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Du durchsuchst gerade das Archiv des Monats Februar 2018.

Archiv: Februar 2018

2018 28 Feb

Keine weiteren Fragen mehr

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2018 24 Feb

Fast ein Sonderangebot

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Original-Preisliste für Moog-Synthesizer, 1974.

Allein für das Keyboard (Bestellnr. 950, fünf Oktaven) hätte ein normalsterblicher Büroangestellter damals ungefähr zwei Monatsgehälter ausgeben müssen, für den Sequenzer (Bestellnr. 960) ungefähr viereinhalb.

 

Wir wussten, dass in Deutschland Zauberer unterwegs waren, manche hatten magische Pilze, andere makriobotische Ernährung im Repertoire. Bei der Volksmusik konnten sie nicht fündig werden, die Eltern sprachen von Hottentottenmusik, und die von ihrer Nazizeit Heimgesuchten fanden kleine Fluchten in Bella Italia, in deutschen Schlagern – und Fleischfondues incl. Diashows und James Last. Deutschland wollte ja wieder unschuldig werden und wählte die Regressionen, die schlechter Geschmack und gut gefüllte Geldbeutel eben möglich machen.

Mit vertrauten und fast vergessenen Magiern der „Deutschen Elektronischen Musik“ hat Soul Jazz Records jetzt eine dritte Kompilation rausgebracht, zwei CDs, drei Vinylscheiben. Krautrocker, Sphärenforscher, Trancegroover – die Palette der Jahre 1971 bis 1981 war ein üppiger Strauss der Vielfältigkeiten. Zu entdecken gibt es wohl immer noch so einiges. Vieles wurde durch die Zeit an den Rand gedrängt, dabei hält der Underground jener Jahre immer noch  wilde, weissgott nicht nur wohlige, Schauer parat.

Und so driftet man durch allerlei Welten hier, zwischen willkommenen „Dejavus“ und augenreibenden „Was-ist-das-denn-Momenten“. Ich gestehe, mehr als ein breites Honigkuchengrinsen fiel mir nicht ein, als ich, im Laufe dieser zwei Stunden (am Stück im Dunkeln gehört, mit Kiff, Ananas und Kerzenschein) zwei lange Tracks des fantastischen Michael Bundt entdeckte. Ich kannte nicht mal den Namen. Stuart Baker liess im übrigen, als die Archäologen im Londoner Hauptquartier den letzten Staub aus den Regalen gefegt hatten, seine Designabteilung wissen, das sei nun nicht mehr zu steigern, und sie mögen auf das geplante Cover noch einen Untertitel platzieren: „That‘s All, Folks!“

 

(aus dem  Manuskript für die Radionacht Klanghorizonte, dritter Samstag im April, „Kiff“ wird durch „Kakao“ ersetzt). 

2018 23 Feb

A Cowboy Named Sonny

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Some months ago, a friend asked me about the best-sounding jazz album ever. What a question, I answered. I don‘t know anything about „ever“, but ask me about a certain time. Then he asked me about the best-sounding jazz album of my teenager years, and the best-sounding album „before my time“. Okay, choices made instantly. I said, „Dis“ with Jan Garbarek, Ralph Towner, and the short appearances of a wind harp.

And thinking of the times before my time, I said, „Way Out West“. It was made in the middle of the night on March 7, 1957, in the shipping room of a small Los Angeles record company, with an underpaid engineer recording a trio playing cowboy songs on a first-generation stereo Ampex tape deck through a homemade mixing console. It seems an unlikely setting for one of the greatest jazz recordings of all time, musically and sonically.

But the players were Sonny Rollins and Ray Brown and Shelly Manne, and, on that night, they were cookin’. What seems like strange duo of vinyl albums, makes some extra sense when realizing a strong bond between them: deep relaxation, high intensity, breathing space. Real favourites.

Now, with some studio chatter and unreleased versions, a double vinyl edition of Sonny Rollins’ classic has been published. You don‘t need to have that one, a single vinyl edition is enough to induce addictive deep listening. The sound is dry, but vibrant, the channel separation has its own aura, far away from being one of these minor quibbles in regards of the limitations of early stereo. Come on. It‘s a cracker. Joyful and deep. I was enthusiastic when I spoke about it during a talk with Norwegian master bass player Arild Andersen years ago. He had never heard it, just knew about its existence. Now, finally, he has it at home, and has one word for it: GREAT.

