Manafonistas

Das, was ihr im folgenden findet, ist ein Teil meines „Interviews“ mit dem Mann, der hinter dem fantastischen Album „Craven Standers“ steht. Eine weitere Passage daraus wird zu hören sein in meiner Ausgabe der „Klanghorizonte“ am 20. Juli im Deutschlandfunk, um 21.05 Uhr.

At the beginning of that radio hour, you will  hear a track from the forthcoming album from Jan Bang and Eivind Aarset.  Jan‘s background story will inspire you, amongst everything else, to give Miles Davis‘s „In A Silent Way“ another deep listen.

Jan Bang & Eivind Aarset    
Dudu Tassa & Jonny Greenwood
Old And New Dreams
Rickie Lee Jones
Nils Økland & Sigbjørn Apeland
Josephine Forster
Matthew Herbert
PJ Harvey
Craven Faults: Standers

And, when at the end, the curtain falls with Craven Standers, Craven‘s words may lead to another look into your archive, for Can‘s „Future Days“. Holger Czukay once called the album “an electric symphony group performing a peaceful, though sometimes dramatic landscape painting”.

Michael Engelbrecht: Hello, „Craven“! You’re a bit of an enigma. I don‘t mind if you just speak into an iPhone or ancient Neumann microphone to lift the fog of your anonymity (you would stay anonymous anyway, cause who would identify you here in Germany, except your are Brian Eno or John Foxx. So, think twice…) Sam Richards‘s review in UNCUT is utterly brilliant, by the way. When Brian worked on ON LAND (another album with an archaic vibe of nature), he felt Miles Davis‘s HE LOVED HIM MADLY as a hugely inspiring track (the mix, the space). Can you name an album or composition that you have a similar feeling for, a kind of soulmate work, even a blueprint for STANDERS, in regards to a certain aspect of the music? And tell a bit around that affinity? In addition, can you name five desert island pieces or tracks, or albums that you can listen to again and again, and tell what you find so fascinating about them?

Craven Faults: There is no single album or piece of music that could be seen as a blueprint for Standers. Each individual track on the album probably takes inspiration from several sources. I don’t really think about anyone else’s music when I am writing and recording, it’s only later in the process, or afterwards when the tracks are finished that the influences appear to me. My own music comes from listening to other music, I’m sure this is the same for every musician, what goes in will come out, and I have an eclectic store of inspirational music inside me. I also didn’t really think of the album as a whole when I was working on it, it’s a collection of disparate parts which slowly came together to form a single entity. There are always, with every release, tracks that are left behind and many unfinished pieces. Just as there was no single piece of work that inspired Standers, there was also no overall plan or vision for how I wanted it to sound. It developed as I went along.

1. Can – Future Days. Probably the single most influential track on all the music I have made over the years. The rhythm is key, the way drums, sounds and instruments interlock. The end section where the band play on top of a speeded up version of the track, the different tempos from 32nd beats to a single bass note every 4 bars. The way it fades in at the start, almost unfolding and opening up to release new sounds over several minutes, the slightly unclear audio quality, the edits, everything is perfect. Future Days is simply one of so many wonderful pieces by Can, who are, and have been since the 1980’s my favourite, most inspiring group of musicians.

2. Pink Floyd – Interstellar Overdrive. A piece I have listened to regularly since the 1970’s when I was quite young. Syd Barrett was one of my first musical heroes. I came to the music first, without knowing anything about his health problems and difficulties, and I think about Syd and his music often. Syd was also a great guitar player, Interstellar Overdrive appears random, free, but I think the more you listen, the more you begin to understand that it is creativity through controlled spontaneity, Syd knew what he was doing. Controlling the music but allowing it to guide you is part of my own methodology. (I feel as though this track is almost a blessing, that EMI could have said no ‘freak-out music’ on Piper At The Gates Of Dawn!).

