MACHINE-DRUM

DECIDING WHAT’S ALIVE, AND MAKING IT SO


Photos By: Nile Brown + James King

Interview By: Kalonni Hurrel (aka. kojima plus)

Written By: Annie Bush


Time is the conciliator of all: that which differentiates noise from music, health from disease, life from death. Individuals who deal with time — deal in time — know how to transverse the pulpy barriers between opposing realms; musicians, timekeepers, can reanimate waning souls, can engineer communion and break it into atomic, discrete pieces. There is no instrument more important than time, and no individual more powerful than one who can yield that instrument with dexterity.

Travis Stewart — alias Machinedrum — is keen on time and its atomic capabilities.

One of the most prolific

producers of the 21st century,

Machinedrum is widely regarded as a glitch-hop pioneer, known for his toothy manipulation of polyrhythms and experimental instrumentation. Stewart got his start in high school in the late ‘90s, playing in jazz and African ensembles in his hometown in North Carolina, during which he began the Machinedrum project on hand-me-down computers. Seeking to meld his jazz sensibilities into the rapidly flourishing hip-hop genre, Stewart worked with i.e. Merge’s label imprint, Normrex, throughout the 2000s, collaborating with vocalists among the likes of Theophilus London and Jesse Boykins III, and later producing songs for rap paragons Azealia Banks and Freddie Gibbs. Eventually, the Machinedrum project landed with LA-based label, Ninja Tune, under which Stewart’s lauded immersive album, Vapor City, was released. The producer, now 42 years old with a wife and child, 19 albums and countless star-studded collaborations into his career, will be releasing another album — 3FOR82, on May 24th. 

It’s Saint Patrick’s Day when Santulan network member and fellow producer, Kalonni Hurrel, speaks with Stewart. Before the producer-on-producer chat, Stewart orders matcha and regales Hurrel with the morose backstory behind the holiday. He later bookends the interview with a story in which Lady Gaga mistakes him for Aphex Twin while controlling (and completely misappropriating) his visuals during a set at SXSW. It seems, as a musical entity and as a person, that Machinedrum treads the dark, peaty ground of any complex situation armed with a Frankensteinien readiness to splice the best parts of it and recapitulate the pieces as his own. To elucidate the soul of a story; of an album; of a song, in the Machinedrum way, one must be able to face the wispy vestiges of malformed sonic pasts and order them in accordance with one’s own sense of time. Stewart deals in the cyclical business of revival — and the process has never been more evident than in the making of his upcoming release, 3FOR82.

Stewart began the project on his 41st birthday last year, alone in Joshua Tree, with a minimal setup in the living room of a rented house. On a whim, he brought recently recovered hard drives from the late 1990s: “[It was] early, early Machinedrum stuff that had never seen the light of day,” he tells us, spinning rings around his fingers. “I was reconnecting to all these forgotten memories, and decided to start resampling stuff from those old sessions.” Stewart began to create rules for himself — he sought to only sample songs from 1982 (His birth year — hence the name of the album, March 4th, 1982); he sought to give himself a month to create a sound library; he sought to articulate the ideas completely in three months. Within the confines of these frameworks, Stewart began to notice recurring groups of threes and fours.

 “I’ve always been obsessed with polyrhythms… how sets of rhythms of threes can play over fours,” Stewart says, drumming his palms against the table in an endearing, near absentminded demonstration. “You find that in African rhythms, and jazz… it took me until last year to recognize the subliminal connection between my birthday — 3/4 — and my obsession with threes over four.” In 3FOR82’s exegesis, Stewart began to recognize himself as enmeshed in a decadeslong cycle of polyrhythmic fixation. “[The creation of 3FOR82] became a three month journey of exploration, a collaboration with my younger self. It’s a central theme — the healing of your inner child,” he explains. “It’s healing to go back to the same room with myself when I was younger and be like: You got this. You’re going to work with Tinashe one day. You’re going to make beats with Azealia Banks.” 

And collaborate on this album Machinedrum did — with his younger self as well as with a cadre of other preeminent current talent. Stewart claims that 3FOR82 is the most “feature-heavy” album he’s done. In the creation of the record, Stewart drew inspiration from his early work with Jesse Boykins III and Theophilus London, working on each track in-studio as opposed to virtually or through acapellas. In 3FOR82,  Stewart began by filming each collaborator, asking them: “If you were able to be in the room with your younger self right now, what would you say to them? What would you do with them? What words of wisdom would you give them? I would start recording and get their live reaction[s].” He reminisces: “Every single artist that I worked with had a different answer, which mostly led to how their lyrics were inspired. I would say, of anything out of any album that I've ever done, this is the most lyrically connected, where all the songs are kind of answers to that question.” 

Despite the artist’s repute for myopic attention to frenetic, glitchy detail, Stewart actively avoids worrying about technical frills while creating-a safeguard against getting “lost in the sauce,” he advises. “You forget that feeling you should be getting from listening to a piece of work if you're a little too technical,” he says. That indescribable feeling — that nuclear bond that envelops the creator and their listening community in an eternal two-step — upholsters every part of Machinedrum’s creative process, including his choice in software. After using an Impulse Tracker for 10-12 years, Stewart switched to Ableton Live in 2008 — his love for the software reminds him of his love for the tracker community of his youth. Back in the day,“You [could] see how everybody else use[d] these sounds that were circulated [in the community],” he says. Now, Max for Live has a similar communal usage, identifiable samples and sounds leaving fingerprints across the music industry. Despite hearing the same sound samples crop up in various songs, Stewart enjoys the low barrier of entry to production these days. “At the end of the day, whatever your tools are, it all comes down to the person behind it,” he says.

Such is why Stewart is all for democratization of music software (and pro-musicians union, to boot): If everyone had access to production software; if everyone used the same sounds and adhered to the same creative regimen and listened to the same music — there would still be plentiful opportunities for artistic singularity. A good producer can spend hours on a project and thousands of dollars on plugins, but a great producer has an “awareness of how far away [they’re] getting from an original idea.” Stewart gestures to his chest — towards his own rhythmic timekeeper, that arbiter of biology and life and death. 

 “The mind is there to act and execute it, but really — the feeling, the emotions, the deepness of a song and how other people relate to it that really all comes from the heart. It’s a very in-your-chest feeling… you have to look outside of yourself, and then look back at yourself and be like:  Would I fuck with this? Would I be into this music?... There's no wrong or right way to do things. You could have a studio full of gear. You can have just a little laptop and headphones. As long as you follow your excitement and check in with yourself, I think you're gonna be good.”


INTERVIEW + PHOTOSHOOT

Interviewer: Kalonni Hurrel (aka. kojima plus) // Photographer Nile Brown + James King // Writer: Annie Bush // Producer: Ashvini Navaratnam // Production Company: Santulan Creative