Which political party has Eivind Kjorstad found

And Who Shall Go to the Ball?



2 And Who Shall Go to the Ball? [07 Sept 2018] Dmitry Vasilyev (maker of Monochrome Vision in Moscow), 42 [28 Dec 2018] Amos Oz (Israel. Author), 79 [19 Jan 2019] Mario Bertoncini (Italian composer), 86 [26 Jan 2019] Michel Legrand (French composer), 86 [25 Feb 2019] Mark Hollis (English musician, singer and songwriter for Talk Talk), 64 [22 Mar 2019] Scott Walker (Halb-Engel & Genie), 76 [05 Apr 2019] Davey Williams (US avant-garde guitarist w / LaDonna Smith, Curlew), 66 [06 May 2019] Pekka Airaksinen (Finnish composer and musician), 73 [15 May 2019] Wiglaf Droste (chief own stove, furious against fecal media turmoil ), 57 EVERYTHING STARTS TO TURN TO MUSIC. I HAVE TO PUKE. TERROR OF THE ORGANS, EVERYONE WANTS TO PLAY ITS PART SOLO. THE CONDUCTOR LEAVES THE ORCHESTRA DITCH BACKWARDS AMIDTO THE DEEPLY NOISE FROM KITCHEN APPLIANCES AND SMALL WOOD. ACCORDING TO A SCORE THAT CONSISTS OF RED HANDWRITTEN CAPITAL LETTERS: "SHIT ABOUT THOSE WHO READ THIS." MOLTO ANDANTE OR SO, IN ANY CASE I DO NOT WANT THE WORLD TO STAND STILL. I WANT TO UNDERSTAND. I DO NOT WANT THE MUSIC TO STOP, I WANT TO DANCE A LITTLE ON THE ROOFS. - Blexbolex I don't know whether good art makes people better or whether people only need good art for it, so that it gives them the illusion that the betterment of this world and their own personal happiness have a chance after all. - Maxim Biller The true words have to be found or invented alone ... An author must be able to expect a minimum of comprehension from his readers, otherwise it won't work. - Wiglaf Droste HC Artmann - Complete Poems by Maxim Biller - Six Suitcases Roberto Calasso - The Unnameable Today Elias Canetti - The Glare [even more blatant than I remembered!] Emmanuel Carrère - A Russian novel Mircea Cărtărescu - Travesty Charles Dickens - The Pickwickier Knut Hamsun - Tramp [again] Jaroslav Hašek - The most beautiful stories Zbigniew Herbert - Still life with curb Volker Janssen - Cornflowers and Salo. Encounters with Ukraine Pavel Kohout - the end of the big vacation Helmut Krausser - loneliness and sex and compassion František Langer - a suitcase from overseas Léo Malet - pictures don't bleed; Corrida on the Champs-Élysées; The bridge in the fog; Stress and suspenders; No ticket to death; Trace into the ghetto Claude Mauriac - The marquise left Roger McDonald at five o'clock - Mr. Darwin's indispensable assistant Gustav Meyrink - The golem Ernst Penzoldt - The power band Joan Perucho - The night owl Walter E. Richartz - From the extreme Jaroslav Seifert - All the beauty of this world Elif Shafak - The smell of paradise Andrzej Stasiuk - The world behind Dukla Heinrich Steinfest - The life and death of planes [groan] Anton Chekhov - Ariadna. Stories Ivan Turgenev - Notes of a hunter Vladislav Vančura - Fields and battlefields Sandro Veronesi - XY [arrgl] Michal Viewegh - Raising girls in Bohemia 2

3 baritone bards, Bossa Nova and Buckley Brendan Perry live in Frankfurt's nightlife * My personal concert year 2018 was an extremely strong one, also thanks to the numerous freak show gigs organized by Master Charlie Heidenreich. But 2019 promises to be even better with almost two concerts alone. Because before I can experience my house gods Dead Can Dance, who have been on a European tour since the end of April, live for the third time in seven years in mid-June, the male half of the unique was on March 6, 2019 in Frankfurt am Main's nightlife The duo's turn: BRENDAN PERRY. Although the nightlife is not completely sold out here and there, visitors try to get their surplus tickets to the woman / man shortly before the start of the concert, so no beer coaster fits between the numerous spectators, at least in the front area of ​​the hall. And yet, as a little hobbit, I manage to get into the front row as Brendan Perry and his two colleagues, Astrid Williamson (keyboards) and Richard Yale (bass), who are experienced in Brendan and Lisa, have been an integral part of the DCD tour 2012/13 at the latest Entourage already pulling out their instruments. For me personally, the trip to Mainhattan was almost worth it thanks to the opener. Because 'Labor of Love' is not only one of my all-time favorite songs from Brendan's pen, but has also been used as a ringtone on my cell phone for years. This driving piece with strong percussive elements in the background as well as guitar and vocals with ingenious lyrics (Forced by necessity I arrive at your door. These gifts I bring to you for your benefit alone. In anticipation of things to come a labor, a labor of love ...) in the foreground is from the peel session recorded in 1983, the very early phase of Dead Can Dance. Brendan then greets the audience with good evening and asks for more light on the stage, stating I'm not Stevie Wonder! Even if by far not all fan requests regarding the setlist are fulfilled, the gig turns out to be thematically and dramatically well structured. The prelude is followed by a Tim Buckley tribute trilogy, beginning with 'Happy Time', again one of my favorites from the pool of the singer-songwriter talent of the century who died far too early. After 'Buzzin' Fly 'comes' Chase the Blues', in which Perry hands over his white electric guitar to Williamson and switches to the acoustic guitar. Like many others, Mr. Lovegrove takes the song as an opportunity for wonderfully improvised falsetting and vocalizing. 3

