I should have probably written about this one last week when I did the repress stuff but, y’know, that’s the way it goes sometimes. Ok, the background is that this is essentially the first two Monrella 12″s from the mid nineties whacked together into one easily digestible EP. Well, I say easily digestible but that might not be entirely accurate. Monrella was one of the nom-de-plumes of Mick Harris, one time drummer for the legendary Napalm Death, and Extreme Noise Terror, and a creative force of nature who also released some pretty outstanding work as Scorn, Lull, and Trace Decay as well as collaborating with such luminaries as Anthony Rother and Meat Beat Manifesto. Given all of that you’d probably expect the music here to be of the kill-em-all-ask-questions-later variety. You’d only be partly right.
There is no doubt that the four tunes here would naturally be at home on something like Jeff Mill’s Live At The Liquid Rooms mix CD. They’re natural bedfellows not only of Mills’ own brand of molten 90’s slammers, but also of the likes of Surgeon. Each of them carries considerable heft, and propel themselves along with the sort of absolutely huge, planetary kick drums which used to be all over the place before techno producers got together and decided they wanted their beats to sound like a finger click surrounded by cold chip-fat. These are vast tunes, and disturbingly lively.
But they are also full of unexpected subtlety, and little glimmering touches of shade and contrast. While the beats steam right on, everything else helps to add definition to the movement, shaping something which is far less monolithic than it has any right to be. Process 2, for instance, is ablaze with the colour of early morning light, the riff both simple and to the point but holding a mirror to the grooves; accelerating and controlling the gathering storm but always keeping the murk from closing in. Report, a fraction slower, throws a curve ball in the form of a woozy, lop-sided lead which lends the tune the vibe of a ride in a demented fairground, the strange journey punctuated by sparse handclaps and frosty percussion.
That they sound of-their-time is probably unavoidable, but I think it’s also partly the point. Techno and its DNA have altered so much over the last 20 years, and it has done so in a way that sometimes makes it difficult to notice until you are once again confronted with its earlier form. A tune like Fixed, forever prowls around in that section of the brain where I hold my definitions of techno; angular, buckling, and edgy with a nervous energy, it sums up so much of what I want techno to be. Process 1 is like a slingshot back in time, but one which reminds you that the grimy snarl which used to be such a regular thing is nothing to be afraid of – particularly when you remember that the energy of these tunes were entirely predicated upon their desire to make you move, to get you on the floor. Not only is this dance music of the most stark sort, it’s dance music that isn’t embarrassed about that fact. There’s a lesson here, but only if you’ve got the guts to learn.