Feature: Futuresonic 2007

For all its admirable intentions, it’s never entirely clear just what exactly Futuresonic is supposed to be celebrating. Artists to have played the festival in the past have come from a wide range of musical spheres, encompassing math-rock (Battles), 21st century soul (Jamie Liddell), underground hip-hop (El-P) and big band swing (Matthew Herbert). You have to applaud their scope, but you get the sense that this is a festival striving for identity, while the bill pushes in the other direction.

It’s with this eclecticism in mind that we’re faced with opening night main attraction, TTC. The Parisian hip-hoppers aren’t the kind of group that spring to mind when you consider the esoteric nature of Futuresonic bills past. TTC’s aim is to move our feet, not get us stroking our chins and even the forward-thinking programmed beats provided by DJ Orgasmic are just a conduit to getting the party started, despite the fact that they probably have more in common with the average Warp Records act than anything by DJ Premier.

In fact, you can pretty much blame TTC (alongside Daft Punk) for the current French nouvelle vague of electronic party music (Justice, Ed Banger, Institubes), as their bleepy, video game aesthetic has ended up bridging the gap between the hip-hop culture so ingrained in France’s inner cities and the hard, underground house and techno scene. Their work with scene progenitor, Para One has led to them being labelled as godheads of a movement that they’ve fully embraced (both Tido Berman and Teki Latex sport Institubes tees tonight), but that they’re at enough of a remove from to be able to assess on their own terms.

A forceful, lusty assault on the senses, the TTC live experience is an invigorating one. One that makes a mockery of the hipsterish posing going on in the front rows. Faced with a swathe of faux-hawks and aviator shades, TTC just stick to what they know best, throw bottles of water on everyone in soaking range and grab the nearest girls for some bump and grind. The group’s focal point, the aforementioned Teki Latex, the spawn of an ungodly union twixt Benny Hill and Biz Markie, is an absolute star and he knows it. Seemingly the only member of the group with any grasp of the language, it’s he who sets about getting the crowd to indulge in a bit of call-and-response, with the usual cries of “Put your hands in the air!” and “Make some noise, Manchester!” taking on a more charming edge when recounted in broken English.

By the time a chest-rattling ‘Dans Le Club’ has reached it’s umpteenth and final run-through of the chorus, the hawks have drooped, the vintage Gola tracksuits are sweated through and Futuresonic have pulled another rug from underneath our feet. Feet too busy dancing to care about where they land.

We ventured down to Club Underground on Saturday to check out Tramp! Vs. UFO. The Tramp! DJs are building a healthy reputation as some of the best in Manchester right now, so their hook-up with 60s legends, The UFO Club should have been a spectacular meeting of minds, not the ungainly cut-and-shut that it turned out to be. True, the visuals were very nice indeed, but it was difficult to pinpoint just what end they were serving.

That mattered not once ex-Kraftwerker, Wolfgang Flur took to the stage for two and a bit hours of pumping electro-tech, played at ear-bleeding volume. Flur looked for all the world like a Biology professor ploughing through a Power Point presentation before a liquid lunch at first, shifting in his own skin and generally looking a little uncomfortable. Once the first hour was out of the way, the suit jacket came off and he was, as they say in the business, loving it.

So much so, in fact, that Black Devil Disco Club spent a good half-hour waiting in the wings, looking more than a little disgruntled that this 60 year-old ubermensch was stealing their thunder right from under their noses. BDDC was only ever going to be an anti-climax after Flur’s stunning set, but they trooped on regardless and ran through a set that took in highlights from both their EPs, separated by 28 years.

If you know of the mystery that’s surrounded BDDC and, most importantly, Bernard Fevre for the last five years or so, then you’ll know that this music uses the mystery to its own gain. It’s music that evokes rain-slicked streets and amyl-stained dancefloors, of silver-suited disconauts and androgynous cybermen. It has never evoked the sight of two aging men sat behind synths and laptops, looking generally bored by the whole endeavour.

The demystification of BDDC then, is a hindrance to the enjoyment of hearing this otherworldly, ahead-of-its-time, robodisco played live and note-perfect right in front of you, a feat that few of us ever thought we’d see. Great tunes though.

As the DJ draws proceedings to a close with Carl Craig’s ubiquitous remix of Delia & Gavin’s ‘Relevee’, I’m of the mind that Futuresonic’s real identity is in its ability to pull surprises out of the bag. TTC brought peerless party vibes to bear and Wolfgang Flur showed that age is no barrier when it comes to slaying the crowd. Hell, as disappointing as Black Devil were, we all got to hear ‘Timing, Forget The Timing’ played live (twice in fact) and that’s cause for celebration in itself. I, for one, say let the future become more and more disparate, exotic and surprising.

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