Manafonistas

 

Es dauerte ja damals etwas, bis wir begriffen, dass die Beatles uns nicht dazu anhielten, etwas seinzulassen, sondern loszulassen. Aber, gut, wir hatten verstanden. Im wahren Leben dauert es etwas mit dem Loslassen, bei den Herzensangelegenheiten. Im Dezember lasse ich los – offiziell und ohne Rücktritt vom Rücktritt: die Klanghorizonte im August, Oktober und Dezember werden meine letzten Nachtsendungen im Deutschlandfunk sein, und die Sendung heute Nacht enthielt schon alles, was einen Abschied besiegelt, es könnte schon die letzte sein. Mit Jon Hassell in South Kensington sitzen, in einem tropischen Sommer 1990 und vom Pearl Hotel erzählen, in 40, West Cromwell Road (es war einmal) – gibt es ein besseres „see you down the road“? Meine erste Ausgabe der Klanghorizonte war im Frühjahr jenes Jahres. Wenn alles wie geplant läuft, verabschiede ich mich im Oktober mit einer ganz „normalen“ Sendung  incl. einer „Rhapsody in Dub“ in der Mitte (Garvey‘s Ghost wird dabeisein), und im Dezember mit dem, was mein Freund Brian Whistler „free form radio“ nennt. Dann wird jeder Track eine Spur, ein Thrill, und eine Zeitreise sein. Bevor ich jetzt in Stimmung komme, von Herman‘s Hermits „My Sentimental Friend“ aufzulegen (ich erinnere mich an einen heissen Augustnachmittag, in dem der Song aus dem Transistorradio erschall, im Wildbannweg in Dortmund-Kirchhörde, und ich den bis dahin unerwartetsten, heftigsten Kuss meiner Teenagerjahre bekam),  verrate ich ihnen, was gerade auf sechs Schallplattenseiten läuft, während ich diese Zeilen mit kleinen Atempausen uptempo runterspule, ein Album, für das die Worte „turn the volume up!“ erfunden wurden, Robert Hoods „Minimal Nation“ (die Ausgabe mit weissem Vinyl). Mehr Bauhaus als Jugendstil!

 
 

Loslassen Nr. 2

 

Dieser Groove stammt vom Juno 2. Es war eine Art „Grauzonen-Sound“, wie ich ihn nenne. So einen Sound hatte ich noch nie gehört. Ich erinnere mich, dass ich mich mit King Britt zusammengetan habe und ihn ohne Führerschein durch die Gegend gefahren habe, um ihm Detroit zu zeigen, und wir wurden von der Polizei angehalten. Und die Polizei hielt mich einfach an. Es war einfach hart, Mann. Am Ende hat mich die Polizei einfach gehen lassen, ohne Führerschein, ohne Versicherungsnachweis. King Britt war bei mir in der Wohnung und hörte sich ein paar Tracks an, und ich weiß noch, wie er sagte: „Wow, was du da mit diesem Juno 2 und all dem machst – das ist einfach anders. Du hast etwas Gutes damit. Das ist dein Sound.“ Und so wurde daraus, das ist mein Rhythmus, „The Rhythm of Vision“, denn „The Vision“ wurde ich genannt, als ich bei Underground Resistance war. Es passte einfach zu dem Sample und dem Groove, es machte einfach alles Sinn.

(Robert Hood)

 

Loslassen Nr. 3

 

Take your time, let‘s say, three weeks, one for each season of „The Leftovers“, learn „The Boxer“, each verse, no  other preparation required, sit back and float downstream, be ready to join the karaoke version of that Paul Simon song, and let every episode rush over you. As the show broadens geographically it does the same tonally, newly injected with a kind of mordant humor as its characters begin to give in to rather than resist its grand, apocalyptic currents. 

 

 

While „My Name Is Nobody“ feels like a step down from the grandeur of Leone’s spaghetti Westerns, that’s part of the point, and part of the charm. Nevertheless it is based on an idea by Sergio, and in its mix of the absurd, the non-sensical, and the tragic dimension of its core theme it is a journey worth the ride. Henry Fonda. Terence Hill. The soundtrack. And a film rarely fails with a dog in the first scene. 