4 The next two tracks ('Berimbau', named after the bow instrument, and 'Canto de Ossanha') take the audience on a journey to northern Brazil. The relaxed bossa nova trip is interrupted by the dreamy anthem The Carnival is Over, with Richard Yale switching to the small synth keyboard while Astrid Williamson forms the rhythm and melodic foundation. The arrangement for Song to the Siren, the fourth and final Buckley cover of the concert, with magical echoing keys and Brendan's wonderful voice, which over time - Master Perry celebrates his 60th birthday at the end of June - is also wonderful seems. Mr. Lovegrove also has two new pieces in his luggage. With a casual, hypnotic guitar fingering and the title as a recurring, sometimes modified mantra, 'Killing the Dream' awaits. Perry takes a pessimistic view of humanity (To impose our morality we invented God. () Xenophobia: killing the dream. () Theocracy: killing the dream.), Only to find positive qualities or, in other words, solutions (Love and compassion : building the dream. Altruism: building the dream.). From 'The Rising Tide' I got Astrid Williamson's wild game in my head: she jams the keyboard up and down like David Bowie's Aladdin Sane, which fits the stormy theme of the song. Hopefully these two tracks can be found on Perry's upcoming third solo album, which could possibly be released this year. After the classic Severance, which does not have the indispensable hurdy-gurdy and was also beautifully arranged, the trio say goodbye to great applause before the round of encores begins. Don t Fade Away, the minimalist-elegiac finale of the 1994 live album / concert film Toward the Within, once again underlines Brendan's strengths as a self-proclaimed country boy. As the final chord to sway along (!), Medusa follows, as Brendan explains, a burlesque version of the song about a femme fatale. Williamson's keyboard mutates into a sailor's organ, Yale transforms his Irish autoharp into an underwater harp with rhythmic glissando, while Mr. Lovegrove sings and gambles as beautifully as he can. After the concert there is the opportunity to have a short chat with Richard Yale and Astrid Williamson, who both confirm my assumption regarding the influence of Aladdin Sane on the piano part of The Rising Tide, whereby the keyboardist in particular is enthusiastic about it that you have recognized the reference. Brendan signs the concert tickets for me and others, but does not seek direct contact with the fans. However, afterwards, when the nightlife basement has emptied, he helps to dismantle the equipment. At the same time, there is heated debate among the few remaining spectators as to whether and how good Perry's performance was. I mean, you can hardly get more out of the club atmosphere and the small staff. Even if I certainly wouldn't mind a hall with seating. However, there will definitely be that at the upcoming Dead Can Dance performance under the motto A Celebration: Life & Works. And the evening with the baritone bard from Brittany offered more than just a tasty appetizer. Marius Joa 4

5 Club W71: Larry Ochs and The Fictive Five * With the quintet under the thumb of saxophonist and band leader LARRY OCHS, Norbert Bach & Co., the loyal operators of Club W71, are a razor-sharp all-star band from New York's free jazz jungle captured. The association of Club W71, which in 1971 I quote the statutes a.) The promotion of art and culture and b.) The promotion of education and upbringing, made it possible for the grateful audience to attend a selected concert of the Extra -Class to visit; and at really affordable prices (#Pecuniaolet). The microcosm that opened up and imploded on March 9th, 2019 of our Lord in the small, well-filled clubhouse in Weikersheim, settled on the drive through the sleepy forest and meadow landscape, which made itself comfortable in the Sunday twilight had, hard to guess. A cozy and cultivated ambience, the best beer from the Spielbach brewery and a friendly atmosphere soon got me into curious anticipation for the feast that the cast had promised the gray brain cells in advance. With the popular trumpeter NATE WOOLEY, an animal of the experimental sciences for approach and blowing technique (Prof. Dr. Dr. Dipl. Ing), Larry Ochs found a soloist who knows how to crumple space and time like a bad design and throw it in an overflowing trash can. Cruel, beautiful and honest. Naturally. The foundation of the royal groove is formed by the drummer HARRIS EISENSTADT and the two double bass players PASCAL NIGGENKEMPER and KEN FILIANO. Eisenstadt, who is multi-layered and sensitive in his own compositions, shows in this line-up that, always listening seriously and attentively to his colleagues, he knows how to skillfully combine his polydimensional phrases with a maximally dynamic game. Whereby there is a kind of archaic grace in the rather reduced selected means, which in turn have a fantastic lyricism that cannot be denied. If it works out, every now and then you will see a satisfied smile with a childlike glint in your eyes. The two bassists, as heterogeneous as they seem to one another, deliver an extraterrestrial call-and-response game in constant communication with Eisenstadt, not only in the low frequency response. Niggenkemper drapes his instrument with more fumbling, rustling and Klim-Bim than Cleopatra in its peak time and plays his bass with metal equipment as a bluesy slide guitar. The result is an overtone-rich lucky bag with painted flageolet tones that connect the stars like a painting by numbers. The veteran Filiano, who came from a noticeably older school, comes across as dry and dry without any frills. * Text: Nick Heß - Photos: Schorle Scholkemper 5

