SUPA DJ DMITRY
Scream of Consciousness
TVT
As Bo Diddley once said, “You can’t judge a book by looking at its cover.” The same is true for album titles. (He also said, “You so ugly, you look like you’ve been hit with the ugly stick!”-but that is beside the point).
To start a review by discussing the failure of a musician to appropriately name his masterpiece is perhaps a little harsh, and probably superficial. It’s like asking a painter to sing the critical aspects of his picture. Nevertheless, if you will cut me some slack, I will explain.
Scream of Consciousness is a terrible name. Firstly, it is an unbelievably labored wordplay, the sort of thing I might think was entertaining if English were my second language. Or even my third, behind German and French. Secondly, dance music is not predominantly characterized by emotional out-pouring. It isn’t “conscious”-as I am sure millions of pill popping ravers would contest, if they weren’t off their faces. And thirdly, and most importantly, Supa DJ Dmitry is not screaming. Rather he is talking. He has to talk pretty loud to be heard over the incessant house but he is talking. Scream of Consciousness is a modest album.
This is Dmitry’s first solo release since the breakdown and subsequent breakup of Deee-Lite in the mid 90s. Dmitry met DJ Towa Tei (the Ying to Dmitry’s Yang, if you will) at New York’s Parsons School for Design. Deee-Lite were dance music superstars who went supernova and burnt out. Since then Towa has had an illustrious solo career, moving stylistically from alternative to downright freaky, but Dmitry has been quiet. To such an extent that when I asked my erstwhile dance compadre about the album, he thought I was talking about another DJ-namely Dmitri from Paris.
Dmitry obeys the recent progressive tendency of dance DJs to release mix albums containing a small selection of original tunes. Therefore any assessment of this album must be made not only on his production or creative skills, but also on his ability as a selector. Familiar, respectable names are scattered across the sleeve. The tracks also have a particularly international feel: with German, English, Italian and American tunes on show.
Dmitry’s own compositions are troublesome. Of the four on the album there is an equal distribution of diarrhea to dynamite. In particular Dmitry’s interpretation of the David Bowie classic “Space Oddity” is awful. Indeed that single tune enraged me so much that I almost made “bad versions of great tunes” the theme for this review-and the subsequent final synopsis would have read something like: never buy an album with songs on it that you already know, just download them from Napster. Save yourself the heartache and cash. Nevertheless, this is a noble effort from a once great mix-master.
