Andrew Soren and I launched Selector in June 2017 with a straightforward mission. We believed that electronic music deserved uncompromising journalism, reporting that strives for objectivity and adheres to a high quality standard. In time, we would flesh out a strategy to introduce such an editorial voice to the community we held dear.

Early in the COVID pandemic, a series of small victories gave us hope that we were on the right path. We reported on cultural flashpoints like Tourmanagergate and shone a light on superstar DJs gigging in more lenient countries. We introduced a music coverage series called Sounds that used blind rating panels to eliminate bias from our selection process, a concept I still believe holds a lot of merit. At the end of the year, we successfully registered as a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization in an effort to eliminate the need for advertisers who could compromise our journalistic integrity.

We formally started fundraising in February of 2021. By March, our monthly revenue exceeded our monthly expenses, and by September, we recouped our startup costs. While we paid all of our writers as a matter of policy, the nonprofit was sadly still not bringing in enough money to compensate me — and I was working on it full time.

By November 2021, Andrew had departed, and I was the sole officer in charge of Selector. My savings dwindled to the point that I was forced to seek out writing and editing work elsewhere.

As far as I was concerned, this didn’t signal the end of the outlet. It simply needed to take the back burner while I focused on more pressing needs. We continued to publish articles — albeit less frequently — anticipating a time when we could devote more time and resources to a relaunch in earnest.

Three years later, the reason I’ve decided that it’s time to discontinue Selector is that if I were afforded such liberties today, I would no longer choose to build a platform like this one.

I still love electronic music dearly and maintain that it deserves true journalism. That simply does not mean the same thing to me that it did seven years ago. At that time, I bought into an underground dance music orthodoxy that, in hindsight, was anything but objective. At best, gatekeeping is silly and pretentious. At worst, it stifles what makes this ever-shifting creative frontier unique and special.

Much of the old guard clings to arbitrary ideas dictating what ought to constitute styles like techno, house, and jungle. These genres became so stratified in the first place because dance tracks are primarily tools made for DJs, meaning that the easier they are to mix together, the better they’ll sell. The tribal purism that now engulfs these descriptors works to their detriment, though. In a community that purports to embrace the future, countless artists paint themselves into infinitesimally small corners, resigning themselves to styles that I would argue have not evolved significantly for decades.

Make no mistake: I still believe in resisting the commercial influences that have long shaped electronic music’s evolution, and I personally prefer the more specialist flavors of almost all of its innumerable permutations. I can nonetheless admit that nothing new or groundbreaking is likely to emerge from them. Having studied the history of this movement at length, I assert that its most promising future innovators will almost certainly belong to a younger generation blissfully unaware of the intricate web of stigmas that bind those who came before them.

I have wondered countless times if Selector may have succeeded with one or two things playing out differently. What if we started earlier? What if we had a more streamlined website? What if I devoted more time to fundraising? There’s no way to know what combination of factors could have delivered the intended outcome.

What I do know today is that failure isn’t the worst thing that could have happened. I would loathe being stuck toiling away on a project that no longer aligns with my outlook, forced by audience capture to amplify the shortsighted perspectives my former self held.

That’s not to say I regret the time and effort I spent on Selector. I honed my editorial skills greatly by working on this media outlet; the experience I gained here has aided me immeasurably in other music and editorial endeavors. It also makes me proud that we provided promising writers with paid opportunities, and that we drew attention the works of undervalued artists.

I’m eternally grateful for the hard work and dedication of every collaborator on this project. To give credit where it’s due, it was Andrew’s idea in the first place — and for that matter, his strong editorial sense has informed my reporting since long before we worked together in any official capacity.

Our team of contributors were a major highlight for me. Cory Goldsmith was there at the very beginning, and Sky Stack also penned a few of our earliest pieces. Phil Scilippa, Saad Masood, Nick Yopko, Alex Dias, and Jeremy Howard did great work for us during the pandemic. The lattermost writer’s byline stayed active all the way through this year.

Jacob Stadtfelt, Ana Yglesias, Andy Macdonald, Andrew Wowk, and John Eperjesi all submitted content I was especially proud to publish on Selector. I also want to thank Ben Kreap, Evan Toutz, Kelvin Rodeo, Nicole Lopez, Umut Avialan, Dave Clarke, and Vincent Intrieri for their contributions.