6 But he soon flirted with almost melodic basslines, which, however, with no hope of recovery, were quickly riddled with bow stitches that were as snotty and cheeky as they were lightning-fast. Each note is breathed its own consciousness, which is attested to by the untamed vocal accompaniment emerging from the non-existent beard. The leader Ochs cuts a fine figure on the tenor saxophone and on the sopranino in a tropical mood. He creates a lot of space for himself with squeaking, drooling, panting and bleating without being intrusive. Every now and then he steps aside with a smile and watches his band from outside listening, like a proud father watching his children as they try to walk for the first time. Over the entire evening, the band and the soloists succeeded extraordinarily in building up an arc of tension, feeding it and transferring it from one state of aggregation to the next, although there was also a high level of conceptual mental work to be felt, which a look at the scores and many a strained face on and in front of the stage confirmed. Every now and then you could even see a unison of the two wind players paddling on a lonely raft on the horizon. Chased and circled by sharks. In turn, choreographic hand signals and instructions from Ochs gave the game the necessary twists and turns without causing the undisputed professionals to skid. On the contrary: It helped the 5 New York specialists to fully exploit their virtuosity potential and to channel transcendental communication on an almost metaphysical level. 6th

7 Freakshow: Spinifex soufifext again! "Spinifex? Soufifex!" was the title of my headline for one of the most thrilling freakshows of the last few years (-> BA 100). Whereby the great stuff of "Amphibian Ardor" was still burning in the air, but also brand new Soufifexerei from Soufifex (TryTone, TT), which was recorded in Ghent in October. Gent means a home game for the sixth man, the trumpeter Bart Maris, this walking ABC of Flemish sound magic, from X-Legged Sally, Vervloesem and Think Of One to deus and Flat Earth Society. They brought to dance 'Drinks & Logistics' & 'Unnecessary Lines' by guitarist Jasper Stadhouders, 'Marifa' by bass monster Gonçalo Almeida (who speaks directly to ma'rifa, the target of Islamic Gnosis) and 'Confrerie' & 'AHAP' ( As High, No, As Heavy As Possible) by Tobias Klein, the Oberfex at the Altosax. To do this, they twisted the mystical 'Zarbi Owj' of the Persian master Mohammad-Reza Lotfi () in a soufifex and ostinat driving manner with two kinds of flamed sax tongues, polterdrums and recurring trills. But it starts with 'Confrerie's crooked, accelerating staccato, celebratory fan and wildest dikeman from Borneo. The tenor saxer, who was hard-tested in the John Dikeman Andrew Baker Duo Freakshow, stirs up the Sufi embers to the oblique gong boing and the thrashing blows from Philipp Moser with flaming lips. What a fire-breathing brotherhood! Then Klein begs for refreshment and orientation like someone dying of thirst, Dikeman puts on thick vibrato on an abysmal bass, Maris flutters, the pace is increasingly higher than a camel dictates, and so is the zeal. Maris agrees on 'AHAP' as a tattoo until one is split into monotonous beats between sadness and defiance, relies on the latter with a jolt and rapid twirls, but first has to survive a violent guitar attack to get a riff that hits the spot. Jasper as a raging Djinn, the band as stubborn humorists. Dervish trash, trance core, higher spheres, hihi! Stadhouder's '' ... Lines '' unfolds noisily and quietly, with percussive flakes and a pressed trumpet over stagnant drones. Until enough mass condenses to ignite, with flickering abbreviations, piercing horn blows and thrusting staccato. Towards an upturned Super-Hopsasa, with Almeida as a mossy Hulk. For his 'Marifa', Maris plays a muezzin over roaring gongs, tam-tam and a bead-seeking horn loop in an ever faster, celebratory twist stirred up by Klein. To the point of slackening, to slack fanfare and booming feedback. Finally, with 'Dikri' a Gujarati folk song is transformed, with abrupt repetitions but a lively wind motif, Klein crows, Maris crows, Dikeman roars. Indian is different. But you get pretty close to bliss jerk for jerk. Already on March 24th, 2019 SPINIFEX will bring the new material with them to the Immerhin, as the target of their Ni! triple jump from Lyon from Gate 9 in Bremen via the Schieszhaus in Zeulenroda in the middle of my pre-heated receptors there between Marius, Stefan and Michael in the first row, which has been newly equipped with armchairs and sofas. Where I first get the scrap of Ni! suffer through that may be a pleasure for others. There are also weird freaks. New pieces? That I don't laugh. Your bone-polishing multiplication table consists of just a single, beaten-to-death idea. "I shit Ni!" says the young Bob Ross doppelganger on the left. I'm disarmed, the shit is wanted that way. 7th

8 However, the word for the sound this afternoon is also modest. However, we are used to a lot at least. And it only takes a verve à la SPINIFEX to brush that aside as completely irrelevant. "Soufifex" is the program and 'Confrerie' is always the perfect introduction, which sets the tone for Qawalidemmi with compelling staccato. Klein & Co. may even have changed a bit from Ni! get infected when it comes to the offensive. About Philipp Moser's Chinese gong strikes I could Juchu! scream. And anyway about the violent murmur of wind and guitar.The popular 'Hipsters Gone Extragalactic' is ignited second, and Almeida demonstrates why he has the nickname Gonzo. Stadhouders treats his hollowbody so vehemently that the first furioso that Moser pushes and thrashes him into, breaks a string. Staccato, ostinato, tutti, solo, in a conspicuous friction of complex construction and cacophilic riot. Maris and Dikeman (back from Tyrol, where he waved the hatchet at Artacts in St. Johann with Universal Indians feat. Joe McPhee) rummaged through a pile of notes. Whereby Maris, compared to October, is now completely in his element. More determined crowing and very extremist as he pushes open the noisy back door of his trumpet. Just like Almeida, whom I have hardly ever seen that cranked up and extroverted, once garrots the bass, so Maris stuffs the horn with a yogurt cup. Whether tonelessly hissing and overblown, whether melancholy-melodic or flaming, someone blows around each other, even Wooley and Peter Evans can hardly fool him. Not only that 'AHAP' and 'Unnecessary Lines' also find their way to groovy riffing, between such occidental-Amsterdam Soufifexerei with its predetermined interplay, the mental compulsion to dance unmistakably takes on its oriental traits. Even for someone who can neither distinguish Gnawa from Persian nor 'Zikr' from 'Dikri'. They offer that as an encore, vehemently demanded, no matter what. Stefan, the dog that was freaked out for me, thanked each of the good guys with a handshake. No matter what sound, dirt and bacon, the six let live, no matter how much Klein mimes the motionless mover, when rock'n'rolling dervishes fly so much that I already acknowledge their return at the art rock festival in September with a grin . 8th

