The bassdrum wanders through the chinky bricking, through the thick ceilings and walls of the no very fancy apartment building in the harbour of hamburg. Pedestrians look up to the window, from which the beloved and detested sounds spread. It is the rhythm of the clubs heart.
Jan Tenner is at work. He has put down the headphones and turns up the volume. His foot taps the beat and his shoulders luff simultaneously. The sample's good. In
a thousand times rehearsed movement, he lifts the rotary arm off the record, secures it in the cover and lets it vanish in the record rack. Tenner seams content. There may be many hours of work between this moment and the finished track, but he is patient. Jan Tenner's new track is in the makin'...
It was the sound of pioneers from Americas mayor cities, which made Tenner want to create music, and you can hear that. Deep House without cheesy reminiscences
of the 90ties.
It's the way Jan carries his first love in a recordcase to the club and lays her down on the decks. Money and fame? Passion goes a long way.