3. The Beach Boys – Cabinessence. I could have chosen Surf’s Up, Cool Cool Water, Trader, All This Is That, The Lonely Sea, Let The Wind Blow, ’Til I Die, any number of songs… I have periodic Beach Boys obsessions, the current one has been continuing since last summer. A band I have almost infinite patience for, I even enjoy the songs I don’t like (I realise that makes no sense!) It started for me with the Smile sessions, bootleg tapes acquired in the 1980’s. Cabinessence is representative of a large body of work, the structures, edited sections, constructions. Brian Wilson’s description of ‘feels’, song ideas, unfinished sections of songs, works in progress. It’s this idea of ‘feels’ that I personally identify with. (I also love Surfin’ USA, Little Deuce Coupe etc too)

4. International Harvester – Skordetider. I could have chosen almost anything from Parson Sound through to Trad Gras och Stenar, also anything from Arbete och Fritid or Archimedes Badkar etc? Discovering the late 1960’s/early 1970’s Swedish underground, ‘Progg Movement’ has been a revelation. This track – an outtake from Sov Gott Rose Marie LP 1968 – builds slowly and gradually over 25 minutes, guitars, bass, cello, drums etc playing simple cyclical patterns. The basic recording technique, 2 microphones in a room whilst the band play live. The drums, so simple and so perfectly placed. The drummer – Thomas ‘Mera’ Gartz (1944-2012), multi-instrumentalist, brought beauty to most everything he did.

5. Terry Riley – Poppy Nogood.  Another one I have listened to regularly since the late 1970’s, it still fascinates. Another long piece (whichever version, they’re all good) which seemingly changes very little but in fact is constantly moving and altering. A perfect symbiosis of musician, instruments and technology – the tape recorder. The tape recorder is simultaneously a simple device and also very complex. This track could be why I use tape recorders (I have a pair of Revox B77s amongst other things) for sound processing, echo effects that are not sync’d to the track tempo and generate new harmonics and rhythmical complexities. It is an experimental piece in which the final result is as important, or more important than the process. It is not simply an experiment which investigates the processes regardless of the outcome.

(If I were to add a 6th track it would be The Velvet Underground – Sister Ray, or maybe some late 60’s English folk-rock, or Indian classical music, or something from composer Charles Ives.)

Thank you so much, i hope this post arrives at your place in the wide, wide north of England. Michael. By the way, Trad Gras och Stenar is a favourite of mine from the Swedish Underground! 

„When an explosion does come along (and there are a couple), it’s a shock and is either brief or carefully resolved: an example of the sort of tactical astuteness characteristic of what will undoubtedly be one of the albums of the year.“

(Richard Williams)

Holmes, Mellin and Romero are drifters. The new album of the New York trio Numün opens with „beyond“, electronic and acoustic sounds entangle before a pulse clears the field from the quite high frequencies, a calm campfire groove starts, for  a while – they know how to take breaks all along the way. Simple. But beautiful.

The vinyl has the colour blue („blue is the colour of the room where i will live“  echoes of my thinking brain), and this album surely works fine in a spacey evening ambience, with a fireplace, a window with a view, candles. „steps“ is the second track, and it‘s nice again, how the balance of  mellow spheres and soft rhythms draws you into the music. Gentle does it.

Think of new age without  pathos and „rosarote schwärmerei“, and the chamber music of Nunün fits well. „sideway“ wins over you  with eastern drones and a western guitar: appalachian peace music, so to speak, greetings from John Fahey (and my sofa of free associations). Never too dense, this track is multi-layered, the percussion (tabla?) enters from the horizon, comes a tiny bit closer, never taking center stage. Pastel colours all around.

The last track of side 1, „eyes open“: Trina  Basu enters on violin. Ah, this band obviously has a knack for mellow pulses. A touch of gamelan without cross rhythms. Easy to understand, that this music is connected with the broad stream of so-called „spiritual music“.  I call it „horizontal music for the open  mind“.

The second side opens with „vespers“. A bit of cowboy melancholia filling the space (daydreaming a wooden bench, an american veranda, a warm summer evening, simple as that). Be careful to call this tasty.  There are  these higher tones swirling around (higher and higher)! For friends of Popol Vuh, Numün is a winner, calm and polite.