I owe a similar debt of gratitude to all those who graciously donated to us over the years. I struggled with the reality that running a nonprofit required me to ask for money, but I was always moved by the generosity of the people who believed in our mission. There are too many to name, but Jeffrey Keenan, Christian Friedland, Mike Hymbaugh, Alexise Ramirez, and Jim McClain were among our biggest donors.

Lastly, thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading Selector. If you’ve enjoyed our reporting, I implore you to meditate on the ideas I’ve shared in my final piece and consider whether deprogramming any of your own attitudes on music could help you contribute more meaningfully to dance culture. Words hold power, and it behooves a community as introspective as ours to choose them carefully.

As for me, I don’t know what my next labor of love will look like. I’m nonetheless certain that concluding this one will free up the space I need to imagine such a presently nameless, shapeless idea.

Prior to arriving at Charivari, my sole basis of comparison was the quintessential Detroit dance music gathering Movement Music Festival. The two hardly compare, as it turns out. Movement practically transforms the city into little Berlin for Memorial Day Weekend with small doses of local flavor permeating through. Charivari platforms Detroit house and techno itself, with what strategic bridges connect it to outside nightlife hubs supporting the local scene more than they overshadow it.

This understandably results in a much smaller event. Obscured from Jefferson Avenue by buildings in various stages of disrepair, Historic Fort Wayne is much more tucked away than Hart Plaza, the riverside downtown plaza that annually hosts Movement. Roughly 2,500-3,000 Charivari 2023 attendees enjoyed 51 DJs split between two stages, a tenth of the approximately 25-30,000 daily Movement attendees.

Each Charivari stage went by a different name depending on which day of the festival it was. Importantly, neither was ever billed as the main stage.

Image credit: Peter Hydorn

Charivari partner Todd Johnson could be found at the ticketing table, a long stretch of field away from the festival grounds when the first DJs took to the decks at 5:00 PM on Friday. He seldom left his post. Johnson opted instead to greet partygoers as they came and left and get the sort of face time afforded to workers on the ground floor.

“There’s two elements of Charivari that even amongst ourselves we’ve always argued about,” Johnson told Selector in between conversations with entrants. “One thing I’ve stayed firm on is that I don’t want a central stage or main stage. Every stage is the same, and the sound guy brings the same equipment. At other events, you find the headliners have better sound. I don’t care who it is, I’ve always told production that every stage has the exact same bass, treble, whatever.”

“There’s no skybox, no DJ VIP area,” added Charivari partner Daniel Pembroke, who performed on Friday as UNKWN.IO. “You’ll see Rick Wilhite walking around, Eddie Fowlkes walking around, last year Juan Atkins walked around — all these people might be sitting in a chair right next to you. It’s not like you play and then we shift you over here and keep you separate. That’s the whole community part.”

Friday got off to a slow start, with a small handful of revelers present for Moses Malone’s back-to-back set with DJ Roach opening the Techno Original stage. The rain — albeit sparse — didn’t help matters. It cleared up around the beginning of Rebecca Goldberg’s performance on the same stage, which later hosted standout sets by locals Luke Hess and Detroit Techno Militia.

On the Passion Stage, DJs like Aboudi Issa, Johnny Malek, and DJ Cent demonstrated the wide creative range possible through house music. The festival grounds finally filled up by nightfall, just in time for closing sets by celebrated locals DJ Minx and Henry Brooks on Passion and Techno Original, respectively.

Minx’s rise to fame preceded that of Brooks by a few years. If his Friday night showing was any indication, though, he’s not all that far behind. Brooks is the rare sort of DJ who commands stage presence simply by constantly moving with uninhibited purpose behind the decks. In the world of techno — where authenticity is hailed above all else — his thought-provoking selections and precise mixing point to a promising future ahead.

“I’ve definitely done a lot over the past couple years,” Brooks told Selector shortly before his set. “I got signed to an agency for the first time last summer, which has helped me. I’ve also been playing more shows out of state and out of the country, so I’ve been growing a lot more that way. It’s still always good to come back to Detroit, and to play a local festival.”