9 The spirit of the Flying Luttenbachers is to push music to extremes on every level, HA! What catches my eye and comes to my ears on April 8th, this time in a standing room (the first row belongs to the Tim & Weasel-addicted W71 students), is nothing less than supercalifragilistically expiallegorical! Two years ago, Weasel Walter thawed the FLYING LUTTENBACHERS, which had been frozen for ten years, in the dream team with Tim Dahl, his buddy in Retrovirus and Quok, and his Pulverise-The-Sound- & Unnatural-Ways turbo bass. The way he competes in a snow-white Las Vegas lounge suit, sneakers and baseball cap is enough to scream. On the right Matt Nelson blows tenor sax, Dahl's partner in the grid. And although he struggles with monitor and feedback troubles, he turns out to be a snot with high deconstruction potential. Just as the lanky question mark this Monday evening, Alex Ward on guitar, in fine vertical stripes and a tie, turns out to be the yeti-doped, orgone-contaminated third of Noble Edwards-Ward, as that of Derek Bailey, Eugene Chadbourne and Lol Coxhill, the heated half of Dead Days Beyond Help. He tears with long pianist fingers like the young Arto Lindsay and delivers the caustic splashes of lizard acid for Weasel's harmolotow-like neo-no-wave cocktail. Weasel stages what he aptly praised in Rolling Stone as gamut between technical overload and mindless idiocy, as a hanswursty clown. As Mussolini, he cuts grimaces in shaft boots, which together with his war paint guarantee the Luttenbach spirit, he post as a muscle man, leans on Dahl like Laurel on Hardy, mocks our ACDC-Kirrer. Freakshow: Flying with The Luttenbachers But he justifies his behavior with the insane crackling of his double bass drum kicks, the gabber speed of his hammered ratatata, the frenzy of his shimmering and hissing cymbal trills. Just as he justifies 'Goosesteppin', 'Crippled Walk' and 'Sleaze Factor' as ramming constructs from car crashes and simple breathing patterns, from rapid Kkringgg, stubborn BumBumBum and abrupt breaks through their skull-splitting purpose. And through his stupendous power technique as a drummer champion, for whom the impossible is a no brainer. As a lightning-smart composer who breaks the horns off the problem of explosiveness as Hellboy in Musica. Look and hear how he steers the Bacher mathematically precisely through cataracts from over-the-top-in-yer-face cacophony. Dahl with a sizzling bass trill, faster than the eye, and astonishing glissando, Ward convulsively under electric shocks, with his tie getting under his scratching claws. With 'Epitaph' and the zack-zack-zack of a Prussian waltz as a striking example, quivering between crazy hysteriiiiiiiie and the callously executed hardcore version of Glenn Branca riffing. Topped by 'Mutation', a metronomic-convulsive high-speed staccato monster that chokes on resistance, pulverizes it and races towards Messier 87 as an unstoppable tour de force. Since The Molecules kicked an army of knights down a spiral staircase man by man in full armor, I have not seen a more diabolical spectacle. It don't mean a thing if it ain't got swing? Oh dear Hellington, stupid cupid has various arrows in its quiver. Photo: Olaf König 9

