30 Years Of Vicious Recordings: 'You're Only As Good As Your Next Track'

In 2022 Australia's game-changing independent dance and electronic music label Vicious Recordings – which launched Avicii, Madison Avenue, Dirty South, Rogue Traders and Peking Duk – is celebrating its 30th anniversary. But not even an extravagant commemorative compilation, 30 Years Of Vicious, tells the full story of how Melbourne house DJs John Course and Andy Van (aka Andrew van Dorsselaer) reoriented a rock-dominated pop culture and introduced Australian electronica to the world – all pre-digital revolution.

Today a chatty Course, shaking off the 'flu, is Zooming from home, while the multitasking Van uses Bluetooth from his car. The DJs spent the COVID-19 pandemic – "a pretty dire situation," Course laments – on screen, pivoting to live-streamed sets, "Coursey's" webcast Together At Home going viral. "Who'd have thought we'd have had this in the last two years?" Course ponders. "In many ways, it's been kind of grounding. I think, for some people that were burning the candle at both ends, a few DJ friends that I have, they really stepped back and they're living a much healthier life now."

Besides, iso allowed Vicious' stalwarts to plan the anniversary campaign for their brand – 30 Years Of Vicious revisiting an extensive catalogue. "We've got 22 new remixes done of what we deemed to be significant tracks in the history of the label – whether they be commercially successful records or just creatively great records," Course says. "So we've tapped into some Australian producers that we like, but also some international people where we really love what they do, to go back on some of the 30 years of releases." Inevitably, the process induced nostalgia (on the Vicious website, there's a timeline). "Sometimes looking back is part of the enjoyment of these moments," Course observes.

VICIOUS RECORDINGS: GROUND LEVEL

The Vicious enterprise has humble origins, being founded in 1992 as Vicious Vinyl in Frankston – the insalubrious seaside suburb long socio-economically disadvantaged, despite its proximity to affluent Mount Eliza. "If you grow up in Frankston, you're aware that there's some rough people around," Course begins. "But it's your hometown and I never felt any negative vibes about living there or walking around the community. I met amazing people there." He suggests that Frankston is "the butt of the joke because it's easy to make that joke," but not hip St Kilda. "You walk past the same thing there and it's colourful and rock'n'roll!"

That Frankstonian battler mentality rubbed off. "Maybe it made us a little tougher. We saw all sorts of life and all sorts of music and all sorts of venues. Maybe that gave us a bigger view of the world, which may have been a good thing – because we certainly didn't grow up with a silver spoon in our mouth, oblivious to the issues of the world, that's for sure."

The suburbs provided the Vicious pair with a unique insight into pop dynamics, Course maintains. "On a musical front, I think it helped us because, when we started out as DJs, we were bringing an inner-city house music sound to a suburban venue in 21st Century – and Andy at the time was also playing out in Ringwood. We were kind of appreciative of what songs could work and how they could work. 

"We weren't able to just play a whole night of brand-new music and get away with it. We had to learn how to program music. We had to learn how to introduce this music that we loved – this new music, this house music sound – because we wanted to play it, but we knew we couldn't just play it willy-nilly, however we wanted. We had to work it into a commercial format." 

Colin Daniels coming on board as third partner, Vicious' roster initially spanned homegrown acts. Mind, Course casually mentions that Brit techno pioneer Carl Cox "came down to our little Frankston shed" and recorded Eternal with Mark James (of Bass Culture). The label experienced early global success – Ground Level's now forgotten 1992 rave classic Dreams Of Heaven a UK club hit.

In 1997 Vicious won their first ARIA for Best Dance Release with the underground Coma by Melbourne ambi-housers Pendulum (unrelated to Perth's drum'n'bass crew). The label likewise facilitated the career of Sgt Slick – the DJ debuting with White Treble, Black Bass, another ARIA winner. Vicious progressed to developing international talent, championing Indonesia's Angger Dimas (and promoting the late US house DJ Ian Carey's 2008 Get Shaky). And, monumentally, Vicious launched the late Swedish superstar Avicii.

