Sensual, Layered, and New: 10/11/2007

Trentemøller finds his own way to push e-music forward

By Dennis Romero

Los Angeles Times music critic Ann Powers recently argued that originality in pop is a fruitless measuring stick because all artists draw from a palette of "open source" musical history. She was disagreeing, in a way, with Elton John's bitter-old-man declaration that the Internet was helping pop become inbred, and that the Web should be shut down for five years for the good of musical creativity.

Both arguments are copouts. Originality is paramount. Artists should be pissing off their parents - and Elton John - for the evolution of culture. And the Web has been a breeding ground for originality, including a tidal wave of new sounds coming from the digital-production domain, a virtual palette of fresh paint that's helping to provide a tectonic shift in youth culture. Witness the renewed popularity of house act Daft Punk, the cool kids' enthusiasm for dance punk outfit Justice, and the irresistibly refined sounds of clubland artists such as deadmau5, 16 Bit Lolitas, and Trentemøller. They're underrated and inventive, wired and wireless.

Anders Trentemøller, in particular, has been a breath of fresh air to those of us willing to give originality the high regard it once had when pop actually exploded with freshness in the 1950s and '60s. The Danish techno sensation wowed The New York Times last year with his sweet-and-sour debut, The Last Resort and this week he unleashed a two-disc collection of remixes and rare productions called The Trentemøller Chronicles. The first disc is a moody mix-CD that moves like melting ice until firing up for four-on-the-floor faves such as his sensual, brooding "Moan." The second disc provides bubbly, melodious re-rubs of the likes of Royksopp, Moby, and Djuma Soundsystem (whose Trentemøller-graced "Les Djinns" will go down as a classic). The new compilation is a chance to feed the hunger of global fans who have slowly but surely begun looking for Trentemøller on MySpace and on e-music retail sites such as Beatport.com.

"I just heard that Elton John was saying the Internet has destroyed the whole scene, but I think it's totally the opposite," Trentemøller, 35, says during a break from a sound check at Avalon Hollywood last weekend. "It's opened up music to people all over the world. And it's helped people who can't afford a big studio and who can now come out without having a major label behind them."

Trentemøller himself came out of nowhere after a career gigging for rock bands as a keyboardist and teaching kindergarten during the daytime. In the early '00s, after having discovered dance music on a trip to London in the late '90s, he spent two years in self-imposed musical exile because he was unsatisfied with his own, derivative music. "I was a big fan of Daft Punk and [American techno pioneers] Kevin Saunderson and Derrick May. I found out I can try to sound like them, but it's not me. I spent a lot of time thinking about defining my own sound and being honest with myself."

The self-discipline worked, and in 2003 Trentemøller burst on the scene with a series of remixes ("Les Djinns") and originals ("The Trentemøller EP") that coincided with a creative renaissance in Europe's "minimal" techno circles. By last year, Trentemøller's classically infused sounds, multilayered mindscapes, and contrasting textures had taken the DJ world by storm. Not bad for a kid who started his artistic journey drumming on his mother's pots and pans and who never learned how to read music. These days, most of the major labels have knocked on his door, hoping to put out his next album, he says. It's still up in the air.

At last weekend's performance at Avalon Hollywood, Trentemøller was joined onstage by guitarist/bassist Mikael Simpson and drummer (and fashion designer) Henrik Vibskov for a sensational feast of sound and vision. Ambience gave way to bullet-train bass lines as video director Karim Ghahwagi, who's touring with the trio, tweaked images of (the notorious) Bettie Page. She wiggled, flirted, and gave the come-hither wink-and-finger, but it was just a fetishistic window into a 1950s era that was once rebellious and innovative. Trentemøller, hair over his eyes, banging on his software-controller pads, closed that window, and opened a new one. He calls it "electronic music that can touch you in a deeper way," and indeed, it did.