10 Freakshow: Smurfette in C With BOOLVAR, ambassadors of the Parisian cultural association Gigantonium will come to the Immerhin on April 14th, two days after their stopover at the Attenuation Circuit in Augsburg. In the shape of the drummer Guillaume Béguinot and Delphine Joussein on the flute. She blows it over with humming singsong or howls loudly and modulates that with a lot of effects. Not Jethro and even less 'Dull' (said in Lower Franconia). With the tongues of a hydra and such dark echoes in loops, delay and ring modulation, as if the silver flute had mutated into dark matter, of which only an inexplicable trace of smoke attests. Quite flute-streaky, flowery wind bride, she gives her rat-chasing breaths, which make her lips tingle, with blue jeans hips energetic emphasis. Fixed staccato and agreed meeting points pattern this unexpectedly blatant free and noise rock, in which dolphins rage with a twisted sandblast furor. Christian Kühn suggests 'Der Tonga-Guru' for her as yet nameless but solid finale, all I can think of is 'Flycatcher's Stampede'. KUHN FU return almost exactly every year, with the new material from "Chain the Snake" (Berthold Rec, CD / LP) in their luggage. Along with Christian Kühn as the daredevil leader on the guitar, 'only' Esat Big Baba Bass Ekincioğlu and meanwhile George Hadow on the drums (Ziv Taubenfeld, the bass clarinet throat, is on paternity leave). But what does 'just' mean, every Ekincioğlu finger is a little hulk. And with Hadow, an advance laureate should be enough that he would otherwise hang around with John Dikeman & Gonzo Almeida. Although it looks like it at first glance, it is no shame to clear out loud riffs from left to right and from right to left for the moody jazz-rock polkas of a guitar trio with a rock'n'rolling double bass. Kühn and Ekincioğlu shout: My wife, Ilsebill, doesn't want what I want. Power to the butt! But then there is the mocking 'Marco Messy Millionaire' from the new album with a blast, jagged staccato and a zigzag guitar. Guaranteed for the first time, Hadow is expected to tame snakes and let smug narcissists shine through with 'Gustav Grinch', who are not nearly as nimble and groovy as the Fus, above all the Ober-Fu, who is again as a funny moderator and with guitaristic piquancy jazzy arpeggio kidding and in general very reminiscent of a sarcastic hipster on the sharp side of the 80s. However, 'Sonic Manah' is something for very sharp fingers and metronomic beats. At 'Oswaldo's Waltz' a Latin lover is supposed to swear in the noir set by "Gilda", today we are flipped through B-movie trash. Hadow shows with clacking precision what a treasure he is, not just in his fast-paced solo, Big Baba Bass conjures up a thousand and one nights flair in his arco solo. Immediately follow 'Kuhnstantinopolis' and the self-portrait as tirelessly touring and gnawing at small rolls 'Street Rats', with an indestructibility that even Boolvar's rat-chasing flute attracts instead of frightens. As an encore, 'Wolf's Muckenkogel' - a stick-thick, rumbling Klezmer polka with fluttering sidelocks and Lalala drunk with milk and honey - is still hopped in his "Must i because, must i because ...". If the pigeon field is at home, then the three of them will stir up the dust. Because fun has to be (even if we have to forego wahwah the growling, angry stomping, howling Smurf villain 'Gargamel'. And on 'Traktus' as a silly, hammered, shit-roaring pigeon field treatise the last sigh of an ELP fan rolled over by a tractor). 10

11 Freakshow: Koenji Hyakkei Somewhere between SEGA and Kamikaze * One hundred views of Kōenji, the baptismal name of the Kobaï-Japanese pupil may be translated by founding father Tatsuya Yoshida according to Wikipedia. KOENJI HYAKKEI, a name that is at least as difficult to remember as it is to pronounce. Anyone who was allowed to witness their concert on (the only one between the RIO in Bourgoin-Jallieu, London, St. Petersburg and Moscow!) In Würzburg's favorite cultural cellar, the Immer, shouldn't get rid of the feeling that either 100 is a significantly large number in Japanese or a translation error has crept in. Or would it be just an occidental way of thinking to attach an exaggeratedly great importance to the feeling that is experienced, which perhaps does not correspond entirely to Japanese aesthetics? Certainly, the sextet cannot be denied the extravagant abundance and the high degree of virtuosity with which they brought an enthusiastic crowd in the tightly packed herring-tight jaws that evening. They heard too much magma in their childhood! the qualified analysis of a guest? Maybe - certain parallels to the Zheulan forefathers may be recognizable, but only superficial to me. Diving into a very unique cosmos full of dynamism and pathos on a polyrhythmic roller coaster ride, carried by Kobaïan chorales to the most remote astral corners? It would only be true that the colleagues from Koenji Hyakkei ride on the back of a world-devouring dragon on LSD through modular arcade boards in order to carry his players frustration-free and immediately to the harmonious game-over. It is a question of sound that Vander and Yoshida do not want to answer immediately. Now a number of comparisons and differences could follow, which we save ourselves, however, since personal experience rarely harmonizes with self-proclaimed specialty and this is far from my senses. Let us rather focus on the super-brain Tatsuya Yoshida (* 1961). Ruins, Akaten, Acid Mothers Temple, Zubi Zuva, Psyche Bugyo, collaborations with John Zorn, the list of auditory culinary delicacies goes on when you hold its almost endless content in the most varied of line-ups to your ears online. This year he will also be marveled at in all its facets at the MOERS Festival, hopefully again with raincape zipping improvisations (!). In addition to this enormous creative power, he shines at least as brightly on his instrument. POLYRHYTHMICS is our word of the hour. 11

12 With meditative concentration on the face, like an old sensei, Yoshida seems to want to breathe a life of its own into every single drum, while Messrs. Sakamoto Kengo, Koganemaru Kei and Yabuki Taku (bass / guitar / keys) form the rhythm and male contravocal group complete and create a widely ramified harmonic framework that the soloists Komori Keiko and AH (soprano saxophone / vocals) like to use as a steep launch pad to bring band and audience to take off into the spheres of Koenji. Like a horde of Tengu gone wild, they hunt around their master, abandoning their career every now and then and thus never appear rigid, like the wheels of a clockwork. Because the cliché of a Japanese drill child, which was coerced by his parents for years and just reproduces like a machine, is not fulfilled here. Here and there, due to feedback troubles, an absolutely forgivable bump creeps into the game, which by no means disturbs the professionals. Rather, this, acknowledged by just a smile and an exchange of eyes, gives the whole thing a wonderfully sympathetic note of humanity, which reveals the depth of her love for music. The fabulous singer AH shines as a particularly bright star on this evening: from intergalactic arias to overtone chants from distant Caucasian steppes, in between the space, filled with endless lines, up and down the stairs, back and forth, criss-cross. The whole thing then please also in unison with piano and saxophone the creator has already thought something. Light breaks through again and again, cheeky groovy rock parts from the 70s or complete free jazz failures, but never lingering in one place for long, as does the audience. The choirs always call out a cheerful NEXT LEVEL. In the end, the crowd goes wild, screams for encore, and the band pulls one off the leather again. An over-medley, apparently specially designed for their impact in Europe, of melodies for millions, in which Bizet, Handel, Beethoven, Ravel, Chopin, Bach weave into one another from measure to measure. Unforgettable. Incomparable. So we were allowed to attend a wonderful spectacle, full of exoticism, closeness and, above all, fun, but the Koenjihyakkeians also made that with us. If you want to understand that, you can do so with the album "Dhorimviskha", released in 2018, on which the current guitarist Koganemaru Kei can also throw his shimmering colors into play. Favorite track Levhorm. Have fun with it! Ohrvizzi Gassfain Levhorrm dehllfondey! whose tzomborrido Keiyoss Keiyoss Fellondufain! Duru Duru Duru Duru Duru Duru Duru Duru Durü Text: Nick Heß * Photos: Lutz Diehl 12