THE MADISON AVENUE ERA

The act most synonymous with Vicious is Madison Avenue, whose Don't Call Me Baby – "made in Frankston," Van stresses – became an international phenomenon late in the '90s' filter disco era. The DJ aspired to cut a house banger in the same vein as Mousse T's Horny, recruiting choreographer Cheyne Coates as writer. Having tried different singers, Van opted to use Coates' smoky guide vocal – "John in the background on his telephone." Primarily, he wanted a resonant "message". "It ended up being a powerful anthem, and a great thing for women at the time, to basically say, 'Don't call me baby.' For me, that's another part of the legacy."

Australian dance tracks – cue Yothu Yindi's 1991 Treaty (Filthy Lucre Remix) – had previously gone global, but none crossed over like Don't Call Me Baby, which topped the UK charts. "At the time, it was almost like we kicked open the door for Australian music," Van flexes. 

Madison Avenue presented an album, The Polyester Embassy, and, at home, proved themselves no one hit wonders with a national #1 in Who The Hell Are You. The ubiquitous Don't Call Me Baby scored ARIAs, including Single Of The Year, yet Madison Avenue are (hilariously) iconic for a chaotic performance at the ceremony, Coates inadvertently leaving her drink in view of the camera.

Van was a reluctant celebrity. "I always remember I was doing some Madison Avenue gigs," he explains. "We had a tour manager and he was like, 'Oh, you can't go through that gateway 'cause you'll end up in the crowd.' I'm like, 'Yeah? What's the problem with that?'"

Overexposure ensured a "backlash" – even from the DJ community. "I had techno guys basically saying, 'Hey Andy, I hate your song, but I really like what you've done for Australian music,'" Van recollects dryly. "I'm like, 'Oh, thanks, man – that's kind of good and bad in the same sentence.' 

"But I think they hated it because it was played so much – 'cause it was the #1 played song on triple j for quite a while there, and then it was the #1 hated song on triple j… Not that I cared, because I don't think triple j should have played it as much as they did.

"Anyway, it was one of those weird songs that was commercial, but also cool – but then possibly not cool."

Disturbingly, Coates encountered industry misogyny. "Cheyne is a really strong personality," Course says. "You don't make records that are called Don't Call Me Baby and Who The Hell Are You if you're a wallflower. And, as a result of that, she was ballsy to media. She wouldn't take a backward step. Some media didn't like that. 

"You know, I think if Madison Avenue happened today, she'd be a lot more accepted as a strong woman with a really strong voice and a really strong opinion. [But] back then she probably copped a little bit of the old school backlash to 'Who's this aggressive powerful woman?'"

In 2003 Madison Avenue dissolved – Coates pursuing a transitory solo career before retreating into family life. "She's still writing bits and pieces of music, but I'm not sure what she's doing," Course shares. Van subsequently devised the electro-house Vandalism with Kam Denny (who, ironically, was producing techno as 16th Element, his searing Warp remixed for 30 Years Of Vicious by Cox's protégé Rory Marshall) and wife Cassie as frontwoman.

The Vicious fold has already reissued Don't Call Me Baby – Motez notably tweaking the track in 2014 and then Mousse T himself for the 20th anniversary. But, for 30 Years Of Vicious, Van solicited rising UK DJ Joshwa, touting it as "minimal tech-house". "I think, as a song, it really stands up."

THE NEXT LEVEL: AVICII

In a bittersweet chapter, Van discovered an unknown Avicii, aka Tim Bergling, on a Swedish trip. "My memory was that he was just this keen young guy that was super excited about making music and making his mark on the world," he says.

Van was booked to DJ at Stockholm's Café Opera Nightclub by Avicii's manager Arash "Ash" Pournouri – a "tough" Swedish-Iranian who "really, really wanted to work 24/seven to make his artist as successful as possible." Pournouri was familiar with Vicious because of Dirty South. The Serbian-Australian had joined the label in the mid-2000s, soon ranking in DJ Mag's Top 100 DJs, collaborating with Axwell, and receiving two Grammy nominations for remixes.

Van visited Avicii at his crib. "I think he was a young guy wanting to take control of his life – as you do when you're 18," Van relates. "So he had moved into a one-bedroom apartment that's literally a bed and, at the end of the bed, was his desk and a computer... He had a tiny kitchenette and a toilet – that was it. That was his world." Van sat on the bed as the future EDM trailblazer played him demos. "I was like, 'These are great – I'd love to do something.' At the time, [dance] was all about synths and aggressive energy and electro-house, and he was doing piano house and beautiful piano melodies – I saw that instantaneously."

