- Last month, I saw DVS1, AKA Zak Khutoretsky, play in an amphitheatre made of mud, under the stars in the Moroccan desert. The sound was crystal clear, reaching you with as much precision at the top of the arena as down in the pit. It was loud, but not overbearing: you could still hold a conversation on the makeshift dance floor. The music was just one of many wonderful things to take in, and the sound—albeit superb—wasn't the main event.
The opposite was true at Rotterdam's Maassilo last Saturday, when Khutoretsky installed his Wall Of Sound rig in the main room. A collaboration with Danley Sound Labs, it's a replica of those found at illegal parties in the '90s Midwest rave scene in the US—a scene in which Khutoretsky played a starring role.
Earlier in the day, I'd been taking part in another kind of soundsystem worship. Masego, a local, homemade roots and dub system, had setup outside Eendrachtsplein metro station in the city centre, as part of A Festival Downtown. A friend asked me: "Is having the DJ booth facing the speakers just a Dutch thing?" No, I replied, this is how it should be. The stacks—and the music itself—are the real stars of the show; the DJ is a subordinate. The Wall Of Sound was inspired by this line of thinking, though with techno royalty like Jeff Mills performing at Saturday's edition, concessions had to be made: the booth was set up to the side of the soundsystem. When I arrived, The Wizard was taking to the stand and Maassilo was packed wall-to-wall.
I tried giving The Wall Of Sound its proper due, but the crush of sweaty bodies on the dance floor forced me to seek out a raised perch. Now perfectly positioned behind the soundsystem, I fixed my gaze on the master below. Mills plays from his hips, using the mixer like some exotic instrument. His 909 improvisations are a thing to behold. He coursed through three hours filled with funky, dreamier dips and malicious sci-fi assaults. No one makes hard techno sound quite as sexy.
The 909 sessions were the obvious highlight. One came around 4AM, two hours into the set, triggering a barrage of cameraphone paparazzi. Mills actually stopped playing at one point, blinded by the flashes. Khutoretsky, who had been watching from behind the monitor, dived over the barriers and into the crowd. We were surrounded by "enjoy the moment" signs, but still people persisted. Khutoretsky remained in the thick of it for a while, personally enforcing the message. It had already been a long night: he'd been at Maassilo for several hours, making final adjustments to the system, even as Mills was playing. You could tell this mattered to him a great deal.
I got in amongst it for Khutoretsky's set. It was more metronomic than Mills's, though the setup—three CDJs and two turntables—was no less impressive. He mixed with militant care, while a smoke machine belched out a constant stream of fog, cloaking the venue's austere surroundings.
In the right frame of mind and with more room to dance, it might have been an incredible body music trip. But I just wasn't feeling it. Maassilo is an awesome space, but it's also a bit of a techno tourist trap full of punters getting off their face. Overall, Saturday night felt more like an indoor festival than a club night. The second room, run by local promoter Modular Music, tried to offer something more compact, but the soundsystem clattered like a cutlery drawer compared to The Wall Of Sound. (And though this was no one's fault, it didn't help that The Black Madonna had to cancel.) Generally, though, people were too fucked up to care, enjoying the party for what it was. With a few more audiophiles and a bit more intimacy, this could have been a knockout.
Photo credit /
Brian Lubking