13 over pop under rock Moonjune Records (New York) Post from Belgrade brought me the VASIL HADŽIMANOV BAND. The son of a popular Macedonian pop singer, trained at Berklee College, has gone his own way since 1997 with his VHBand: Bojan Ivković on percussion, Branko Trijić on guitar, now Miroslav Tovirac on electric bass and Pedja Milutinović on drums. And as the fifth example of the handsome, bearded male image, he himself on Keys, as we know him from the Trio Sveti (also with Trijić), from the Bace Quartet (with Theodosii Spassov) or Dušan Jevtovič's No Answer Trio (with Asaf Sirkis). The latter was just as welcome on Moonjune (MJR085) as was "Alive" (MJR076), the 6th album by VHB, featuring David Binney. And now Lines in Sand (MJR095), with the animated funkiness of 'Mr. MoonJune 'and the bubbly saxophone by Rastko Obradovic as thanks to MoonJune-Man Leonardo Pavkovic, next to the stormy Afro-Funk of' Ratnici podzemlja '[Warriors of the Underworld?] As another draft of the whole band, Toviracs' For Clara', Trijićs again saxophorized 'Waiting For ...' and eight new pieces by Hadžimanov. The glockenspiel-like, synth-chattering 'For Clara' is put in Dean Bowman's languishing mouth, the screamer of the Screaming Headless Torsos, at Don Byron, Uri Cane and Elliott Sharp's Terraplane. 'Lost' is intoned by Marta Hadžimanov with a dizzyingly high soprano voice, lost in the meandering walk of the crowd. Otherwise, Ivković takes the microphone. Yes, the high vocalization right at the folklore and downtempo entry, that's it. The blown guitar is no less astonishing. Not only 'San snova' is characterized by circling strumming, parallel to the gradual guitar, and alone in the arpeggio frenzy. Alternatively, Hadžimanov lets it roar like an organ, like the xylophone toktok-toktoktok tektek-tektek from 'Kaži', which as 'Kaži Gradiška' alternates between gallop and tumult. With 'Maklik', whiney keys, wandering cascades and croaking bass spin a melodic loop, for 'Freedom from the Past' Trijić pulls ghostrider strings to Tamtam alla Turca. With 'Rege Hadži' as a cascading dub with moody howling keys and spinning arpeggio, Hadžimanov's path from Africa across the Balkans and the Atlantic ends in Caribbean sunshine. 13th

14 E-Klageto - La Bois - Psych.KG (Euskirchen) Ken Matsutani, head of Marble Sheep and Captain of Captain Trip Records, recorded THE MICKEY GUITAR BAND from the Psych.KG LP "From the Deep" (-> BA 96 ) for From the Beaches (Psych. KG 237, 2 x LP + CD in box) completely reorganized: With Rinji Fukuoka (ex-overhang Party) on drums and Louis Inage on bass, the rhythm section of Majutsu No Niwa, die can also be found on "Es Läuten Die Glocken" (the E-Klageto compilation for BA 86) as well as Hiroshi Hasegawa, Mickey's fourth man at the electronic counterpoint to the guitar. Also known as Astro, Hasegawa with the Psych.KG split "Levotion" and in encounters with Sudden Infant, Mama Baer or the Opening Performance Orchestra (-> BA 91) is one of the people who, in addition to Commissioner Hjuler's Fluxus- Malstrom, deepening the JapNoise accent, around which psychedelically rocking compatriots like LSD March splinter. Such a balancing act, embellished with BA favorites like Karl Bösmann, La STPO and Denis Frajerman, is a double kick that I like to give my ass for.For the psychedelic half, ears that are already well-lit can be found in Würzburg through Horst Porkert's Psychedelic Network Festivals with Da Captain Trips, and through his label Sunhair Music, with Cubus Maximus and Zement as local heroes. Whether behind Marble Sheep Haruki Murakami's mystical sheepman jumped around each other remains just as speculation as whether the Mickey Guitar Band wants to knock you over with a Mickey Finn or with Mickey Hart's Greatful Dead Spirit. The fact is that Matsutani brings a beach to mind from morning to midnight: 'Hazy Morning', 'Glaring', 'Sunset', 'Moonlit Flower', 'Falling Star', 'Midnight Beach', plus a 'Stoner' Beach 'and - live -' Ufo ... '&' Soup Beach '. No, not Utah or Terminal Beach. And yet anything but an ambience to lie down in the sun. The looming drones suggest a morning when the corpse of a giant was stranded there (as in J.G. Ballard's 'The Drowned Giant'), and the guitar also finds elegiac tones for it. For an unbelievable phenomenon that is desecrated by corpse bats and skeletonized by human vultures. Of which perhaps a mythical memory remains, material for ritual dances with hoopla, rumbling thunder and cymbal crashes from Fukuoka, to standing, jarring, twitching, guitar waves pounded and scourged by electronics. Hasegawa develops a massive presence, trilling and milling, which imposes an X-factor on the constantly surging guitar sound. Because beach is only the word here for the edge of the ocean, for the contact of the water under the earth with that above the earth, of inner and outer space. The guitar groans that the headline "Billion Years of Sighs", already used by Fukuoka, Henritzi & Junko, is correct. And the setting sun is bid farewell with singing, as if there were no moon, no stars and no tomorrow. But they sound like luminous fish in the deep sea above our heads, like a milky highway on which the band rushes along, as if they had refueled the herb that also chases snowballs and stones through space. They tremble through the witching hour with scruffy and creeping steps along whirring and rustling walls of sound. To stumble over red domes and towers, singing, whirring, booming and flashing as a UFO, drawn as if by a glass of burgundy in which strawberries swim. Live it sounds queasier and uglier, scrappy and chain-rattled, even more forgotten and like in a rubber-soft room. 'Soup Beach' lets you trudge through knee-deep morass. Matsutani and Hasegawa wander infernally and while the guitar 'flutes' to iron rumbling vibrations, Inage and Fukuoka swamp dry so that the bottom turns on top. Or are there just four half-strength Godzillas playing beach volleyball? 14th

