Manafonistas

There are some funny guys who call me a „fan“, or my love for a certain kind of music a „steckenpferd“ which sounds like someone obsessively collecting stamps or coins. Mhmmm, I’m not a fan, and I’m not following a „steckenpferd“. But, deep respect for people who are collecting coins and stamps instead of old Spyro Gyra records. From some high brow perspective this all gets the aura of „regressive behavior“. Tonight, at 4 in the morning, I made my little „lucid dream exercises“ (without success, by the way) and was lost in listening on Spotify to Ian’s new discovery. A review can’t be more accurate. Charcoal Owls! Tin Roof! Wow! The word „wow“ is not just a simple expression of my enthusiasm, but also a kind of hommage for the barking dog on this terrific record! I will immediately order a vinyl copy at A-Music. This is a kind of melancoly far beyond the usual standards of old boy’s misery missing their beloved in a desolate cabin in the woods. But I digress. I will present now a totally new side of mine which will surprise many readers of this blog. I mean being a professional music journo means to be confronted with a lot of pretentious bullshit and certain forms of virtuosic boredom meaning, f.e. the fucked up Mehliana record, Wesseltoft’s hour of „sacred sensation“ in „OK World“, groovy Nils Landgren records, or the 150th Jarrett standards trio (a telling example about the bitter taste of being trapped in a time-loop). The ubiquitious music critic „Johnny Boy“ Kelman and the magic „wolfman“ Kampmann might heavily argue against my point of view –  that’s fine with me. But now, something totally new (from my limited, utterly fragmented world) – did you ever hear about a record titled „Someday World“? I couldn’t resist to write a review on amazon.com, and here it is. Brian Eno and Karl Hyde are creating disturbing, beautiful songs with a sense of wonder and wilderness. Brian knows how to look for exit signs on old, well-trodden paths. Getting lost is a heartfelt need. For both of them. Between the blurred edges of England’s old soil and another blue world, „the satellites sing songs / The days run into one / I need the sound of cars / To drown the quiet sun“. It’s an album that grows with time. Opposite emotions co-exist in the same frame, there are second and third bottoms in tracks that offer dark lyrics on one side, but warm, lush, embracing tunes on the other. The songs are full of existential issues without simple messages. Death, childhood, love, missed opportunities, a strange take on the creation of the world, a lullaby (with two bleak four-liners) for our endlessly numbered days. The music is full of twists and turns, never a simple formula, always an element of surprise – and excellent singing. I’ve heared these nine songs for four weeks now, and for all their diversity, their hidden corners, their singalong qualities, their joyous melodies, their mix of harshness and sweetness, it has become quite an addictive experience. And, to return to  the beginning now, I’m not a fan of anyone or anything, with one exception: I’m a fan of Borussia Dortmund. Thanks for reading.