By Jeremy Essig
By Jason Robinson
By Hans Morgenstern
By Joseph Hess
By Peter Gilstrap
By Julia Burch
By Jeremy Essig
By Nathan Smith
But even the most venomous Korn-head stooge can't help but get a tingle in the heart when hearing Chemical Brother Ed Simons (the one who's not the one with long hair) describe the first time the duo heard one of their cuts bangin' in a club.
"When we made "Song to the Siren,'" he says during a recent interview from his flat in London, "which is the first record that we made, we heard reports that (famed British DJ) Andrew Weatherall was playing it. So we got into the car and went down to this place called Hastings, which is where the Normans invaded England in 1066. We went down to the club just to hear him play it, and we waited all night. He obviously didn't know who we were from Adam. And then he played it, and it was just the best feeling ever. Still, the best feeling for me is watching a record go off in a club. It's just the greatest thing, really, to have a record you made be played to 1,000 people who like it. You can't beat that feeling. That was the first time."
Since their trip to Hastings in 1992, the Chemical Brothers have had their fair share of cuts work a crowd, both live and on the dance floor. They've moved from being Brit buzz band to being the Yank "face of electronica"; they've cut some of the hardest, catchiest electronic records of the '90s even as they suffered being lauded as the Next Big Thing in America.
Alas, when commercial music could have taken a left a few years back and fallen passionately in love with the Chemical Brothers, it instead took a right and embraced the bitch-slappin' misogyny of Limp Bizkit. The rockers prevail because the beats, they apparently didn't rock the block hard enough for 'em. Of course, the Chemical Brothers, along with the Prodigy and Fatboy Slim, did poke through into the mainstream (two of the three played the dreaded Woodstock festivities) and Fatboy has somehow worked his whole ass into the pop psyche, but in general, things have cooled down a few degrees for the Chemical Brothers, though obviously, says Simons, the crowds have changed from the ones they saw on their early visits to America. "I think the change was more evident when we were over in '97, when there was a big electronica hype, and people were coming to our concerts to check us out because they read about us in Rolling Stone or had seen a video on MTV. But I think since then our last tour in America it was back to the kind of kids who were just into us. They weren't seeing us because of hype, they were just Chemical Brothers fans. We felt that in Chicago. I saw a lot of our old T-shirts, T-shirts made in '95."
In 1995, the Chemical Brothers were 3 years old. Their first full-length, the phenomenal Exit Planet Dust, though it sold relatively meagerly in the scheme of things, hit a bunch of confused music heads smack in the booty; it was dance-based but had enough texture and melody to suggest that something more than just Ecstasy-infused repetition-bliss was at work. As a result, it crossed over into another equally obsessive scene and served as a rallying cry for not just the dance-floored but the headphoned. Even though the Chemical Brothers expressed their ideas in the form of beats and samples and not smarty-pants verbiage and rhyme, one got the sense that these guys were at least a little smart, and if they weren't, they were at least quick to shut up and let the music suggest otherwise.
A gander at their CD booklets proves the point: eight- to 10-page photo spreads, no words; a threesome having some water-splashing fun; blissed-out lady swinging her long hair; a skier slaloming down a mountain; hippies hitchhiking; a hand grenade. No words, just images strung together to suggest some verbally elusive emotion. What the Chemical Brothers do in their booklets, they also do in their music.
1997's Dig Your Own Hole was supposed to be huge. It was supposed to rid the world of Alice in Chains and their ilk and usher in a new era of music. It was supposed to go global, and though a few of the record's cuts were virtual explosions, especially the transcendent "Setting Sun" (which succeeded despite the insipid presence of Noel Gallagher of Oasis one good reason for the Chemical Brothers to shut the hell up), the media's hype ultimately fizzled the record. The suburbanites didn't bite. Granted, it did go gold, and "Block Rockin' Beats" was a minor hit, but the album failed to meet the grand plan of the industry. "I think it's all expectations," says Simons. "Whoever was behind the electronica hype thought that that would be the only kind of music you'd hear on the radio. And that obviously wouldn't happen. But I think there's more space being given to us and the Prodigy and Fatboy Slim."
The Chemical Brothers' new record is called Surrender, the most compelling and varied record of their career. It moves from the glorious old-school electro-bounce of the kickoff cut, "Music: Response" (their best cut ever and one of the most exciting of the year) to clean techno to big-beat rumble to pure pop. It's actually confusing that way; where the rest of the electronic world is subdividing to conquer itsy-bitsy niches in the market, the Brothers are thinking on a larger scale by erasing such distinctions.
Many of the reviews of Surrender have suggested that it's some sort of concept record, a glance back at the Brothers' history with electronic music. Because it does try to cover so much ground by alluding to so many different musical styles, that would seem to be the case. At the same time, the sound of Surrender only really touches upon on a particular style your average suburbanite can't tell house from hard techno from hard trance, and, actually, your average club head can't, either. If there's a concept and there's not, according to Simons it's that such stupid hairsplitting is completely irrelevant, especially in predominantly instrumental music, and that the ultimate goal of dance music, be it big beat, gabber, goa or garage, is to move 1,000 people in one direction simultaneously. ("The way we make records," says Simons, "practically every track on Surrender, all those tracks were made for us to DJ with, cool records we'd like to play when we're out, whatever time of day it is.") The Chemical Brothers pine for such release, and throughout the record they constantly angle to get the most booty for their buck.
Says Simons of the record: "We didn't have any big conversation to start the record. We just kind of got on with it. In the studio, we have a happy sort of silence. When it came to start putting the record together, when we were all done and we had 16 tracks finished, it was time to cut that down to 11 tracks in a particular order. That's when we start talking about how it all sounds, and the tones, and how we feel it all fits together. I think we were both quite anxious with this record, and it made for a better record. When we first started making music, everything just sounded fucking incredible to us, and this time it didn't sound so good for a while, and I think that made for a better record when we got more anxious and more argumentative toward each other. We ended up doing a lot more soul-searching to make this record."
The Chemical Brothers make their St. Louis debut at the American Theater on Saturday, October 2; James Holroyd, the Brothers' resident DJ, opens the show. Says Simons of their appearance, "We just felt that it was strange not to go to places where we might have an audience, and it's up to us to take our music to people who might not otherwise know. I don't know if we've got any support in St. Louis. We're just looking forward to playing our music to people who might not it's one of the most gratifying feelings to go somewhere you've never been and find people into your music. I just wanted a different tour, see different parts of America, see some different kids."