Midtown 120 Blues is a 2008 deep house album by Terre Thaemlitz under the name DJ Sprinkles. It was reissued in 2014 by Thaemlitz's Comatonse Recordings.

Fake Drivers Licence Canada. 'House is not universal; house is hyper-specific East Jersey, Loisaida, West Village, Brooklyn places that conjure specific beats and sounds.' So goes part of the two-minute monologue that opens album-length paean to early-‘90s deep house,.

An alias of multi-media producer and computer musician, is probably not a name that's familiar to most house heads; and with good reason, s own relationship to the genre can best be described as 'complicated.' A former DJ at midtown Manhattan transsexual clubs, was a first-hand witness to the stark urban contexts from which deep house first emerged -- sexual and gender crises, social stratification, HIV/AIDS, drug abuse -- an experience that clashes with the official script, the defining narrative arc of house as a collective, shared, and universally galvanizing experience. That's not to say 's critique hinges on his irreverence toward the subject; far from it. To casual listeners, may even come across as a celebration of all of the distinguishing hallmarks of the genre -- a notion that seems reasonable enough given the exquisitely crafted music on the disc. To wit, does not wear its critique on its dancing shoes.

This is house music that's not so much deconstructed as recontextualized. All the exquisite details of the genuine article -- driving four-on-the-floor kick drums, shuffling rhythms, warm, enveloping chords, insistent hi-hats, snippets of flute and horn -- co-exist to create a sound that's very much of a piece with the production style of early-‘90s deep house (labels like Nu Groove, Strictly Rhythm, Prescription). And it's underneath those seemingly bog-standard 120 BPM grooves that a slightly more sinister and far less uplifting subtext appears, revealed in snatches of field recordings -- spoken word accounts of police beatings, leering drag queens, disembodied diva vocals. While there is a palpable undercurrent of sadness that serves as the album's thematic binder, humor is also broached on 'Sisters, I Don't Know What This World is Coming To,' a track that cleverly reconfigures a vocal sample from the concert album (made famous by on their song 'Rebel Without a Pause').

But the album's most evocative track is 'Grand Central, Pt. By Rail from Missouri),' a beat-less eight-minute ambient piece that drapes a fog of synth drones over crackling vinyl noises, rail sounds, and drifting piano notes, finally invoking a haunting sample of Chuck Roberts' quintessential sermon to the House Music Nation, 'In the Beginning There Was Jack.'

'House is not universal; house is hyper-specific East Jersey, Loisaida, West Village, Brooklyn places that conjure specific beats and sounds.' So goes part of the two-minute monologue that opens album-length paean to early-‘90s deep house,. An alias of multi-media producer and computer musician, is probably not a name that's familiar to most house heads; and with good reason, s own relationship to the genre can best be described as 'complicated.' A former DJ at midtown Manhattan transsexual clubs, was a first-hand witness to the stark urban contexts from which deep house first emerged -- sexual and gender crises, social stratification, HIV/AIDS, drug abuse -- an experience that clashes with the official script, the defining narrative arc of house as a collective, shared, and universally galvanizing experience. That's not to say 's critique hinges on his irreverence toward the subject; far from it.

To casual listeners, may even come across as a celebration of all of the distinguishing hallmarks of the genre -- a notion that seems reasonable enough given the exquisitely crafted music on the disc. To wit, does not wear its critique on its dancing shoes. This is house music that's not so much deconstructed as recontextualized.

All the exquisite details of the genuine article -- driving four-on-the-floor kick drums, shuffling rhythms, warm, enveloping chords, insistent hi-hats, snippets of flute and horn -- co-exist to create a sound that's very much of a piece with the production style of early-‘90s deep house (labels like Nu Groove, Strictly Rhythm, Prescription). And it's underneath those seemingly bog-standard 120 BPM grooves that a slightly more sinister and far less uplifting subtext appears, revealed in snatches of field recordings -- spoken word accounts of police beatings, leering drag queens, disembodied diva vocals. While there is a palpable undercurrent of sadness that serves as the album's thematic binder, humor is also broached on 'Sisters, I Don't Know What This World is Coming To,' a track that cleverly reconfigures a vocal sample from the concert album (made famous by on their song 'Rebel Without a Pause'). But the album's most evocative track is 'Grand Central, Pt. By Rail from Missouri),' a beat-less eight-minute ambient piece that drapes a fog of synth drones over crackling vinyl noises, rail sounds, and drifting piano notes, finally invoking a haunting sample of Chuck Roberts' quintessential sermon to the House Music Nation, 'In the Beginning There Was Jack.'