15 When I praised Andreas Arndt in 2011 for "Behind the scenes" (Pych.KG 057) as a post-industrial shitquirler who throws sand into the gears of the messing industry, he had been practicing the symbolic negation of negation since the mid-90s. As Facies Deformis and Irikarah he made a row on Membrum Debile Propaganda and Steinklang Industries etc., among others. also in association with Carsten Vollmer. The best of Hagen (Exklageto 21) brought together with the nine tracks of "Retro?" (Household Use, 2005) and the six from "Die Welt im Kreis E.P." (MNDR, 2006) the most apt of Arndt's ass kicks as A². Of these, 'Elektropiraten', 'Freaky Computer' and 'Computerclick' refer to A²'s tool that "Der Konsument E.P." explicitly lists: PC, Korg Poly 61M, Yamaha CS 30L, Korg X50, Vermona DRM, Ken Multi DE 1400, Zoom, Monacor EEM-2000, RSP Hush 2000, Behringer Ultrafex II. This achieves Lo-Fi credibility Deceptively skilful recourse to the cold synth-pop aesthetic of the Neue Deutsche Welle, knocked on by drum machines. 'The consumer' is the name of the addressee who, trapped in vicious circles and under 'time' pressure, is advised to exit from his self-inflicted immaturity. Toasted by 'Alien Drumsong' and by caffeine ('K.A.F.F.E.E.'), but not just to dance yourself even more stupid - 'No dance'! Nevertheless, the simple but animating patterns and the smug lacony of Der Plan & Zeitgenossen strike through, while the statement is stylistically reduced to lines like from Kraftwerk's computer mouth: You go around in circles and don't know why ... I can count / / Cold shock! Cold shock! ... Staged in the ironic militancy of an anti-rat catcher - which has determined Arndt's oeuvre from Irikarah's "Kampf-Sequenzen" (1996). And definitely cool. Medium meets Message at Nigger / Flug & Derinnerekern (la bois 29, square 7inch lathecut + anti-10inch in handmade 10inch-sleeve). The big hit is always the Picture Disc, designed by FRAU UNKANNT in 39 acrylic originals (!), With an emphasis on picture. Heike Zimmermann's cover art - the aluminum foil for One Last Region or the photo work for "Brain Messies" are still the most unspectacular - makes Psych.KG fans crazy about collectors. The music carried piggyback here comes from 'nigger' on the part of KOMMISSAR HJULER and on the dinosaur side there is also DINO FELIPE, a freak from Miami, whose desktop dramas fill up several hours of band camp. To the spat black nigger! White nigger! Bad nigger! Good nigger! the commissioner reads out a definition of racial hatred and wraps it up in alarmed US police radio. On the other hand, chaotic electro 'pop' loops and flippers, comically trumpeting and with a torn Mama-Baer voice. Kusafuka Kimihide, with his' Musicalchemy 'and' Metalnoisemusic 'as K2 since 1983, not least because of the' Noise Tournament'-7 "splits in the 90s, is just as influential in shaping Japanoise as Merzbow, CCCC, Hijokaidan, Incapacitants .. Karoushi: Overwork For The Death (Psych.KG 221, LP + CD in box), packed by Mrs. Unknown, brings 'MatzRi the Suicidal Angel' & 'Dance to Dentzoo' on bright green vinyl and on the CD a 60 min. extended new edition of the C46 "Les Extremes Se Touchent I" (1995). While K2 is currently modulating its 'Improvised Electro-Core' with modular synths in multitrack recordings, in the 90s he still used scrap parts, analogue synthesis and his voice a roaring waterfall, a thundering wall of noise, against which he raved, along which he screeched and screeched with iron cuffs and cursed himself. Karōshi means 'death by overwork', the Japanese phenomenon of shooting until you drop ften. K2 works and yells until the pig whistles, with a pulse beating up to the neck, over both ears in the tinnitus area, but relentlessly kakoman. As early as 1984 he had recognized a weak point in the 'heart muscle tissue', he has long been with every single tumor via you and with Godzilla anyway. 35 years later and without junk and voice, his tonal language and grain are more refined, the impulsivity more molecular, more sparkling. For the impertinence of whirring, scourging, seething, howling aggression, which is precisely why it is music in so many ears. The thrust is also still the same. To rave against the world as a disambient of metastases, Monsanto, earthquakes and treadmill stress, respect. 15th

