Manafonistas

The tracks are simply signposted by „parts2, nine in all, the shortest running to just under seven minutes; the longest, „Part VI“, from Orchard Hall, Tokyo, at just under nine-and-a-half. Austerely presented with a dark cover featuring an abstract painting by Eberhard Ross, a faintly discernible woven texture with slim green and white horizontal flecks, there is a communion of sorts invoked in the atmosphere of each piece, few fireworks in the first two pieces (actually few overall in terms of bravura grandstanding), more the atmosphere of nocturnes, deeply passionate … (Stephen Graham, Marlbank)

One solo album done with piano, one with guitar(s) and electric oud. Two instruments with tons of cultural baggage. Keith Jarrett and the big word „Creation“, David Torn and the airy title „Only Sky“. Two covers to look at, two hours to get lost in. I think that the magic decade of Mr. Jarrett were (roughly speakin‘) the 70’s, but, particularly in his solo piano performances, time spans can luckily  be denied, and there have been some dark and shining hours long after the „Köln Concert“ turned into a worldwide „vibe“. „Creation“ is a work of class that doesn’t require the big word on the cover, the texture of the cover painting is more telling.

As is the figure in the landscape of „Only Sky“. An impressive variation of a well-known ECM -„signifier“. David Torn once played in a band that accompanied Lou Reed. David Torn reached for the sky (only sky!) several times, since he lost the panoramic scale of listening after a brain surgery – deaf on one ear. I once talked with him on a long evening, one of the unforgettable interviews. He released, for example, the enigmatic magic of „Prezens“. He never really lost the panoramic scale of listening. „Only Sky“ is worth every second. Mr. Torn takes his time. No doubt this belongs to most rewarding guitar albums of recent years, along with Daniel Lanois‘ „Flesh & Machine“ (2014) and Eivind Aarset’s „Dream Logic“ (2012) .

Solo recordings are always a dicey proposition; naked, with nobody to hide behind, the artist’s work is laid bare for all to hear. But given that only sky is, according to Torn, „the closest to capturing what I do alone with a guitar at home“, it most accurately approaches who Torn is when he’s unbound by the constraints that most projects, if even inadvertently, impose. The result is a record that is his most idiomatic and individualized. Sonically it’s an expansive record that’s the antithesis of the traditional solo guitar record – (…) everything from harsh angularity to unabashed beauty can be found on only sky … (John Kelman, allaboutjazz)

I stumbled on memories about this old album by chance when reading a traveler’s guide about Cape Cod. When the record was released decades ago, I first read about its forthcoming release in a magazine that printed the cover and listed the names of the musicians. Both did not only ring a bell, but bells and bells, a whole circus of bells.

Two reasons. One being that I knew the illustrator and painter whose stories were a springboard for the imagination of composer Michael Mantler. EDWARD GOREY. I had a big book from the Diogenes Verlag (now long out of print) with a lot of Gorey’s stories including „The Doubtful Guest“ and other tales that mixed echoes of Victorian ghost stories with whimsical existenzialism. It was the best picture book I ever owned, filled with desaster and death, premonitions of darkness, and the loss of all exit signs. Nevertheless humour was part of the game, too. Edward Gorey must have loved the novels of Samuel Beckett. He also was a famous book cover designer, specialised on horror novels, mystery and crime.

The other reason was the cast of musicians and voices who contributed to the album. Robert Wyatt was the singer, at his side his wife Alfreda Benge, Carla Bley, Norwegian guitar player Terje Rypdal, drummer Jack DeJohnette, Pink Floyd’s Nick Mason and bass player Steve Swallow. So I couldn’t wait to hear the album. As it happens quite often when your imagination runs wild, reality comes along with a short breath: on first listening I was disappointed, not by Robert’s singing, but by the dense textures of the compositions with the guitar very much in front of the mix. It seemed all a bit under pressure, the mood never seemed to change. Not much space in it, to be honest.

