A master of futuristic, enveloping sound with a fondness for the speed of 170 beats per minute, James Clements always does things his own way. Andrew Ryce decided to find out from him what the real reason for this behavior is.
When I called James, he was in his studio in San Diego, preparing to launch a new collaborative project with Samurai Music called Grey Area. His involvement in the project gives us an especially clear idea of where his thoughts are directed now. The main idea, according to its creators, is to release music that does not fit into any classification, has no release information and no names attached to it—all in order to avoid various kinds of prejudice.
ASC’s music has always existed somewhere beyond the boundaries, rather than within them. Over the last 10 years, he has become one of the most prolific drum and bass musicians of his generation. His melodic work was released in its time on Offshore, Inperspective and Nu-Directions. James’s productions clearly contain dynamics and a sense of space instead of excessive loudness, while in tracks such as “Environments” and “Deep Spaces,” listeners encounter downtempo fragments that reveal another creative side of the musician. In 2009, following the release of the album “Astral Traveller,” on which ASC cemented the success of his musical formula, his interests turned toward dBridge and Instra:mental. Now he draws his inspiration from releases on Nonplus and the sound of Autonomic.
Clements is captivated as a musician by this subgenre, which was significantly influenced by IDM and Detroit techno—and all this is happening at the moment when ASC is beginning to tire of his usual work. Autonomic gives James new opportunities to develop sound at 170 beats per minute. Fresh musical contexts emerge in which this music begins to sound broader and more spacious. And if previously his music could be classified as “intelligent drum and bass,” the musician now pays tribute to the atmospheric sound of Autechre and Arovane. A new phase in ASC’s work begins in 2010 with the release of his masterpiece “Nothing Is Certain” and an astonishing podcast for Residential Advisor.
At the same time, Clements launches his own label, Auxiliary, which already has successfully operating sublabels including Veil and Diode. Initially, these sublabels were conceived as platforms for releasing his own music in the spirit of Autonomic, of which ASC had an abundance at the time. But the scene begins to break up into autonomous sectors, and, like Samurai Music, Auxiliary now becomes the central label in a group of labels. The alliance between Samurai owner Geoff Wright and Clements becomes crucial. The two stimulate each other creatively, encouraging one another to move even farther toward the periphery of deep sound in their work—especially in the case of Samurai’s Horo sublabel, into which ASC’s free, musical credo fits perfectly.
With Auxiliary and Samurai serving as labels for releasing his own music, Clements enters one of the most prolific periods of his creative career. EPs of enigmatic tracks at 170 BPM appear one after another. A conceptual series called Symbol emerges, followed by a succession of collaborative works. We should not forget the techno productions for Perc Trax and Mote-Evolver. Almost all of it sounds excellent. In one case, the musician frightens and maintains tension; in another, he experiments tirelessly. The moment when ASC completely moves away from his customary drum patterns in his work becomes a landmark for him. In 2011, ASC begins working with the Canadian label Silent Season, which releases “The Light That Burns Twice As Bright,” followed by “ Time Heals All” and “ Truth Be Told.” In this decade, all three ambient albums occupy a separate and honored place.
Clements’s move toward ambient comes as no surprise to anyone. In his hands, field recordings, synthesizer sounds and melodies in the spirit of Stars Of The Lid form a carefully constructed musical ecosystem. It is half artificial and half organic. His approach is classical in spirit, but contemporary in execution.
All this work was something new for Clements, because the musician did not use his other aliases—Mindspan or Intex Systems—but released it under the same name so well known to fans of 170 BPM electronics. For ASC, the decision to combine different sounds under one name became very important, because the boundaries between the styles in which the musician works could now become even more blurred. For him, techno, ambient and 170 not only exist in parallel but also interact with one another. The album “Imagine The Future” is excellent proof of this. And even if we describe this work as “ambient drum and bass” (although he no longer makes drum and bass), this album undoubtedly sounds completely unlike anything else.
