovative triathlon skills of the DJ collective, 4onefunk, paying dues in the scratching, battling, and mixtape circuits. Taking their steez to the next level in 2005, DJs Teeko and Max Kane established the 4onephonics band with drummer Austin Bohlman and keyboardist Colin Brown from the Mononphonics seven piece jam band.

The group utilizes two turntables as instruments, operated by mix wizards Teeko and Max Kane, to manipulate prerecorded elements as well as synthesize spontaneous sounds with the drum machine. Bohlman carries the groove forward with a heavily syncopated percussion that soaks in the break beats while Brown's cascading keys jazz up a groovy melody. Occasionally the horns of Monophonics join forces to stretch the capabilities of the group's organic swaying music even further. The final product is a powerhouse funk group informed just as much by the heavy grooves of Tower of Power as Herbie Hancock and the Scratch Pickles.


However, last night at the Elbo Room I witnessed 4onephonics like never before. Opening a set for the newly signed Stonesthrow records breakthrough, Dam Funk, 4onephonics unleashed a side developing project that blew the roof off the sucka'. Hooked up fully with deep boogie vinyl, spacey synth heavy keys, a sliding bass thump, and even a vocoder, 4onephonics constructed a sticky, grinding atmospheric noise that filled up Elbo Room's top floor with head nodding awe and sweaty writhing.

I must have been sleepin' on it for awhile, because sure enough, 4onephonics' myspace page showcases a couple tastes of their new boogie inspired joints. The low rider anthem, "Gfunkin on the C1," cruises steady with a clapping boom bap that lets the gurgling synth pop keys sink their chords thickly into your skin. Moving towards the spacier tip, "Controller ONE take ONE" totes a pummeling drum lick, whinnied along by scratching that transforms the prerecorded vinyl into a chopped up cosmic melody that sounds almost like a futuristic saxophone that secretes sex.

There's also a touch of the live shit, where you can really hear how Teeko and Max Kane cut up unchartered tuntablist territory, making previously unheard patterns of sounds.

4onephonics opening attuned my ears to a higher boogie refinement to get down with Dam Funk. Dropping joint after joint of boogie funk bangers, Dam Funk schooled the crowd on the names of each song in the most generous way possible, sharing the love by calling out names without any sense of elitism.


Dam Funk just released his first 12'' on Stones Throw called "Burgundy City," and plans to release a full length album by the end of the year. He grounds his music on the heritage of boogie but calls his own production, "future funk", keeping the music organic by using analog machines and special chords that avoid some of the synth pop soulless robotism that ravages much of disco.


Since I'm still learning about these the history of boogie funk I found the interview with Dam Funk in the last issue of Wax Poetics to be real informative. He drops the knowledge on the rock bottom foundation that everyone who loves this music needs to know.

As far as boogie, early Slave and Cameo are examples of popular boogie. That was the second wave of funk music. James Brown and Sly Stone created the first generation. Boogie is the sound of slap bass, loud claps, melodic chords, and synthesizers. Boogie followed the last gasp of disco.

Boogie includes releases on labels like Prelude, Sam Records, late Waste End Records, late Brunswick, and U.K. labels like Elite. Boogie-ologists will mainly tell you it's from the '80s, and it encompasses Italo disco as well.

You can cop some dope mixes by Dam Funk on Stones Throw's podcast #28 and the recently dropped One Day Later set. I have yet to find any of his original production to download, so if you wanna' hook us all up, the comment section is open.

Final Notes: Be on the look out for 4onefunktion events monthly at the Elbo Room (including guest appearances at Free Funk Friday each second Friday).

AND: 4onefunk reconstructed a Dilla track. Amazing. Dilla's influence is unstoppable.

The Bayview Graffiti Warehouse: The Bombers' Temple

In the weary streets of the Bayview district, slabbed down against the gooey Bay waters of the Central Waterfront, nestled in between the funneling lines of the colossal highway buzzing with destination and a shiny skate park clanking with consecration, lies a behemoth brick and cement structure, abandoned by those in charge of the means of production, opening up the space for its artistic renovation.


Seek and ye' shall find the foreboding gateway to a land few and far between in these modern days of urban gloss overs. Jump the weeded blocks, scale the seaweed clad fence, rusted by the hands of bronzed clams, and fiddling through clunking sewage waters, just a hopscotch distance from brittle tire isles, a punctured tin opening calls to you, my wide eyed urban explorer.

