“The fact of the matter is, for me, most good music comes from suffering or from feeling some sort of extreme emotion,” Englehardt says.
“I was talking to somebody [recently], and he was talking about how right now, this is, like, the ‘zero generation’: it’s about kids getting enough medication to numb themselves so they don’t have to feel anything, and the music is a direct result of that—especially electronic music. There is no funk in it, there is no emotion, there is no jerk. It’s fucking flatlined.”
After talking about some current artists who haven’t—Theo Parrish, Jeff Mills, Legowelt, even Jack White—I think I’ve got a handle on this “dope jam” thing and point to a copy of Floating Points’ Shadows EP perched prominently on one of the walls. “Not for me, no,” he answers, which leads into a takedown of James Blake and some hand-wringing about the direction Burial is headed in.
“The quality of dance music is so bad right now,” Englehardt laments. “It’s so bad right now, I don’t even know what to do. It’s so hard for me to find records that I really like.”
”—“Dope Jams” - On Myrtle Avenue at the northeast tip of Clinton Hill, a historic handful of blocks sandwiched between Fort Greene and Bed-Stuy that Walt Whitman and Biggie Smalls have called home over the years, sits a storefront that at first glance might pass as one of these little churches.