Any writer, composer, musician, producer, singer, band, or DJ that captures the language of dreams ~
Sounds Like
Nu Mer (which is essentially the future of french yacht rock). I also get hot for Boroque-a-go-go & casino death funk. Some of my stuff sounds like cotton candy and bigsticks melting on boom-boom wooferz. Martin Denny on steroids or Nino Rota on Robitussen? Some girl once told me it sounded like bad Kraftwerk. Can you get a worse/better compliment? Depending on the track, I usually shoot for feverish innards and brutal sentimentality. Screw sexy- I'm just trying to bring melody back. If I could somehow get George Gershwin and Dave Tipper to share a cocktail within the bowels of Logic Pro I think I'd be proud. Until then I'll just keep on with this whole opulently-sexy-symphonic-racey-spacey-sensual-cinema-bassy-retro-futuristic-atomic-argile-wondermood-mind-hoola-meltdown-waterfall of deliciously-ripe-soul-sucking-fantasy-fusion-fever-illusion-hot-tropical-moon-fruit-movin'-vibe-o-electric-intergalactic-orgasma-kinetic-go-go-nooky-lounge thing.
Well, like most things I started out inncocent but soon hit the harder stuff. I was conceived back in sunny 1970s San Diego. It was there 'on a lark beneath the Balboa palms' that I was designed by spaced-out hippies in Pacific Beach. After a brief stint with sex wax and Kiss make-up, I lost my boogie board to iguanas out in the Mojave Desert where my parents decided to relocate. Thrown into the infinite arid backdrop of the desert's timeless stop-motion psychology, I picked up the guitar at twelve and hit the ground laughing. Inspired by peyote (actually I've never even touched the stuff), tarantula hawks, malt liquor, and old Indian petraglyphs, I began harnessing chords and melodies to reflect the psychic adventures and unstable isolations of the Western Trip. At eighteen I migrated north to the Redwoods and earned my keep by walkin’ bass lines in a Dixieland jazz ensemble and dabbling in philosophical letters at the local university. All the while I kept being slain by the sounds in my head. Sounds that kept spinning, twisting, breathing, and exploding into heavenly bandstands of wild jungle drums, dream-soaked orchestras, and cherry neon melodies. In January of 1996 I smashed soul-first into San Francisco and was immediately washed beneath the city’s swirling underworld of dialated discos, carbonated cabarets, and kinky lounge lofts. It was in these salubrious waters amongst SF's thriving boho bananza of bongos, beat hucksters, rave nymphs, burlesque stars, porn carneys, lazer berries, crack muppets, hipsters, slicksters, bleeps, blips, and Black Rock commandos that I first learned to tilt my hat, pull my sleeves back, slide the fade up, and steer a pair of 1200s through the forbidden flames of hot sonic saturnalia. I also love Lawrence Welk.
'Delachaux originally waxed his unique style of electro-lounge music from the early days of San Francisco's seminal neo-burlesque movement. As a harbinger of vintage sounds Delachaux began warming up audiences for local cabarets like SF's Famous Burlesque Revue with eclectic cocktail sets that swirled everything from Weimar Berlin and brassy beatnik to torch-lit tiki and retro-atomic go-go. Mixing festive cine-sexy melodies with infectiously slick beats, Delachaux has become one of San Francisco’s most unique DJ/producers and the sonic maestro behind the annual Edwardian Ball. He can currently be found dropping his saucy sonic barrage at such monthly parties as 'Louche' and 'Kinky Salon'
- SF Bay Guardian
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