A Runner's Ode to "Delorean Dynamite" by Todd Terje
A Runner's Ode to "Delorean Dynamite" by Todd Terje
Drumming Upstream 7
Welcome back to Drumming Upstream! This entry features a high energy dance tune that I had a lot of fun playing, and I hope you have as much fun reading about.
Side A
“Delorean Dynamite”
By Todd Terje
It’s Album Time
Released on April 8th, 2014
Liked on November 18th, 2014
Not long after I started drumming, maybe about a year give or take a month or two, I started running. My high school gym teacher, a stern former professional Soccer player who I don’t think ever smiled for the four years I knew him, insisted that for his equivalent of a final exam every student in the school should run a timed mile with any result longer than 8 minutes counting as a failure.1 Making the cut appealed to me as a as-of-yet good grade seeking goody-two-shoes (my disillusionment with academic achievement would arrive in sophomore year) but also on a deeper level. I liked running. I enjoyed the solitary, internal struggle it required. I didn’t have to worry about letting down teammates or executing a game-plan. All I had to do was convince myself, second by second step by step, to keep going.
I made my mile in six minutes and felt good about it. I probably would have made an even better time had I joined the the track team. I had every intention to join the track team. My closest friends at school all planned on joining and followed through. For whatever reason, I just… didn’t. Even worse, I held it against my friends that they joined without me, going so far as to stop talking to one of them on AIM for months (sorry, Mike). Maybe it’s no surprise that I loved running, it was the only form of exercise I knew that made me feel as miserable physically as I felt emotionally.
Years later when I wanted to stop feeling so miserable and get my shit together, I started to run again. And when I ran I listened to dance music.
I’m not sure how I first heard of Norwegian producer Todd Terje. I vaguely remember seeing the video for “Inspector Norse” on a Pitchfork year-end list, and maybe Emily Yoshida wrote a blurb about It’s Album Time before its release2. Even with these high profile recommendations, I’m surprised that I took a chance on It’s Album Time. Terje’s colorful album art and knowingly goofy presentation shared little in common with the dance music that I listened to at the time. Jon Hopkins’ melancholic spirituality overlapped neatly with my interest in post-rock, and Burial’ ghostly garage was perfect for lonely late nights on public transportation3. By comparison Terje’s music was brightly lit and easy-going, more appropriate for a fruity cocktail and a day at the beach than McDonalds at 2 AM after a rock show. Maybe it was this laid back aesthetic that attracted me to his work in the first place. After all, Terje seemed in on the joke, all the way down to the album title cracking wise at the obligatory nature of singles-oriented DJs appeasing the press’s need for a full length. Wasn’t this the perfect goofball to put me through the paces of not taking myself so seriously?
Still, no matter how much I enjoyed the sillier sections of It’s Album Time, I’m not surprised that the track that wedged its way into my Liked list was its hardest-charging and most serious-sounding. “Delorean Dynamite” is where, as the appropriately Miami-adjacent Martin Lawrence once intoned, “shit got real”. Powered by a bass line played on an ARP synthesizer, “Delorean Dynamite” is the first peak of Album Time’s arc. After periodically increasing the tempo over the opening tracks, “Delorean Dynamite” snaps the dancers in the room to attention by trading in syncopation for speed. The song skips the beach and heads straight for the freeway. Hi-hats hammer out steady 16th notes and the bass bucks and bends like tires on concrete, while the top line sparkles like the twilight sun on chrome. This is of course pure fantasy on my part. I have no idea what it feels like to drive a Delorean through Miami at twilight. I was born in Brooklyn, I’ve only ever sat behind a driver’s wheel in go-carts, video games, and nightmares. What I’m saying is that running to Terje made me feel like I was driving an impractical fetishistically-retro vehicle down a south Florida highway, even when I was trudging through a Midwestern midwinter.
