The Test of Time: Erol Alkan

Inadvertently diverting a generation of indie kids from a bleak future with dollops of Detroit techno and Germanic electro, Erol Alkan once rubbed shoulders with Armins and Armands at the top of DJ Mag’s annual public chart, while still finding the time of day to produce the Mystery Jets. A generation of dancefloors later, and Alkan counts the likes of L.I.E.S. boss Ron Morelli as an ally, and inspires reverence behind the decks at Panorama Bar. But as a man with a lifelong musical mission to push forward, what was the last thing to sound truly fresh to his ears?

“Personally, I look for the ability to convey a certain emotion within a record. Rather than something just being new,” says Alkan. “I hear old records that really frighten me. But then I look back on some of the stuff I was into when I was 20 years old, some of which was a bit close to the knuckle. I think perhaps as you get older, what you want from music changes, and your taste becomes a bit more refined.”

Refined is the best term for his label and sincere labour of love, Phantasy, which, reflecting Alkan himself, appears at once both easygoing and unwaveringly precise in its endeavours. A few years ago, the London DJ might have been known best for his somewhat boisterous collaborations with Berlin’s Boys Noize, who's currently conquering America with assistance from Skrillex. Back closer to home, Erol still keeps kids dancing, he just does it on his own terms, and perhaps even with a new audience. Recent solo gigs as well as festival back-to-backs with protégé Daniel Avery see Alkan sail on somewhat calmer, slightly weirder musical waters. What’s more, he’s amused and pleased to hear that, for perhaps the first time, many of said kids there for Avery aren’t familiar with him at all.

“I have to keep it exciting for myself. I can’t think of anything worse than not enjoying myself, or the crowd not enjoying itself. I still get to play to thousands of people who know their music each weekend. I don’t feel like panicking. If anything, I’ve probably spent a lot of time putting people off me slightly by not playing ball,” he admits. Indeed, while a thoughtful and measured character, Alkan almost seems motivated by what he describes as the ‘threat’ within his own world. Playing Beacons this month, sandwiched between Special Request, Jackmaster and Dusky, does he still feel like an awkward indie kid commanding dancefloors?

“It’s weird because I’ve always felt like a dance music outsider, but then you meet plenty of people who make you realise you’re not. Besides, it’s not like everyone’s walked the same path,” he observes. “I’ve collected records and been into music from all over the place. But in dance, where authenticity is such a big thing, I feel I have to stand up and say I didn’t have that seismic moment seeing Underground Resistance in the mid-90s as I was immersed in guitar music.”

It’s an ironic stance, given that in what can seem like a mire of superfluous bullshit, Alkan is perhaps one of the most authentic DJs you could encounter, striving not only for his own creative fulfilment, but inspired by that of those around him. He sees Phantasy, whose releases cover everything from Avery’s world-conquering LP Drone Logic to DIY psych oddball Connan Mockasin and Brazilian experimentalist Babe, Terror, as an indirect extension of his infamous club Trash, a Monday night London hotbed that inexplicably spanned a decade. Alkan reveals he recently rediscovered seven years’ worth of Minidiscs, with each Trash set recorded for study throughout the following week. They shan’t be seeing the light of day anytime soon, but it’s precisely this level of detail that meant the club closed with queues still a quarter of a mile long.

“I like all the creative aspects of bringing things together. It’s just the way you communicate or create with people,” Alkan explains succinctly. “A club can just be somewhere people go to get drunk and listen to something they know, or it can be far more than that. And it’s the same with running a label. Anybody can put a record out, so-and-so will sign it, and they’ll see it through. Or the other way is an incredibly creative process with people thinking outside the box and trying to do it differently than it’s done before. Nobody’s gone and created the perfect club, or the perfect label, because these things reflect their audiences, or are at least reflecting something.”

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“A club can just be somewhere people go to get drunk and listen to something they know, or it can be far more than that” – Erol Alkan

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Family and community represent an important cornerstone to Alkan, and a quick call to his north London home suggests life in 2014, having just turned 40, is equal parts domestic and psychedelic. Nonetheless, he consumes music with the same fervour as ever, determined that Phantasy itself will transcend even his own stellar reputation.

“I like the feedback of people on the label. I don’t want to place myself at the top of the tree, because that’s not why I did it,” he is keen to explain. “I don’t look down on that, or see anything negative about it, but I didn’t set up the label for my career. I want everything on there to be on an equal plateau. I feel far more comfortable that way. To me, the aspect of community is far stronger than to simply be the one in the centre of the group photograph.”

It’s been nearly 15 years since Alkan accidentally found himself as a club DJ for Bugged Out, and he’s since remixed an enviable catalogue of artists in eclectic fashion, from Metronomy to the Scissor Sisters. Yet it was only last year that he finally released a record under his own name, his Illumination EP, and on Phantasy too; perhaps the greatest litmus test of his personal quality control. Less than a year later, and there’s another dancefloor track on the way via his upcoming Fabriclive mix series. Though it's for the series’ 77th edition, Alkan has been asked before by the club, but simply felt the time wasn’t right.

“I think doing it at this point, where I’ve got a real focus on my sound is the right thing,” he explains. “You can go so many years looking for things or trying to create something, and I definitely think I’ve found that now.” He’s perhaps one of the few remaining UK DJs to have not appeared on Boiler Room, a format which he nonetheless thinks is “amazing,” but having been asked a few times, remains acutely aware of the importance of focus when the internet takes your every move down in history. “I want to be confident in the music that I’m part of, and the music we release,” Alkan adds. “But making a tit of myself on social media to be liked, that’s not me. I’m not that fussed about seeing someone’s crowd from the other night. I’d rather see their next record.”

It’s difficult to imagine the UK clubbing landscape without Alkan, and with his schedule of touring and production as busy as ever, not to mention his ongoing 6 Music residency, it doesn’t look like anyone will have to any time soon. Although not one for heroes, Alkan has previously cited evergreen selectors such as Andrew Weatherall and Francois K as influences. But how does he maintain such energy, in and out of the DJ booth?

“I try to be as honest as I can, and try not to be afraid of change,” Alkan considers. “I just have faith, I suppose, that if I’m playing great records that people will connect to them, and I just try and stay true to that. Having the 6 Music show is great, because I can present music that I might not play out, but what happens in clubs, that’s where you can create real magic, especially when it comes to bringing people together. I find that to be the greatest thing about it as such, and view myself more as a vehicle for the music.

“I want to make great records, or be part of great records. When I go out and play, I want it to be as powerful, but in a different way. I don’t want to play music I don’t believe in, and I don’t want to be someone I’m not.”