Oh, soft breathing (murmuring) follows at the beginning of – sic! – „voices“. The „indian violin“ of Trina Basu again… vocals „enchanted style“, I add with a smile. Nearly groovy. A strain of Ambient Americana, carefully executed.

„lighter“, the penultimate track: we get a feeling for magic‘s structure: a bit of „kling klang“ followed by a guitar that prepares the ground,  makes the dust dance (the details sharper now, dear reader, happens when tuning in more and more). Quite elementary percussion, uplifting. Modern mood music – impressive how Numün stays away from grand gestures without turning breathing quietness into precious prayers. Fine again, how, from a distance, a special melodic figur approaches on silent feet before being dissolved into texture again.

A music full of warm welcomes, no need ever to turn up the volume.

The record‘s finale: „lullaby“. I like the overall atmospheres, the mellow approach. The constant presence of higher frequencies may be their way to look „beyond“. The music wins in fact (I just did it) when turning down the volume.  I feel seduced by this ending  (i want it to stay just a little bit longer). Is that birdsong?

Okay, I start again. side 1. Listening to „beyond“: with the volume 4 db down, and the softsoftsoft pulse, i am calming down even more, have to smile, when  Mr.  Campfire calls the night in , the birds, the fireflies, the apparitions. (Haha, with words, I’m a free floater!) By the way i speak all my words into the air, meaning,  into a machine that translates spoken words in written language. Ladies, gentlemen, howling dogs and singing ghosts, I’m grooving in. No more words, i think i‘m in. A lovely affair. Dream territory.  Cerulean blue vinyl.

This is fascinating. One album that grows more and more with time (first encounter lingering), the other one catches immediately (old love never dies – bringing back memories of tropical London, 1990, meeting Jon in South Kensington). The former is Lucrecia Dalt‘s take on South American traditions, „!Ay!“ (2022, The Wire‘s album of the year), songs, bass, electronics, and all, the latter Jon Hassell‘s double vinyl, called „Psychogeography“ (just released), Jon‘s reworking of studio and home recordings of materials and improvs from the days of 1990’s „City: Works of Fiction“. The sound is ace. Sketches, the gift of special moments, some shots in the dark. Two records, two kinds of blue, very fine. Excellent pressing in the case of the Jon’s Ndeya edition with inspiring liner notes by Hassell himself (track by track notes, and damn good ones!), Adam Rudolph and Jeff Rona. 

Zu meinen ganz frühen Stephan Micus-Platten zählt „Wings Over Water“. Und er spielt da, ernsthaft, neben allem anderen, auch auf einer Schar von Blumentöpfen. Das Album ist einer meiner Favoriten aus seiner Diskographie geblieben. Es beamt mich so schnell in meine Studentenjahre wie Brian Enos „Discreet Music“. Der Globetrotter war von früh an darauf aus, Instrumente aus nah und fern zu sammeln, und dann nach seinen Vorstellungen umzubauen. Er stand von Anfang an für eine Art von Mediationsmusik, die nichts mit dem Lifestylenirvana von 80 % der New Age-Klangteppiche zu tun hatte. Es gab natürlich auch im New Age sog. „Visionäre“ (denken wir an Laraaji), aber das war eine überschaubare Minderheit. Wer den Micus-Sound schätzt, darf stets aufs Neue gespannt sein, welchen Klangkörpern er beim nächsten Mal zu Leibe rücken wird. Einmal machte ich mit ihm ein langes Interview, das sicher noch in den Archiven des DLF schlummert, und was er mir da über heisse Tage und Nächte bei einem Instrumenenbauer in Delhi erzählte,  hatte schon einen Hauch von „Indiana Jones“ (rein atmosphärisch zumindest).