 

„Es hat einen ganz anderen Effekt, wenn man sich im üblichen, meinethalben erprobt-analytischen, Jargon, über die Band The Mountain Goats auslässt, oder ob man, in Bezug auf ihr  Werk „Dark In Here“,  die vier Texte allein den Songs voranstellt. Dann spürt man erst mal, wie diese Diskrepanz sich anfühlt, von geschmeidig vorgetragenen Liedern, und ihren abgründigen Stories. Eine andere Art von Verfremdung, und die Stimme ist der „go-between“ zwischen beiden Welten.“

 

SIX KINDS OF DARKNESS

 

These „six kinds of darkness“ refer to the six records of hour one handling that thing called darkness in various, even illuminating ways. Again, apart from „Dark in Here“, no album would be regarded as patricularly „dark music“, and even John Darnielle’s song cycle has its uplifting moments. Thrilling it is anyway, from start to end.

And the safari of the North Men, well, they must have a decent amount of light sources on board for their special mission. By chance, days ago, I saw that old John Carpenter movie „Dark Star“, a low-budget sci-fi noir classic with a touch of humour and some bossa nova – always a joy, in fantasy or real life, to see what the astronauts‘ choices are when listening to music on their missions to unknown and distant worlds. In  case of Eivind Aarset‘s forthcoming work, Mojo writes: „However far out Aarset travels, he never loses touch with melody, and his ninth album as leader could be his best.“

 

 

(This photo was shot on a dark star safari by Susanne Berndt. „Spider and i sit watching the sky / in a world without sound“). One of the darkest albums of the night will be the new record by Schwalm & Reuter, full of rare noise (to name-drop their label), a duo that will be part of the second night hour, and that has already earned critical praise, with a vocabulary oscillating between „nightmarish“, „black hole music“ and „Swans-esque blocks of sonic fear“. „For listeners willingly or not in the throes of this spellbinding trip, Schwalm & Reuter morph from the deeply cerebral to an equally penetrating visceral, then back again; that range of dynamics depends on the natural proclivity of the listener or a spontaneous surrender to temptation, to turn up the volume.“ Even that can be a joyous ride, and why so? Cause, in every second of listening to „Aufbruch“, you feel very, very awake. Call it survival instincts! Safe journey. 

By the way: The 81-year-old drummer Andrew Cyrille deploys crisp cymbals, hushed snares and even brushes on newspaper for this entrancing set alongside Bill Frisell, Ben Street and David Virelles – „The Guardian“ just called „The News“, produced by Sun Chung for ECM, their „jazz album of the month“. Marc Johnson‘s bass solo masterpiece „Overpass“, another ECM highlight of 2021, will be featured in the theme hour of the night, no idea yet which version of „Nardis“ I will finally chose. The darkest one may be the one from Bill Evans, a long time ago, during a night in Paris. Marc Johnson was there!

 

 

Dark Star Safari
Eivind Aarset
lyrics by John Darnielle
The Mountain Goats
Andrew Cyrille Quartet: The News
The Mountain Goats
lyrics by John Darnielle
Eivind Aarset
OTON Marc Johnson
Marc Johnson

 

 

SINGING IN CAVES

 

Not every Mountain Goats album is shooting the stars from the sky, but this one does. For me „Dark In Here“ is, in all its elegance, understatement and intensity, one of their very best, in a broad collection of good, great and excellent albums. In the beginning The Mountain Goats were John Darnielle himself (I fell in love with this music when listening to „The Coroners‘ Gambit“, a long time ago, pure lo-fi shangrila of primitve equipment, and my love grew stronger, when John turned to crystalline chamber music solitudes on 4AD longplayers) – meanwhile they are a band that, in my decent opinion, are one of the most profound units on the planet. They can perform with the intricate charms of Steely Dan, the poignant sharpness of early Talking Heads, and the poetic depth of Leonard Cohen. „This time the band hones in on catastrophe; characters are never quite at the centre of disaster, but find themselves either in its anticipation or aftermath.“ The album has a  subtitle: „12 Songs for Singing In Caves,  Bunkers, Foxholes, And Secret Places Beneath The Floorboards.“  Good company guaranteed. And if you ever asked yourself recently, how Brian Eno’s „lighthouse radio station“, his co-operation with Sonos, might look like, here it is, in all its glooming glory:

 

 

STERNZEIT

Talking
Dark Star Safari
J. Peter Schwalm & Markus Reuter
lyrics
The Mountain Goats
Moritz von Oswald Trio
The Mountain Goats
lyrics
J. Peter Schwalm & Markus Reuter
Talking
Brian Eno – from a collection of hidden gems
Brian Eno – from The Lighthouse
Brian Eno and Roger Eno at the Akropolis

 

A SHINING ABSENCE

 

