Manafonistas

My first Donovan memory is equally down to earth and unreal and leads me back to the old schoolyard at the „Gebrüder Grimm Volksschule“ (no kidding) in the southwest of Dortmund. I got the ball from the left side, and a quick sharp shot let me score a nice, quite cool goal, Reinhold Wosab-style. Afterwards we were sitting on a bench near an old church, my blood brother Mathias turned on his transistor radio… and there it was, Donovan‘s long, long song „Atlantis“. I really don‘t know how these two memories can sit so close to one another, and I doubt it all happened on that same afternoon, but it is true anyways.

In the times thereafter (no other magic involved than young lads with a football and listening to music that kept more promises of worlds to come than the priest‘s sermon in Sunday‘s church) I was always wondering how much I loved the opening spoken word passage of the track, even more so than the melodic counterpoint with its invocation („wayyyy downnnnn…“) of a distant sunken planet. The whipper-snapper greenhorn critic in early action, and for sure, Donovan Leitch kept his place in my heart in the years (and decades) to come.

Some said he was just a kind of  Dylan for the poor, or just a soft hippie with a guitar, but they could say what they fucking wanted, I loved that guy, being a soft young hippie without a guitar myself. His hits and some of his early albums from the 70‘s kept company, and in recent years, the wonderfully remastered „Wear Your Love Like Heaven“ is a regular guest on my turntable. The songs there are all so beautiful and always too short, but that‘s probably part of the trick of their never ending attraction.

In my early years as a music journalist, I was often sitting in Thomas Köner‘s home studio in Dortmund, and was a bit surprised when the „drone master“  one day put on „Sutras“ with a big smile on his face, a Donovan album from the 90‘s, produced by Rick Rubin. Thomas was impressed by the beautiful recording of the voice – and the heartfelt elementary impact of the music. There he was again, my hero from schoolyard days. And, no wonder, I‘m now, after all these years, in my recluse in the Black Forest,  slowly rushing through the pages of his wonderfully written autobiography. Makes me revisit so many places of my life, catching voices, vistas, faces, kisses, sounds, feelings, and, well,  the wind. The book just had to find me. Awesome.

Richard Williams’ fine music blog is now on our blog roll („thebluemoment“). By chance, he has posted, today, a background story about a Barney Wilen album that has just been reissued (with a short appearance of young Jackie Terrasson, whose album „Smile“ has recently been praised by Mr. Klinger). Here‘s my old story (the Deepl version with some refinements) on another Barney Wilen classic, „Moshi“, from August 2017. Etliche Wege führen derzeit zum Schwarzwald, zum Bodensee. Nach Afrika, und nach Paris.

They called him Barney, but he was French. Bernard Jean „Barney“ Wilen, born in Nice in 1937. A wanderer between worlds, with a saxophone in his suitcase. Early on he accompanied Miles Davis to the running pictures of the Louis Malle classic with Jeanne Moreau, „Fahrstuhl zum Schafott“.

He played with three quarters of the Modern Jazz Quartet, free jazz and fusion music in the sixties. Jazz history in high-speed mode. Joachim Ernst Berendt brings him to Donaueschingen (1967) for „Jazz meets India“, and while we’re in that corner – he also plays in the legendary Lindau jazz club „Zur Fischerin“. Young Manfred Eicher helps organise the club’s programme and sometimes gets in on the action with his double bass. I was at this very place weeks ago, now a good restaurant, I would have preferred a time machine to my „Forelle Müllerin“.

In the wild year of 1968, the underground also arrived in the Black Forest. At MPS, „Barney Wilen and his Amazing Free Rock Band“ came into being – with Joachim Kühn, Aldo Romano and other cracks, he recorded  „Dear Prof. Leary“. Leary was never a professor, as Jan Reetze recently noted.

His dream: Africa. With the former model from a wealthy family, flag-waver 68 in Paris, girlfriend and filmmaker Caroline de Bendern and a rather large entourage, he set off in 1970 – funds flowing from a cultural foundation. That’s the big dream, the destination: Zanzibar. They sing about the island, but they never get there. If you had followed the planned route, you would have easily died in war zones. Life, jazz, adventure, all one. In 1972 they return.

The result: the album Moshi. Released by a small label at the time, it is celebrated, remembered, almost forgotten, and  an expensive collector’s item. Now the label Souffle Continu has reissued „Moshi“ as a double album on vinyl, with an illustrated book, noted memories and a documentary film by Carolin de Bendern on DVD.

