- If Martin Buttrich was a football player, he would be Dietmar Hamann. If he was a car he would be a Volkswagen. If he were a set of metaphors he would be as safe as the two I've just employed.
Buttrich seems such a safe pair of hands. He's not going to do an interview ranting about how he hates Richie Hawtin and is terrified of the impending death of techno. We'll never know his views on vinyl versus digital (shudder.) He's not going to be photographed gurning and looking like a dehydrated camel at a gig. He's never going to do any of those things.
What he can do is produce. With no sense of wackiness or humour or anger to what he does, he's still an effortlessly brilliant producer. Sometimes, as with ‘Hunter’ on Cocoon last year, things just become too sterile, but on many other occasions you just have to give in to the appeal of his music. When they're good, Buttrich's records make you feel like you're sitting on a giant leather seat watching widescreen TV, not listening to music at all. His second Planet E EP, like his first, is one of the good ones.
These two Detroit bombs dropped on Carl Craig's Planet E label just before the Loco Dice album, which seems to have dropped without trace despite being one of the strongest dance LPs in a long time. Neither of the two tracks are radical or daring in terms of ideas, it's one note Amazonian house music again folks, but the execution is so perfect that it is physically difficult not to just give in. The title track overcomes a slightly iffy prog intro before plunging off one musical waterfall after another, spinning away on a whirlwind of sound. Deep may mean different things to different people, but if it carried no such baggage you would say it was the only word to describe this kind of music.
‘Cruise Control’ meanwhile continues the tropical odyssey. Listening to this you can't help but feel that Solomun coined the name for this entire genre with his 2007 single ‘Jungle River Cruise’. Even if you think you never want to hear another Innervisions aping (or Innervisions) record again then just challenge yourself to dive into Buttrich's ridiculous sound ocean. See if you can come out without feeling chastened for your lack of faith in his holy and pristine good works. It's unlikely.
This sound may be wearing thin after a few years, but nobody wears it like Martin.
A Stoned Autopilot
B Cruise Control