(Listening to „Einfluss“ under headphones)
I don’t believe in music as simple or clever entertainment. Sometimes music is a soft emotional ambush, it has endless ways of transcending the everyday, opening gates or slipping into nothingness. Stardust memories, dust to dust, chose your favourite exit signs! And, as a good journalist, you have to be prepared for surprises outside your usual playgrounds (that awesome old instrument Mr. Alexei Lubimov is playing) – or play the old games well!
I have been looking for some music that has not yet appeared, at least in the first two hours devoted to new records and and the very fine red lines that can link the most disparate material. Though I knew their music from the beginning (I was a studio witness, so to speak), I have been rather surprised about the fucking brilliance of Porter Ricks‘ return. David Torn will deliver a very special performance, promise! Not to speak of Matthew Bourne and his climate studies at home, rainy home Yorkshire…
A great late work from Herrn Roedelius, too. He doesn’t know what we recently did near Forst at the River Weser. We hang two loudspeakers into a tall tree and let them play „The Big River“ surrounded by tracks from „Einfluss“, after dark. The emotional impact was immense, the loudspeakers slightly damaged – that trip to the ancient places of Harmonia and Co. had been the most thrilling seminar I ever did. I’m still grateful for the wonderful people I met there.
As time moves, during the „close-up“ and „time-travel“-zones of my next radio night, the dfferent geographic climates, between Asian mountain regions, African Zanzibar dreams, Balearic Sea Music and Mediaeval dances, will trigger a ritualistic atmosphere: a dream zone for the clear mind. Coming back to music as a soft ambush, I will surely play this wonderful little song by Sam Beam aka Iron & Wine (and, maybe, you want to sing along when time comes). – m.e.
songbirds in the morning had my head
lost in the tall trees i knew well
well i would say
dreaming my dry weeds
stray life finds its way to all of us
say something green it comes back sun
light on my lips
let them kiss dark leaveslet the hands of the wrong prophets
heal me all they should
let the wine of the poison jesuses taste goodwhen all those trees lay down
if you were a bird and fell into my arms
if i wrote your song in stone
if i wore your wings back home
would the dreams in the backwater
drown us far from harmgive this to the gray it comes back gold
birds of the morning they may know
no more than us
giving their hymns for life
let the waves on the wrong water
say what they will say
while the wind in the broken branches
blows me awayall tall trees lay down
if you were the bird who fell into my arms
i could write your song in stone
i could wear your wings back home
where the dreams in the backwater
drown us far from harm