Hercules and Love Affair fixes disco

The debut album from Brooklyn's Hercules & Love Affair (the nom de guerre for producer Andy Butler and a cast of vocalists, including Antony Hegarty) pulls off one of the toughest tricks in electronica: making the past sound like the future. Unlike, say, the brutal grooves of Ed Banger or the icy meticulousness of Kompakt that defined 2007, the self-titled debut from Butler (above, right, with singer Kim Ann Foxman) is an expert smattering of old-school house and roller-rink disco that harks back to a lost New York where art-school casualties, stern cholos and gay club kids danced in peace on the cheap to Derrick May and Frankie Knuckles (it's also the best thing on DFA since the last LCD Soundsystem record, and in U.S. stores on June 24). We talked about what's gotten lost in dance music since that time, and how young producers can get it back.

Your record really evokes classic techno and disco that a lot of today’s young audience wasn’t even alive for. What do you think is still so vital about the sounds of that era?

Technology is so readily available that making dance music is very much within reach. It’s great on one hand, but making music thrived on process. What excites me most about disco and house is a solid song structure and focus on melody and harmony and emotion. A lot of contemporary dance music can be kind of flat; most producers are almost hidden behind technology, rather than working with basic ideas and principles that make great song.

That seems crucial to this record -- there’s so many different hooks and voices all over it. Did you write the songs with these singers in mind, or craft them around these voices?

It was more casual, just having people around me, people I knew could sing or thought could sing and just inviting them to participate. Antony, for instance, on “Blind,” he owned the part and sounds natural and comfortable for him.

You almost seem to know how to frame his voice better than he did on his solo record.

I’m a huge fan of his work; he aspires to be a great soul singer like Otis Redding. But when I heard his voice it made me think about the great disco singers. One of my favorite guys is Bernard Fowler, he is this amazing singer who now sings backup for the Rolling Stones, he has such a big, beautiful voice. Antony always reminded me of that, and Alison Moyet. He enjoyed recording with me very much; we walked into the studio and he was dancing right away.

In songs like “You Belong” there is a kind of old soul-song lamentation there. How does that sentiment fit in with a musical background that functions as party music?

The lyrics and poems I was writing were introspective or personal. Antony’s approach to writing is very emotional; that kind of sadness is something that comes naturally in his own writing. Some of my favorite dance music is about longing and heartbreak and struggle or pain. Those vocalists that emote so much pain are the ones that really move me. In disco music, you hear a lot of songs like that, and in house, especially deep house, there are lot of melancholy songs that made me want to dance like crazy. It’s a little more human, like there’s more to grasp.

What is it about these ideas of wounded masculinity, especially in the Hercules myth, that’s so interesting to you?

It’s about finding strength in those moments. I’d been dealing with a lot of lyrical content about growing up confused and gay and feeling isolated. When I was in college I studied Greek myth and found a whole series of myths about homosexuality. It was really striking that Hercules, the strongest man on earth, had all these male love affairs and was emotionally involved in them. I was struck by how it really spoke to different times. The time and place I grew up in were the opposite of that. This idea was not mainstream, that you could be strong and attracted to men.

It’s more about femininity and finding that balance and realizing that in vulnerability there’s something to be learned, and realizing that femininity is just as powerful as masculinity. In American culture especially, a typical man is expected to buckle up and shut down and make it through, and this was a very different image. It’s kind of cheesy, but people processing feelings is a good thing.

You’ve cited Arthur Russell as an inspiration and it sounds like you two have a lot in common with those ideas.

You could tell that guy had a community, and it was important to him. He’d found a family and put his spirit onto record. He was one of those artists at a time when mediums were blurred, he could have one foot in classical and one in disco, and that approach also inspired me. Today in New York, it’s hard to find that anymore, that anything-goes approach to just create. It doesn’t seem to happen as much and it’s a bit of a bummer.

What do you think has changed in New York in that regard?

I came to New York looking for a wild, creative, artsy place. I came in '96 and came expecting a New York from the early '80s or '70, but when I got there, there was a great difference, it was hard to find a dance party or small venue that didn’t charge a lot. There were mega clubs playing really hard music and charging a lot of money. It seemed to get worse: All the dance record stores closed, it was harder to get a cabaret license, New York was becoming more about lounges and money, and it got to the point where Manhattan is an island of commerce and consumption, a playground for people to come and buy. Even the outer boroughs are feeling more like that. It’s not a place that’s particularly hospitable to young artists who need to create and are compelled to work, it's so overwhelmingly expensive. I do think about leaving, especially to California, I love wide open spaces. I come from Colorado and there’s a standard of living that’s worth something.

Do you think that kind of shift in New York has muted the politics and the gay and minority origins of dance music culture?

I think that dance music served a purpose: It was about community-building and making people feel united and free and accepted. On one hand society has changed, you don’t necessarily have to wait for the weekend to go be around people like you; gay people are more readily accepted in mainstream society. In past, it was about coming together and feeling important and valid together. There was an idealism or optimism in dance music and that did get a little lost. Even in the '90s, people were still talking about bringing together different people, and even if it was hokey or simplistic, it was still there. It’s a little more like a personal party nowadays, it’s about getting off or being fabulous. Dance doesn’t seem to have that heart or drive anymore. One or two of the songs on the record attempt to speak to larger issues, and I sort of wish there was that positivity or healing quality to dance music. I love the spirit of those songs, ones written about being thankful or rejoicing or coming together.

How can dance artists get that back?

More great dance parties need to happen. More human beings need to be involved with making records instead of one or two guys and their computers. I have these jazz musicians touring with me and it’s so fun, just a crazy crew of personalities all coming together for music. More healthy, wholesome fun on dance floors would promote that.

--August Brown

Photo from Girlie Action PR