Chelonis R. Jones’ passport describes him as a writer, but that only tells you a small part about German house label Get Physical’s most individualistic signing. He’s a poet, singer and producer, who is intent on rattling the foundations with his provocative, unconventional music.
Born in the US, Jones’ father was in the military and, for years, he lived in Germany before moving back to the family’s native Texas. It was an unusual upbringing, one that set off a pattern in his life of not fitting in, of always being the outsider.
He spent his youth listening to English indie and new wave, fascinated with bands such as The Smiths, Wire, Siouxise, Cabaret Voltaire and The Cure. It would be much later before he tuned into the house and hip-hop that his older brothers listened to.
Describing himself as “too avant-garde for the American blacks and not white enough for the Europeans”, Jones nonetheless decided to move from the US to Europe to pursue a music career.
“I thought if I didn’t get out of the US, I would kill myself, I saw no future there,” he says.
Planning to move to the UK, he ended up instead in Germany, where he has resided for the best part of a decade.
One reason he stayed was because he was commissioned to write pop songs for a bloated Italian opera singer.
The job didn’t work out, but the project’s engineer was Arno from Booka Shade, who advised him that he needed to change tact if he wanted to get ahead in electronic music.
“He told me no one was listening to vocals any more and I was like ‘thanks for that’. I still kept going though because I’m used to having doors shut in my face.”
The results of his perseverance, the One & One and I Don’t Know EPs on Get Physical, generated huge interest in his Prince-like falsettos and lo-fi, clunky grooves.
He was quickly picked up by more adventurous DJs such as Ivan Smagghe and remixed by Justus Kohncke. However, in his adopted home, acclaim and even acceptance evaded him.
“As you probably know, the Germans are very serious about music and are cautious when they come across a new act,” Jones explains. “In the beginning, people thought that I was a joke. They were coming up to me when I was playing live, asking me what I was about. There are very few provocative dance acts in Germany, or anywhere else for that matter, and they couldn’t handle what I was doing.”
Jones called his debut album Dislocated Genius and designed the album artwork himself. It was a caricature of a black man eating a watermelon, an incendiary image in the US.
While he admits that he did this specifically to cause outrage, he says that the album would never have seen the light of day if his Get Physical colleagues hadn’t approved of it.
“ I don’t care about anyone else, but I was really nervous what the label would think. In the end, DJ T loved it, which was the most important opinion for me,” he resumes.
While it doesn't quite live up to its title, it’s an unusual mixture of indie synth pop and ‘80s funk laid over cold, pulsing electro basslines and basic house beats.
Disparate elements, such as Kraftwerkian synths or a soft-rock guitar solo appear and Get Physical’s twitchy, jerky electro nuances are evident at times. What really makes the album stand out, however, is Jones’ vocal range.
By turns resembling Prince’s high, yelping tones, Dave Gahan’s subdued doominess and even Morrissey’s aloof fopishness, he works his way through a series of bitter-sweet lyrical vignettes.
“It’s a nice compliment, but I can never come close to him or even stand in his shadow,” he says of the comparison to the His Royal Purpleness. Unsurprisingly, for one so outspoken, the merest mention of mediocre music sets Jones off on a rant.
“There is no danger in electronic music," he concludes. "I waited for years for a black artist to be this provocative, but all they wanted to talk about was sex, bling bling and God. Even the black house producers seemed to enjoy fitting into the stereotype, dancing around in their videos with blondes with silicone tits.”b