EVIL NINE ARE full of contradictions. They're actually very nice fellows, there are only two of them and although they're an electronic act they sound more rock'n' roll than many bands you can shake a drum stick at.
It's easy to become jaded with the constant stream of big-name DJs passing through Hong Kong, as the events usually feature some earnest-looking bloke working some turntables or a laptop operator who could just as well be checking his e-mail. But electronic artists such as Evil Nine are a rare breed, an act with depth and personality who command the stage with the energy of rock stars as they conjure up a live journey through up-tempo hip hop and grungy grooves.
And it's not done without a sense of humour. On their MySpace page, the British duo say their 'love of innovation, dianetics and their ability to tweak the dance music format, injecting punk, hip hop, s***face, goth rock, metal, folk, sci-fi and zombie soundtracks, dancehall, grunge, asscrack, power ballads and their own heavy, dirty, dusty sound into the mix, has been slowly establishing them as the new golden balls of the all-male choir scene'.
After starting out as a production duo in 1998, Pat Pardy and Tom Beaufoy were firmly aligned with the then-flourishing breakbeat movement, releasing singles on Brighton's acclaimed Marine Parade label and putting together remixes for the likes of James Lavelle's UNKLE project. But it was on their 2004 debut album, You Can Be Special Too, that Evil Nine's unique sound came together, a mash-up of the above-mentioned disparate genres featuring guest stars, including US rapper Aesop Rock and British ragga vocalist Toastie Taylor.
The disc bucked many a trend in electronic music by actually working as a cohesive album from start to finish - an observation with which Pardy agrees.
'The only real plan for You Can Be Special Too was to make it work as an album, and that was the only restriction. I can't see the point of making an album that doesn't work. I think it's a big problem in dance music, people are so used to making 'tune' after 'tune' for the club that they have no idea how to do anything else.
'The White Album would sound like s*** if the Beatles just did 12 versions of Helter Skelter. It would have no dynamic,' Pardy says.