The solid tin lining of the gateway reach towards the heavens like a Romanesque Church's ribbed vaults. Paralleling the hierarchal scaling of Church murals that divides the secular and the sacred, the graffiti elevates in accordance with risks indulged and craftsmanship mastered. The ambitious bomber seeks the highest point to make a mark that leaves a legacy.

And just like the sweeping windows of a thick walled basilica, the white sunlight washes the towering gateway in a luminescent glow, spotlighting stylized letters of the English language, bathing wooden planks and haloing swirling lines in a celestial splendor.

Oh, let us baptize this behemoth the Bombers' Temple by dunking its goliath skull into a vat of bubbling aerosol. I walk softly on my toes in your gateway with head cocked upwards so as to respect the gods and their idols that leave behind their earthly spirits to linger naturally according to the toils of time!

But higher than all fly the nomadic pigeons, who dive through the broken plexiglass and swoop across the rectangular arches, finding refuge in the heights that encourage an avian paradise for feces dropping and psychotic wing flapping. Tarred feathers stick to the muddied grayish black soil that mars the gateway floors, making the city slicked explorer trudge deep through even more shit to pass through the portal.


Slide through the portal, and cross the brightly lit basilica that stretches further into the outlands, supported by cigar shaped drum columns, each colored with vibrant geometrical designs overlapping one another in a fresco frenzy. A coating of sandpapered wood chips graces the floor, fooling the visitor in a disturbing trompe l'oiel, as if the ground was the natural soil of the Earth, and not the desolated erosion of human junk.


I know not of the machinery that still straddles the many rooms of this behemoth warehouse. Perhaps ships used to be stationed in the stalls, like horses waiting for the necessary cycles of grooming and sleeping, or perhaps even a changing of parts, hanging on tightly to the same definitive form, but gradually becoming a whole new structure over the course of many physical replacements of parts.

At what point may we call the abandoned warehouse an urban museum, glorifying the works of hundreds of participating community artists, and free to the public viewing for appreciation, cognitive development, and cultural criticism?





View the entire flickr set here.

The Sound Image: Nick Uff's Vision of Portishead

Growing up in the 90's I never cared much for the MTV style music videos replaying like clockwork on the daily. The predictable narrative structure of a bunch of musicians singing to a camera that sporadically zipped through fifteen angles within a few seconds failed to add anything substantial to the music itself. I found it all pretty boring.

My stubborn distaste led me to some experimentations of my own with image and sound. I learned pretty quickly that smoking some herb and relaxing my back to twisted post-apocalyptic animation, while playing grinding spacey beats, could elevate the music listening experience to a subliminal state of wonder and transplant my body fully into a surreal absorption in the imagery. The audible and vision became one.

Since then I've trained myself to be able to reach that state of awe without any indulgence in drugs (although hallucinatory inspiration can't hurt). Many other experimenters in the sound image must be on the same page, because since then, I've noticed a lot of artists cultivating delicate skills to create films that explore the relationship between what is seen and what is heard.


I'd like to dedicate a new series in this crazy little blog to the videos that seamlessly intertwine music and image to produce the captivating inter-sensorial experience that as of yet lacks a codified description. Unfortunately, my linguistic baptizing skills escape me at the moment, so the preliminary concept shall be simply called the Sound Image. (suggestions anyone?)

We can start off this series with a couple relatively new films produced by Nick Uff for Portishead's groundbreaking third album after a ten year hiatus, fittingly titled Third. Mr. Uff's animation style harks back to the more traditional cartoonist method of hand drawing each frame. The jagged and looping lines of Uff's pencil sketches gives birth to his characters and landscapes while informing the scenery with a resonating sense of the artist's own emotional input.

Mr. Uff further adds to the raw texture that permeates the animation by shooting the frames entirely on 16mm. A buzzing choppiness scratches the surface, intensifying the movement of the camera's perspective that whizzes deeper and deeper into the ephemeral world that manifests itself.

The camera consistently falls into the eyes of a character, serving as the gateway into a new dimension of contour and filling that itself eventually dissipates into another world or spirals back to one previously seen but thereupon under the guise of a richer context. This collage strategy draws the viewer into an overlapping sphere of visual movement and vibration, concretely paralleling the formal structure of Portishead's music.

Mr. Uff describes his own creative process as consisting in a simple evolution of his first pencil stroke. An image comes to mind or the hand moves on the piece of paper, and the world begins to develop from the founding conception. "I don't storyboard my ideas, but let the films go where they take themselves. There's all sorts of ideas in there - things that have happened, a bit of social comment - like a stream of consciousness you could say."

