“The idea that political commentary has to be solemn is just so lame,” says the memeable face of Martyn Bootyspoon, beaming in from Montréal on a November afternoon. “If someone is trying to say, ‘I’m a political artist so I can only make 170bpm hard house’, I’m like, sure – you’re making tracks that are like heart-attack music. But it lacks imagination.”
Jason Voltaire is of the school of thought that listeners can work it out for themselves. His Bootyspoon alter ego possibly only lightly exaggerated is a puckish composite of steezy VIPs, sleazy MCs and absurdist memelords. Imagine a smooth-talking nerd asking to “go through your browser history” while peering over his inch-high sunglasses, as on his rackety cybersex anthem ‘The Grid’. But while Bootyspoon himself couldn’t manage a single night in lockdown, the human behind the outsized persona has spent his 2020 booze-fasting, music-making, and perfecting his tennis serve.