here’s one element of the recent German minimal explosion that’s bound to avoid backlash found in bizarre press releases and snarky ten commandment guides. And no, it’s not minimal scarves. The computer program Ableton Live has lent artists the ability to painlessly mix DJ sets lasting through entire parties, after-parties and after-after-parties—pouring loving doses of fuel on Berlin’s fire. Although the program should have instantly spawned victory cries from overworked sampledelica artists everywhere, so far the program's been more of a change under the hood for artists making more or less conventional mixes on their computers. Only a few minimal DJ’s have tried to push the boundaries of the program, but those so doing have leaned towards only one mode of experiment: flurries of atomized loops—a style insane to try on a pair of turntable decks and capital-"T" Tedious with traditional sequencing software. Magda’s She’s a Dancing Machine is the latest.

Perhaps Richie Hawtin and Audion’s distaste of vermouth is to blame for earlier mix-recipes of Transitions and Fabric 27—both were a touch too dry for a satisfying Abletini. Magda adds a twist of orange peel from the start. The introduction, with its golden-age Hollywood dream sequence chimes dissipating into seething Windowlicker-worthy drums, sets up a tension lost in both Hawtin and Audion’s mixes. Magda understands that while Ableton has the ability to smooth the transition between any sound and time-signature, the process can just as easily lose all friction and propulsion.

In Magda’s hands, clashing genres of music both coalesce and contradict, leading to a wide spectrum of moods. While maintaining her close family of cohorts like Mark Houle, Troy Pierce, and Heartthrob, She’s a Dancing Machine throws in more than a couple wrenches (Metro Area & Larry Heard) that make sure that no one is lulled into the M_nus machine. Despite this, the diarrhea-like string of musical elements prevents a significant function of mixes to take place here, namely introducing songs to listeners. As each referenced song is woven tighter than the fabric on Magda’s scarf, there’s little left to discover beyond Dancing Machine’s autonomy. Even in the mix’s tracklisting, a song like Caro’s “My Little Pony” can be widely mis-accredited to his label-mate, Bruno Pronsato, simply because it’s surrounded by seventy other atomized elements. Not to mention that the song’s only purpose is to use its chorus for a few bars and promptly disappear—just another transition among the flood.

But this is a criticism that shouldn’t be leveled toward Dancing Machine in particular—especially since the album sparks less of the dull reverence usually afforded to such an undertaking. Instead, the italo-wallop of Dancing Machine’s seventh section paired with the expanse of the fourth displays the knack for dynamics that Magda maintains through each song—a dynamism that makes sure that Ableton won’t find itself the victim of backlash anytime soon.