Dum dum dum dum.

“Dum dum dum dum,” he says, turning his tongue to spit-stained drumroll. A “Round up, round up” pitter patter introduction. The opening bars of Jaws. “Dum dum dum dum, hit it.” And the record plays. 

“My name is Tiga and I am here to present my long awaited second artist album Ciao! It is a very proud moment for me, and I am overflowing with happiness.” Eleven tracks, 57 minutes, 14 months in the making, a follow up to 2006’s Sexor. “I can’t believe it’s been 3 years since then,” he exclaims. “The world is a different place since then. Ideally I just want to send out my record just as a record with no real explanation, but I’m aware that in 2009 there’s no place for naïve charm and mystery. So without further ado, lets rip the album to shreds…” 

“My first song Beep Beep Beep was written and produced by myself and Soulwax, who played a prominent part in my whole album. A fitting beginning to the album, it’s a love story, which deals with my love/hate relationship with technology.” Blips and twerps, rave soundclaps and reverb bouncing from the speakers. “I see the eyes of the computer screen,” his larynx booms in song, almost moans, a hungry bear. He sings about being on his knees in front of high frequencies as a vocoder echoes his every sentiment. “The crowd goes beep beep beep, my phone goes beep beep beep, you go beep beep beep.” He prophesises a world of beep beep beeps. Computerised beats, a Knife-like drum whispering in the background. “We started this pretty soon, like straight after Sexor. This was the new Good as Gold, you know? The new disco anthem. MAN LISTEN TO THAT, the big drum ending. Originally that was my favourite track on the album. You know what it’s about - I don’t want my tracks to fall into the wrong hands – the fear of technology.”

“My second track Mind Dimension came out first on twelve inch, it was the first song anyone heard. It’s a track I did with Jori Hulkkonen, and I would put this in the category of Idiot Track, meaning its kind of like a silly party track, something that came really quickly, took about 45 minutes to make. But sometimes the tracks that are really simple to make and I think are stupid, when I take them to Soulwax, they really like them and think there’s something really worth pursuing.” Hard 90s bass-driven grime, a reverbing beat, Propellorheads bass, songs of seeing into the future “Everytime I look into your eyes I see the future” later sped up to sound like The Chipmunks. “Oh listen to that,” he screeches in phonetic falsetto, the same voice that trills through a sea of Boom Boom Booms. “That was the classic House hook that I wrote, when I play this live it goes down really well,” he says before ushering in hushes, shushing me with lips pursed into two pencils of shushing skin leading into the repetition of a musical “Mind dimension” mantra cooed over and over with the odd nob twiddle intercepting. 

“Track number 3 is a big one, Shoes, I wrote it about my 3 favourite things in life: shoes, hair and gloves. It started in Sweden, got finished in Gant with Soulwax, and somewhere in the middle I wrote the chorus with Gonzales. We knew it would be a single because we were very proud of it. So this is Shoes…” Play. Tiga sings about shoes. Tiga sings about a lot of things. But first Tiga sings about shoes. The 3 minutes 47 second hymn reels with the same tongue-in-cheek sing-along lyrics that made 2006’s Sexor record a DJ favourite, the chorus written with dancehall mastermind Gonzales ringing “What’s that sound?/I love that sound/it’s the sound of my shoes”. Tiga’s monochromatic Talking Heads US drawl is the perfect accompaniment to cosmic blips and twerps, the slutty 80s trash disco beats, hints of Riot in Belgium acid crescendos, ultimately harder, dirtier and more rough-around-the-edges than Sexor Tiga, with electronic buzzes mewling, lo-fi SFX sporadically jabbing, and the wet phuk-phuk-phuk of a drum kit drowning out Tiga’s novelty singing, reduced to secondary nasal whines. “What’s that sound?” he chuckles wet, making ice creams of his knuckles as he laughs, laughs hard at the childish innocence of Shoes. “Are those Oliver’s boots?” He squeals. Later he’ll aside that Oliver is the man supplying the clomp clomp clomp, “SHOES!” he’ll one last time recite in ecstasy as the Ciao! CD repeats the lament into an echoing mic. “I hate to talk about my own music! Can you tell?” These nails have served me well… “This is my favourite bit coming up – the acid.. YES!” These nails have served me well... This gives way to the introduced acid, the lyrics still insisting that said nails have served the narrator well. “I hope your enjoying the album so far…”

What You Need. “When I make tracks, I feel a tension between making club music and making real music. This falls into the category of club music.” Screeching synths like twisting industrial machinery spits from the floor amp. “Wooooooooaaaaaahmmmmmm… reeeeeeeeeeiiiiiwwwwwwww… ommmmmmm,” Tiga harmonises over the dub, making light of the factory SFX, punctuating each slaughtered piggy squeal with a bubblegum laugh. “That was an advanced anti piracy technique Hahahaha.” Why don’t you break the beats because I’m hardcore, it sings. Descends into further mechanised beats. “You know, there’s a little bit of help from everyone in here, you hear that? That’s vocals from the one and only Jake Shears from Scissor Sisters [“What’s he been doing? Cheeky! He’s been doing this!”]. Don’t try to read too much into the lyrics – they’re way too complex.”  I’ve got what you need, sings out from the CD. He laughs again, a wet clacking of the tongue across the bridge of his mouth as he waits for me to twig that this is as deep as it gets. Evelyn Waugh it is not. “Complex, huh?” he enunciates, and then, and then that laugh. From the back of his throat. Daffy duck wet yuck-yuck-yuck. “Oh this is something new, we brought a motorcycle into the studio (coughing and spluttering coppery sound ensues). Yeah, we took a page out of Phil Spector’s book. Vroooooooom… vroooom… eurrrrgchhhhhhhhh.” He mimics the screech and crash of a wavering Harley “Ppcchhooowwwwww” his balled up fist becomes a mushroom cloud of explosion and we momentarily mourn the imaginary death of the motorcycler, who probably wasn’t wearing a helmet, and may have left a legacy of unemployed girlfriend and two teething kids behind. “Crazy party track… P-A-R-T-Y…” the moment’s silence has passed. “Listen to this – the hip hop…” he pops his lips like a bubble of gum. Hip pop. Slowed down voice says “Baby I’ve got what you need,” not audible until speed to 50 bpm. “Need,” and then “baby.” “Here comes the real favourite part, it’s a drum track, it was a gift given to me for my birthday by David Steff” an early nineties ball kick. “I could listen to that all day.”