Morgen erscheint sein 25. Album, und hätte man mich im Blindversuch getestet, ich wäre beim ersten Stück kaum auf seinen Namen gekommen, und hätte eher auf einen nachwachsenden Seelenverwandten von Don Cherry getippt, so exotisch trompetenhaft geht es da im ersten Stück zu. Fast verwildert, und an „Jazz“ selbst im fernsten Sinne war bei Herrn Micus nie wirklich zu denken. Nicht die einziger Überraschung hier. Gleichsam über Nacht hat sich diese Hymne an die Götter des Donners zu meinen „Micus-Meilensteinen“ gesellt, neben „The Music of Stones“, „East Of The Night“, „Ocean“ (mhmm, oder „Darkness and Light, oder doch „Twilight Fields“?) – und sowieso „Wings Over Water“. (m.e.)

That’s how it is. Music that dwells between all horizons is hard to grasp. Listening in briefly is not an option here – lingering is the magic word, all stranger things considered. At the end of this journey, a certain Loplop is wandering around in the forest. Do you know Loplop? I didn’t know the journeyman until now. Nor those paintings by Max Ernst in which he captured dark forests on canvas that human beings should better not visit. Only the magical bird Loplop succeeds in these forays.

The prelude to these ten excursions into rare, real, surreal terrain is entitled „This Town Will Burn Before Dawn“. When the piece first took shape, the composer, whose instruments are listed as „electronics & sampling“, had in mind a pulsating, shining city full of inventions that is burnt down by barbarians, but without destroying the last traces of hope.

From track to track, the scenery is changing. Years ago, an asteroid approached Earth, stopped just before entering our orbit, and sped off in the opposite direction. Even scientists couldn’t come up with a completely plausible explanation, and the internet was flooded with theories that, of course, included extraterrestrial life. „Oumuamua, Space Wanderings“ is the apt name of the composition of a wonderfully strange album that apparently sets itself no limits thematically.

We travel in 80 worlds around the day anyway (some just don’t realise it). One thing at least seems to permeate all these ascetically conceived pieces: a sense of transformation, of traces of light in the darkest zones. Such things can easily go wrong, with minor-key textures, soaring pathos, plainly knit „new age“ props, and strained big-art bric-a-brac.

Evgueni Galperine doesn’t fall into any of these traps on „Theory Of Becoming“, an album that, despite its continuously surprising contrasts, gives space and depth to every single moment. Quiet seductively, the pieces (apparitions) let fall one mask after the other  – sometimes we hear the dancing swing of a children’s song, sometimes a barely disguised earworm, a lost score of late romanticism, a Jules Verne-tested space travel or a chronicler of real horror.

„Theory of Becoming“ is completely cliché-free meditation music. And exciting to boot. It could become a new favourite album for listeners who appreciate the collected areas and immersions of Steve Tibbetts‘ „Life Of“ or Arvo Pärt’s „Tabula Rasa“, or the solo album by Mark Hollis, probably also for those who like to return to one or the other classic from the treasure troves of „Made To Measure“ and „Obscure Records“, historic labels and playgrounds for the undefined (founded once upon a time, deep in the last century, by Marc Hollander and Brian Eno).

And anyway, this terrific album bears the signature „produced by Manfred Eicher“. As a somewhat quieter presence, the strange bird Loplop was certainly also present in the Paris studios. And he knows the fast ways out of the protective zones of sheltered high culture and  into the beating heart of our wilderness!

Ab und zu erscheinen solche Alben wie aus dem Nichts. Vielleicht werden im Vorfeld bestimmte Schubladen bedient oder geöffnet: „Neue Musik“, Elektroakustische Musik, „imaginary soundtracks“ – und man macht sich ein Bild von dem, was auf einen zukommen könnte, bevor man einen Klang gehört hat. Oder man hört ein paar kurze Sequenzen und macht sich ein weiteres Bild von dem, was man da gerade auffängt, bevor man sich auf die Erfahrung des Lauschens eingelassen hat. Das „Reinhören“ ist bloss eine Umschreibung für rasche Einordnungen und reduzierte sinnliche Erfahrung. Kurz reinhören  geht hier gar nicht – Verweilen ist das Zauberwort.