Vicious signed the Swede for 10 issues – the first Sound Of Now. The label "capitalised" on a burgeoning blogdom – and Hype Machine – to establish the producer's profile. "Tim would have a release on Vicious, but he would also have one or two bootlegs that he made." 

Yet Pournouri had ambitions for his progeny, who'd blown up with 2010's My Feelings For You (itself a flip of Cassius' Feeling For You) alongside Sebastien Drums. "Frustratingly, at the end of the two years, [Avicii] released a song called Levels, which I'm sure he held onto while he was sending demos to us – because I'm sure he and Ash went, 'This is something amazing here, so let's shop this one 'round after our deal ends with Vicious.' But we were always happy with what Tim delivered to Vicious, 'cause he delivered some fantastic music to us. And then Levels obviously catapulted him to another stratosphere." 

According to Course, Universal Music advanced Avicii US$750,000 for Levels – Vicious unable to compete. "How can you say to Avicii, 'Don't take that US$750,000 and do another record with us on a profit-share set-up where, if it works, you could make more money – but, if it doesn't work, you just missed out on a house that sets you up for the next 10 years?'" 

Alas, five years later, Avicii retired from DJing due to health struggles, his passing in 2018 shocking the dance scene. In June Vicious inaugurated the 30 Years Of Vicious roll-out with a hot remix of My Feelings For You by Dutch superstar DJ Don Diablo (UK veteran Mark Knight offers an alternative), liaising with Avicii's father Klas.

ON A HIGH: LAUNCHING PEKING DUK

Other successful Vicious acts switched to majors, the indie operating as an industry incubator. Vicious cultivated Melbourne's Rogue Traders – DJ James Ash's club vehicle crossing over with 2003's One Of My Kind, an ARIA-winning remix of INXS' Need You Tonight. The Rogues then signed exclusively to Sony Music on engaging a vocalist – as advised by Vicious – in Neighbours actor Natalie Bassingthwaighte, evolving into an electro-rock band. "They went down a very pop-dance route – and they smashed it," Course says.

Something similar occurred with Peking Duk – the Canberran duo first releasing 2011's Bingo Trippin' on Vicious' cutting-edge offshoot Vicious Bitch (now Be Rich Records). After the Duks achieved household fame with High (featuring Nicole Millar), winning an ARIA in the dance field and polling at #2 in the triple j Hottest 100, they announced a worldwide Sony contract (for 30 Years Of Vicious, Melbourne's Mell Hall proffers a discofied High). 

The Vicious personnel were less "bitter" than philosophical, Course insists. "You have to accept that, when you're an independent label, some people think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, once they get really big. Sometimes it's about money, sometimes it's about security, and sometimes it's about opportunity that they don't feel they get through an independent.

"I mean, you know, it's par for the course – you just have to deal with the fact that independent labels will always be more creative, they'll move faster, [and] they'll find artists, more than a major will. But majors will always step in at some point with money and deals that look better." In contrast, Dirty South quit Vicious to start his own Phazing Records.

VICIOUS GOES STREET: THE J-WESS PROJECT

In the 2000s Vicious expanded into R&B and hip-hop. A&Red by Melbourne DJ Ken Walker, the Vicious Urban imprint signed J-Wess – the American expat basketballer-cum-producer conspicuously absent from the house-heavy 30 Years Of Vicious. Wess pre-empted a diverse fresh wave of Australian hip hop acts, although his role is erased. In 2003 he had a Top 20 hit, Bang This, featuring the streetwise rapper Digga and singer Kulaia (formerly of the R&B group Bella, Melbourne's answer to Destiny's Child). An album, J-Wess Presents Tha LP, followed.

His sound steeped in West Coast G-funk over '90s boom-bap or barbecue rap, the Californian attracted 'haters' in a domestic scene fixated on authenticity, but exclusionary. "To a certain extent, he got stuck between the whole, 'You don't rap like an Australian, so the Australian hip hop scene's really not gonna support you' and then the American hip hop scene is like, 'You're bringing ice to the Eskimos here,'" Course rues. "Like, 'if this guy is gonna rap and break in America, why isn't he in America?' So I think it suffered a little bit from the external pressures of how the music is perceived and where it comes from." Vicious Urban stalled.

