[Originally posted 6 August 2021, on @Selectsounds]
Like a bottle of perfume or a well-arranged shop window, a record sleeve or package design has the ability to draw you in. To showcase the treats that lie inside, or sometimes, throw you completely off the scent.
It’s the kind of shopping technique you’d probably use at TK Maxx – its whole “treasure seeking” brand is based on it. When the magpie inside you is drawn towards the brightest colours in the corner, you shop based on your gut instinct rather than preconceptions of ‘cool’.
Strike lucky and the tag reveals it’s a Gold Label classic, or from a well-known high street brand. Sometimes, it’s an obscure fashion house you’ll never see again. When you walked into the shop that day you had no idea whether you’d come out with a slice of Versace or Skinny Dip under your arm, but here you are. That’s exactly what happens when you allow yourself to go for the ‘wild card’ when digging for tunes.
It was Saturday back in May. The streets were glistening with an (almost) post-pandemic sheen, as the people of Notts relished in being able to enjoy the city centre again. I’d dropped into The Carousel to visit Take Away Jazz Records – Machinewoman’s pop up shop. Business was booming and I couldn’t squeeze in to the appointment-only store. But we did have a great chat that got me childishly excited, and set the tone for the rest of the afternoon.
I was going to buy some records today, no matter what. Maybe it’ll be from a charity shop. Is Rob’s Records open yet? Before exhausting these options, I made the move to Rough Trade, perfectly placed on the bustling Broad Street.
Whatever your opinion is of the high street musical mainstay, it’s not known for stocking loads of electronic music. In the back-left corner there were two or three crates dedicated towards the stuff – I have managed to get some gems there in the past, however, including a surprise find from Banoffee Pies and a Beautiful Swimmers compilation.
In a group of three, we descended upon that small back section. After flicking through the racks I grabbed Fever Ray’s self-titled album – essential – while my friend found a Late Night Tales compilation, equally as key. I was happy with my finds, of course, yet I wasn’t quite satisfied. I knew exactly what to expect from my Fever Ray wax; glad to have it in my collection, but was thirsty for something new. Something new (or old) is what I got.
Maybe I just hadn’t been in Rough Trade for a while, but to my surprise there was now a section of used records taking up about a quarter of the floorspace. My eyes lit up. Holding a fresh, crisp shrink-wrapped album has certain exciting qualities, but there’s something special about digging through old sleeves. What a delight.
There were small attempts at labelling off genre sections but really, this was the kind of free-for-all digging I thrive off. I always try to leave with a ‘wildcard’ whenever I’m in a physical shop, and this was the perfect place to find it. With already a fair few records under my arm, I limited myself to choosing just one final gem. After skimming past a number of white labels, which are always a treat, my eyes settled on ‘the one’.
An antithesis to the standard black or white, semi-sheened sleeve, this had a brown cardboard cover. Flecks of paper making the textile created a subtly beautiful pattern, with the same appeal as today’s terrazzo hype. It wasn’t totally blank though – the centre label and a long, vertical sticker on the left side of the paper was a work of art. The colours grabbed me first, with rich navy tones complemented by a warm wash of peach.
The centre label looked similar to the yin yang symbol, made with bauhaus birds rather than a swirl. To the left, the ‘light’ and ‘dark’ similarities continued as two simplistic houses were shown, mirror images and filled with contrasting colour.
Text was beneath the graphic, but the abstract typeface was unreadable at first. Was it Danish? Maybe from Italy or Europe? Sold.
We were excited by our finds, and straight away my partner, my friend and I held a listening party to hear what we’d just got. At that time, without the usual bars and clubs to go to, Covid-19 encouraged us all to indulge and remember some of the most simple, but gratifying pastimes.
It wasn’t what I expected. Although really, I wasn’t sure what to expect. To summarise the whole EP, it’s four tracks of dark, brooding techno-tinged electro. It’s slow, most definitely made on analogue instruments, and reminded me of Kraftwerk – pulsating synths in minor tones, dusty – downright filthy – drum machines, at times very high pitched while other tracks had sounds that we’re almost like brass.
Honestly, I’m not sure if I liked it at first, but I think it was all in the context.
My partner had just played some jackin’ house while my friend had picked up a Kylie Minogue and Giorgio Moroder collab. Following on from that with my record was like switching from dancing beneath the bright, sparkling sun to a murky, dominating stormcloud.
When you’re expecting that cloud and you’re kitted out for the weather, it’s a fantastic, life affirming experience. I just needed to listen to it again in the right conditions.
I took to the internet to find out more, learning this was produced by Das Ding and DJ Overdose. As it turns out, they’re both electro veterans.
DJ Overdose is based in the Netherlands, and has been making music for at least two decades. His discography includes a recent release on L.I.E.S, limited edition cassette tapes stocked at Rush Hour and a large body of work out on local label, RotterHague Records. Bandcamp feedback describes his work as “prolific and proficient, always.” He’s certainly earned his stripes.
The story for Das Ding is similar, but goes back way further. Best described by label Minimal Wave, “Das Ding is Danny Bosten, who was active in the early 1980s releasing his music and friends’ music via his own cassette label called Tear Apart Tapes.” The rest of the post describes more about the tape trading scene of the time, more about his label and dives into his time producing pirate radio shows and soundscapes. His music seems to have come back into the world after Minimal Wave contacted the artist, interested in re-releasing his work. I’m not sure if the tracks on my EP are vintage recordings, or new work he’s made now the project is revived again, but it’s a wonderful tale and lesson to all artists to keep plugging on – someone, somewhere will resonate. In a strange way, it reminded me of a local, similar story from February Montaine.
And now, the label. AM PM by Das Ding DJ Overdose was released in 2018 on Go Finger. It’s hard to find much out about the imprint and it sadly looks to have stopped operating in 2019. I believe it was based in Madrid and launched in 2013, putting out 13 records in that time. The attention to artwork is apparent, though, and every release comes packaged with illustrated stickers, using the same bauhaus style but with different symbols and colours each time. The person behind the design is Yecco.
Thanks to Yecco, I picked up that copy in the first place and now AM PM stands proudly in my collection. If I’d listened to it in the shop, I’m not sure if I would have bought it. But I’m so happy I did. A story of the only time when it’s acceptable to judge something on first impressions. Go digging blindly, it might surprise you 🙂
(N)owt in Notts 