Clements spends most of his time in his own studio. As a musician, he also works on film soundtracks and creates sound design for multimedia projects. All this allows ASC to make a living. When he performs somewhere—which happens fairly rarely—it is generally memorable to many people. He has performed live techno sets, regular DJ sets, and some of his appearances consisted entirely of ambient performances. As the best examples, look for his set for Tar & Feathered from 2012 or his ambient performance at the Decibel festival in 2014.
What is noteworthy is how far ASC has advanced creatively as a musician by following his own path. It is well known how difficult it is to establish a reputation on the electronic scene if you do not fit into certain frameworks. But through effort, titanic hard work, a willingness to discover new things and a readiness to experiment, ASC has created his own small scene beyond both drum and bass and familiar electronic music.
People moved on from Autonomic, and you did the same. Was it difficult to continue working in this vein after everything disappeared?
It wasn’t difficult for me. I mean, this subject never stopped being exciting and demanding a great deal of effort from me. The most important thing for me was that, technically, I was able to expand my usual sonic horizons. At that time, it never occurred to me that I was tied to a particular tempo. Promoting something like this did not become a difficulty for me. I don’t know how correct it is to talk about “pushing the boundaries” here—perhaps that isn’t my case—but I know for certain that continuing was not difficult for me. It was also something of a challenge because nobody else was doing it. I was simply waving my flag modestly.
How did you manage to expand your horizons?
Around 2008, I was listening to a lot of techno and ambient music. I was a huge fan of what the Sandwell District project was doing. That alone gave me a much broader scope for creativity. Let’s put it this way: I became much more interested in making different music rather than drum and bass—or music at a similar speed in general. It served as a kind of catalyst.
In your view, did your music become even more like ambient because of this?
I don’t think it did. Because people are only ever able to distinguish things by having information on the surface. Many people think: “ASC—well, okay. Atmospheric stuff, deep tunes, all that…” So nothing fundamentally changed on my side. All these things definitely took me away from music for dancefloors. And because of that, I began writing deeper tracks than ever before.
The NonPlus label changed direction and you opened your own label, Auxiliary. What made you do it?
Actually, it was an idea from Al [Boddika] of Instra:mental. He told me about his plans for NonPlus and added: “You know what, we’re planning to write material not only at 170 beats per minute and gradually move away from that speed, so maybe you should try opening something of your own?” We arranged everything through the British distributor [ST Holdings], and it all worked. I had the name Auxiliary saved because I thought it would become my backup option for alternative work. And then the whole thing just took off. A little later, Al stepped away; he’s doing amazing things now, he’s a great guy. And the label became my main creation.
What is the label’s vision? It is clear that it was conceived as something running in parallel, rather than as the main direction. But what changed?
Working on the label became my main vision. The label became my primary resource for releasing the music I was making at the time. In my view, during some kind of musical transformation after Autonomic, I reached a point where what I was recording could no longer be called Autonomic. The new sound had its own character. We worked on it, but in the end not a trace of drum and bass remained.
You say “not for dancefloors,” “not drum and bass,” “not Autonomic”—so what is it? You clearly have your own sound.
That’s exactly the point. It’s a very complicated subject, and I don’t want to stir it up because right now I feel absolutely no connection with drum and bass. I don’t listen to this music. I don’t play it as a DJ. I have nothing to do with it. But that doesn’t mean I hate it. It simply stopped interesting me. I don’t touch it in my work; that’s probably a little strange. Many people still associate us specifically with this music. But I think that’s all because we didn’t give this music a name back then. And another reason why our music is taken for drum and bass is the speed.
Why do you prefer to work at this speed in particular?
There is still a lot at this speed that I can explore for myself. If I stop, who will continue what I started?
Does it annoy you that people classify you as drum and bass because of the speed?
