by ken micalef
...while many of these names are simply shifting pseudonymns among artists avoiding contractual connections, Luke Vibert's Plug moniker denotes a real change in
direction. Already known for his work as wacky trip-hopper Wagon Christ, Plug is an equally adventurous journey into drum'n'bass.
At Vibert's Chalk Farm
home, his bedroom studio is crammed with turntables, samplers, sequencers, and stacks of records: Betty and Bob Go To the Moon. The John Keating Explosion.
Zodiac: Cosmic Sounds. Vibert's collection of Moog delights and easy listening discs sit under a mint condition poster for 2001: A Space Odyssey. Vibert lights up
a long, thin joint and explains the origin of his drum 'n' bass forays. "Most of my mates, Richard James, Graham Sutton, and Tom Jenkinson; we're the ones who are
doing it. We're kind of making it for each other, that's how it started in some ways. We'd do it for fun, mainly, that's where the humor comes into my stuff."
Plug's Drum 'n' Bass For Papa shares Wagon Christ's fondness for absurdity. On Plug 12"s like Rebuilt Kev and Visible Crater Funk, easy listening horns sashay over
brittle breakbeats in a gesture of humor. Vibert takes the adolescent thrill of the first marijuana high and maintains it from record to record. Silly clavinet melodies
and languorous harps bounce over bossa nova breakbeats; a homeless man yells "I'm gonna funk the whole world up," over dribbling drums. Drum 'n' Bass For
Papa embellishes the joke with orchestral samples and fusion jazz noodlings forming the crux of some fascinating compositions. The center constantly shifts, giving
Plug's tracks a restless quality open to experimentation.
Vibert-Plug is so comfortable in his bedroom studio world that his tracks sound effortless. "I got into jungle
because I'd been doing the same production things that jungle does," he says, "just stupid things like little production details, and I always liked the rolls on snare
drums, and the half time feel. I like the cheesy stuff. If it's up to me, they'd all be called Cheesy."
Creating bass tones on a Syncussion box lent to him by the Aphex
Twin, Vibert finds old samples, and then samples them onto a keyboard. Ocassionally he'll play a melody himself off a Yamaha DX100, then wait for inspiration to
fire a track. "I never know what the original sound of a sample is that I use," he admits. "I have loads of DATs with samples that I go through. It kind of fucks me
up. I'll sample something like Kool and the Gang and not know it's them unless someone tells me. Oops. I didn't clear that! When you've listened to four hours of
beats and easy listening samples...who knows what's in there?" And while a track like Maker of All [from Drum'n'Bass For Papa], with it's bubbling tablas, swelling
strings, and sitar melody, recalls a Moroccan rendezvous with an exotic princess in a James Bond flick, Vibert is more likely to think of his songs with a seasonal
fondness.
"Sometimes I think of Christmas or some sort of bells, but I never get anything more than a general feeling. When you work so much on something, you
can't think of it as piece. I've done so many I forget what I've done. I hear them later and think they're wicked, at least the odd ones. I usually forget what I've done
and flake off into space."
Vibert maintains a unique work schedule, often staying up for days, then crashing a few hours, then getting back to work again. Saturday
night finds him watching his favorite show, "EastEnders," or he might be putting together a brief DJ set. Ultimately, Vibert would like carte blanche at the EMI
archives, or at least a stab at Motown. "My dream would be to meet someone who owned a record label in the 60's, who produced millions of albums, and gives
me free permission to sample anything. But I can't do that, it's a big tease. The Blue Note things [US3] were a wicked idea, but I didn't like what they'd done. It's
usually dickheads who get let in to do that."
Side two of Betty and Bob Go To the Moon goes on the table and a professional voice proclaims, "Space diary zero
seven solar calendar 1985. Good evening citizens of earth." Vibert laughs. "Ooh. That's a wicked sample." He grabs the platter and scratches it with his thumb,
mangling and repeating the vocal phrase. "This is your space diary commentator wishing you well." A new sample enters the Vibert synapses.
Are Vibert and his
crew really musicians, DJs, or programmers? Originally a keyboardist, then a drummer in punk bands, Vibert is now basically a bedroom geek who only goes out
to buy records, DJ occassionally, or catch a flick with his mates Richard James and Graham Sutton. Though he loves making tracks, be it Wagon Christ or Plug,
Vibert displays a boredom and restlessness familiar to all bedroom wizards. These sampling jockeys may be too clever for their own amusement, even while their
audience remains entranced. "I only get that shiver-down-my-spine feeling when I remember what playing in a band was like." Vibert stares at his hands, turning
them over as if to look for some clue to his fate. "I never get that DJing. I just see it as a piece of piss, really. The music I make. It's all so natural for me, but playing
drums, that was the hardest thing, it was an immediate buzz. DJing is great, but it's just not the same. Or maybe nothing will give me that feeling now. There are pros
and cons to each thing. People don't play my stuff to dance to, and I wouldn't want to hear the Plug stuff in a club, it's not the right vibe. It's headphone music."
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