Nardis ist einer der schönsten Jazzsongs überhaupt, eine Erfindung von Miles Davis. Er hat seine Komposition wohl nie selbst eingespielt. Bill Evans erschuf das umfassendste Kompendium dieses wunderbaren Stückes – eine Welt für sich. Niemand hat die tiefe Melancholie dieser Melodie so freigelegt wie Bill Evans in fast balladesken Versionen, in verzweifelt ruppigen up-tempo Variationen wie jener aus Paris vom 26. November 1979 mit seinen Partnern Marc Johnson und Joe LaBarbera 10 Monate vor seinem Tod. (HDK)

 

there is no other composition by miles davis that in spite of its early recognition as an instant classic of modern jazz composition and countless versions played by others he himself didn’t breathe life into at all stunning no single performance no bootleg discovery just an empty page in a huge discography just a piece of paper with perhaps skeletal notation maybe he listened to bill evans one night and thought bill should own it kind of dance around it in his own peculiar ways maybe a gift for bill for putting his magic into kind of blue the album  think of all the other dancers who followed jackie terrasson john abercrombie ralph towner to name a few who added a dance a picture a ripple of time in my false memory nardis was played on one of those famous albums we know so well from the miles davis quintet or well well just another radical example for miles‘ less is more approach a shining absence imagine

 

 

Opening words
Marc Johnson‘s Bass Desires (second album)
OTON Marc Johnson (on Whorled Whirled World)
Marc Johnson: from Overpass
OTON Marc Johnson (on Dave Holland‘s Emerald Tears)
Nardis (version from Ralph Towner‘s „Solo Concert“)
Marc Johnson: Nardis (from Overpass)
Nardis (version from Jackie Terrasson‘s „Smile“)
OTON Marc Johnson (on the recording in Sao Paolo)
Marc Johnson: from Overpass
OTON Marc Johnson (on Marc Wade‘s cover)
Marc Johnson‘s Bass Desires (second album)
Closing words
KALENDERBLATT

 

THE LONG PARTY AT THE BREAK OF DAWN

 

Over the last years, I called the fourth nightwatch „the strange hour“, that surreal zigzging between eras, sounds and memories in the time travel department. Dream logic as (un)reliable company in sequencing atmospheres. At times, it all falls into place, and then again, it falls apart like apparitions in nowhere land. I really don‘t know how the final sequence of the fourth nightwatch will work. At least, i once fell under the spell of its single components – later on, I took a second look and decided that, as the old saying goes, less is  more, and now looks like much more focussed journey: a buried treasure from „Made to Measure“ (kudos to Marc Hollander), and the adventures of Annette, Alice and, last minute decision, Laurie, now joining „The Wonderland Trio“. 

 

 

In case of „Douzième Journée: Le Verbe, La Parure, L’Amour“… NME called it “an album of mesmerising strangeness, an exotic, surreal trip. Elusive and fasctinating” and Glenn O’Brien wrote these nice lines : “You might say that this record is an acquired taste. Like raw sea urchin, methadone or Colt 45. No, this is a pure and immediate taste because it’s beautiful. A brilliant achievement, a great record.” 36 years later Pitchfork didn‘t go wrong when re-evaluating this classic from the margins: “Stunning surreal debut, dreamlike, both earthy and ethereal”. Newly remastered, this album will be available again on September 17, and  one of the highlights in my strange hour between 4.05 and 5.00 a.m. Btw, the radio night of „Klanghorizonte“ can be heard afterwards, seven days long, on the Deutschlandfunk‘s „audiotheque“. 

 

Surprise, surprise, the final hour, the long party at the break of dawn, two trumpet legends (always thinking outside the limits of their instrument’s history) – no second thoughts required here: Jon Hassell, his voice from an old interview, tropical London, summer 1990 (sweet dreams are made of this,  The Pearl Hotel, the hum of the city invading the open windows of Jon‘s appartement in South Kensington) – and Don Cherry in France, 1972. Two celebrations of life, the urban jungle, the countryside.