Barney Wilen and his companions spent two years travelling through the Sahara and the Sahel. For African-American jazz musicians, Africa is either their original home or a myth. Pharoah Sanders, Art Blakey, Randy Weston, Don Cherry and many others had been there, some of them for quite a time, and so did European free spirits. The African roots, nourished politically or romantically, were supposed to create a new consciousness during and after colonialist turmoil, utopias of a free life were in demand, but the continent, despite all the changes, still experiences political, social and existential nightmares today.

Countless rock and jazz musicians were drawn to Morocco at the end of the sixties, but not all of them were happy. The foreign country often takes its toll, the intoxication can turn into fear. The double album „Moshi“ is a dazzling collage that does not pretend a fusion of worlds. One plays with locals, makes friends, studies new percussion instruments, sings old and new hymns. The musicians from France get involved with the foreign country skin and hair, get to know the blue people, tribes that stage surreal masked balls.

At some point, the French foundation turns off the money tap, but Caroline de Bendern finishes her film, which is as fragmented as the music and dispenses with any clever off-screen commentary. There have already been enough ethnologists who spread distorted images of Africa with their Western thinking of domination. In some places, life with African friends has something communal about it, jamming through the nights, erotic frenzy, friends for life, and they also encounter death in their close circle.

Barney Wilen died in France in 1996. Only in the last few weeks have I taken a closer look at his life, I got hold of an old soundtrack from a French film noir with Lino Ventura, and I can very well imagine him as a young slag in the jazz club „Zur Fischerin“, in 1968, in Lindau, on the Swabian Sea. Manfred Eicher told me he once had the idea to produce a Barney Wilen record. Never happened. Time runs fast.

If you look at the tracklisting of „When We Leave“, you’ll notice that the songs have only one-word titles. Norwegian trumpeter Mathias Eick likes to let the music speak for itself, and the titles are simply there to provide a small basis for what the music elaborates on.

(A review remix is a rare thing. How does it work? You take a review and change it. Extend it. Cut it shorter. Add your own perspective. Make it a dialogue. Strengthen it. Don‘t earn money with it to prevent copyright issues. In fact, this is quite an interesting approach to album reviews. This remix is more on the ornamental side, but there could be texts that only take single phrases and add a very different rating. I’ve done it years ago with a thumbs down-review of a Bill Callahan album who delivered a dub version of one of his song albums. The reviewer didn‘t like it. But I did.)

Consider the fact that this is a completely instrumental jazz album, one that relies on imagery and delicate little touches to get its point across. Are you looking for a bombastic jazz record that’s showy and grand? You’re not going to get that here. These are quiet, meditative, hypnotic pieces of smooth jazz (smooth in an adventurous way) that benefit from turning small shifts in tone into a cinematic picture you can get lost in. It fills us in on certain details, while leaving enough to the imagination for us to keep returning to speculate on its mysteries.

(Only few changes in this text. For example: „(smooth in an adventurous way)“. Though the original writer, Brendan, has never reviewed this Mathias Eick album, it makes sense to credit the text to him. How come?)

What’s amazing about „When We Leave“ is that, while it does seem very personal to Mathias Eick himself, the way he portrays this material can just as easily apply to many of our personal experiences we’ve had growing up. Presenting it as a soft, understated jazz record with many intricate details is just as brilliant, as you can dive right back in to hear whatever small touches you missed the first time around. And it’s not like being soft doesn’t make it engaging either. It isn’t super flashy – the beautiful sense of instrumental storytelling is what makes it so engaging. This is a man who’s able to tell a story without even telling the story. The album is out tomorrow. On ECM.

(The whole review stays artfully vague. With some decent observations. In fact, it is Brendan‘s review of the penultimate album from the Norwegian Trumpet player, „Ravensburg“ that has been remixed here. Easy. The same band. Even another album with titles with one word only. The same musical spirit. Just a few updates, like the release date. The band‘s alchemy is rich enough to follow its own footsteps. To reward conscious listening. End of my breakfast notes from Romantik Hotel Rindenmühle.)