Am Ende der CD (im November wird auch die Vinyl-Ausgabe erscheinen) treibt sich, in der zehnten Komposition, ein gewisser Loplop im Wald herum. Kennen sie Loplop? Ich bislang nicht. Auch nicht jene Bilder von Max Ernst, in denen er dunkle Wälder auf die Leinwand bannte, die menschliche Wesen besser nicht aufsuchen sollten. Allein dem magischen Vogel Loplop gelangen diese Streifzüge.

Und der Auftakt dieser zehn Exkursionen in rares, reales, surreales Terrain trägt den Titel „This Town Will Burn Before Dawn“. Als das Stück erste Gestalten  annahm, schwebte dem Komponisten, als dessen Instrumente „electronics & sampling“ gelistet sind, eine pulsierende, leuchtende Stadt voller Erfindungen vor, die von Barbaren niedergebrannt wird, ohne aber letzte Spuren der Hoffnung zu vernichten

Und dann das: man hört ja ab und zu etwas von Kometen, die sich unserem Planeten nähern. Wie ich aus einer kurzen Werknotiz erfahre, näherte sich vor Jahren ein Asteroid der Erde, der kurz vor dem Eintritt in unseren Orbit Halt machte, und in die umgekehrte Richtung davonzog. Selbst Wissenschaftler kamen zu keiner rundum einleuchtenden Erklärung, und so wurde das Internet überflutet mit Theorien, die natürlich auch extraterrestrisches Leben ins Spiel brachten. „Oumuamua, Space Wanderings“ ist der treffliche Name der Komposition eines Werkes, das sich thematisch anscheinend keinerlei Grenzen setzt.

Wir begegnen, wenn ich einzelne Titel als lockeren Leitfaden hernehme, unter anderem einer „kalten Front“, dem „Brief eines Verschwundenen“, einem Szenario „nach dem Sturm“. Der Autor lässt an anderer Stelle seiner Trauerarbeit angsichts des Todes eines Freundes so freien wie fokussierten Lauf. Eines scheint all diese asketisch angelegten Stücke zu durchdringen: das Gespür für Wandlungen, für Spuren von Licht in finstersten Zonen. Sowas kann leicht danebengehen, mit mollgetränkten Texturen, auffahrendem Pathos, schlicht gestrickter „New Age“-Requisite, und angestrengtem Grosskunst-Brimborium.

In keine dieser Fallen tappt Evgueni Alperine auf „Theory Of Becoming“, einem Album, das seinen fortlaufend überraschenden Kontrastierungen zum Trotz, jedem einzelnen Moment Raum und Tiefe gibt. Verzettelung ist ein Fremdwort für ein Werk, das sich, durchaus verführerisch Maske um Maske enthüllt, als dunkle Schwingung eines Kinderliedes, als verkappter Ohrwurm, als verlorene Partitur der Spätromantik, als Jules Verne-erprobte Weltraumfahrt, als Chronist realen Schreckens. „Theory of Becoming“ ist eine Art vollkommen klischeebefreiter Meditationsmusik. Und spannend geht es obendrein zu. Selbst da, wo die Klänge in Momenten denselbigen rauben, bleiben sie eine Schule des Atmens.

Es könnte ein neues Lieblingsalbum werden für Hörer, die die ureigenen Areale und Versunkenheiten von Steve Tibbetts „Life Of“ oder Arvo Pärts „Tabula Rasa“ schätzen, oder das Sololbum von Mark Hollis, wohl auch für solche, die gerne mal zu dem einen oder anderen Klassiker aus den Fundgruben von „Made To Measure“ und „Obscure Records“ zurückkehren, diesen historischen Labels und Spielwiesen für Undefiniertes von Marc Hollander und Brian Eno. Und sowieso trägt das Teil die Signatur „produced by Manfred Eicher“. Als etwas stillere Präsenz war gewiss auch der seltsame Vogel Loplop zugegen, in den Pariser Studios. Und der kennt die schnellen Wege, raus aus den Schutzzonen behüteter Hochkultur, und, wie aus dem Nichts, hinein in all unsere Wildnisse!