In "The Rip", Beth Gibbons sings haunting stories of white horses rescuing her from the despair of lost love. The soft guitar matched by resounding keyboard melodies darkens Gibbons' introspective mood. Uff's animation brings out the horrific quality that emanates from Gibbons' voice through imagery of grotesque figures overwhelmed by the decadence of ghostly cityscapes.

Uff also plays with the ambiguous depiction of figures falling blindly to their deaths or flying joyously in the sky, ending abruptly with the song nearly suffocating on its tension. This embrace of the ambiguity by aggravating the tension seems to imply that artistic creation may sometimes lead to release and restoration, but at other times, it may intensify the feelings of suffering and loss that inspire it.



Portishead evokes a more desperate sentiment in the alarming synths of "We Carry On." The track increasingly builds towards a bass plucking tension that, once again, never gives. Uff's animation elaborates on just this tension by shifting violently between a broken love narrative, jungle-like urban landscapes that grow rampantly, and our disturbed voyeurism of shadow demons taking possession of humans.

The broken collage and focus on abundant decadence bring to mind the cutting geometrical structures and monocled prostitutes that give German Expressionist paintings a powerful sense of alienation and loss. Hope lingers slyly in the depths, but that pulsating tension constantly keeps us wondering; are we rising up or rising down?

Red Astaire doin' James

A couple weeks back I hesitantly scoped out Frisco's newly promoted Hiphop / Soul / Funk "Money Shot" weekly in an Irish bar on Polk St. suffering more identity problems than a biracial child adopted by a troubled lesbian couple. Actually, my scoping out of the event was limited to five feet away from the door where I peered through two bouncers asking my lint filled wallet for ten dollars.

I must admit that the title "Money Shot," referring to a cum splatted Benjamin visage (or was it just a black eye), on top of the ridiculously overdrawn "Saints and Sinners" anthem of s O' Reilly's Holy Grail Irish Pub did not really, let's say, motivate me to do anything but get the hell outta' there.

Last night my feel for "Money Shot" took solace in the integrity of Massive Selector's promotion, bringing to the Bay such huge successes as the Stevie Wonder party and last week's "Happy Feet" featuring Bobbito and Rich Medina (who didn't show but Bobbito and Hakobo held down the cuts like nobody's business).

A James Brown tribute headlining Sweden's remixing production wizard, Red Astaire, AKA any child's nightmare wonder, Freddie Crugar, (he also goes by the birth certificate name Fredrik Lager) at an Irish pub, aligned with murals of a haloed Rick James sandwiched in-between Richard Pryor and Kurt Cobain, all illuminated by Byzantine stained glass portraits? Now I'm fucking inspired. That's when identity trouble gives birth to the transformer genius of some cultural amalgamation.

Here's the low down on Mr. Lager. Red Astaire gets the big ups from the breakers, the club junkies, and the DJ nerds world wide who are drawn into his smooth beat conducting techniques that whirl your feet oh so naturally into nu-jazz popcorn.

Schooled in the 80s by the diverse dusty grooves he listened to while working at Space, a legendary record import shop in Stokholm, Red Astaire cultivated an intense taste for funk, Hiphop, disco, Latin, and electro. He cemented his wave twisting production style together with a Hiphop sensibility for dirty break beats balanced by the soulful lyricism that gets the party crackin' in the three feet high and risin' way.

Around '94, Astaire joined the Raw Fusion Records label, an influential Swedish label created by Mad Mats, and would release consistent limited edition EPs, 12 inches, and singles throughout the decade. Astaire didn't get much love on the international circuit until his "Follow Me" single, a jazzy liberation joint sliced with clashing percussion propelling melodic chimes, and a powerful impact verse from Method and Redman, released on G.A.M.M. records in 2003. Ubiquity then released his full length album, Soul Search, in 2006 to widespread success in Canada and the US.


I got my hands on 2007's Nuggets for the Needy, which includes a couple break beat nu-soul club bangers on top of "Follow Me." A definite nugget is Astaire's edit of Angie Stone's 2002 hit "I Wish I Didn't Miss You", entitled in ode form to the singer, "Love to Angie." I agree completely with Oliver Wang that this joint is sure to get someone in the crowd to poplock instantaneously, those drums are too irresistible.

