Traumprinz
Life
All Possible Worlds
Sincerity in dance music is a tricky business. When clubs opened up after Covid, the irony was dialed up to 11. 145 bpm remixes of “Toxic” in warm-up sets. The rise of Partiboi69. The return of Euro house. Signifiers were detached from the signified in a postmodern bacchanal, one fueled by a desire to truly let loose after a long stretch of “partying” with premade negronis during Zoom happy hours.
Since then, the pendulum has swung back and sincerity is once again in the ether. Melancholic breakbeats are an industry unto themselves. More and more punters are sober curious. Fred again.., a man who does not seem to have an ironic bone in his body, is one of the most successful artists on the planet. Even Frat house—for all its underlying emotional vapidity—markets itself with vague references to “community.”
These developments can sometimes make any allusion to sincerity seem trite, or simply appear like an attempt to jump on the latest cultural bandwagon, but there’s one artist out there whose sincerity not only feels genuine, but borders on a kind of theology. Traumprinz, the German artist also known as Prince of Denmark, DJ Metatron, DJ Healer, Prime Minister of Doom, Golden Baby, the Phantasy and irini, has spent his career mining this particular well, and in the process, has created some of the most emotionally devastating dance music of the past 20 years.
Varying his approach from one alias to the next, he’s touched on everything from wrought deep house (an indicative vocal from his classic “All the Things” features the line, “Don’t cry, even when the road is hard”) to minimal techno. But even when he is working in this latter mode, his music has an emotional core that will make you believe every clubland cliche about communion. (He did, after all, release the Prime Minister of Doom album on Easter Sunday.) Perhaps the most obvious proof of his charms can be found in comment sections on SoundCloud, YouTube and Discogs, where a veritable army of disciples bare their hearts, leaving remarks that feel more like confessionals than run-of-the-mill expressions of fandom.
This week, the Prince has returned with another one of his classic drops: 16 songs across three records that sold out in less than 10 hours. The record, Life, doesn’t consist of new material, and was first uploaded in the form a continuous, 90-minute mix on his planet uterus SoundCloud account more than three years ago. Yet its re-release nonetheless provides a case study in exactly what he does so well, offering up precise and bespoke dance music that finds the perfect balance between club functionality and tears-on-the-couch melancholy.
One thing that makes Life so good is that it’s often akin to listening to a greatest-hits compilation of the artist’s assorted aliases. Take “Floodgate.” The tune is a brooding piece of dub techno a la Golden Baby, where skittering snares battle against a reverb-washed stereo field. Its main melody is dark, almost ominous, but little flecks of chords are brought into focus throughout the track, evoking visions of sunshine snaking through a stained glass window. “about leaving,” on the other hand, is vintage Traumprinz, and a song whose chunky breakbeat and muted rave stabs wouldn’t have sounded out of place on his 2013 album Mothercave. Elsewhere, he harkens back to Prime Minister of Doom, conjuring up a Dozzy-like level of tension with the ropy synths and loopy drums of “psy,” while “beautiful (no matter what)” lives up to its title, recalling the gossamer house of DJ Healer.
At other times, these different MOs melt together. The pads on “the luring of the beyond” are celestial and light, but its skittering drum pattern has the brooding intensity of his darker techno productions. “upstairs” even has a touch of the Ibiza-fied euphoria that colored his releases as The Phantasy, but its slightly subdued filtering makes it more of a comedown than a come-up.
Traumprinz isn’t for everybody. But for those who have drunk the Kool Aid, Life is another, well, life-affirming 90 minutes of pure sincerity delivered without any gimmicks. Dance music’s pendulum will undoubtedly continue to swing between irony and sincerity in the years to come—and I’m sure some people out there are already hankering for a hardgroove remix of the Baha Men—but wherever the culture goes next, we can all rest assured that the Prince will continue to wear his heart on his sleeve.
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