I think I first started getting deeper into this album (leaving its surface structures behind) when I lost it, a long time ago, and it has now been out of stock and trade for eternities. Yes, you can download it, but you will have to spend a fortune to get your hands on the physical object. Now, finally, in my memory, the prevailing zones of anxiety, imminent catastrophies and merciless tension make sense and apparently seem to transport the stories from their post-Victorian surroundings to a contemporary landscape of noirish colors and bleak electricity. In my memory, it has now  become a little masterpiece (well, I have no idea if a second real encounter would proove me right). This all happened because I read that there exists an Edward Gorey House Museum on 8, Strawberry Lane, in Yarmouth, Massachusetts. I’ve been there this morning. It was full of strange things (and two nice people with a lot of knowledge and good humour). I bought (among other things) a  book  titled „Floating Realities“.

Als zwischen 1975 und 1978 die zehn Platten von Enos Obscure Records erschienen, wurde eine Tür aufgestossen, welche die sogenannte Avantgarde in die  Popkultur transportierte.

Der Begriff  „progressive Rockmusik“ verlor bald an Ausstrahlung, weil das auf Dauer Progressive rasch allzu hochtrabend geriet. „Pink Floyd“, „Yes“, „Emerson Lake & Grusel-Palmer“ und zig andere packten die Tonspuren voll, bis der Arzt kam.  Oder im Bereich von Jazz-Rock und „Fusion“:  man denke  an die Gigantomanie diverser 70er-Jahre-Bands, die anfangs Klasse ablieferten, und soäter  ihren  eigenen Erfolgsrezepten auf den Leim gingen: Mahavishnu, Return To Forever, auch Weather Report in der Spätphase.

 In den Obscure Records öffneten sich ganz andere Klangfelder, denen alles Monströse abging; selbst Werke von John Cage waren mit dabei, einer der hellsten Geister des 20. Jahrhunderts, der jeder Selbstverliebtheit den Garaus machte. Bis auf wenige Ausnahmen produzierten Eno und ein kleiner britischer Kreis, zu klein, um einen Gentleman-Ckub zu öffneb, hochinteressante Klangstoffe, die auf diversen unterirdischen Wegen bis heute nachwirken.

Fragen Sie mal Mark Hollis von Talk Talk oder Tom Waits nach den Obscure Records! Und Enos jüngster Streich „The Ship“, verweist durchaus auf Gavin Bryars und „The Sinking of The Titanic“. Dieses 25-Minutenstück steht denn auch auf dem Reiseplan der nächsteh Klanghorizonte am dritten Samstag im Juni, in der Zeitreise.

The Sinking of the Titanic – Gavin Bryars – 1975 – Obscure no. 1  (*****)

Ensemble Pieces – Christopher Hobbs, John Adams, Gavin Bryars – 1975 – Obscure no. 2 (***)

Discreet Music – Brian Eno – 1975 – Obscure no. 3 (*****)

New and Rediscovered Musical Instruments – Max Eastley, David Toop – 1975 – Obscure no. 4 (****)

Voices and Instruments – Jan Steele, John Cage – 1976 – Obscure no. 5 (****) 

Decay Music – Michael Nyman – 1976 – Obscure no. 6 (*)

Music from the Penguin Café – Members of the Penguin Café Orchestra – 1976 – Obscure no. 7 `(*****)

Machine Music – John White, Gavin Bryars – 1978 – Obscure OBS-8  (***)

Irma – an opera by Tom Phillips, music by Gavin Bryars, libretto by Fred Orton – 1978 – Obscure OBS-9  (***)

The Pavilion of Dreams – Harold Budd – 1978 – Obscure OBS-10  (****)

Provincetown, Massachusetts

Es ist eine Freude, einen unbekannten Autor zu lesen, der mit seinem Debut in der, gewiss Konventionen folgenden, im besten Fall immer auch Konventionen sprengenden, Welt der Thriller, keinen schlichten, abgezockten Abklatsch bewährter Erfolgsrezepte feilbietet oder im Fahrwasser der einschlägigen Bestsellerlistenbewohner rumdümpelt. Allen Eskens ist eine solche Entdeckung.

Marginale Erlebnisse in der Thrillerwelt (keine Werbung, kein grosser Wirbel, nur der Enthusiasmus einer kleinen Leserschar) können genauso an- und aufregend sein („in the maps of one’s own brain“) wie die Geburtsstunden (-jahre?) eines ganzen Musikgenres, die sich im Falle von „Jump Up“ noch anno 1960 am amerikanischen Boogie-Woogie und Rhythm ’n’ Blues abarbeiteten, um allmählich, mit ein paar Rhythmusverschiebungen – und seltsamem Trommelgetön aus den Wäldern hinter Kingston, Jamaica – hübsch stolpernde Gestalten aus Ska und Reggae anzunehmen, zur eigenen vollkommenen Verblüffung. Da konnte man gleich eine ganze Religion hinzudichten – der Reggae war nicht zuletzt, als er noch in den Kinderschuhen steckte, von besonderer Faszination.