However, Vicious recently enlisted Melbourne trapper Charlie Threads as well as NYNE, a buzz female rapper/singer down with Allday, both on Be Rich. "I think it's a very different scene now," Course continues. "It's certainly very, in a way, closed off – like, it's very much about what the Australian hip hop scene does. There's certain gatekeepers within that world that your projects need to appeal to and J-Wess probably never appealed to that 15 years ago. [But] the things that we're doing now certainly do appeal to that, because they're very grassroots, homegrown, and that homegrown hip-hop culture is so much stronger than it was 15 years ago… 

"So I think maybe a J-Wess would be more accepted now, because the resolution of the hip hop scene is so much stronger about itself, and sure about itself. It wouldn't feel threatened by a rapper with a US accent who lives in Australia."

GIMME! GIMME! GIMME!: VICIOUS IN THE STREAMING AGE

The main challenges for indies have been technological, with the popularity of file-sharing in the '90s and, latterly, streaming. Vicious' co-founders have negotiated changing patterns of consumption, embracing CDs, then digital formats. (Van jokes about reverting to 'Vicious Vinyl' given the vinyl resurgence.) Above all, he and Course are unfazed, Van declaring, "I don't actually see them as challenges – I actually see them as opportunities for the label."

Vicious were well positioned to adapt to a singles-based market amid the supposed "death of the album," as they'd "always released pretty much singles," Course states. "We haven't had this massive gold pot of album sales that disappeared, because that was never what we were about. We were always kind of like, as they say in dance music, 'You're only as good as your next track,' you know?"

Curiously, it was Avicii who'd acquainted Van with Spotify, a Swedish start-up. Though artists have criticised the platform's royalty arrangements, he values its reach, immediacy and potential longevity. "Spotify has opened doors and created a lot more money," Van reasons. "A lot of people complain and say, 'Oh, yeah, it's only point three of a cent for every play.' But it's bringing hundreds of thousands, if not millions of dollars, to artists that would have never, ever received that money after their release."

Digitisation has made it easier for a label like Vicious "to build a global brand," Course notes. Crucially, distribution is simplified. In 2020 Vicious unleashed Sgt Slick's cover of ABBA's Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight). "We've done 20 million streams on that song and there's no international partners," Course says. "So there's more money coming back to both the label and to the artists, because there's no middlemen in between." For 30 Years Of Vicious, Super Disco Club, Vandalism's successor, have serviced a "tougher, disco-edged version". (Sgt Slick himself has a massive remix of Avicii's Street Dancer.)

The Vicious DJs are also TikTok fans – Van using it to plug Super Disco Club. Coincidentally, he spotted his new signing Proppa, a Chicago bass houser, on the platform.

THE NEXT VICIOUS THING

House is undergoing a revival, post-EDM boom. This year the Canadian emo-rapper Drake stealth-dropped a (deep) house album, Honestly, Nevermind. Meanwhile, Beyoncé is reliving '90s clubdom with RENAISSANCE. In the pandemic aftermath, audiences want to party, seeking escape from pervasive gloom. Yet, in the underground, tech-house prevails. Course enthuses about the ascent of South Africa's Black Coffee and Afro-house. But the Vicious team are unsure of the next mega-trend in an increasingly globalised, and segmented, milieu. "I actually think it's going super all over the place – which is awesome," Van reflects. "People are being super creative and mashing things together." 

Van anticipates more remakes – and remixes – of classics, in addition to sampling. Course cites an interconnected '80s influence, "but obviously with modern production aesthetics," omnipresent in music even before Stranger Things rejuvenated Kate Bush's Running Up That Hill. Young people, among them budding producers, are uncovering old records – the DJ taken aback by the cross-generational turn-out at Melbourne's Reminisce events. Again, TikTok is driving the trend. "It's a new audience looking back on old music that's breaking it."

Conceivably, "nostalgia" is the key movement – 30 Years Of Vicious opportune. "I think old music, it throws back to the past in various ways – and it's certainly doing it a lot at the moment," Course says. "Statistically, during COVID, new music got streamed less – it went down a little bit and classic music went up a little bit. I don't know if that's just in troubling times, people like what they know." 

For more info on Vicious Recordings' 30 Year Celebrations, click here.