 

In case of Don and Moki: „The couple called the project Organic Music Theatre, as evocative a name as one can imagine for the holistic mystical experience they worked to create. A recovering heroin addict, Don hoped to forge a new way to present and experience music well outside of the jazz clubs and bars where he had formed his worst habits. Organic Music Theatre represented not just artistic inclusivity and openness, but a way of life encompassing health food (it’s not for nothing that his most revered record from this period is called Brown Rice), children’s education, and whatever else their cohort viewed as essential to a better life.“

 

NIGHTWATCH FOUR: Benjamin Lew & Steven Brown: from Douzième Journee: LE Verbe, La Parure, L‘Amour (1982) –   / talking /  Alice Coltrane: from Kirtan Turiya Sings (1982) / Benjamin Lew and Steven Brown / Annette Peacock: from The Perfect Release (1979) / Benjamin Lew & Steven Brown / Laurie Anderson: from Bright Red (1994) / talking / Benjamin Lew and Steven Brown

NIGHTWATCH FIVE: In memory of Jon Hassell and City: Works of Fiction (1990) / excerpt from my old radio portrait of the fourth world wanderer / Jon  Hassell: City –  Works of Fiction / / Don Cherry: Organic Music Theatre – Chateauvillon 1972

 

 

I just finished the Rose Simpson memoir, Muse Odalisque Handmaiden, which I absolutely loved. What a gifted writer.She strikes this reader as someone I can trust; Rose’s intention was to report as honestly as possible her personal experience in The Incredible String Band, yet she achieves far more than that in this marvelous book. It’s both a joyous and a bit of a heartbreaking read, a fascinating fly on the wall account of her time in ISB. I loved the little stories and the bits of gossip, as when she recounts meeting Joan Baez, who seemed to have little regard for Robin Williamson and Mike Heron’s  „airy fairy“ music, and was especially dismissive of the ladies of ISB. Her meetings with other super stars such as Joni Mitchell, David Crosby etc, go quite a bit better.

The whole story starts off almost as a fairy tale, with Rose the young mountaineer bumping into the mysterious elf-like beings living upstairs at the boarding house where she is staying. And falling in love with Mike, this innocent girl is eventually recruited into the adventure of a lifetime. Of course, being an unflinchingly honest narrator, besides the ecstatic joy of performing and living semi-communally with a group of lovely, gifted people, she faithfully recounts the playing out of their freewheeling sexual attitudes, reflective of the times, as well as the tensions of touring, the occasional spats and petty misunderstandings and the band’s later obsession with Scientology, which she makes abundantly clear she didn’t share.

One thing stood out for me among many: The book seems far kinder to Mike than Robin, who is repeatedly portrayed as arrogant, dismissive, egocentric and stubborn. We all know our heroes aren’t perfect, but this book reveals some of the complexities of character that weren’t seen on stage, where everyone was always trying to be „their best selves.“ This comes as no surprise of course. Who among us is playful, charming, deeply spiritual and “happy happy happy all the time”?

The book gave me a perspective and insight into the band’s personal dynamics, and I came away still loving them all, but with a better understanding of what it must have been like on the road for this band of idealists who had to learn to grapple with the realities of celebrity and changing fortunes.

Rose also devotes an entire chapter to the elusive Licorice. While all mysteries aren’t revealed, Rose manages to paint a vivid portrait of someone she lived in close quarters with, yet never really got to know or fully understand. Simpson manages to humanize this ethereal woman, her many facets seeming almost like contradictions of character, yet somehow all of these aspects of her personality coexisted beneath her placid exterior, emerging when the occasion demanded it.

Another thing that surprised me was how naive the boys were regarding finances. They were true artists and were proud of the fact that they cared little for material wealth and possessions. Yet at some point when they were touring and playing large halls, it appears they still weren’t really getting paid in the conventional sense. They had all of their needs taken care of, and were eventually able to live in somewhat better digs, and yeah, a limo started showing up to pick them up for gigs, but there was no regular paycheck, only just enough to cover their living expenses and whims. It also irked me that even after the ladies were finally officially listed as members of the band, they still never received a dime. I also wonder if Robin or Mike get any residuals from the sales of their albums, which have been remastered and rereleased a number of times over the years. And do they still control the rights to their songs? I know many artists from that era were ripped off by record companies and management. Nonetheless it was sort of shocking to read that were living in a kind of hippie squalor even after the first few albums were released. And from what I can tell, they never lived in upscale places. I know they weren’t geared towards the posh lifestyle, but still, one would like to think they were able to put away a nest egg during that period they were packing those halls. (Of course, they must have spent a fortune on Scientology, an organization known for taking its followers to the cleaners.)

In a way, this book goes beyond the simple story of young love, the arc of musical dreams exultingly realized, the inevitable disillusionment and the eventual breakup of a band. At its core, it’s a glimpse into the idealistic values we were all trying to live by, and the spirit of the time – a unique constellation of hope, idealism and fragile naïveté is well drawn in these pages. Moreover, it’s a sort of time capsule that captures the ineffable vibe of this unique moment in history, as well or perhaps better than any other account of the era I have read.