Detroit dance music lovers converged on the festival grounds much earlier the following day. The two stages, now billed West Coast Vibe Stage and Wonderful Stage, enjoyed thick crowds long before the sun dipped below the horizon.

On the former, artists like Julius The Mad Thinker, Oscar P, and Fowlkes — a key Detroit techno innovator — delivered standout performances before West Coast house don Doc Martin closed down the show. On the latter, female talent like DJ D.Luxe, DJ Lady D, and Johnson’s own daughter Sillygirlcarmen cued up crowd-pleasing numbers in brisk succession.

Eddie Fowlkes. Image credit: Peter Hydorn

DJ D.Luxe. Image credit: Peter Hydorn

Oscar P. Image credit: Peter Hydorn

Sillygirlcarmen. Image credit: Peter Hydorn

On the third and final day, West Coast Vibe rebranded to the Legacy Stage, and Wonderful to the Driven Stage. Living up to its name, Legacy billed Detroit mainstays like Rimarkable, Gary Chandler, Rick Wilhite, and Delano Smith.

Meanwhile, on the Driven Stage, performers like Alton Miller, Glenn Underground, and Osunlade provided a necessary sonic counterbalance. Also on Driven’s Sunday lineup were Chicago-based artists Andrew Emil and Fortune, who performed a back-to-back set together as the final component of a unique editorial crossover.

Emil and Fortune (real name Jessica Fenner) co-wrote an article titled “From Chicago House to Detroit Techno” that was published on the Charivari website in the weeks leading up to the event. Their piece explores the double refraction of creative ideas between the two cities through a timeline of key records. Specifically, it paints a picture of how disco’s late ‘70s demolition gave rise to house music in Chicago’s gay, Black and Latino communities, which then laid the foundation for Detroit techno.

“It references about 50-60 records and tells the story from the ‘70s all the way up to today, basically,” Emil told Selector during Delano Smith’s closing set on the Legacy Stage. “What we did for the back-to-back set is we proposed to Todd, ‘Hey, we did the editorial article, and we want to do a performance piece,’ so we just played music from that article. We started with about 200 tracks, and we got it down to about 60, and then we played about 24 over the course of the hour.”

Emil, who relocated to Chicago from Kansas City in 1998, enlisted help from Fenner for the article after finding himself overwhelmed by the deep personal significance of its topic matter to him. She helped him find engaging ways to connect a lot of the dots.

In one instance, she gave him the idea to contact Greg Loftis and Mike Clark to obtain new quotes about the legendary tale of Detroit techno forerunner Derrick May selling his TR-909 drum machine to the late Chicago house figurehead Frankie Knuckles. “What [Emil] maybe didn’t realize was that he had the ability to verify this,” she told Selector.

Fenner also pushed to include details about artists belonging to marginalized groups overshadowed by the prevailing dance music narrative. “As a woman of color in house and techno for the last 25 years, that was a really important angle,” Fenner said. “A lot of women historically haven’t been given as much prominence as they should.”

Toward the end of our conversation about historic records, Smith serendipitously cued up the final track of the festival: “Sharevari” by A Number of Names. All in attendance sang in unison to its titular lyric, which sounds phonetically identical to “Charivari.” Only a select few deeply embedded in the culture recognized its full significance, however.

Charivari Then and Now

As detailed in the late Dan Sicko’s 1999 book Techno Rebels: The Renegades of Electronic Funk, teen promoters Charles Clark and Kevin Bledsoe and started the Charivari high school social club in the late ‘70s. During this transitional period, industrious Black youths began to fill Detroit’s recreational vacuum with self-organized social club parties.

These amateur promoters operated in event halls and community spaces. Predating the sci-fi-inspired themes of techno and the rugged bravado of hip-hop, their version of escapism was to associate themselves with luxury brands. Charivari derived its name from New York City clothing stores that Bledsoe visited while attending fashion school.

The Charivari parties gained momentum in 1980 and even inspired Johnson, who attended these seminal gatherings, to start his own social club called Gables. Smith, then a champion of an early Midwest dance music style called progressive, also partook — and Fowlkes has cited a Charivari event as the first party he ever attended.

