Making rugged subcultures “respectable” with orchestras

By J.H.

GOLDIE’s “Timeless” (1995) album was a watershed moment for London’s then-maturing jungle scene. Influenced by the formative house and techno music being made in Chicago and Detroit, it balanced rapid-fire rhythms—built from sampling and manipulating 60s funk and soul drum breaks—with a radio-friendly musicality. Technologically and musically innovative, the album brought forward-thinking music to a widespread audience.

On the 24th and 25th of February, Ronnie Scott’s, a jazz club in London, will host live orchestral renditions of Goldie’s music. A group that describes itself as “[messing] with other people’s music, and [keeping] orchestral tradition in the cellar”, the Heritage Orchestra—a 30-60 piece ensemble arranged and conducted by Jules Buckley—will offer their own take on Goldie’s anthemic jungle staples (not for the first time, either; they combined in 2015 for an anniversary performance of “Timeless”). Holding around 300 attendees for each of the show’s four performances, the venue’s candle-lit, seated comfort is some way removed from the dark, sweat-soaked basements which hosted the original material. Goldie himself says that “these new arrangements reflect the most honest, and bold, insight into who I really am and where my heart wants to be.”

The shows mark a growing trend for orchestral renditions of celebrated dance music and hip-hop. Founded in 2004, Mr Buckley’s group has carved out a niche in helping established acts—like Bjork and Massive Attack—realise grand, opulent live versions of their music. Last November, they collaborated with DJ Pete Tong on his “Classic House” album, covering such cheesy dance tracks such as Eric Prydz’s “Piano” and The Shapeshifters’ “Lola’s Theme”. At the same time, Miguel Atwood-Ferguson, a violinist and composer, brought his “Suite For Ma Dukes” show to the Barbican Centre in London, leading a 17-piece ensemble in performing a selection of works by J Dilla, a much-vaunted hip-hop producer.

Mr Atwood-Ferguson argues that there is a natural marriage of the genres; he considers J Dilla, who died in 2006, comparable to Mozart, Beethoven and other titans of classical music. The technical ability underlying J Dilla’s approach, he argued, ranked him in the same class: an artist who figured as one of the forward-thinking innovators of his time. The problem is that the genres do not always fit together easily. Reimagining J Dilla’s songs with a big, bombastic string section—à la Mozart or Beethoven—obscures the particular makeup of his musical genius. Celebrated for the complex, unexpected rhythms he built from sampled and re-mapped drum sounds, a live band cannot faithfully recreate those subtle, machine-manipulated nuances. What’s more, his later work—in particular “Donuts”, his final album—created collages out of soul records, with whole sections sampled in their entirety. It encouraged interesting questions about the relationship between a producer and the material they draw on; once a live band performs it as a standalone track, the subtle distinction is lost.

“Timeless” also emerged from a 90s music scene rejuvenated by technology. Snapped up by young, enterprising producers working from their bedrooms, it opened up new possibilities: Goldie is credited with time-stretching vocals in ways not previously considered. As a result, the landmark works of dance music and hip-hop are often rough and ready enterprises: pushing volumes, basslines and musical sensibilities to their outer limits, a brash aesthetic is part of the appeal. By transforming them into works of preened and manicured prestige, it implies that the best way to recognise their cultural significance is through filtering out the elements which best defined them.

Perhaps the shows are designed to appeal to the raver generation, now settled and moneyed. Held in cushion-seated, established cultural institutions—with ticket prices reaching £50—it is a trip down memory lane enhanced by comfort. Leaving long queues, sticky floors and smoke machines in the past, the draw of the events is easy to see; how much it honours the spirit of the music seems more dubious.

It is good news that dance music and hip-hop are being afforded the same reverence as the traditional bastions of high culture. But in revering them, we should remember their murkier roots: instead of polished, cleaned up recreations, we should celebrate them in all their scuffed up, subversive glory. J Dilla’s musical legacy should be honoured complete with loping, drunken drums and speaker-rattling basslines. The same is true of the hazy, euphoric memories of jungle—“Timeless” should be recalled with its abrasive foundations left firmly intact.