Manafonistas

on life, music etc beyond mainstream

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„Twin Peaks: The Return might not have been the best TV series of 2017 (according to this poll, at least). Then again, it might not be a TV series at all. Earlier this month, Sight and Sound’s critics’ poll of the finest films of 2017 put David Lynch’s drama at No 2, ahead of Call Me By Your Name, The Florida Project and Dunkirk. The decision prompted howls of rage from snooty cineastes – but it was also quite fitting. Twin Peaks wasn’t interested in being constrained by categories and boxes; it could be anything you wanted it to be.

Still, The Return made most other TV series look small by comparison. It was smarter than most shows, funnier, stranger (obviously), sadder, more terrifying and – during a five-minute scene of a man sweeping a bar-room floor – more boring than most shows. It contained multitudes … and Michael Cera doing a Marlon Brando impression. It was pure televisual maximalism.“

(Gwylim Mumford, no. 3 of 2017´s TV series in The Guardian)

„There’s a dark side to each and every human soul. We wish we were Obi-Wan Kenobi, and for the most part we are, but there’s a little Darth Vadar in all of us. Thing is, this ain’t no either or proposition. We’re talking about dialectics, the good and the bad merging into us. You can run but you can’t hide. My experience? Face the darkness, stare it down. Own it. As brother Nietzsche said, being human is a complicated gig. Give that old dark night of the soul a hug! Howl the eternal yes!“

(Chris in the morning, Northern Exposure)

 
 

Ende der Achtziger, Anfang der Neunziger. Chris am Mikrofon. Cicely. Ein Rentier auf der Strasse. Seine kleine Radiostation. Ed schaut vorbei. Und ich dann auch, mein kleiner Gastauftritt. Chris wollte mal ein richtiges Interview machen:) Die wundervolle Serie „Northern Exposure“ („Ausgerechnet Alaska“). Jetzt endlich in einer sxhönen Box, immer ein grossartiges Weihnachtsgeschenk. 

 
 
 

 
 
 

Chris: What are your favourite Jackson Browne records?

Michael: Late For The Sky and Running On Empty.

Chris: When did you listen to them recently?

Michael: Not recently. I think maybe 20 years ago.

Chris: What happened?

Michael: Nothing. Time. But I really love them.

Chris: What is so great about them?

Michael: One is about being too late for the sky. If you are in misery, Late For The Sky (or is its title Too Late For The Sky) calms you down. Makes misery sound uplifting. Like slow-motion surfing on a long wave. Jackson Browne loves surfing, by the way.

Chris: And the other one? Running On Empty …

Michael: That one crosses different scenarios, spaces, atmospheres. It is deeper than most road sagas partly because Browne had the brilliant notion of recording on the fly … It also works because he tapped the culture’s circa-1977 sense that it was running on empty, feeling like a trashed Holiday Inn room. Empty is about something larger than the misery of room service.

Chris: What is the greatest American rock album ever?

Michael: The Allman Brothers Band Live At Fillmore East.

 

 

 
 
 

This is a photo shot in my electric cinema. I’ve been listening (some might recognize fragments of the cover) to the Eno-produced MORE SONGS ABOUT BUILDINGS AND FOOD from the salad days of the TALKING HEADS, some fucking moons ago, and this, dear Ian from Glasgow, was a life-changer. A „lifer“ like few others. This record is anti-matter and remedy at the same time. Gimme hard times, I turn it on, LOUD, gimme happy times, and I turn it in on, LOUD, gimme happy-sad times, and I turn it on, LOUD. I was listening to it on a cheap cassette recorder when it came out, and I‘m listening to it on a surround-mix today. This record kills me, and makes my life new, every time I listen to it. This is what I call magic. I believe in white magic. I‘m a pagean. When I was a teenager T Rex‘s ELECTRIC WARRIOR has had a similar effect on me. Multiple effects. Made even masturbation more exciting. Stay hungry. Plan is: in my very last radio show, I will play music from this album, at the very end, and call it a day, a night, an epiphany. I know what an epiphany is. Even pageans can know that. And, by the way, dear readers, these lines are an exercise in understatement.

 

 

Ich empfehle sehr Trollers Dokumentarfilm „Deutschland in den 70er Jahren.“ Immer wieder ist es ein jung machender, witzig gedrehter Film über meine besten Jahre. Ich mag das Interview, das er mit Gisele Freund gemacht hat, besonders. Mit welch herbem Charme die Fotografin ganz einfache Fragen von Troller wie z. B. „Konnten sie als Kleinkind aus dem Fenster gucken?“ mit enormer Aussagekraft beantwortet. 

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„Jazz“ in Hamburg hate lange Zeit die Pflege des Althergebrachten bedeutet. Damit hatte man sich abzufinden. Das „Birdland“ in der Gärtnerstraße, wo auch anderes möglich wurde, lag noch in weiter Ferne, und die Hamburger Jazzbands waren durchweg pflegeleicht und konnten alles, von der Jazzband-Battle im Schauspielhaus bis zur Möbelhauseröffnung Montag morgen um zehn. Die Jazzkneipen hatten den typischen 70er-Charme; der Wirt der „Riverkasematten“ war es schon gewohnt, dass regelmäßig im Frühling ihm der Fluss einen Besuch abstattete und der Laden dann wochenlang durchfeuchtet roch, im „Cotton Club“ dauerten Sessions manchmal bis in den Morgen, die Musiker schliefen dann auch gern mal dort und wurden morgens vom Wirt mit Schlehengeist geweckt. Vom Pö gar nicht zu reden.

