Suche:jon rundell

Marshall McLuhan’s famous edict ‘the medium is the message’ has never been more apt than with regard to modern remix culture. Although the idea of the remix goes way back to the Jamaican dub pioneers and New York disco remixers of the 1970s, the form didn’t truly come into its own until the acid house explosion of the 1980s, when remixers’ credentials often subsumed — and sometimes surpassed — the original source material. Some, among them our lost friend Andrew Weatherall, used remixing as a springboard into multiple other directions, and became auteurs in their own right.

Forged in the white-hot heat of post-acid house Britain, these Heavenly remixes are perfectly weighted with respect and irreverence, the remixer in each case carefully chosen to add heft to the song (as on Al Breadwinner’s dubwise reworking of Mattiel’s ’Guns of Brixton’— the pairing more a game of chess than a best-of-three arm wrestle).

Although Heavenly was founded in the wake of huge upheavals in electronic music, it was still imbued with its own curious parallel life. I’ve always thought of Heavenly as one of the UK’s alt-pop labels; a place where brilliant pop bands live and record, if the general public would only realise. Some of them have ended up in the real, actual charts (Saint Etienne, Doves), but that’s missing the point about Heavenly, who are, like Factory and Fast Product before them, pop music’s conscience.

There is no sense of order to this compilation and we make no apologies. It’s the Heavenly way. Think of it as a present from Loki, the Norse god of mischief. You’ll find a smattering of older tracks: album openers Saint Etienne are taken on a Poseidon Adventure with Underworld, who inject ‘Cool Kids of Death’ with typically manic energy. Elsewhere, ’90s Brum duo Mother add dancefloor pzazz to Espiritu’s innate glamour on an all-funked-up reworking of ‘Los Americanos’, and Mark Lusardi’s remix of Moonflowers’ ‘Get Higher’ is an early Heavenly classic.

On ‘Terracotta Warrior’, a perfect, psyched-out, Mancunian union is created betwixt Jimi Goodwin and Andy Votel, whilst Goodwin cohort Simon Aldred, in his Cherry Ghost guise, receives a proper Tamla-Motowning from Richard Norris (aka Time & Space Machine) on an inspired cover of Cece Peniston’s glam-house hit, ‘Finally’.

There are several of Heavenly’s current darlings here too. One of the most exciting young British prospects, Yorkshire’s Working Men’s Club, effectively remix themselves, as Minsky Rock — WMC’s Syd Minsky-Sargeant and producer Ross Orton — cleave ‘X’ into a riotous industrial racket. Jagwar Ma’s Jono Ma takes the Kraftwerkian leitmotif on ‘Automatic’ and drives the Australian jazz-funkers Mildlife down an electro-convulsive psychedelic tunnel (thankfully no-one was harmed during the making of this remix); Sheffield’s DJ Parrot and Jarvis Cocker deliver one of the outstanding remixes of 2018, turning Baxter Dury’s ‘Miami’ into a lovelorn minor opera; and, making its first appearance on vinyl, David Holmes’ Unloved project is taken on a panoramic Welsh waltz thanks to Gwenno.


There may well be no rhyme, nor reason, to how these compilations have been put together, beyond the fact that they are assembled with love, an innate understanding of the power of great pop music, and a skilled marriage of song and remixer — but does one really need anything more than that for an album to make sense? I’d suggest not.

It’s incredibly easy to get a remix wrong — as the back catalogues of far too many major labels, whose slapdash commissioning of the latest hot remixer half-guarantees an unsympathetic mangling of the song, can attest. At their best, remixes can make you look at an artist as though positioned from a different angle or using a different camera; sometimes hearing a song in a different context gives it a completely new meaning. “So you take a piece of a vocal…blah” says master remixer David Morales. “That’s a remix? That represents the artist? That doesn’t represent the artist, it represents you.” In the hands of the insensitive a remix is like chucking a song into the washing machine for a 100 extra spins.

In the hands of a master, things are a little more complex. Heavenly was all but founded on the art of the remix; our departed friend Andrew Weatherall remixed the first ever release, and the label has built up an immense catalogue in the intervening years that demonstrates all that is good about the art form.

Assembled on this compilation are twelve sterling examples of the remix, from Hanspeter Lindstrøm’s reading of Doves’ ‘Jetstream’, which turns their glistening pop into Lieutenant Pigeon meets Italo-disco (in a good way), to Andy Votel’s gentle folk-funk version of Halo Maud’s délicieuse ‘Des Bras’. We delve deep into the vaults for Saint Etienne’s ‘Filthy’, Monkey Mafia turning it into a rump-shaking groove perfectly suited to Q-Tee’s rap, while more recently, Flying Mojito Bros, purveyors of Tex-Mex house groove, reimagine Katy J. Pearson as a lonesome Lone Star lover.

Though not purposely themed, beyond being judiciously chosen as the catalogue’s finest gems, there’s a tiny hint of psychedelia about this set that is hard to ignore. Firstly, there are the acid contributions from Gabe Gurnsey, who knows his way around a coruscating bassline, and from Graham Massey, whose impeccable credentials in 808 State are brought to bear on ‘Valleys’, by young turks Working Men’s Club (acid house being modern psychedelia, whether the rock press approves or not).

Jono Ma, meanwhile, flips Night Beats’ amazing ‘Sunday Mourning’ into ‘Warm Leatherette’ on benzos, creating a disorienting glimpse of a dystopian Sunday that most definitely doesn’t include a genteel read of the papers and a nice cup of tea. On the other side of the miasma is Beyond The Wizard’s Sleeve’s redemptive re-interpretation of M. Craft’s ‘Chemical Trails’, which, alongside Boy Azooga’s ‘Face Behind Her Cigarette’ (Mikey Young remix), Gwenno’s ‘Chwlydro’ (R. Seiliog remix) and and Katy J. Pearson’s ‘Take Back The Radio’ (Flying Mojito Bros Refrito Dub), is issued on vinyl for the very first time.


This dozen tracks — each one curated, remixed and delivered with love (and a teensy bit of impertinence) — is just a glimpse into the catalogue of one the UK’s finest indie labels.

In the alternative reality in which I’d prefer to exist, this what Top of the Pops might sound like; or, at the very least, the jukebox in the Korova Milk Bar. Pop disruption at its best.