At the same Charivari party that moved Johnson to launch Gables, an Italo disco-inspired record made its debut. Local group A Number of Names recorded “Sharevari” for the express purpose of giving it to DJ Darryl Shannon to play during his set (and they changed the spelling so as not to elicit ire from the promoter). The record’s warbling synths and earworm spoken word verses caught the attention of Charles “The Electrifying Mojo” Johnson, who rinsed it on his WGPR radio show.

It bears mentioning that the influential radio DJ has no relation to Todd Johnson, who went on to provide sound, booking, and promotion for Charivari events during the brand’s first incarnation. Then, in 2014, he was instrumental in its rebirth as an annual outdoor music festival.

“When we created Charivari Detroit, we were trying to bring back how we felt as high school kids and young adults when we were partying and everything just seemed more free and fluid,” Johnson told Selector. “It was just about fun. Everything is so much business now, and who’s the more popular DJ, and who’s connected with this guy — it’s so cliquey.”

The first installments of Charivari Detroit Music Festival were free to the public, and organizers still managed to pay all of the DJs. They would eventually need to start charging admission as the brand grew, but Johnson and company have worked to keep it accessible. Children still attend for free, and tickets are gifted to many facing disadvantages.

Image credit: Peter Hydorn

Michelle Cook has attended Charivari since the inaugural 2014 festival and now helps out as a volunteer. “The difference here is that it’s so accommodating, and it’s exceptionally family friendly,” she told Selector during a moment of rest on Sunday. “There’s flexibility in regards to them saying, ‘Yes, we want you to come, we want you to enjoy this, and if there’s a barrier to that then we’re gonna break it down.’”

Cook maintains that even as the festival has gotten bigger, its focus on the community hasn’t wavered. She said, “Charivari has been doing this for a long time and it has not changed, even with exposure and popularity.”

As popular as it might be in certain circles, Charivari will not appeal to everybody. Each stage’s modest production and sound aren’t likely to impress those accustomed to the immersive experiences now commonplace at big-budget festivals. While Charivari’s organizers make it a point to take small steps forward (like adding LED walls behind each DJ booth this year), the end result still pales in comparison to the sensory overload of Movement, let alone that of even grander festivals EDC Las Vegas or Tomorrowland in Belgium.

Charivari is intended for the subset of techno and house lovers who take an active interest in studying and preserving the roots of this music. It’s more than a time capsule or ode to a bygone era, though. It’s a means of supporting artists who are shaping the future of Detroit dance music, and such a bold mission will always require sacrifices.

Daniel Pembroke, Johnson’s partner on Charivari Detroit Music Festival, told Selector: “Compared to other festivals where it’s corporate, this is the feeling of Detroit with diversity instead of whitewashing. This is not a white-owned festival. When people come here, they always talk about what a great community and culture it is here. You’re feeling part of Detroit.”

Image credit: Peter Hydorn

Leaving Charivari at midnight on Sunday afforded entrants a picturesque view. Downstream from the festival site towered two enormous, cable-stayed support towers that will one day bear the load of the Gordie Howe International Bridge. After its projected 2025 completion, the structure will simplify travel to and from Windsor, Canada from the Motor City.

Although not as imposing, the constellation of tents and stages at its feet manifested from a similarly connective vision. Dance music in Detroit remains a grassroots movement even after four decades, one remarkably welcoming to visitors.

The September 23rd gathering in Glasgow features performances by DJ Boring, FJAAK, Eclair Fifi, High Hoops, Bake and Junior. Both the Belfast and Dublin events take place the following night. Billed for the former are Mella Dee, Holly Lester, Inside Moves, and Ricky Chong. The lineup for the latter includes Joy Orbison, DART and Siofra.

AVA Connections’ organizers tout the events as “community-led parties” in “three of our favorite places.” They intend to showcase “international talent, vital local artists, and cutting-edge venues pushing our scene forward.”

Sarah McBriar launched AVA after finding inspiration during a visit to longtime Somerset, England gathering Glastonbury Festival. Following the the inaugural 2014 event, it grew to a weekend-long gathering that also serves as a music industry conference. Previous editions of the festival have billed the likes of Bicep, Ejeca, Floorplan, Helena Hauff, Rebekah and Honey Dijon.