No, it doesn’t annoy me; I simply consider it a misconception, especially on the part of people who are involved in this scene. They listen to what I play, then come up and ask: “What the hell is this, anyway? This isn’t drum and bass! I don’t want to listen to it.” And you know, that’s completely fair, because they want to hear that drum and bass. Fast drums, bass parts, powerful bangers that sound super cool on a big soundsystem, and so on. But that isn’t what I’m doing at the moment. And I’m confused, like: “Okay, okay. I understand that people still stick this tag on me. But I simply don’t have another name for this music.” Just don’t let Beatport come up with another idiotic name.
Working in a field that is neither drum and bass nor techno, were you nervous when launching the label about how people would perceive the idea? Especially with the Symbol series—such strange music, absolutely strange.
I think so. Honestly, I get nervous every time I release something. That’s because I don’t fit into any format. I simply do my work while thinking: “How will people perceive me this time?” “Will they understand what I wanted to convey to them, or will it pass them by?” I have different premonitions whenever I release something. As for the label, we decided to divide this path into three phases for the time being. The first phase was an echo of Autonomic, from the first to the sixth releases. Then a new phase began with the seventh release: these were works by me and Ulrich Schnauss, and it became a metamorphosis of what Autonomic had been and what we had managed to achieve—a platform for creating our own music. We are now in the third phase: Grey Area, which is what we are actively cultivating musically together with the pioneer Sam KDC and Presha.
Would you classify yourself as one of those people who plan everything in advance?
Yes, of course. I’m completely crazy in that respect. I don’t start working in the studio until it has been tidied up and everything is in its place. Everything is neatly arranged there, set up as it should be, and I also have written notes.
I can definitely hear how clean your sound is. I wouldn’t say it’s dry—there’s a lot of reverb and emotion—but the sound is clean and futuristic. What is your studio made up of, if it’s not a secret?
I have nothing to hide, because even if I tell someone about my studio, it’s unlikely that, after finding out, they will produce tracks similar to the ones I make. It all comes down to ideas, to what’s in your head. I have a PC. My main sequencer is ReNoise. It’s a fairly old tracker, based on the even older Fast Tracker 2. I’ve kept it since the days when I was just starting to make music. I spent a lot of time with the Atari ST (around 1995–96), but I wouldn’t call what I produced back then tracks. I was simply experimenting and trying to understand what could be done and how. I worked with early versions of Cubase and a very basic protocol called Tracks, which was a modest, simple sequencer operating via MIDI with a Casio synthesizer or whatever I had back then. I don’t know what I was doing at all at the time, but I had enthusiasm to spare. At some point I moved to Fast Tracker on a PC, bought a set of equipment and worked with it for a while. The first batch of tracks was recorded on equipment that could not have been more basic: hi-fi speakers, a battered PC, a Yamaha CS1X and a Behringer Ultra Effects Pro—that was it. I used those devices constantly. At that point, it was enough, but now, when I listen to those tracks, I realize how bad everything about them is. It’s actually funny. As for what I have now, it’s still ReNoise—the latest version—plus I have a lot of hardware, synthesizers on racks and effects modules.
How is it that you still have such a distinctive sound, unlike anything else?
For pads and atmospheres, I prefer working with two pieces of equipment, and I use them as often as possible. The first is a Yamaha TG33 vector synthesizer—a small instrument that fits on a desk and looks like a monstrous fax machine from the ’90s. It’s impossible to look at. But the pads you can get from it are absolutely mind-blowing. When I bought it on eBay, I paid $110. Now, I’m sure they sell for twice as much, or around $300 apiece. I think people simply realized how rare the device is. The second piece of equipment I work with often and extensively is the Roland JD-800. It’s a digital synthesizer from the ’90s, but all the controls are laid out on the top panel. You can simply transform any material into an incredible soundscape or pad, and you can also use it to build an atmosphere. Those are probably my most frequently used instruments.
Have you been listening to ambient for a long time?
Since ’94 or ’95, but back then the tracks had a lot of downtempo sounds—just the ideal material for chill-out, à la Global Communication. Search for the name 76:14. After listening to it, my eyes were opened and I began to understand what ambient was and who made it. Then I heard Future Sound Of London. But of course, it isn’t 100% ambient. The first track I heard was a Moby track, number four on a CD single; it was called something like “The Rain Falls And The Sky Shudders.” I remember listening to it and understanding everything from the title. An atmospheric piece, with sounds from nature, a beautiful tonality, a very pleasant work. I haven’t heard anything like it since. I played it again and again and thought to myself: “Yeah, this is just a great track.”