Though I don’t think anyone would call Terje a synthwave artist, “Delorean Dynamite” evokes a similarly fanciful version of the 1980s as that subgenre. The track’s name plays an outsized role in this evocation, since the Delorean so prominently featured in Back to the Future that it now stands in for the whole of 80s product design. But Terje’s musical choices also point to the same pastiche vision of the decade. Though much of the song is in D major it reaches its dramatic peak when it shifts gears into F minor. Once he arrives in this new key, Terje uses the same ascending chord progression that synthwave producers the world over would employ a few years later to place listeners in a world of neon lights, aviator sunglasses, and excessive cocaine use.
For those seeking a healthier alternative, “Delorean Dynamite”’s 80s signifiers make it a terrific soundtrack for a runner’s high. The track begins with a jolt, the first steps out of the door when you are still psyching your body into readiness for the run ahead, then builds into the groove that it rides for the rest of the track. It would typically take me about a block or two for my body to adjust from “running to get somewhere quicker” to “running for the sake of running”, by which point Terje introduces the song’s main melody. “Dynamite”’s melody is confidant, slower than its rhythm, and just a tad heroic. When I hear it, I straighten my back. Running to this melody isn’t quite like running to “Chariots of Fire” but it does make me feel self-assured in my stride, like I’m supposed to be running and not some un-athletic schmuck faking it. Then Terje opens up his oscillators, making the bass wobble off its rhythm and distort, before the track gets a hold of itself and returns to the melody.
Running is a process of moving this cycle of distress and control, pushing yourself through momentary discomfort until you find equilibrium with your pace. The only problem is that the longer you repeat this cycle the harder it gets to regain your composure. Now as far away from my front door as I’m going to get, Terje raises the stakes with the key change. If running to the main melody makes me feel like a confidant athlete, the key change turns me into a detective racing against the clock to crack the case wide open. I know I can make it back home, but it’s going to take guts. With renewed determination to see the run through to the end, “Dynamite” switches back to its original key. The remainder of the run is shorter than the path that has brought me here. I can see the finish line in my mind’s eye. The only problem is that the verve that got me this far is quickly running out. The minor aches are starting to become major ones. Heat rises through my chest. Sweat drips past my eyes. Terje shifts back to F minor and stays there. Every part of my body is telling me that I should not keep running. I cannot keep running. But I do. I can feel myself slowing down, making the final stretch of blocks back to my apartment even longer. Every breath I take sounds inside my head like a scream.
I’m still running. One by one Terje removes layers from the track while the bass line chugs on. I am so close to not feeling like this anymore, so close to not being in constant pain. Finally, in a miracle of urban design, I round the block and see my door. A drum fill swells from the depths of the song. “Delorean Dynamite” reaches the end of its fuse and explodes, unexpectedly resolving to F major. I am home. The last minute and a half of the song is the cool down. The stride slows to a walk, drenched in sweat, equal parts satisfied and exhausted. Maybe I sit down on my stoop if the weather’s nice enough while my heart returns beat by beat to its resting rate. Everything feels sharper, brighter, and more defined.
I’ve never known whether the runner’s high is a positive experience or a negative one. I mean, obviously it feels good but what I mean is: is the good feeling the introduction of something new, or merely the end of something bad? Do I feel good because my body has released new chemicals into my bloodstream or did it release those chemicals because I stopped putting it through the pain of running? When I think of the version of me that stewed in resentment at my friends running track without me I find it hard to recognize myself. There was something in me then that hurt to be there. Whatever that thing was, over the years I’ve sweat it out. One step, one second at a time I have forced it out of me and onto the concrete. What I feel now isn’t some new and improved me, but the absence of a pain that I held onto for too long. It’s spring now in New York City, and when the weather is nice I can sit on my stoop and hear with renewed clarity a world I had shut off for years.