Additional headliners have yet to be announced for the Glasgow event, according to a flyer. Purchase tickets and find additional information on the AVA Festival website.

Ahead of the full album, Eno has shared the music video for a lead single titled “There Were Bells.” He recorded it while preparing for a 2021 performance at the Acropolis in Athens, including a somewhat rare vocal delivery.

“Garden Of Stars,” which Eno performed at the same event, will also appear on FOREVERANDEVERNOMORE.

According to a press release, anxieties around climate change inspired Eno’s 22nd solo album. “Like everybody else — except, apparently, most of the governments of the world — I’ve been thinking about our narrowing, precarious future, and this music grew out of those thoughts,” he said. “Perhaps it’s more accurate to say I’ve been feeling about it…and the music grew out of the feelings.”

“Those of us who share those feelings are aware that the world is changing at a super-rapid rate, and that large parts of it are disappearing forever…hence the album title,” Eno continues. “These aren’t propaganda songs to tell you what to believe and how to act. Instead they’re my own exploration of my own feelings.”

Find the tracklist for FOREVERANDEVERNOMORE by Brian Eno below, and preorder the album across platforms here.

01. Who Gives a Thought
02. We Let It In
03. Icarus or Blériot
04. Garden of Stars
05. Inclusion
06. There Were Bells
07. Sherry
08. I’m Hardly Me
09. These Small Noises
10. Making Gardens Out of Silence

Like so many bitter feuds in dance music, this controversy stems from a disagreement over whom is rightly credited as the forerunner a genre. In this case it’s acid house, so named for the quintessential 1987 single “Acid Tracks” produced by Dj Pierre (real name Nathaniel Pierre Jones) alongside Herbert Jackson and the late DJ Spank Spank (real name Earl Smith Jr.) under the name Phuture.

How it Started

In April, Jones shared a screen shot of a since-deleted post from the Facebook page I Love Acid. “It wasn’t the first but it’s easily one of the best,” it reads. “No wonder a whole genre took its name from this timeless classic.”

“Get your facts and the story right,” wrote Jones. “People hate (specifically when the person is Africa American) when someone has done something, or created/invented a thing that they themselves couldn’t have imagined ’before’ having experienced that thing that you created.”

The confusion likely arose due to varying opinions on what constitutes acid house. A broader definition might include any dance music single in which a Roland TB-303 Bass Line was used — of which there were many prior to “Acid Tracks.” Among them are Alexander Robotnick‘s 1983 Italo disco single “Problemes D’Amour” and seminal 1984 house music record “On and On” by Jesse Saunders and Vince Lawrence. The 303 features prominently in “No Way Back” by Adonis, which could explain why the artist chose “@AcidOriginator” as his Twitter handle.

A more focused definition identifies a specific sound made by the 303 as the crucial hallmark of acid house. The resulting squelch when specific knobs are turned farther than the synthesizer’s manufacturers likely intended was what elicited a visceral reaction on the dance floor when Ron Hardy first played “Acid Tracks” out at the Muzic Box.

The warped 303 sound was indeed what made acid house trigger a veritable culture revolution in the U.K., where ecstasy users embraced its bold exploration of timbre and texture. Selector recently explored some of the underrated gems in this style by the likes of Van Christie and Armando in the inaugural acid house edition of our “Hot Track Time Machine” series.

Mr. C (real name Richard West) sees the matter differently. “Hey DJ Pierre, you know I love you to bits and support you 100%, but the post was completely kind and complimentary saying how ‘Acid Tracks’ was so good they named the genre after it,” he wrote. “I’d have been flattered by that post, not vexed. First is not important, but if it were I’d go back to 1982 for the first acid house tune I ever heard…”

West linked to “Raga Bhairav” from the late Charanjit Singh‘s 1982 album Synthesizing: Ten Ragas To A Disco Beat. The composition explores an Indian raga — or melodic mode — using the 303. In a 2011 conversation with The Guardian, Singh seemed bemused by the notion that his 1982 works could be compared to acid house.