And what was it about that track that stayed with you so strongly?
It began to resonate with me. I drew emotion and atmosphere from it. For me, an important part of music is emotionality. I need to feel something inside a track that makes something inside me begin to resonate. That explanation may sound very strange.
Do you think there has been more ambient music in your work since 2010—not counting your explicitly ambient tracks? Can you say that ambient inspires you more now than it did before?
Of course. It’s all thanks to Chris from mnml ssgs, who introduced me to Brock Van Wey [bvdub], and after that we became good friends. I heard his album “White Clouds Drift On & On” on Echospace. From that moment on, I started thinking: “Damn, why don’t I make ambient? I can record music just as well.” The influence of what I heard was so great that I immediately began gathering technical information about creating this kind of music, even though my sound was nowhere near what Brock was making. It was very important to me, and I spoke with him. He helped me a lot at the time. He said: “Yes, of course. You need to try it. I see no reason not to start making something in this vein. Give it a shot.”
Was it scary at the beginning, or did you immediately immerse yourself in the music and start creating?
If there is music around me, I immediately immerse myself in it. I tried it then. I realized how easily I could control my thoughts. Personally, I consider myself one of those musicians who think creatively beyond the ordinary and never give in to temptations such as “the biggest trend of the month.” It was help whose significance to me is difficult to assess. Help in many ways, if only because I never felt that I was stuck in a particular sound, or that anything I created sounded like drum and bass simply because I had once made drum and bass.
How did you start communicating with Jamie from the Silent Season label?
In 2011, I had a tour in Tokyo with three performances, and I played at parties organized by mnml ssgs. Russell from Labyrinth was there; we talked, and I played the first disc of Time Heals All, which contained more than an hour of ambient material. He said: “You absolutely need to get in touch with the owner of the Silent Season label; this music would fit there perfectly.” That’s how it happened. I called Jamie one day after returning. I sent him the work, and he replied: “Okay, this can be released on the label.”
Did you know that the label existed before then?
Yes, I’d heard there was such a label, but I didn’t really follow its releases. Perhaps because by then the “dub techno” tag had thoroughly tired me out. And after Chain Reaction ceased operating, I understood for myself that nobody would record this music more originally than Deepchord or Echospace. I think this genre has problems of its own as well. Then it turned out that Silent Season… no, they release dub techno too, but most of their releases are melodic and contain a lot of ambient. Truly relaxing musical material.
And by that time, had you already recorded material for your first albums?
Yes. “Time Heals All” was actually the first album, while a separate album, “Stone Of Avoidance,” was recorded on the second disc. It was an epic composition on a cosmic theme. I had this material sitting around gathering dust; I didn’t send it to Jamie because I was thinking to myself: “Right, I’ve got two finished albums. I’ll record a third one and send it to him.” Later, he said: “Is there anything else I could listen to?”
How do you select material for an album? Is there something that serves as a link between the tracks?
When I start working on an album, I have a certain state of mind inside me. If a track suits my new project, and I remain in that state of mind for a sufficiently long time without thinking about it too much, then I know for sure that I already have the first necessary body of recorded material for the album. Then you start listening closely and understanding where each track belongs. You start changing their order. For me, it’s a very natural process.
Is your approach to writing ambient tracks different from your approach to creating rhythm-based tracks? ASC’s ambient work doesn’t sound the same as this musician’s work without drums.
Yes. The main thing for me when working is that I don’t worry too much about the low frequencies. When I record a track at 170, the subs, kicks, and all the frequencies are packed so tightly into the track that there’s no point even talking about shitty mixdowns. But with ambient music, since in most cases it comes without drums, I don’t need bass at all. There’s such a wide range of frequencies available for effects, pads, and many other things in the track.