 

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Mittlerweile war mein Traum von einer fangfrischen Forelle ausgeträumt, ich gab mich mit einem Stück altdeutschem Käsekuchen zufrieden, schoss noch ein Foto von der von jedem Windhauch befreiten Idylle des Hofes. Am Rand nahm ich wahr, wie verriegelt die Dorfpizzeria war (ein Schild mit der Aufschrift „GESCHLOSSEN FÜR IMMER“ hätte mich nicht aus dem Gleichgewicht gebracht) – doch erst im Nachhinein wurde mir klar, wie leicht ich hier, in Mellrichstadt, am Ende der Welt, die Zeit hätte anhalten können. Ein idealer Ort für Liebende und Verlorene. Hinter der Ortsgrenze hiess das erste Lied, das ich hörte, „Hawai“, von Neil Young, er sang es 1976, in einer Sommernacht, auf seiner kleinen Ranch nahe Malibu.

2017 10 Dez

Dreamtime

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„It’s a pink moon
Hey, it’s a pink moon
It’s a pink, pink, pink, pink, pink moon.
It’s a pink, pink, pink, pink, pink moon.“

 
 

I purchased the first album when I was 14. I think it was the first LP I bought from my pocket money. I regularly listened to „das neue werk“ at NDR radio, so new sounds were something I knew and found interesting. But Kraftwerk, for me, hit a new bell: They amalgamated these esoteric avantgarde sounds and rock music. For me, this was an epiphany. (I also loved the cover grapic and the inside photo, by the way. I still do.)

 
 

Heute war ich in der Banksy Ausstellung. Ich habe mich sehr gefreut, dass ich einige seiner Antithemen ansehen konnte. Marie war nicht mitgekommen, weil die App Affectiva ihr zu negative Emotionen zeigte. Sie führte das auf den gestrigen Besuch in der Lounge von radioeins zurück. Alle ihre Selfies zeigten ein frustriertes Gesicht. Zudem wären die 500g Reis plus Hähnchenspiess für ihre Vitalwerte verheerend gewesen. Ihre FitBit hätte rot angezeigt. Seltsam, dass sich Marie körperlich so vermessen lässt.

 
 
 

 
 
 

In Wirklichkeit heißt Bartos also Karlheinz. Zu Herrn Karl wurde er erst, als es darum ging,  seinen Namen für die Kraftwerk-Bühne in Neonrohr zu biegen: Da ist Karl eben nur halb so teuer wie Karlheinz.

 
 
Music, maybe it sometimes needs context like blood needs oxygen.

I remember getting the train from Warsaw to Łódź last year and (as luck would have it) I’d just downloaded a cracking Jesu album onto my Moto G4 (or was it Moto G3) and as the unfamiliar landscape fed my eyes, unfamiliar music bathed my brain.

 

It was a perfect winter afternoon. And Łódź was definitely my kind of town, and the music was the right accidental choice. Łódź, a perfect city.

 

Es ist noch dunkel, pink moon, die lady liest, begeistert sich an dem, was in und unter der Struktur der Sprache liegt, sie macht Notizen, beschriftet 1 Blatt Papier und mehr, setzt sich an die Maschine, verwandelt ihr Material in Magie, montiert sie mit anderen, bereits vorhandenen Notizen, die in ihrer Wohnung in Wien in kleinen bunten Plastikkörben gesammelt sind …

 
 
Today Kraftwerk is dead like Mungo Jerry. No artistic ambitions anymore, perfect masters of earning much money with pasttime glories. This is totally okay with me. Their first two  statements are strolling through too many sideways for corporate identity issues. Being first class business guys today, they put these gems behind (they might be bothered thinking about their „old fire“). They are icons, put them on stamps!
 
 

„NO NO NO NO“ (the chorus of the other side of the coin)

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featuring Christian Garrick & David Gordon, Kathryn Bigelow („Detroit“), Fred Hersch, Nils Okland Band, Lee Morgan, Erlend Apneseth Trio, John Coltrane, Maciej Obara Quartet, Brian Blade & The Fellowship Band, Ron Miles, and Colson Whitehead („Underground Railroad“). The picture presents Garrick & Gordon in action.

 

 

 

„Mastered from the original master tapes and strictly limited to 3,000 numbered copies, Mobile Fidelity’s transparent hybrid SACD reveals the you-are-there immediacy of Dylan’s production and the colorful textures inherent to every passage. Experienced on this audiophile version, the songs of LOVE AND THEFT (2001) possess a sense of swing and naturalism so sure-footed that they seem to float, with Dylan and his crack ensemble setting up as a live band taking down the house in a deep-in-the-woods Louisiana shotgun shack. Prized aural traits such as presence, imaging, separation, and soundstaging depth don’t come better. This is the very definition of sonic chemistry.“

 

 

All I remember I loved one album of the Raincoats, and I did only have one. But though the covers are simply unforgettable, I‘m not sure which one it was. Over the years I lost the album, but still today I know that I would love the music all over again. Like „Colossal Yourh“. Like the first album of the Violent Femmes. Was it even the Raincoats record where Robert  (as it googled me) played drums on one track or whatever?

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„It’s a good thing Jenn Pelly’s 33 ⅓ book about the Raincoats’ first album is so compact, because after tearing through it in 48 hours, I carried it around with me for weeks. I reread passages while listening to the record on the train, in bars, and curled up in bed with a cup of tea, hearing something new every time. She writes: „Each instrument is a character, singing. The melodic base, a trickster; the scratchy violin, a dramatist. The serrated noise guitar is lawless. The wandering drums dance.”

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„Le Chat qui Pêche,
Rue de la Huchette.
Paris at night,
and the strains of a ghost saxophone.“

(Robert Wyatt, Old Europe)


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