Sascha Funke - Mango

CLUBLAND FEBRUARY

A slack gray sheet of cloud whimpers across the London sky, spluttering greasy grains of moisture on to my head as I await the bus that begins my morning commute. I push my ear phones deep in to my aural cavity, remnant drops of my recent shower suctioning loudly against the pliable rubber moldings. There’s only one way to blank the pressed humanity of London’s daily commute, the jostling throngs of scurrying maze-rats about tube stations, the weak pushed aside or trampled underfoot.
Music, the sunglasses of the ears.

This morning Sascha Funke’s new album, Mango will be my travel companion, my guide across the city to deliver me calmly into the hands of my employer. It’s been nearly four and a half years since the Berliner’s spotless debut album, Bravo. It sounded like nothing else at the time; crisp, taut, techno pop that seemed to have nothing to do with the Berlin warehouse aesthetic.
The top level of the double decker greets me with two rows of blank stares, people accommodating closeness without intimacy, togetherness without a scrap of camaraderie. The chiming warmth of the title track washes its first signals over me and I know that no amount of errant dandruff, close-quarters flatulence or sneaky spud digging will break the surface of my crystalline calm today.
In the past four or so years Funke has hardly been prolific, but the handful of twelve inch releases and remixes he has performed have kept his name at the fore of the techno elite. Mango eclipses those releases, as if he was only running at half steam when he remixed ‘Beautiful Life’ or ‘Baby Kate’ and all of a sudden pushed the throttle all the way forward for the album.
The plucked bass guitar licks of ‘Mango’ are dulcetly toning as the council estates of Hoxton sweep by in the haze of dawn and condensation. A swelling string tide eventually ebbs and the delayed piano chords of ‘We Are Facing the Sun’ sound as we round upon the Old Street junction heading toward the financial black heart of the city.
Off the bus and forcing my way through the stern hurry-to’s seeking solace from the gusting wind corridor. Nearing upon the tube station as ‘Feather’ whispers melancholic somethings in my ear, I witness an explosion, the underground no longer able to keep down the contents of its stomach, spewing out a slew of human stew to the streets. Push away the free tube paper thrust in my face and take stairs, two at a time till I am subterranean, striding against the last evacuation of human bile retched from the steely worms. Now on the platform, chill snapping at neck and heel, a gust of fetid air as my train rumbles into sight and eventually stops to grant carriage. Here Mango somehow senses the darker recesses of my surroundings and changes its mood accordingly. ‘Double Checked’ broods and grooves, a sombre throaty vocal underpinning the clubby dirge, whilst ‘Lotre’ is a more urgent, pressing track with big eighties toms and its own set of voxal treats. The tube pressing itself through narrow tunnels and emerging time and again at a fresh underground portal, willing if not able to take on fresh passengers. People vie for pole positions, grasp a ramrod stabilizer and attempt to go about their morning functions, grabbing a few minutes of their novel or like myself, cloaked in a fleecy blanket of sound. Mango ebbs again as my journey nears completion, with ‘Chemin des Figons’ wistfully thrumming, softly padding another day of labour.
Fingers of sun streak the slick high street at Kensington as I leave the station, dodging puddles of toff puke that are hop scotched down the pavement outside the up-market clubs of the area, marking last night’s revelry of footballers and other garden variety celebrities.
Funke has the concept of the techno album down pat. He knows how to build through the tracks to introduce the harder or more minimal material and still have it bear relevance to the whole. He knows that even the deep numbers have potential dance floor appeal and that the odd ambient interlude doesn’t go astray as long as it doesn’t go awry.


Silverbeat’s Top 5

Sascha Funke – Mango
Bruno Pronsato – Why Can We Be Like Us
Sebo K – Far Out
Bukaddor & Fishbeck – Sceada
Quantec – Lunar Orbitor

Classic

Terranova DJ Kicks