Sahip Olmanız Gereken En İyi 10 White Label Yayını (Vinil)

Honestly, this whole list could have been 100% Wiley white labels, but “Eskiboy/ Ice Rink” rises above the rest as being a true marker for the “Eski” sound which became the playful, digital backbone for the infantile days of grime music.

The number of instruments and effects used on each of these songs can be counted on one hand, yet each one is iconic in its own right. First and foremost, there’s the digital ice clicks. After Dat Oven’s “Icy Lake” debuted the sound to New York house scene of the ‘90s, Wiley carried on its legend and filled his productions with the sample which I can only assume is synthesized by freezing an mp3 file and shattering it with a pointed mouse icon. As if one iconic sample wasn’t enough, these tracks also champion the minimal square wave synth that became so common in grime that Attack Magazine even put out a tutorial on how to mimic the sound.

No collection of white labels has proven to be as simultaneously influential and unique as Wiley’s. They embody the wild west of grimey UK music, composed in bedrooms on pirated versions of FL Studio without any intention of widespread appeal or marketability.

If it’s not apparent yet, let me put it in simple terms: very few will ever be as influential in electronic music as Wiley. He had such a grip on the UK scene that his old tracks got reworked a decade later into an EP that still feels essential to put on this list. Goon Club Allstars, whose have been steadily putting out top-notch club records for the last few years, launched their label with a record featuring two bootleg edits of old Wiley tunes. This time around, though, it wasn’t the icicles or synths that drew the attention of the music world.

Samename infused his refix with “Ha” crashes, a cornerstone of music coming out of the ballroom scene in New York, which originates from Masters at Work’s “The Ha Dance”. They come in like gunshots, accompanied by vicious bass-infused snare drums that make Wiley’s old tune equipped to face the club apocalypse. Moleskin’s edit of Ice Rink is equally destructive and uses old Baltimore breakbeats to breathe new life into a white label of the past.

This chaotic, twisted mess of samples was a precursor for the current state of club music: a mishmash of influences and cultures stirred by the appropriating melting pot of the internet.

Uniile is a fledgling label out of France dedicated to keeping the names and locations of their artists anonymous. Each release is limited to a small run of white labels, which has driven equal parts intrigue and controversy in the music industry. Some have called it out as a hype-driven gimmick and claimed that the only “moral code” the label follows is whatever it takes to drive their resale values as high as possible.

But after a single listen to Uniile 1, it becomes apparent that the label’s intentions are far from greedy. The songs are so blissful and underproduced that their lack of ownership is more humble than enigmatic. It’s as if these club tools were gifted to this world from a higher DJ power, whose sample collection is as timeless as it is nameless.

The label is based in France, so it’s possible that they reached out to a local artist for the release, especially given the funky french house aesthetic present throughout the tracks. It’s also possible that a principled DJ from some other part of the world lent their talents for the project, perhaps proving that some music can exist beyond context. As long as Uniile maintains its mystique, record lovers will continue scratching their heads and paying outrageous prices for this treasure.

Finally, some recourse for rock enthusiasts who made it through the onslaught of club lingo and digital bloops. The story goes that Animal Collective butted heads with representatives of Stevie Wonder when they chose to reinterpret his lyrics from “I Just Called To Say I Love You” for “The Purple Bottle.” It made no financial sense for an indie psych-folk band to go to court with one of the most successful musicians of all time, so they agreed to change the lyrics for the final release of the album. The last remnant of this legal battle is a white label of the original recording which includes the parody of Wonder’s lyrics.

“I just called to say I like you… I just called to wonder if you care,” Avey Tare whimpers 2½ minutes through bootleg record. Just knowing the backstory is enough to to shiver in joy when these he spills these words, but the inherent cheekiness of the parody and Avey’s quakey delivery alone make these 15 seconds alone worth securing in physical form.

And for those that like a little more substance in their white labels, the backside of the single features a dark, folksy cover of Nirvana’s “Polly”. Regardless of which version is “better”, the Anco rework is a lovely treat and a perfect complement to finish off a record that otherwise would have never made it through the onslaught of lawyers from both Cobain and Wonder.

Before Jam City was one of the defining names in an indefinable landscape of experimental club music, he was steadily putting out banger-filled EP’s on Night Slugs. During this era, he used his white label debut to ravage through classic dance tracks and fill their remains with foreign rhythms and melodies.

The only element that his refix of Endgame’s “Ecstacy” shares with the original 80’s funk tune are a handful of punchy synth notes. He takes these brief moments and chops them to hell and back, adding in spastic drums and the occasional square wave synth (thanks Wiley). The bootleg is a testament to how Jam City can effortlessly hone in on a single idea and explore every facet of its existence. Even when he left the fundamentals of DJ Deeon’s “Let Me Bang” in tact, his minor additions transformed the ghetto house classic into something otherwordly.

On B3, he explodes DJ Bone’s “Shut the Lights Off” into a dreamy cloud of grime synths and sparse percussion. This style of emotive “sad” grime has been catching on in recent years through releases off of Gobstopper Records and Different Circles, though these labels were just babies when Refixes came out. Basically, you could slap these tracks onto any modern record and they would still sound as fresh as they did half a decade ago.