Under the guise of Oneohtrix Point Never, Boston’s Daniel Lopatin has made some of the most celebrated electronic music of recent years.

His strongly narrative, synthesizer-based compositions extrapolate on the psychedelic, time-stretching promise of German kosmische music and new age ambient, doing so with a viscerality more readily associated with the post-2000 noise scene (which is where much of Lopatin’s fanbase resides). What really distinguishes OPN from his analogue fetishist contemporaries is the thoughtfulness and flair with which he processes and bounces off more esoteric, extra-musical influences: TV, literature, visual art and “ecologies” both real and imagined. His works are densely allusory, but crucially never succumb to the condition of homage.

The first Oneohtrix Point Never release was the 2007 cassette Betrayed In The Octagon; tracks from this and subsequent limited edition offerings – including Transmat Memories (2008) and the masterful Russian Mind (2009) were anthologised on last year’s Rifts, a widely available and justly acclaimed 2xCD compilation released by New York’s No Fun Productions. Memory Vague, a DVD-R issued on Root Strata (also in ’09), found Lopatin teaming his music with collaged and manipulated footage sourced entirely from YouTube; it remains arguably the best showcase for the totality of Oneohtrix Point Never’s vision, and while hard copies are now virtually impossible to get hold of, internet seekers shouldn’t have too much trouble finding a rip of acceptable quality.

Oneohtrix Point Never’s latest release is Returnal, and it comes courtesy of Peter Rehberg’s Editions Mego, the Vienna-based label that has provided an outlet for such luminaries as Russell Haswell, Fennesz, Jim O’Rourke and. Though his career is still young, Lopatin is deserving of his place in such esteemed company: it’s hard to think any other recently established electronic artist capable of delivering so generously on both the sonic and conceptual levels. Not that the “concept” of Returnal readily reveals itself: it’s rather a cryptic record, variously recalling Eduard Artemiev’s expansive soundtrack work for Tarkovsky, the teeming”fourth world” music of Jon Hassell and the uncanny vocalisations of Coil.

FACT’s Kiran Sande caught up with Lopatin via e-mail to learn more about Oneohtrix Point Never, Returnal and humankind’s desire to exist in “sacred time”.





How and when did you first catch the synth bug?

“When I was a kid, I was fascinated with my sister’s blue 10 speed and my dad’s Roland Juno 60. Both mysterious machines to the pre-semiotic mind.”

When did the desire to make music of your own begin brewing?

“As far back as I can remember. My mom was also my piano teacher and I was always writing fake etudes and jingles and trying out paradiddles and patterning on the piano. In middle school my best friends started a band and I was asked to play bass, but I didn’t have one, so I had to skip their grunge period and wait for the jam-band period in early high school when I could play keyboards for them. I played a Yamaha electric piano and an Ensoniq SQ2, which I used for fake Hammond organ sounds, and the Juno 60 for space sounds. Then I got super into sampling and electronic music and I got some rudimentary gear for that, and a Tascam, and the first thing I sampled was a couple of riffs from [fusion band Return To Never's 1974 LP] Where Have I Known You Before.

“I try to use synthesizers to model topographies, or ideas, or ecologies, or situations, or bodies…Synthesizers equals paint.”

To what extent is your music born out of process? Do you come up with ideas and then attempt to render them on your synths, or do you jam with the synths and see where they take you?

“Non-musical ideas inspire me. I try to colour or sculpt subtextual stuff into something musically palpable. I appreciate the work of Wendy Carlos and Tomita and Kitaro, in that they used synthesizers to model acoustic sound. What I do is less music-centric; I try to use synthesizers to model topographies, or ideas, or ecologies, or situations, or bodies. Like using melismatic or curved tones in the right way, you can tell a very particular story about Eros for example, or body architectures. Curved sounds are pretty erotic. Inversely, if you use extremely dense, coarse saw-tooth waves and overlap them a lot it might be a way to convey background radiation or TV static. Just an example. Once you start exploring the relationships between various zones like that it can be really fun. Synthesizers equals paint.”

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