 

Er war gerade sechs Jahre alt geworden, als er zum ersten Mal allein in die Innenstadt fahren durfte. Zunächst galt es zur Straßenbahnhaltestelle zu schlendern und dann zu hoffen, dass eine alte Straßenbahn kommen möge, die mit den Holzsitzen und der langen Lederschnur unter dem Straßenbahndach, an dem der Schaffner kräftig ziehen musste, um ein schrilles Läuten auszulösen, was dem Fahrer bedeutete, dass er nun abfahren durfte. Diese alten Bahnen, die 1959 manchmal noch durch Hannover fuhren, hatte er ins Herz geschlossen. Und tatsächlich, an diesem Tag kam die betagte Bahn mit der Nummer 5. Er kaufte beim Schaffner eine Kinderfahrkarte und los ging es bis zum Aegidientorplatz. Dort führte sein Weg zunächst zu einer Filiale der Firma MOST. Bis 1999 konnte man bei MOST edle Süßigkeiten kaufen, Ende der fünfziger Jahre, da gab es die Firma schon 100Jahre, bekam man zumindest hier in der hannoverschen Filiale für ein paar Groschen ein große Tüte Süßigkeiten-Bruch. Weiter führte der Weg des Jungen an den Mercedes-Benz-Ausstellungsräumen vorbei, magisch angezogen von den wunderschönen Autos, konnte er sich von den Schaufenbstern kaum lösen. Dann am Theater-Am-Aegi entlang – das Theater sollte 1964 in Flammen aufgehen und ein riesiges schwarzen Loch hinterlassen, was den Jungen stets in Schrecken versetzte – in die Maschstraße. Hier gab es nicht viel Interessantes zu schauen, außerdem war diese uninteressante Straße auch noch sehr lang, bis sie dann schließlich in die Meterstraße mündete. Hier, auf dem Gelände einer Schule waren die Übungsräume des Knabenchor Hannover, dem der Junge nun angehören sollte, untergebracht. Er hat das Singen im Chor gemocht, sehr sogar, aber die Fahrt und der Weg dorthin und wieder zurück, nach Hause, das war für ihn einfach nur großartig und er freute sich immer darauf, allein unterwegs zu sein.

 
 
 

 
 
 
Jahrzehnte ist das her, aber sein weiteres Leben hat der ehemalige Chorknabe seinen Knacbenchor Hannover niemals aus dem Blick verloren. An zahlreichen Veröffentlichungen hat er sich über all die Jahre erfreut, aber 2017 wurde er besonders hellhörig, da hat der Knabenchor Hannover eine ganz ungewöhnliche CD herausgebracht: ”New Eyes on Martin Luther” mit Jeanette Köhn, Nils Landgren, Magnus Lindgren, Eva Kruse, Johan Norberg, Knabenchor Hannover und Capella de la Torre . Jörg Breiding leitet inzwischen den Chor und er hatte während des Projektes ”New Eyes on Martin Luther” auch die Aufgabe, so unterschiedliche Ensembles musikalisch zusammenzuführen; also das von Katharina Bäuml an der Schalmei geleitete Capella de la Torre, die Gruppe Nils Landgren and Friends und schließlich seinen eigenen Chor. Der NDR hat das Konzert in Hannover mitgeschnitten und auf Act-Records veröffentlicht. Herausgekommen ist eine großartige Platte. ACT-Music schreibt auf seiner Produkt-Info-Seite u.a.: „The three ensembles just dived into the music without pre-conceptions. The traditional German folksong “Die Gedanken sind frei” is here performed with a percussive flute solo, and Landgren’s smooth voice on top of a funky rhythm. Sometimes he joins Capella de la Torre with a trombone solo and when all musicians play together it sounds as if the music was originally written with this in mind. It moves seamlessly between genres and what you can hear is the sound of really skilled musicians together – and just having fun.“

 
 
 


 

 

 

The most exhilirating of my recent time travel activities has been the return of „Twin Peaks“, 25 years after leaving Agent Cooper in a disturbing trap. 18 episodes rush over you with the inventiveness of radical cinema, anti-nostalgia (what an ability to disappoint our expectations – and then to fulfill at least some of them when we are all ready to give up) – and an even higher level of bleakness that can only be handled with a big step into surrealism, dream territories, and some fleeting moments of relief.

Though I always raise my eyebrows when David Lynch promotes his heavily manipulative TM machinery (as bad as Scientology), he is definitely still a master in filmmaking, a chain-smoker, and (looking at the bonus material) apparently a warm-hearted person (sometimes:)).

It takes some time to discover old traces of humour and burlesque again, but they still exist. As does a prevailing sense of wonder. This is enlightening stuff from the department of darkness, and more so for those who have seen the first two seasons decades ago. A show that once changed the landscape of television forever – ask Damon Lindelof, the mastermind of LOST and THE LEFTOVERS. Or, simply remember.