“Let me shine some light on this for you as to me I see this not as support but as a slick why to throw salt and doubt into our legacy,” reads part of a lengthy comment left by Jones. “The acid sound isn’t the programming of the notes, it’s the twisting of the knobs that made the sound become something different…”

“…We are Black American and proud of it, and we alone created that sound, named the sound, and were the first to make that 303 do something that it was never meant to do,” Jones continued. “And that’s the reason why that machine means something to this world and also why the genre of acid house exists today! I will never let anyone get away with trying to shape it any other way.”

In a subsequent comment, Jones expanded on what he perceives as a whitewashing of dance music history. “I can never wrap my mind around how white people will fight tooth and nail against the thought of how strong discrimination is in this music and as a whole in our societies,” he wrote. “You guys act like you’re the authority on it? How can you be an authority on something that you can’t even acknowledge exists, or have never experienced living in a world were everything is always about a different race besides yourself?”

“This is a brilliant thread,” wrote West, apparently unwilling to argue his position. “So much information from its original source. Great posts everyone.”

How it’s Going

On Wednesday, Jones posted a tribute to Erick Morillo, who died in September 2020 a month after he was arrested on suspicion of sexual battery. West, a vocal figure amid the resurgence of #MeToo testimonies of the same year, felt “triggered” enough to leave a pointed comment.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish. I hope he rots in Hell,” wrote West. “Oh and nice post to trigger all your fans who are rape and sexual assault trauma victims. How thoughtful of you… not!”

Jones responded by amending his post to call West a “racist, opportunistic hater.” He wrote, “…I am NOT OBLIGATED to ‘simply’ believe these accusations just because they were made and neither do you. I am in control my mind and my thoughts, not you or this world, and at this point the full story can never be known so I’m not cosigning anything!”

The argument carried on into Wednesday, when Jones tagged West in a follow-up post linking to a The Conversation article about racism in Britain. West wrote about the situation in a post of his own, rejecting the notion that he could be racist on the grounds that he has performed anti-racist activism.

“I’ve always stood for equality on every level Including equality for all people of color, not just Black people, Indian, brown and Asian people too, the LGBTQ community, equal rights for women and so much more,” West wrote. “Of course I don’t need to point that out on this page but it’s only right we let the incoming sycophants know what they dealing with before they make themselves look as foolish as Pierre has just done.”

The feud between DJ Pierre and Mr. C does not appear to have resulted in any significant career fallout for either artist at this time. It remains to be seen whether they can remain civil towards each other in dance music’s relatively close-knit dance music — or better yet, one day reach an understanding with one another.

The inaugural September 10th event will be headlined by Hercules and Love Affair, the dance music project of Andy Butler. It will reportedly be their first set in London since 2018. Also on the bill are Roi Perez, Hannah Holland, Josh Caffe, Dan Beaumont, Harry Gay, and Gin & Mica. Music will range from techno to house and electro to UK funky.

 

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A post shared by MILK (@milktheparty)

The team behind MILK is the same that helped introduce Little Gay Brother, Chapter 10, Body Movements, Dalston Superstore, Feel It, and Dance Tunnel.

HERE is reportedly the biggest event space built in Central London since 1940. It’s spread across four floors, one of which boasts a floor-to-ceiling 16k screen, and is located underneath London’s historic Denmark Street.

“From a venue standpoint, this is the most exciting development that has happened to London’s music, arts and culture scene in a very long time,” said HERE Artistic Director Leo Green.

Find tickets and additional information in the debut edition of MILK via DICE.fm.

Southwark Council approved plans to bulldoze a portion of the structure currently devoted to the storied venue. The decision was made in a July 11th meeting, according to My London. It is part of an initiative called the Canada Water Masterplan intended to transform a 21.27 hectare area around Canada Water into a metropolitan hub, creating 20,000 jobs in the process.

The though of Printworks shuttering its doors is nonetheless controversial. As of this writing, over 10,000 people have signed a Change.org petition to prevent the venue from meeting its apparent fate. It cites data from the Night Time Industries Association indicating that London has lost nearly 25% of its nightclubs since the beginning of the COVID-19 crisis.