“How is this album any different to Sexor? I think the major difference was I tried to go the traditional route, which means writing the songs first and then going into the studio and producing them after.  And in the songwriting effort, one of the greatest things that happened to me with this record was meeting, befriending and working with a guy called Gonzales, who you’ll know as a piano-playing fellow Canadian [“Feist’s BFF?” “Yeah! Feist’s BFF”]. He’s an all round musical genius. It was an amazing experience, we wrote 4 songs together, 3 of which made the album, and this is the first one, its called Luxury, maybe my favourite [husky groans of ahhhhhh, a millennial electro aside to Je T’aime, leak into reception], it’s inspired by spending too much time in Paris, where I am an avid shopper.” “Luxury is all I see when I close my eyes… Cartier… Cartier…” “In this song I’m breaking down some of my favourite brands, but I’m not immune to the effects of the global credit crunch and the worldwide economical breakdown.” So why rub a penchant for thousand-pound watches in the listeners face when they’re no doubt scraping for the high street equivalent? “I thought it was the time to write a song like this,” he says, tactfully, a believer that escapism is the only solution to modern day poverty. Why else is music making just as much, or even more profit than pre-credit crunch? Attention lost, elsewhere: “Whatever you’re doing today I can guarantee this will be the only bass synth solo you will hear…” he says. Luxury is all I see when I close my eyes, it sings. Is it really? “Yes, I don’t lie!” 

“This next song was done with James Murphy of DFA, called Sex O’Clock. Wherever you are, I know what time it is.” Bassline. And then little thin drums. Slug-like synths snaking from the speakers. “Took took, took took,” his teeth a xylophone being played by his tongue. “You need the time? I got the time, its Sex 0’clock.” “People don’t realise this is not just a song about sex, but also watches… finnneeeeee wristwatches,” Tiga laughs, pointing to a perfectly tanned wrist, a brown bed of skin for a beautiful vintage Rolex that sits satisfied, his lips dragging out the letters of wristwatch til a dull croak and then, “This might be my favourite one. I lied earlier.” Tick tock. It’s sex O’clock. 

“The next song: Overtime. You getting sick of my voice? I am myself. I will stop talking. After I tell you this track is almost instrumental.” A crying yelp behind impending orchestral organ chords. “Oh no I think I’m going to sing,” he breaks the silence, keeps to his word, he sings, “I need your body baby I’m in ecstasy.” 

“As I said earlier I like what I call real music, growing up in the techno world as a DJ since I was 16 years old, I find it quite easy to make club synthy electro tracks so I’m always impressed by and have always romanticised music with guitars and riffs with notes. This album was a chance to make some real music. It’s new. Exciting. This one – Turn the Night On – is one of those songs.” Gonzales on piano, “You called and so I came... to turn the night on… so turn the lights off”. Jumping flashdance thud-thud of 80s electronica making the Real Music decidedly Tiga. “You know why it’s a good song?” he says. “It doesn’t remind you of any song ever.” 

“All my lyrics are always truthful and honest: fact. I wouldn’t say I’m a very nostalgic person, but I’d say this song is definitely a nostalgic one: Speak, Memory.” I was young not long ago… it sings. “It’s autobiographical, yes. Let me tell you a simple fact of life: albums suck. Making albums is an incredible pain in the ass. I could be DJing, living the easy life, living in Ibiza, not a care in the world. Making albums takes a lot of care, a lot of self-doubt and pain, a lot of up and down, and MONEY. But the big pay off on working on an album is that something really special happens, well at least special for you, something that would never have happened otherwise. On my album, they’re the two last songs on my album…”

“This is something that means a lot to me: Gentle Giant, written and produced by me and James Murhpy. Gentle Giant: I will not explain it any further.” Typical DFA reverbing chords, a little saturated synth, a drum rattle, “youth don’t fail me now,” he coos, billing and cooing into a computerised speaker system, “don’t fail me now,” and then, then “I need you more than ever”. (“I can’t do it man, I cant talk overt his record” he insists as I try and question him, Gentle Giant descending into a rousing chorus of handclaps and harmonised yelps). 

“So while that was going on in New York, something else was happening over in Europe. Myself and Gonzales wrote an autobiographical song about the end of the career of a disk jockey…. As the title suggests, Love Don’t Dance Here Anymore. I’m extremely proud of it. It’s in the disco tradition of Keith Forsey and Patrick Cowly, I just don’t think there are enough tracks these days that start with a two and a half minute ballad solo! If there were any song I’d want you to pick up your pen and be incredibly honest about it’s this.” Tiga’s piano playing tinkles into “As the last record plays…as the last record fades…” “Hahaha I always laugh at that bit” Das Pop’s Bent drumming now. “That’s it, that’s my album. How to finish your article? Easy. One sentence: Tiga’s album. Go buy it.” Then as the record plays, and the last record fades… “Ciao!” 

Ciao! By Tiga is out now on Tiga’s own label Turbo.