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A: PUMP
Many will think it’s about time: Ellen Allien, the flower child of Berlin indie-techno, has returned to
the club and is already paving the way for her album due out later this year. But rather than worrying
about introductions, teasers or warm-ups, “Pump” takes a deep drag from the smoke machine and
drives headlong into the peak time. Limbs flying in epileptic bursts, a dirty funk and layers so dense
that the strobe actually feels far too slow. So here it is again, the sparkle of the never-ending night.
Once the needle drops, this beast scrapes and tears across the floorboards, twitching and snapping
in all directions until the dance floor has sunk five centimetres deeper. The synths chime sweetly up
above, the bassline scratches away mercilessly down below, and the psychotically swirling voice provides
such a resounding impulse that, as you try to articulate the visceral euphoria, a glistening beam of
light escapes your lips. “Because I love you,” sings Ellen, but the cut-up vocal sounds so pitched down
and masculine that you could be forgiven for thinking it’s Robert Owen’s voice coming through the
vocoder. Somehow Detroit, somehow Berlin, but also somehow far away from everything familiar. This
is certainly how it feels when you surrender yourself entirely to the insanity. But despite the constant
scattering of sounds, the ruthlessly crisp snare always keeps a handle on proceedings. The individual
elements are held together by a floating elegance, that unmistakable Ellen Allien signature which, even
on a Monday, brings to mind the ballet choreography of Vaslav Nijinsky. Winding down in style, the
collective dancefloor experience is transcended once again. Don’t dance by yourself. Not to this track…
B: FEEL LIKE
The solid sound of the A side is matched with a smoothness on the flip like an affectionate cat brushing
against your legs. With its jazzy bassline, “Feel Like” goes hopping around the after party, spreading
the kind of easy-going feeling you could surely only find on the banks of the Spree. The sounds gently
advance and fill the space until – fully aware of their fragile structure – they scurry up the walls to
get one more taste of insanity and bliss en route to the sun. The synth pushes on, the claps ring out
and rave wants to be unleashed. But it doesn’t have to be when everything just frolics along so
effortlessly. Chicago sends its greetings. Then finally, you think, the delicate, fairylike voice of Mme.
Allien: “If you feel like…” Yes, like what? If only there weren’t so many peculiar sounds flitting through
your head. But these vivid watercolours, painted onto the pavement to signpost the direction of the
after party, have now found their full form and happily take leave of their confining frame to disperse
themselves heavenwards. “I know you’re gonna dig this,” comes the masculine reply, but who would
ever have doubted it? Of course she does. The twisted, warped sounds infuse the song with awkward
interjections and complex arrangements, yet without detracting for a moment from its buoyant
playfulness. Good luck imitating that! A song for the blissful disorientation of Sunday afternoons that
never want to end.