In the spirit of James Brown tributes, I also couldn't stop playing "The Wildstyle," an Apache style bongo driven rhythm that cuts up Brown's flustering "Soulpower" lyricism with some grandmaster technique scratching straight outta' Flash's S. Bronx bedroom. The rebirth of the wildstyle? I'm ready.

Snatch Red Astaire's Nugget's for the Needy (2006) G.A.M.M. records.

If the download hits the spot, don't forget to support the artist.

The Open Studios of Taller Tupac Amaru

I took flight out of San Francisco's wind chill summer Saturday afternoon to soak up some lovely Oakland sun at the the annual Open Studios of the revolutionary minded art collective, Taller Tupac Amaru. The collective includes a powerful trinity of artists; Favianna Rodriguez, Jesus Barraza and Melanie Cervantes.

Arriving at the Studio, I was welcomed into Rodriguez' childhood home where funky soul jams pervaded the sonic wavelengths, delicious (oh so damn delicious) tamales and cold beer waited patiently for my hunger in the backyard, and people emanating a general spirit of warmness got down with some electric relaxation.


The many political posters and colorful, bold lined prints are made by the collective with a single screen press located in the backyard's corner shed. Their diverse works were placed throughout the home, some framed on the walls and others settled on tables and the floors sleeved in plastic covers. The vibrant atmosphere within the home illuminated a sense of cultural heritage that informed the works while completely avoiding the sterilizing feel of a museums' white walls and neutralized space.



Taller Tupac Amaru's artwork ranges from passionate depictions of the hardships endured by indigenous peoples, political posters for local events, to more stylized abstract and personal pieces. A call to arms poster by Cervantes displayed iconic images of Chicano activists clad in kafiyahs called for solidarity between Palestinians and indigenous Americans, both peoples stripped from their land, pushing for self-determination.

Many of Rodriguez' prints explored the concept of identity; I particularly found captivating a print of two bold eyed humanoid creatures fusing into a single beast atop a jaggedly lined blue and black background whizzing wildly in triangular motions. The simple and cutting iconic graphics immediately brought to mind my recent viewing of Emory Douglas' work.

Just on that note, Barazza and Cervantes jointly nodded to the history of the Black Panther movement (and its ten point plan) by producing an empowering, brightly colored print of the EZLN's Women's revolutionary laws.

All the artists claim to take influence from a long history of political poster artists, Chicano painters, and graffiti writers, as well as the many worldwide grassroots organizations committed to working for social justice. The members spend much of their time openly sharing their knowledge and techniques with youth throughout the Bay Area in outreach programs like Eastside Arts Alliance.

You can find many of the prints for sale on the artists' websites linked above.

Rodriguez along with co-editor Josh MacPhee will be celebrating the release of their new book, Reproduce & Revolt, displaying a huge collection of international political graphics on Wednesday at Counterpulse on 9th and Mission in SF.

Gaslamp kills Minna

The last time I crashed a Minna party I nearly fell asleep on the couch out of boredom, so it's been a minute since I've checked out the spot. Last night the musical lineup including Los Angeles' The Motherfucking Gaslamp Killer (Willow) as well as Daedelus made me recheck my distaste for the venue and give it another chance.

Typically Minna exhibits sub par contemporary art that bites other styles. Some of the colors and neo-surrealism compositions are pretty, but they lack the raw inspiration of an artist who is captivated by the need to express something higher. Are my expectations too high? Luckily, it's pretty easy to let the art fade into the background when you got some amazing DJ's cutting it up on the ones and twos who are gripped by just that sort of inspiration.

I'm really talking about the Gaslamp Killer who rapidly clicked, and dervish like spun, and vigorously scratched his vinyl donuts while rocking his Jewish fro up and down, crazily flipping his fingers with the percussion as if the poltergeist of the music possessed his body. That's some spiritual release right there.

Gaslamp commenced the set with some hard hitting boom bap Hiphop riding soul samples like Ghostface and Dilla (can I get a copy of Jaylib 2 yet damn it?) mixed seamlessly with percussion driven beats (including some new shit by Flying Lotus.) The straightedge genres of music soon became more blurred as Gaslamp slided into the mix some dirty cosmic psychedelic and alt rock while turning up the highs so hard that the crackling bass shook the silly metal installations hanging on the wall.

