Pitchfork

When Pitchfork electronic music guru Mark Richardson notes that there's been a "perceptible dip in interest in experimental electronic music in recent years"-- as he recently did in his review of Fennesz's exceptional Venice-- I'm inclined to trust his judgment. What's always reluctantly been called IDM does seem less compelling by the day, victimized by both process music that makes for a better backstory than listening experience and a roughly three-year flood of experimental electronic refuges seeking shelter in the more rewarding and head-turning world of tech-house.

The rise of tech-house-- and its annexation of the best work of former Clicks & Cuts-style producers such as Vladislav Delay, Hakan Libdo, Reinhard Voigt, and Jan Jelinek-- may seem like a very large nail in IDM's potential pine box, but it also pointed a way forward for electronic head music. The message: Shave your beard. Loosen up. Have fun. Since then, several artists have pulled off the trick by re-engaging with clubland, making music that-- while compelling in any environment-- often works best in a dancefloor context.

Jason Forrest doesn't make dance music, but unlike most IDM producers he doesn't shy away from the vitality and immediacy of it, either. Forrest is still probably best known as Donna Summer, former host of WFMU's "Advanced D&D" radio program and leader of the impish breakcore collective Cock Rock Disco. That tag is essentially what The Unrelenting Songs of the 1979 Post Disco Crash sounds like: brash and big, furious and frantic, and best enjoyed loud. And it's performed with a sly wink and nods to everyone from Prefuse 73 to dj/Rupture, while drawing samples from sources as diverse as Talking Heads, Elton John, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and The Who.

Forrest isn't much for minimalism. Perhaps a lesson learned from his WFMU days, he offers his listeners instant gratification-- which is a good thing, as these days, our fingers twitch just as impatiently over the iPod dial as they do the radio tuner. So, like The Avalanches' Since I Left You or Basement Jaxx's Kish Kash, this is a maximalist record. Sounds and ideas come quickly, make their points, and never outstay their welcome. In that sense, The Unrelenting Songs of the 1979 Post Disco Crash is also inclusive, a post-mashup dragnet that sweeps metal, drill-n-bass, gabba, disco, and familiar FM rock staples into a single pie and then slices it with precision.

For about 40 seconds, album opener "Spectacle to Refute All Judgments" seems like another example of music-making that struggles to make the leap from idea to execution, as Forrest applies to disco the slice-and-dice aesthetic that Scott Herren has used on hip-hop. Then comes the first guitar solo. And the big glam stomp. And the second guitar solo. And the drum solo. And... well, it quickly becomes clear that Forrest has a lot of cards up his sleeve, and little interest in holding any of them close to his chest for any length of time. Which works beautifully: "Satan Cries Again" tears through CCR's jungle, pausing only for a motorik pep rally; "An Event (helicopter.passing.(edit).251001.mp3)" is solemn and hypnotic from a distance before being swept up in the winds of a clusterfuck of organ sounds; and "180 Mar Ton" sounds like the Amen break crossing the river Styx.

The liberal sampling of classic rock on what is at heart a disco-cum-noise record shouldn't be much of a hurdle for potential fans to jump: The arena-ready guitars serve the same sort of capacity as breakbeats do in Big Beat records-- as patient, friendly guides for those who don't normally listen to electronic music-- while the sensual futurism of "Ceci N'est Pas du Disco" or deep house tribalism of "INKhUK" is far too infectious to be ignored, even by the biggest guitar-phobics.

Forrest does, however, have The Who to thank for his show-stopping album closer, "10 Amazing Years". The record's most ferocious and Unrelenting track, it's also oddly the most patient and straightforward, eschewing most of the ADD tendencies of the rest of the album. Except for a heavily reprogrammed Ringo Starr drum solo and an extra kick of guitar at the end, it's essentially filter disco meets classic rock. It's The Who in their prime covering "Da Funk", with a half-dozen or so bare and, yes, fairly minimal elements drifting in and out of the track at different times before they all come crashing together for one glorious finale. Were it at the start of the record, it would cast a long shadow over the rest of it. As it is, it just makes you want to dive in and hear the whole thing over again.