Yes, ambient albums are more or less clear, but you once had the Mindspan project, didn’t you? Tell us what happened.
Looking back on that period, I think I simply enjoyed coming up with new creative aliases for myself. These days, that many names would just be excessive. That’s why I no longer release anything under that name. At that time, I was working on creating my first label, Covert Operations, and I was crazy about Chain Reaction and Basic Channel. I wanted to record material that was closer to ambient techno than dub techno. I liked that side of music where there would be more ambient in it. I recorded material for this project at the time and decided to release it under a different name, since as ASC I was mainly working with drum and bass. Fairly ordinary drum and bass, too: drum breaks, bass, and so on.
After that, around 2012, you started recording techno tracks. I remember your performances consisting entirely of this music in Los Angeles and New York.
Every day, I loved techno music more and more. At some point I realized: “Right, that’s it, the time has come! I have to record techno.” And here’s the result.
You had enough tracks to play a two-hour performance. Why did it all stop, and why did you never release most of that work?
To be completely honest, I realized then that they didn’t sound good enough for me personally. I’m extremely self-critical when it comes to my work. If I understand that a track isn’t worth it, I won’t release it. I received positive feedback and everyone liked them, but people from the techno scene told me at the time: “It’s very abstract, unlike anything else, and it isn’t suitable for the dancefloor.” So I thought: “All right, I’ll probably release a couple of my tracks.” There was a release on Perc Trax, and an EP was released on Mote-Evolver, as well as something else besides that, but overall… I don’t know. At the same time, I also started using techno influences in my work with material at 170 BPM. It turned into something new, essentially. Yes, the tempo was 170, but to me this material sounded like techno. There was cross-pollination.
What do you mean when you talk about incorporating techno elements into tracks at 170?
It’s simply a matter of the aesthetic, the composition of a techno track, and the way it’s recorded. If we take music at 170… all right, let’s talk about it as drum and bass. Sometimes I think people misunderstand the term “170 beats,” often associating it exclusively with drum and bass. To me, they aren’t the same thing. I’ll tell you what I personally understand it to mean: simply the tempo of a track. When listening to a track in this style, you will probably hear how much is happening in its structure. Too much attention is paid to detail in this case. There are lots of nuances when something changes in the track. If something is supposed to change in the track, you will definitely hear a hint of it. If the bass is about to come in, you already know it’s coming. In techno music, though, everything happens organically. Sounds and elements enter the track and leave it. That’s the aesthetic that interests me most right now when I’m working with material at 170.
Are you interested in returning to techno and starting to write orthodox material?
Actually, Sam KDC and I have some material under the name Saturne. It’s genuinely canonical techno. Without going into the details of the process, it’s quite difficult to explain. And for now I don’t want to publicize it too much, because there will be something else that might be interesting for the listener. So techno and ambient are what I listen to most often these days.
You once said that you don’t like working collaboratively, yet you have recorded a great deal together with Sam KDC. What can you tell us about him and his music?
When it comes to collaborative work, I personally don’t follow that particular approach simply because my working method may seem very strange and too unstable to some people. I can spontaneously start working on a track; I’ll have a loop in my head and work on it for 10 minutes, then leave it for an hour or longer. Then I sit down again. I might not touch the track for several days. I might start working on something else in parallel. I think anyone who wanted to work with me and record a track in eight or nine hours would have a hard time. We wouldn’t be able to sit together all day working on a track and coming up with things. I simply can’t work that way; it’s not my formula. But working with Sam KDC is fairly easy for me because everything happens over the internet. We simply send each other various pieces of work in progress. For me, that’s the optimal way to work, because I can create at my usual pace without leaving my studio.
What can you tell us about the Grey Area project?
It’s what I already mentioned in our conversation. It’s a new project that Sam KDC and I have been working on together for some time. For us, GA is everything that isn’t limited to a single track tempo. So it can include 170. But the overall concept is “music that doesn’t fit anywhere.” The principle at the heart of GA is the impossibility of classifying a particular genre of music. We put it this way: “Right, this music belongs to GA, and we don’t know what to do with it.”