Warum erwachsen werden, fragten sich die Musiker damals, und tollkühnten nur so um die Wette: mit beschädigten Gerätschaften, primitiven Echomaschinen, entstanden Klassiker, Unerhörtes zwischen Kindermelodika und schwarzen Dub-Löchern. Erwachsen wurde man dennoch, zum Teil, und irgendwann natürlich auch durchschaubar. Warum also, noch mal gefragt, erwachsen werden? Dieser Frage geht in ihrer „philosophischen Ermutigung“, Susan Neuman nach, mit Platon und Kant und einigen definitorischen Anstrengungen im Gepäck. Lajla nimmt die Spur ihrer Gedanken auf.

Über The Mountain Goats und ihren Ausflug in die Welt des Wrestling wurde schon alles mögliche geschrieben. Und gerne wird diese Platte unterschätzt, weil das Thema so abwegig und nischenhaft erscheint. Herzzerreissend auf den Punkt („to the bone“) wie die Short Stories von Raymond Carver, lässt John Darnielle alte Helden der Kindheit neu aufleben, und folgt ihnen in jede dunkle Stunde. Alles ist Schein, aber die Regeln eines ungebrochenen Stolzes herrschen. Jeder Teenager (und jeder Erwachsene) braucht ein paar gute Verrückte aus alter Zeit, ergreifende und lang haltbare Abenteuergeschichten. Auch eine Ermutigung im philosophischen Sinne.

Lässt man diesen alten Ford aus dem Jahre 1950 auf sich wirken, ahnt man es: die Zeit ist ein Gangster in trügerischem Hochglanz, im Raub geschult, ein Meister der Flucht. Das Schachmatt im Finale ist garantiert, wie in fast jedem guten „film noir“.

Riding the porcelain god is not so much fun. Saying it without slang: I had the runs. The most merciless ever. Stuck to bed nearly two days. „Montezumas Rache“. I would’ve preferred Ingolstadt to NYC. At least, in an hour of relaxation (kind of) I watched the Brooklyn movie „The Drop“ on my small screen, a brilliant drama, low key, top-notch acting by Tom Hardy and the late Mr. Gandolfino. All based on a short story of Dennis Lehane. A million times better than Martin Scorsese’s bullshit version of Lehane’s „Shutter Island“.

Finally, daylight found me again. Sitting in Bryant Park, a boat journey to Staten Island. In Greenwich Village, I entered „Other Music“, the kind of record store I love. From new electronica to old and new jazz, from deep Old Africa (the first two Fela Kuti recordings ever out now!) to Jamaican rarities – and the really new hot shit, everything’s nicely stored in a quite small room.

At the entrance (I registered it with a broad smile) I saw (side by side) the covers of the new Mountain Goats and Sufjan Stevens albums (I played two songs of these amazing song cycles on my last late night show, in a row with Aidan Moffat, Franz Schubert and Federico Mompou). Squarepusher, Alabama Shakes, Björk, every item in glorious vinyl. Now double-click on the photos, and you’ll see God is in the details. Ding-Dong-Dinger is part of the game: to place the cover of the first NEU! record under the ceiling reveals a thoughtful mind behind this collection of antiques, novelties, classics and curiosities.

But, what strange record did they play when I was strolling through the place? A freaky saxophone, psychedelics from ancient days, creepy exotica and slightly paranoid voices mixed up to one weird journey! I asked the man behind the counter what this stuff would be, and he said with a whisper: – From our teenage days, my friend! He showed me the album. Yep, he was right. A gem for my next „time travel radio hour“. London 1970, Trident Studios. One year later, i had been there, sweet sixteen, seeing Steamhammer rocking the Marquee Club (sigh) …

 

 
 
 
Guy Ware’s excellent new novel is about work, love, redundancy, crime, the afterlife AND the importance of well-polished shoes …