Brendan Schroer (remixed by Michael Engelbrecht)

Mathias Eick: trumpet, keyboard, vocals
Hakon Aase: violin, percussion
Andreas Ulvo: piano
Audun Erlien: bass
Torstein Lofthus: drums
Helge Andreas Norbakken: drums, percussion
Stian Carstensen: pedal steel guitar

P.S. Michael‘s Black Forest Playlist: „Nancy and Lee“ / „When We Leave“ / „Winter Tales“  / „After The Goldrush“ / „The Waterfalls of Triberg“ (live) / ToiToiToi: Vaganten (the origins of this album lie deep in the Black Forest) / Angelo Badalamenti: Twin Peaks (die Obstwiese des Romantik Hotels. Der Wald dahinter. Die Wasserfälle von Triberg. Mehr als ein Hauch Twin Peaks.)

Wann habe ich zuletzt im öffentlichen Raum über Kunst gestaunt, bin stehengeblieben? Doch was verschwunden ist, lebt subkutan weiter und taucht wieder auf. Es war vor ein paar Tagen, als ich mit einer Einkaufstasche im Fahrradkorb loszog, und dann auf einem großen Platz vor einem ehemaligen Straßenbahndepot, in dem inzwischen Konzerte stattfinden, erst sehr coole Elektroklänge hörte und dann die herumstehenden Menschen sah. Hinter dem rotweißen Absperrband war eine Fläche ausgelegt, etwa 3 mal 3 Meter groß. Hier bewegte sich eine Gruppe junger Tänzerinnen und Tänzer. Sie trugen Sporttrikots, jeder etwas anderes. Sie tanzten, auf nackten Füßen, mal einzeln, mal in wechselnden Konstellationen, immer in eigenem Stil (zwischen ruppig-roboterhaft und fließend, geradezu fröhlich): ein Wechselspiel von Eigensinn, Rückzug, Distanzierung und Heraustreten, Annäherung, Interaktion, klassische Elemente. Immer wieder Spiegelungen in der Bewegung, alles improvisiert. Manchmal verließ jemand die Fläche und blieb am Rand, einmal tanzte nur noch eine Person. Es war nicht nur die Schönheit: Der politische Aspekt dieser Performance hat uns, die Umstehenden, in Bann gezogen und gehalten. Zuhause habe ich mir überlegt, welche Musik dem, was ich gehört habe, am nächsten kommt, und ich legte das Album SHADOWS DOCUMENTS von Schneider Kacirek auf. Ja, das kam hin. Seither ist das Album, das ich länger nicht mehr gehört habe, schon einige Male auf dem Plattenteller gelaufen. Und ich habe angefangen, zu der Musik in der Art, wie ich es gesehen habe, zu tanzen, wenn auch auf einer kleineren Fläche. Dank der Spiegelneuronen trainiert unser Körper beim bloßen Zuschauen Bewegungsabläufe ein.

Introducing Winter Tales – a new seasonal album featuring music from some of the label’s star composers, who were invited to reimagine the music of Christmas and Chanukah, drawing inspiration from their childhoods and homelands. The album, which is due for release on 21 October, comprises 12 very personal responses to that creative challenge, all of which have something fresh and timely to say about winter’s promise of renewal and light’s power over darkness. A new Brian Eno song is a rarity anyway, and can already be heard on youtube.

Michael is sending heartfelt greetings from the Black Forest, and, according to a rather cryptic postcard, he has by now finished his autumnal retreat and found shelter from the stars in a fine hotel at the margins of a small town named Villingen. He is meanwhile lost in season 1 of the wonderful series „Nine Perfect Strangers“ and calls that one his second parallel world experience in a very short time: microdosing LSD seems to be the call of the season, but he prefers the simple illusions of  red wine. Or so he says. The books on his night console: „The Hurdy Gurdy Man“, by Donovan, and „Harlem Shuffle“ by Colson Whitehead. Obviously in time traveling mode, the only record he is listening to these days, is „Nancy & Lee“, the one with „Sand“ and „Summer Wine“. Ready now for „Winter Tales“. Or so it seems.