For many artists who are part of GA, touring is a major problem. If you don’t know how to describe your music, you can’t offer yourself up to be invited to perform. You don’t perform very often. Is that intentional?
Yes. That’s what I’ve decided for myself. I have back problems, and over the past few years the situation has deteriorated considerably. I can barely fly on planes anymore. For example, before a performance in New York at Tar & Feathered, I had to urgently see a bonesetter. I spent an enormous amount of money on it. Something very strange is going on with my back, and all those six- or seven-hour flights across America in packed planes have become unbearable for me. I have to turn down offers to perform for precisely that reason. International flights are somewhat easier; the planes are more comfortable.
How do you make a living if you don’t tour?
I have plenty of things I do outside electronic music. I provide voice-overs for TV idents or commercials, for example. This year I’m finishing work on my first soundtrack, and I hope something else along those lines will come up in the near future. I’m also working on a second soundtrack in parallel, so yes, I have enough to live on even if I don’t go on tour.
What does releasing music bring you financially?
Well, I wouldn’t say it’s huge money, because the figures today are laughable compared with when I started making music. But on the other hand, more and more DIY solutions are appearing now. You cut out all the unnecessary expenses, sales are direct, and you can earn more from it.
If you’re constantly working, how do you manage to stay inspired?
It can be difficult. Last year I had a two-month “genre crisis.” Probably the longest one I’ve ever experienced. I was very nervous about it at the time and felt that I had “burned out” inside. I asked myself: “Is any of this even worth it? Is this fucking it?” I think it’s all because of my inner struggles with depression. I’ve lived with it for practically my entire adult life. But from time to time, it affects my music.
You live in San Diego and are isolated from a lot of what’s around you. Is that a plus or a minus for you?
Both. There’s no real music scene here. And if there is one, it’s very peculiar. When someone is touring here, everything is banal and predictable. Nothing happens locally. My friend Will, who helps me run the label’s affairs, and I once tried to organize a party called “170 SD.” It seemed to be getting somewhere, but then the club was sold to other people, and we lost interest in it. At the time, there was also a great deal of work connected with the label and my own creative projects. I still have a negative feeling about the city. Nothing here influences or affects me. I’m on my own, far away from everyone, and I can do whatever I want. For me, that’s the best solution, since I’m an introvert and prefer to keep everything inside.
A couple of months ago we spoke about one of your old mixes for Knowledge magazine, and on Twitter you said that you felt awkward talking about that mix. Do you always feel awkward talking about your earlier music?
No, I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s just that when I listen to old material, I evaluate it from a technical perspective—how simple it is or how outdated it is. That’s the best way to look at it, since what I’m doing now is at a completely different, more advanced level. I’m not too hard on the old material, because it was the old material that helped me reach my current level. It’s the foundation of the ASC sound, so there’s nothing wrong with the mix.
Besides the Grey Area project, what are you working on now?
I have some ambient techno material in progress; it will be a relaxing 12-inch release on Silent Season. Sonically, it’s similar to the four tracks that played at the end of my performance at the Decibel festival—they can still be found on SoundCloud—and this release will most likely be the label’s next one. There will be an EP on Veil; it will come out within the next few months. I have some material prepared for Samurai Red Seal. This EP, again returning to the subject of Grey Area, will sound like techno at 170, but techno isn’t released at that kind of tempo. I don’t know what to call it, so we’ll consider the release part of Grey Area. It should turn out very interesting. After that there will be even more different material, with new projects on Auxiliary and Samurai, and without a doubt more of my ambient work will be released on Silent Season.
So you’re not planning to slow down anytime soon?
Absolutely not. There’s simply no other way for me. Honestly, what I do is who I am. I love creating, and I always keep doing it.
Interview: Andrew Ryce. Originally published in English by Resident Advisor as “ASC: Out of sync” (2015); this English version is translated from the Russian translation.
