Hullo. What is a MySpace Wanderer? This is a MySpace Wanderer. We begin at the MySpace page of a relatively new artist whom we adore, then we click through to go visit someone in their top friends. Then, in turn, we click through to go visit someone in their top friends. Are you with me? We do this eight times, in total, passing comment on all the hope, glow, risk, shit, flannel, death and plagiarism we find along the way.
Brooklyn duo Blondes make dance music you can't really dance to, the type of club that'd rather stay home and watch other people club and just long for it. This is not to paint Zach Steinman and Sam Haar in a bad light - 'Spanish Fly' and 'Moondance' both settle on the brain like thick, purple fog and gradually dement it, post-high house piano all listless with quiet ecstasy.
There's a rare and stellar appreciation of space here, and in that space a darkness builds, and from that darkness colours come ebbing, and in those colours you're a bird somehow sleep-flying through fireworks. Blondes' impress my ears like Teengirl Fantasy do (their breathtaking ‘Portofino’ waits below), a neat coincidence given both pairs met at Oberlin College in Ohio. It’s stolen dance memories and an Impressionist pillhead wash, you know?
We wander onwards, towards the foreboding form of Invisible Conga People. Like Blondes and Teengirl Fantasy, ICP (no clowns) are a duo making dance music you can't dance to, but their imaginary clubland is a much less welcoming place. 'Weird Pains' begins with synths spat out like blood through breaking teeth and a man whispering in Turkish, and while 'Cable Dazed' is more upbeat its eyes still glint from shadow, synths babbling like the polyphones of a bad news phone call.
Both these tracks were released last year by Eurodisco defibrillators Italians Do It Better, but Eric Tsai and Justin Simon - again, they're New York - create something that's as sour kraut as it is glittery kosmishe, recalling Cluster, motorik heroes of '70s Berlin.
Next up's Super Family NYC. They have one track at their page; it's unplayable. Undeterred, we click on a photograph of what looks like a small child. He's wearing a white waistcoat and an officer's cap promoting gay rights and above him is written 'House Of House'.
Somewhat inevitably House Of House are another clubber duo from New York, but their tunes are made with the dancefloor in mind, 'Rushing To Paradise''s piano keys warbling like acid house 303s and backed with, uh, Tom Jones? Yeah, Tom Jones, doing deep house. It's a mixture that can only provoke groin-in-mouth awe, whether you're tossing panties or boxers.
House Of House only have two friends and both of them are themselves, so we find ourselves listening to Oliver 'Liv' Spencer's solo efforts with the same satisfied pout HOH inspired, before quickly moving on to Still Going, the daily concern of House Of House member Oliver 'Liv' Spencer. A 'high quality' video of 'Still Going Theme' lies in wait below, he's earned it, we'll let him.
With only two rolls of the die remaining, it's unlikely we'll manage to escape this NY disco ghetto by Wander's end. Is that such a bad thing? I don't know. Dr Dunks suggests not; his synths gliding with a pleasant destiny over those well-worn house piano keys. The track is called 'The Phone', though. I'm not sure I can allow myself to get that worked up over a phone. There's another track called 'Love Savage' which I can get behind, despite the panpipes. This is deep house Peru! Take me away from New York City...
Ghent. We end up in fucking Ghent. The Glimmers aren't just Belgian, they're shit, too; 'Lisa' sounding like Scissor Sisters gone suddenly limp, perhaps at the sight of that gay rights baby. Ah well. Pick the gold flecks from between your teeth, spit a few my way and see you again when the MySpace Wanderer returns with invincible glee.