Printworks London opened its doors to the public in 2017 with a gathering headlined by Seth Troxler, The Martinez Brothers, and Loco Dice. In the years since, acts like Bicep, Gorillaz, and Aphex Twin have performed at the venue. Its parent company, Broadwick Live, recently shared plans to open another warehouse space called The Beams London.

David Waters of British Land has said that the property management company is working with Broadwick live to open a new “cultural venue” in the Canada Water area.

Tutti of course incorporated Derbyshire’s own recordings into the soundtrack. Accompanying them are original compositions by Tutti herself which derive influence from the early electronic music innovator’s body of work. Ahead of the release, Tutti has shared a preview of the aptly titled “Psychedelic Projections.”

“The compositions are inspired by my research of the Delia Derbyshire audio archive, Delia’s original compositional notes and techniques which in combination with my admiration and love of Delia’s work provided a way to integrate her style and approach to music with my own,” said Tutti. “An alliance of our sensibilities.”

Derbyshire is celebrated as an electronic music trailblazer for her work with the BBC Radiophonic Workshop during the ’60s. She composed the iconic theme music for the television show Dr. Who, and after she died of renal failure in 2001 267 reel-to-reel tapes were found alongside over 1,000 papers in her attic. Shortly after the premiere of Delia Derbyshire: The Myths And The Legendary Tapes, Derbyshire’s career was also explored in a film titled Sisters with Transistors about female electronic music pioneers.

Cosey Fanni Tutti is an English musician and writer perhaps best known for her role in pioneering industrial music group Throbbing Gristle in the ’70s. Her body of work spans visual works, performance art, and even pornography. 2019 saw the release of her eight-song album, Tutti.

The Delia Derbyshire: The Myths And The Legendary Tapes soundtrack is available for preorder in clear vinyl record format via Cargo Records.

“After many years of litigation, Bahía de San Antonio S.A has acquired the shares owned by José María Etxaniz of the company Baltanxa S.A, owner of Privilege, within a judicial process,” GEM announced in a statement to Mixmag. The undisclosed amount paid for the 55% ownership is estimated at 20 million, according to Diario de Ibiza.

Extaniz had sued GEM for unfair competition on the grounds that Ushüaia, another one of their properties, operates as a club without being subject to the same licensing rules as other clubs. The High Court of Justice of the Balearic Islands deemed the venue’s license as a hotel establishment “not controversial” and rejected the argument.

The space now known as Privilege Ibiza had previously been occupied by the storied Ku Club since 1979. Extaniz has held majority stake in the club since 1995, when it was finally rebranded.

The club has fallen into disrepair after having been closed for the past two years, according to Periódico de Ibiza. The renovations necessary to reopen the club will preclude it from operating for the remainder of the 2022 season.

Hebden’s original claim was that Domino owed him 50% of royalties on streams and downloads of his catalogue, but the label had only paid him 18%. Their original contract did not specify terms for streaming as it did not significantly factor into recorded music revenues at the time. Domino initially argued that misinterpreted the terms of the contract, but Hebden now says that the label is recognizing his original claim.

“[Domino Records] have recognized my original claim, that I should be paid a 50% royalty on streaming and downloads, and that they should be treated as a license rather than the same as a CD or vinyl sale,” Hebden tweeted. “It has been a difficult and stressful experience to work my way through this court case and I’m so glad we got this positive result, but I feel hugely relieved that the process is over.”

Hebden went on to say that he didn’t achieve 100% of his desired outcome. “Sadly, Domino still own parts of my catalogue for life of copyright and would not give me an option to take back ownership,” he wrote.

Born in Putney, England, Hebden first made a name for himself as the guitarist of a post-rock band called Fridge formed in 1995. His first foray into electronic music saw him release the single “Double Density” under the moniker 4T Recordings in 1997, and by 1998 he adopted the stage name Four Tet to release tracks like “Thirtysixtwentyfive” and “Misnomer.” His 2001 album Pause marked his first release on Domino Recordings.

“I hope these types of life of copyright deals become extinct,” wrote Hebden. “The music industry isn’t definitive and given its evolutionary nature it seems crazy to me to try and institutionalise music in that way.”