From the first sound to the last, „Foreverandevernomore“ grabs me with horizons unknown and words (enigmatic, wondering, romantic, sorrowful, archaic) sparsely put in scene. What an album putting in perspective the end of times, disturbing and human, or should we say post-human? Fire is in its element here, from fireflies to flames and man-made hell. Not forgetting all things lost in the fire of our own lives (as far as we can remember). Sometimes, from a distance, everything (losses first, and hands still to hold) falls into place. No catchy songs, no singalongs, no fairytale searches of parallel worlds, no hooks, no future evergreens, oh, hold on, in their own peculiar way these songs which could be coined as modern day lamentations, a collection of future „everblues“ at least, striking quite a special, different note and corner in Brian Eno‘s song works. His singing has aged well, reaching out for the deeper spectrum. The voice has lost some of its playfulness. But so it goes: if some gates are closing, others open up. Every song is fuelled with a different voicing and mood: reflective, hymnal, on the verge of falling apart, persisting, sceptical. A different persona in every track. Isn‘t it wonderful, for example, that the singing one (at one, and only one time) is adressing „my love“?! The seeds of hope can perhaps be detected in the alien murmuring of the closing track. The album is haunting, uncanny, ethereal, anti-nostalgic, beautiful in a dark way, and strangely consolating (despite all its eeriness). To call the sounds of Eno and his inner circle (working here) „otherworldly“, would be a bit of a cliché. Maybe the boldness of it all lies in the collision of the intimate and the faraway, the yearning and the mourning. I think „Foreverandevernomore“ is (as Leah Kardos wrote to me), „a fantastic album, up there with his best work ever. Profoundly moving, and beautifully executed.“

What do these two albums have in common (one released in January 2019, the other will come out on Oct. 14)?  That question I asked myself when listening to them one after the other lately, on a long and winding thursday afternoon. There probably was no other radio show in the last three decades that had works of ECM and Eno on such high rotation than my version of „Klanghorizonte“. So what is it that made me put a focus on these two „areas“ apart from taste and being faithful to a beloved habit – comparable to old brave hippies who never checked out of Hotel California. It‘s all horizons, that maybe one possible answer in three words. „It‘s all horizons“, Eno sings in one of the new songs, and „Horizons Touched“ is the title of a book on the history and aesthetics of ECM Records and „Magus“ Manfred Eicher. Both hold one another in high estimation, but never met in person. By the time Jon Hassell‘s „Power Spot“ (produced by Eno and Lanois, and surprisingly released on ECM), they exchanged faxes, probably kind words, and that was it.

Speaking horizons, look at the covers. Though coming from two very different musical languages, „Trio Tapestry“ and „Foreverandevernomore“ share a special handling of space and breath. Both have moments of (discreet) eruption and a stunning care for details. In the words of Joe Lovano (liner notes): „Themes and compositions that are peaceful and spiritual in nature to fuel our ideas and create music within the music. A spirit lake, an unpredictable smiling dog, the rare beauty of expression (…)“. In the words of Leah Kardos (Wire, Nov. 2022): „These are songs with enveloping atmospheres that dramatise their lyrics with crisping, gasping, blinding, thundering, quietly screaming sound design.“

Both long-players are incredibly well sequenced by Manfred Eicher and Brian Eno. Joe Lovano told me (funny enough, in Bonn, a town that literally appears in „Sherry“) how deeply impressed he had been when finally listening to the vinyl. The lines of suspense, the track-by-track order, their impact! The same with Brian’s record. The instrumental „Inclusion“ is silently blowing you away (at the end of the first side), and „Making Gardens Out Of Silence“ is the best choice for the final cut.