Die Geschichte des Rattenfängers von Hameln ist über die Grenzen der niedersächsischen Kleinstadt bekannt geworden. Mit bezirzenden Flötenklängen verführte er die Menge, lockte sie in die Irre, umspielte sie gewissermassen dumm und dusselig. In seiner Grundstruktur erinnert diese Geschichte an die heutige total-digitalisierte Medienwelt und man fragt sich oft als User, ob man Täter oder Opfer sei. Der Gebrauch des Smartphones mag als Beispiel gelten: dass in freier Landschaft telefonierende „Phonies“ den Eindruck hinterlassen, sie wären lunatics, mag zumindest den Altbewanderten so vorkommen. Der koreanische Philosoph Byung-Chul Han beleuchtete in seinem Buch Der Schwarm mit sezierender Genauigkeit die Problematik solcher Sachverhalte. Aber nicht nur die Gefahren einer medialen Überfrachtung sind gegeben, sondern auch die Verfälschung ihrer Inhalte. Jüngstes, lustig-peinliches Beispiel: ein Fernsehsender des öffentlichen-rechtlichen deutschen Fernsehens entfernte das Logo einer nicht genehmen Zeitung vom Mikro des Interviewers. Was wird ansonsten noch so vertuscht oder hinzugedichtet, hier und da? Man kann nur mutmassen und wie im Dschungel einst die Kobra, so lauert höchstwahrscheinlich hinter mancher Nachricht eine fake-news. Aber man soll sich nicht aufregen und um nicht ins Fahrwasser des ewig Gestrigen zu geraten, verweise ich auf die Medienwissenschaftlerin Miriam Meckel, die einmal sagte, sie würde das Digitale begrüssen und gleichzeitig kritisch sehen. Kommen wir aber nun, um das Hölzchen-und-Stöckchen-Spiel (eine meiner Spezialitäten) genüsslich weiterzutreiben, vom Rattenfang zur Rhythmusjagt. Wer kennt ihn nicht, den groove-hunter? Geboren im Adelsgeschlecht der Tänzer, das seine Wurzeln von Afrika aus in Länder und Kontinente wie Brasilien oder Nordamerika spriessen liess, ist er seit ehedem dem Diktum ergeben, dass alles Leben nicht nur Körper, sondern auch Rhythmus sei. So sagte beispielsweise ein brasilianischer Schriftsteller, nämlich der honorige Jorge Amado aus Bahia: wer nicht tanzen könne, müsse fusskrank sein. To be a Slave to the Rhythm, davon sang ja schon Grace Jones und sogar ein Album des Jazzdrummers Paul Motian hiess Dance. Auch unsereins scheint jede Menge Blut davon in seinen Adern zu haben, denn eine grosse Portion Extra-Funk war schon immer ein Zuschlag, den man sich gerne gefallen liess. Wenn in der Diskothek Maschinenhaus in Bremen einst in Jugendtagen – man fuhr dort vom Lande aus mit dem Moped hin – zwischen Stahlgerüsten Sklavenkörper tanzten, etwa zu „The Fez“ von Steely Dan, war die eine oder andere Jägerin des Grooves gewiss dabei. Und hopplahopp, nochmals ein Sprung über das Stöckchen: gestern abend entdeckte ich eine Home-Session mit dem Trompeter Alexander Sipiagin und seinen Mannen. Nicht, das ich jetzt ein Sipiagin-Jünger wäre, aber sein Werk war eine der musikalischen Entdeckungen dieses Jahres, wovon noch näher zu berichten sein wird. Zur Jazztrompete generell sei hinzugefügt: ich mag ein differenziertes Spiel mit klar umrissenen Tönen, ohne die expressiv-„schwammigen“ Ausbrüche, zu denen dieses Instrument allzu leicht verführt. Das Stück hat Groove, heisst „The Master Switch“ und wird vorgetragen von The Thieves Quartet.

„Was bedeutet es, heute in der Ukraine zu leben? Journalisten des Kyiv Independent sprechen mit Zivilisten, die ein starkes Gefühl der Unabhängigkeit, den Wunsch nach Integration und die Notwendigkeit, ihre liberalen Werte zu verteidigen, zum Ausdruck bringen. Sie gehen auch auf den Mythos ein, dass es eine klare Trennung zwischen dem Osten und dem Westen der Ukraine gibt.“

(The Guardian)

Power Lines: From Ukraine to the World is a brand-new podcast that masterfully maps out the reverberations of the war in Ukraine on the global stage by the team at The Kyiv Independent – Ukraine’s biggest independent English-language media outlet, which serves as the independent voice of the country – and Message Heard.

Do not believe in good karma donation

Heisse die Abenteuer des Lebens willkommen

Verlass die Strukturen des Systems

Nähere dich deinem Selbst

Lass deine Post digitalisieren

Öffne dich den Stimmen deiner Seele

Erhöhe die Schlafmenge

Steigere die schöpferische Kraft

First movers always profit high

(hmgrwn)

Aoife O’Donovan – „Phoenix“ (Official Music Video)