Like a dancefloor Cerberus (the three-headed dog that guards the gates of hell) Trickski is a force to be reckoned with. Not many other acts would have the balls to take on a remix of Carl Craig’s seminal “At Les,” then complete it in such a way that it earns the master’s respect. “It was not intimidating to produce it, since it wasn’t meant to be released in the first place,” says Yannick Labbé of the remix.

Trickski member Fna Müller (a.k.a. Jack Migger) remains silent throughout our email interview, perhaps unable to squeeze a word in edgewise between the constant, hilarious keyboard chatter coming from production partners Labbé and Daniel Becker. Or maybe Müller’s off perfecting his hip-house dancing or dealing with the business side of being Trickski, which entails producing, remixing, DJing, and running a new series for Sonar Kollektiv called Member of the Trick.

The trio originally coalesced in Berlin around 2001, bonding over Becker’s embarrassing love of air drumming, Müller’s 5Finger label, and events of questionable taste involving Rainer Trüby’s Root Down parties. Following remixes for Slope and Mustang, the “Hormony” single for Compost Records’ Black Label, and a compilation of ’80s and ’90s tracks for Compost’s I Like It series, Trickski grew into the glittery shoes of superstardom with 2005’s Sweat/Sunshine Fu*k EP (Sonar Kollektiv). “Sunshine Fu*k” was sleazy, fuzzy downtempo electro, while “Sweat” was an epic techno journey of keyboard harmonies, tension-building rhythms, and a Detroit warehouse-worthy chorus of “Gonna make you sweat/Gonna make you work!” that had Carl Craig squealing in delight when he dropped it into his Fabric 25 mix. Trickski returns the favor on their Bat EP with the aforementioned cover of “At Les” and “Grace,” a slower, ominous number featuring their trademark raw, visceral synths, with a sound the outfit describes as “Grace Jones and [Apocalypse Now‘s] Colonel Kurtz going wild in the jungle.”

Trickski’s music traverses levels of time and space, ranging from dense headphone landscapes to frantic dancefloor numbers. “There are many techno producers that have amazing sounds and energy, but a total lack of melody and harmonies,” says Becker. “On the other hand, there are very good musicians that somehow tend to use cheesy sounds. We try to have the best of both sides. [Plus], it has to be fun!”

Pronouncing the title of rapper Sido’s 2004 single “Arschficksong” (“Assfucksong”) is enough to put one off anal sex entirely. But it’s not a lack of lube that’s got the German government riled up. Multiple releases from Sido’s label–top-selling German gangsta rap imprint
Aggro Berlin–contain explicit depictions of sex, drugs, and crime, with rappers B-Tight, G-Hot, and Fler unleashing lyrics that suggest violence towards women and gays.

Big deal, you say, Geto Boys blasting in the background, but the work has caused the Bundesprüfstelle–a federal agency that examines media works that are potentially harmful to young people–to add six Aggro Berlin albums onto an official list, making them subject to being banned at any time. Artists like Fler regurgitate a stance once popularized by N.W.A.–that they’re just telling the stories of Germany’s mainly immigrant-populated ghettos–but one can’t help but think these tales of Berlin are exaggerated, considering that it’s still relatively safe to walk through Berlin’s sketchier neighborhoods (like parts of Wedding and Märkisches Viertel, the housing project from which Sido hails).

Regardless, the label has come up with a solution: take the music to a land where profane rap flourishes. To wit, Aggro Berlin recently inked a deal with Caroline to distribute their music in the United States. Their first American outing will be a re-release of Fler’s latest album, Der Trendsetter, followed by Aggro Videos, a CD/DVD set featuring 20 music videos from the label. It remains to be seen what residents of Cabrini Green or Queensbridge Houses think of the Aggro sound–that is, if they get around to translating B-Tight’s “Neger Bums Mich” (“Nigga, Bang Me.”)

Though his opera-singer mom despises bass and his orchestra-conductor stepfather thinks his frenetic rhythms are too African-influenced, Christian Gierden’s parents still give him tips on how to improve his tracks. “All the things that go tsk tskk blblblebleb are just cheap percussion noises to them,” says Gierden, who is close, personal friends with onomatopoeia. “They’d rather I elaborate on the melodies more.”

Orchestral influences loom large in the music Gierden makes with partner Sebastian “Basti” Sellrich under the name Society Suckers. For instance, “Ode to the Fate of Mankind,” from the duo’s Karl Marx Stadt LP (Lux Nigra), is a scary, dystopian soundscape of exploding breakcore shrapnel and worried C3PO noises with a breakdown of death-knell strings that would make Wagner weep.

“Recently, I found out it’s okay if I live out my fantasies of [creating] very elaborate melodic constructions on top of rough-edged things,” says Gierden, who has been releasing music as Society Suckers since 1997. He and Sellrich (both 28) are best friends who met at 16 in their hometown of Chemnitz, which was built as a socialist model city (known as Karl Marx Stadt) then subsequently bombed to bits in WWII. “The idea was to make as much noise as we could with 11 seconds [of sample time] and only four channels,” Gierden recalls of their earliest work. “I was always convinced that you can do anything you want with a very limited setup.”

Obsessed with the electronic gabber punk of Atari Teenage Riot, Society Suckers tried several routes to getting their music released, including turning up at now-deceased DHR MC Carl Crack’s house in Spandau to give him a demo tape. (“He was very happy that we didn’t come at four in the morning like the French free tekno crowd,” Gierden remembers.) Eventually, Something J’s Kool.Pop label put out their first release, and subsequent slabs of searing breakcore madness followed on M.A.S.H, Peaceoff, and Ad Noiseam.

But if Society Suckers is famous for anything, it’s live antics. While Sellrich plays it safe in a mask (“He’s terrified people will see him smile,” says Gierden), the massive man with a Karl Marx beard is known for screaming and banging his head until he splits it open and bleeds everywhere. In February 2005, Gierden stunned even the most jaded heads at Jason Forrest’s Wasted Festival by chugging an entire whiskey bottle with no hands, punching audience members, and spitting in Forrest’s face. “I later apologized to Jason,” says Gierden, who is very sweet when sober. “He told me ‘It’s only rock ‘n’ roll, baby!'”