[Hour House Is Your Rush]

There is no shortage of tracks named acid-something-or-another, and when you pick a title like “Black Acid,” you’re generally promising your listeners at least a twisting 303 line and some hand claps. Ricardo Miranda’s effort bears these hallmarks but doesn’t extend much further, a track with all the standard acid elements and little panache to back them up. Nevertheless, the Chicago producer sandbags by giving Danny “Legowelt” Wolfers the flip, who ably demonstrates how not to abide by rigid titular ambitions, delivering a haunting, hypnotic remix that ends up being far more lysergic than most studies of the genre.

Miranda’s original is a quintessentially tracky piece, featuring a lengthy intro and outro of 4/4 kicks for mixing purposes. Aside from the addition of a few percussive flourishes (and of course, there are hand claps), its body is made up of two acid lines that steadily and logically entwine. The first establishes itself and is subsequently hushed as the second, more clipped one develops, and they trade off in this manner for the duration. However, acid signifiers do not acid make, and “Black Acid” is simply too empty to truly be considered as such; its “acid” is too restrained to cultivate the claustrophobic rush of the genre’s better productions. Still, it’s a fine choice for those looking to add a bit of tweaked 303 to a house set without sending the crowd into convulsions. DJs have their restrictions after all, and while the raw power of Phuture’s “Acid Trax” sounds like a perfect idea to me, it’s hard to judge whether the contemporary casual dancer feels the same way. Now that the limits of excitement have been tested, all one has to do is hint at that original drugged-out danger to make someone’s night. Perhaps playing it safe was the way to go. Or perhaps Miranda should have picked a title that didn’t involve the word “acid.”

If Miranda’s piece is a watered-down modern take on acid house, Legowelt’s remix is a blurry seance for the genre’s ghost. Jacking percussion fires away at full capacity where the original’s was spare and kick-led; clattering and busy as it is, every bit of it feels essential. Wolfers does away with the original’s 303 lines in favor of slight keys and a vaguely Middle Eastern synth strain comparable to his recent material as Nacho Patrol, and, by extension, the darker installments of the otherworldly Éthiopiques series (Nacho Patrol’s fake back story claimed it was a long-lost Ethiopian act, managing to fool a few people). Dulled, pitched-down vocals periodically murmur cryptic, parallel-universe Chicagoan incantations about new bodies and other dimensions, like Jamie Principle with an occult obsession. Foggy and smudged, the track is not as populist club-friendly as the original, but for those who relish a foreboding, psychedelic atmosphere in their house music it’s a stunner.