There is no replacement for listening – old school – from start to end. Not forgetting all things lost in the fire of our lives (as far as we can remember). Sometimes, from a distance, everything (losses first, and hands still to hold) falls into place.  No catchy songs, no singalongs, no fairytale searches of parallel worlds, no hooks, no future evergreens, oh, hold on, in their own peculiar way these songs which could be coined as modern day lamentations, a collection of future „everblues“ at least, striking quite a special, different note, corner in Brian Eno‘s song life. The album is haunting, uncanny, ethereal, strangely elevating, anti-nostalgic. „Always there / For the last hooray / Last light of an old sun.“ 

Then again (change of scene), the follow-up of „Trio Tapestry“, „Garden Of Expression“, lives up to the high standard of the first meeting in New York. (Let’s go sideways for a while.) Now with a deeper touch of Provence pastel and colours at dusk. You can think of every jazz writing cliche of praise, from „filigree“ to „elemental“, and be sure that Lovano, Crispell and Castaldi are breathing new life into it. After the first three pieces of pure baladry (written by soul, not by the book), the appearances of sound take more and more adventurous side steps, from moments of pianistic unrest and upheaval, to an exploration of metal and sound in Castaldi‘s drum figures. A zen-like purity‘s bold pairing with an adventurous spirit. The record delivers everything with grace, selflessness and the most nuanced sense of tempo, time standing still and a flow of undercurrents. If this sounds slightly over the top, let the music take over, dim the lights and follow the tapestries!

And, in regards to Eno, the instruction manual for „Foreverandevernomore“ is closing in with the same simple sentences: „The record delivers everything with grace, selflessness and the most nuanced sense of  tempo, time standing still and a flow of undercurrents. If this sounds slightly over the top, let the music take over, dim the lights and follow the tapestries!“ 

Wenn es zu Daniel Lanois’ Selbstverständnis zählt, stets mit einem Fuss in der Vergangenheit, und dem anderen in der Zukunft zu stehen, bekommt hier die gute alte Zeit eindeutig Vorrang, auf den ersten Ton zumindest. Rasch aber spürt der, der sich mit offenen Ohren in die Musik fallen lässt, dass hier kein regressives Schwelgen am Werk ist, und auch nicht in die klassische Falle getappt wird, den nächsten unausweichlichen „sweet stuff“ in der Nachfolge von Erik Saties goldenen Oldies zu verzapfen. Diese Platte ist eine kleine Sensation. Ein Wunder sowieso, wie er sein Zweit- oder Drittinstrument hernimmt, und ihm demassen verführerische Figuren entlockt, jenseits von Kitsch und Erhabenheit. Hier und da mit den richtigen falschen Tönen, dass nur das normierte Denken zuckt, und jeder andere aus dem Staunen keinen Weg herausfinden möchte. Was der gebürtige Kanadier hier veranstaltet, ist schichtweg ein Traum. Eines der hinreissendsten Klavieralben  der letzten fünfzig Jahre (aus dem Reich der Nicht-Virtuosen): was für Auren, was für Farben, was für Treatments, was für Nachhallkurven und Drumherumgeschimmer, was für eine verdammt intime Veranstaltung erster Güte. Zutiefst humane Musik. Danny Boy hat neben berühmten Produktionen (Dylan, Neville Brothers, Gabriel, u2), neben eigenen rar gesäten, betörenden Songalben, auch  eine stattliche Anzahl rein instrumentaler Musik veröffentlicht „Player, Piano“ gehört neben „Belladonna“ (2005) und „Goodbye To Language“ (2016) zu den drei instant classics  seiner Ambient-Discographie. Und, natürlich, nicht zu vergessen, der heilige Gral, „Apollo“, das Trio mit den zwei Brians, das nach mehr als drei Jahrzehnten eine qualitativ ebenbürtige Fortsetzung erfuhr.

v i d e o

Schöne Koinzidenz – alle Drei kommen 2022 mit bockstarken Werken daher. Aber zurück zu „Player, Piano“. In jedem Instrumentalstück ein anderer Zugang zum Klavier, ein anderes Ambiente, ein anderer Sound, und doch ein Zyklus aus einem Guss. Unfassbar gut. Old-fashioned (in an adventurous way) and visionary at the same time.