And, please, forget your dreams of fairytale endings. In essence, it is all about the samsara of life, the illlusionary character of everything we are striving for with blindness (to only offer you the polite version). We learn these things with a devastating sense of hopelessness. David Lynch wanted us to feel utterly lost. It’s one of the most powerful emotions there is. What a paradox that in the end you are left speechless, but with a strangely knowing smile.

And the humans here, coming back from the glorious past of early Twin Peaks – some of them have had to face their deaths in fucking real life, after the curtain call. The old lucid dreamer‘s question about being in a dream or in waking life, you can ask this the whole way through. David Lynch looks at „The Return“ as a long movie, and was getting some angry responses by the same fools who thought Bob Dylan should never have come even near winning his Nobel prize. Trapped in classification. „Twin Peaks – The Return“ is a masterpiece – and its ways of delivering sound, song and noise add to the magic. By the way, the extras on disc 8 are the icing on the dark cake.

 

2018 21 Feb

Greatest Hits

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Charly´s five best moments of his sorry excuse for a life (#1 in this picture still missing). LOST, SEASON 3, EPISODE 21

 

 

not for reason mixed with treason

not for all these beloved seasons (darling buds of may)

(the dust department has been closed recently)

no matter  what john d. and ross macdonald might add

or subtract and subvert

i am fighting for the first daylight

of  all your tomorrow mornings

(i would even paint the dawn)

 

2018 19 Feb

Local Boy Makes Good

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Julian Lage was just a kid when I first heard him play, maybe around 12 or 13. He would get onstage with some heavyweight at the Healdsburg Jazz Festival and just blow everyone away. His dad took him to all the shows, where he met everybody and often got to jam with them onstage. He was a bonafide wunderkind.

At the tender age of 15, Julian went on the road with Gary Burton and the rest is, as they say, history. He has since released 6 solo albums and it turned out that not only could the kid play – he can write.

I saw him for the first time as leader of a trio a couple years ago with Scott Colley on bass and Kenny Wollesen on drums. Dave Holland, Charles Lloyd and Richie Beirach were among the jazz luminaries in the audience, but it didn’t faze the 28 year old prodigy: he played a confident and loose set, smiling much of the time as he performed his no tricks guitar pyrotechnics without breaking a sweat.

I just saw him last night at the Raven Theater in Healdsburg CA with his current touring trio, bassist Jorge Roeder and drummer Erick Doob. They tore it up, playing tunes from his rootsy and diverse Arclight as well as the new release, Modern Lore.

What I get from watching Lage is he has this great love affair going on with the guitar. He makes it sing, growl, scream, shout and croon. He played slow, slinky ballads and wild uptempo Ornette inspired free pieces, and just about everything in between with aplomb. He played the craziest intro I’ve ever heard to the old standard I’ll Be Seeing You, sounding as my guitarist friend said, Bach on acid. No shit, it really did. He has this way of rocking out, that reminds me of some of the early rock guitar legends, such as Johnny Guitar Watson, and rockabilly maestros such as Carl Perkins, not to mention country (and sometimes jazz) guitarist Chet Atkins. In this regard, he has a kindred spirit in Bill Frisell, a guitarist who often sounds very country when he’s not reaching for the stratosphere with loops and other effects.

But Lage uses no effects whatsoever, yet he manages to coax an extraordinary number of diverse sounds out of his Telecaster and a Fender amp, with just his fingers and a tone knob. The word ‘resourceful’ comes immediately to mind: He seems to be inventing techniques on the fly, as he grabs the middle of the neck and strums it while picking a separate line, or plays muted arpeggios while managing to lay a beautifully rendered melody on top. He does these wildly accurate chromatic runs up the neck, often ending in little screech that has a signature sound, reminding me of Kenny Wheeler’s flugelhorn squeals. One minute he can be as down home and bluesy as B.B. King, the next as heady and melodic as John Abercrombie. You can hear the entire history of the guitar, sometimes in one song, sometimes in one solo.

Another thing that really sets him apart from his peers is his amazing range of dynamics. It’s as though most players have something like maybe 5 gears of loudness; Lage has perhaps, 25 levels. He uses his dynamic sensibility to create musical tension that draws the listener in, sometimes coming down to an absolute whisper and then roaring back with a single powerful strum.

It’s great to hear such music, so filled with good feeling, humor, wit, humanity and optimism, played live. He was clearly enjoying himself, playing two 45 minute sets and after a standing ovation, coming back for a sweet encore with a ballad off the new album.

I just found out Julian will once again be opening the next Healdsburg Jazz Festival, this time playing duos with Bill Frisell. Perfect. Now that is a show I won’t miss.

 


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