The drums continued to tie the dusty grooves together as the hype grew quickly into some more obscure funk tracks from India and Africa as well as some yelping psych funk straight outta' Turkey. The obscurity led into classic American funk that slammed the dance floor with the gospel anthem "Save" featuring Arethra Franklin's distinctive soul crooning carried by a swift drum break. The progression demonstrated an aggressive understanding of music as emotional release and spiritual restoration. The dance floor seemed to agree.

Gaslamp wanted everyone to remember his own roots as a rave head before he started spinning all that Hiphop, funk, and soul, and beyond shit. The story goes that Gaslamp's endtroduction to DJ Shadow served as the bridge into this this parallel universe of sonic listening. So the sound crept up in bpm even more as Gaslamp filtered in clashing electro swaying with horns and booming with synths. Fitting as an end to this set, Pilooski's Franki Valli re-edit, "Beggin'" dropped to finish shit off.

Don't know about that Gaslamp Killer blow your mind and grab your soul shit? Two months ago he released the sun blazing heat, "i spit on your grave" mix off Obey Records. Support the artist too, the box set comes with some goodie snacks.



Or maybe you're in LA sometimes? Be sure to check out the Low End Theory Wednesday nights at the Airliner in Lincoln Heights. Can someone bring this weekly event to San Francisco, apparently they got a monthly in NY already? Last night shows that the Bay needs and wants some of that genre bending Hiphop inspired psych, funk, soul, electro, reggae, world madness.

Sound Lesson: Pilooski the Sonic Editor

The art of re-editing songs comes with many dangers. The craft demands not only enough skill to conjure up an innovative song that pushes music forward but also the mastery to match if not surpass the quality of the original track. The re-editor must breathe life into dusty bones. He faces the challenge to make the old sound new.

Paris based DJ, Pilooski, who also is known by his Polish name Cedric Marszewskihas, achieveds just this pinnacle style of re-editing shelved classics into body rocking dance party jams. Last year Pilooski gained international recognition in nerdy DJ / blog communities for his re-edit of "Beggin'," a pop hit dating back to New Jersey's legendary Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.



Pilooski cleanly cuts up the guitars of ESG's "UFO" (does any ESG sample not sound amazing?) with a boom bap drum break that propels the vocals into hyperspeed and defy sonic laws by sounding damn smooth if not James Brown soulful. "Beggin' " is one of those tracks that reaches toward the sweaty, adrenaline rushed climax of the party when everyone is wildly dripping the music.

The flipped up video of Beggin' succeeds just as well in resurrecting the dead with some new superpowers.



Part of Pilooski's genius is that he reaps forgotten or neglected elements out of older joints that were never gilded the status as classics. These songs have not been dogmatically hardened into our collective minds by their incessant replay on nostalgiac compilation albums seen on late night infomercials or kitschy diners or oldies radio stations.

Pilooski's proud defiance of codified genres and exceptional digging powers opens up an overflowing reservoir of history to inform his ever growing taste. Listen to how Pilooski transforms the powerful croons of Nina Simone into a slammin' dance thumper in his newly released remix of "Take Care of Business" on the 4th Verve remixed compilation.

Many of Pilooski's edits (and he has many) can be found on the rare and highly sought after limited vinyl releases by Dirty Sound System. Dirty is a group of Parisian selectors that pride themselves on comin' up with the dusty diamonds that inspire and break expectations. These tracks are released with some edits (by the likes of Pilooski) on compilations that fittingly go by the name "Dirty Diamonds." From ominous space disco to thumping krautrock drum breaks, cruising past the euphoric Balearic islands to the syncopated gardens of Northern Soul, dirty does not fear geographical or psychological walls.

Following the numerous "Dirty Diamonds" EPs came a full length Pilooski compilation, dirty edits vol. 1. It also includes a couple surprising covers that will bend your ears backwards.


01 . Mono Puff - Pretty Fly
02 . 99 Frames For Prince - 1999
03 . Alan Parsons Project, The - I Robot (Pilooski edit)
04 . Edwin Starr - Get Up (Pilooski edit)
05 . Pointer Sisters - Send Him Back (Pilooski edit)
06 . Steve Lawrence & Eydie Gorme - Black Hole Sun (Dirty Reissue)
07 . Unknown - Untitled
08 . Ari Boulogne - Le Petit Chevalier
09 . Can - Mothersky (Pilooski edit)
10 . The Human Beinz - Nobody But Me (Pilooski edit)
11 . Pipilotti Rist - I'm A Victim Of This Song (Wicked Game)

Download part 1.
Download part 2.