Side B
“Delorean Dynamite”
Performed by Todd Terje
124 bpm / 83 bpm (loosely)
Playing “Delorean Dynamite” on drums is a lot like running to it flipped upside down. My legs have the easy part, it’s my hands that get tired. Once Terje’s tune is up and running the bass drum never deviates from a four-on-the-floor pulse, which at 124 BPM is hardly a physical challenge for my right foot. My left foot has an even easier job. As long as it keeps the hi-hat tightly closed I don’t need to give it a second thought. My hands however, have to churn out a constant stream of 16th notes on that hi-hat. 1,984 notes per minute might not be that quick in the grand scheme of things, but playing that many notes for that many minutes with the precision and consistency of a machine takes some real focus.
There’s been some chatter on the drumming internet lately about how to best strengthen your weaker hand. It’s a complicated question whose answer largely depends on what you’re trying to achieve. I won’t give any hard declarations about what will definitely improve your weaker limb, but I can say with confidence that playing along to “Delorean Dynamite” four times in a row couldn’t hurt. There are a number of fast tempo metal tunes in this series that require some mighty quick hand speed. Getting this track under my belt first will make those much easier to tackle down the road.
Like with “Body & Blood”, playing “Delorean Dynamite” required some translation from the digital to the physical. Because the hi-hats never stop there are a few moments where the part as written by Terje is physically impossible for anyone with without four arms. Faced with the tragedy of only possessing two, I had to make some choices. I decided to skip any of the fills programmed in on 808 toms, as the toms on the drum kit I play on have a completely different sonic character. To compensate I threw in a few snare fills to transition between sections. The two fills that I knew I had to play exactly as written came near the end of the song; first the double-stroke heavy fill right before the final F minor section, which my Instagram followers watched me practice a few weeks back, and second the massive fill that ends the 124 BPM portion of the song. God damn does it feel good to nail those big cymbal hits and give my forearms a break. My biggest addition to the song was my switch to mallets for the coda. After the song shifts down to 83 BPM, brilliantly using the dotted 8th synth pattern to pivot to the new tempo, the drums are barely audible. But they’re still there, so that means I had to play them. I figured that the mallets would give the drums a softer tone better suited for their muted presence in the mix.
I feel like I should maybe acknowledge that yes, I do look like an absolute goofball in the video. I think trying to embody the spirit of a song in my body helps me play it better, so dancing around in my seat and making ridiculous “single guy at the club” faces to the camera just felt right. One of my old drum teachers, Frank Donaldson, always said that you had to be able to dance in order to make other people dance with your music. Donaldson was an absolute ham behind the kit when I watched him play, always smiling like he’d just won the lottery. Playing music is supposed to be fun, so why not smile every now and then? Besides, keeping the rest of my body moving helped me take my mind off of the burning sensation in my left arm. Just like running, playing this song was an exercise in steady control in the face of discomfort, and just like running, playing this song was the surest way to work up a sweat of any of the songs I’ve learned for this project so far.
DRUMMING UPSTREAM LEADERBOARD
I want to reiterate here that I love Todd Terje’s approach to music. I think making goofy music that makes people smile is a worthy pursuit, and I love that his website includes a list of places you should visit in Oslo. If it weren’t for my natural inclination away from frivolity, this track might sit at the top of the leaderboard. Instead it will have to settle for top three. I will almost always prefer the dance floor to the concert hall, with apologies to Maurice Ravel. The only thing that holds “Dynamite” back is a lack of emotional depth. If there were only some dance music that did tug at the deeper rungs of my heart strings… but I’ve already told you I’m going to write about Burial so that’s enough spoilers for now.
“Delorean Dynamite” by Todd Terje
By next Monday I will already be on tour with Bellows, so the next issue of Drumming Upstream will draw from the pool of tunes that have no drums to speak of. I suggest you cue up a few Malick movies on Criterion to get in the spirit. See you next week!
I might have the exact number of minutes wrong, former NEST+m attendees feel free to correct me.
When I wasn’t running to dance music, Yoshida’s old podcast “Girls In Hoodies” was also a frequent choice
I’ll have a lot more to say about Burial in this series soon enough.