16 RareNoise Records (London) It's not quite as tricky as with Schrödinger's cat with CHAT NOIR, because the keyboardist Michele Cavallari is the fixture there and Luca Fogagnolo reliably mixes his bass sound with it. But from the reinforcement by J. Peter Schwalm and Daniel Calvi in ​​"Nine Thoughts For One Word" (2016), which I was even able to attest to the quality of shreds in BA 90, only Calvi on guitar & synths stayed with Hyperuranion (RNR 104, CD / LP) and the drummer Moritz Baumgärtner (MELT Trio, Mats Spillmann Trio) new. In addition, the spirit of Nils Petter Molvær condenses for four melodies to Molvær himself. The title contains Plato's idea of ​​a heavenly place full of everlasting forms of being, the sight of which disturbs people so much that they only have a vague memory of them in the exile of finitude . Cavallari draws from it the tension between ethereal appearance and basic musical ideas, as they echo similarly in Flying Lotus, Tortoise, Battles or Jaga Jazzist. Imaginative people may be reminded of goblins in the ostinate synth groove of 'Blister', the striking contrast between nervous up-tempo tinkling, ostinate repetitions, ghostly whimpering 'strings' and popping dots is definitely audible. 'Humanity' descends downtempo and triphoppy creaking down into human exile, with a melancholic ringing sound and a melancholic trumpet. 'Immediate Ecstasy' lets the keys languish consumptively over a more eager groove, grumpy bass and muffled pounding beat. 'Overcome' combines synthpop chinoiserie and floating sounds with fragile guitar, solemn melodies and glockenspiel melancholy. Molvær gets back in for 'Quasar' to dream over a trembling tapping track and dark roaring waves. 'Glimpse' winds its way up to a catchy tune to the howling synth fetter with strong bass emphasis, chugging groove and distorted, shrill trumpet pathos. Dark drones swell to 'Ten Elephants', the ass-shaking groove to a thick-skinned signature melody. 'Matador Insects' grooves to Tok-Scht-Tok-Scht-Tok-Scht-Automatik, dusty melodies and with jarring subwoofing. Until 'Quasar (Reprise)' finally reunites the trumpet with a hissing synth sound and triumphantly shakes off all faintness with a steamy groove. Hojotoho! Heiaha !? Where else can you draw on so much as in Norway? Red Kite (RNR 105, CD / LP), RED KITE's debut, is psychedelic and heavy, the ultimate jazz-rock super-fusion: Even Helte Hermansen, guitarist for Bushman's Revenge, Shining and Grand General + Torstein Lofthus, Drummer from Shining and Elephant9 + Trond Frønes, bassist from Cadillac, Blood On Wheels and Grand General, +, on keyboards, Bernt André Moen from Dualistic, who has proven himself on Shining's "Blackjazz". Alice Coltrane's 'Ptah, the El Daoud' as a prelude is then also an announcement, from ethereal psychedelic to melody-like ascension with a stomping bass riff and an urgent guitar that cannot be distracted by jingling doubts. Everything else comes from Hermansen: '13 Enemas For Good Luck 'as an enema with a hot and howling guitar and dark verve stiffened with 70s hardness. 'Flew A Little Bullfinch Through The Window', with a striding beat again, turns out to be more dom than Pfaff, with guitar and keys meekly beaking but savoring cathedral airspace. 'Focus On Insanity' takes a melodic swing from Ornette Coleman's 'The Shape of Jazz to Come' with again a virtuoso, whirling Her-Moen-Sen'schem drive and godly guitar fury like in the golden age. The bass pulse also beats up to the neck, and Lofthus rattles and crackles like 'crazy'. 'You Don't Know, You Don't Know' decelerates almost elegiacly in the end. And yet, as urged by Brünnhilde, gains more and more inner strength and courageous defiance, to endure hunger and thirst, thorn and stone and to go one's own way in uncertainty. Wotan's rage, as if behind armored glass. Laugh whether need or suffering gnaws you! 16

17 SEAN NOONAN's coup to team up with Can legend Malcolm Mooney as PAVEES DANCE goes into a second round with Tan Man's Hat (RNR106, CD / LP). With the best-dressed bass star Jamaladeen Tacuma again, instead of Aram Bajakian (who now plays in Vancouver with his wife in Dálava), Ava Mendoza grabs the guitar, and Alex Marcelo, an old friend of The Hub, joins the keyboards. He made the acquaintance of Mooney on "The Sound of White Columns" (2011), who kept himself fit as a Fauve Painter & Beat Poet and also worked with, among others. Myles Boisen & Dave Slusser in the Bay Area when Tenth Planet made three albums. Noonan, known to Afro-Celtic, Brooklyn-Bavarian and Zappa-Varès crossroads as Brewed-By-Noon-Griot, Scheherazade with boxer punch and Memorable-Sticks-Man in general, steps back behind Mooney's harmoniously designed beat poetry and his So Contrary timbre back. Partly based on ideas from Noonan or Günter Janovsky (a local hero thanks to the Jahu music store in Freising and the "Hirsch" in Moosburg), the one in 'Boldly Going' and 'Martian Refugee' reverses the exploratory view of earthly conditions. He is also explicitly involved in 'Tell Me' and thereby grounds Noonan's more escapist fantasy. But it shows up in 'Turn Me Over' as a humorous ragtime noise about a djinn stuck in a vinyl groove. 'Gravity and the Grave', which Mooney performs with Steve Day's verve, 'The End of the Inevitable' and the touching 'Winter Inside' also revolve around death. Mooney once had 'Tan Man's Hat' on the tongue for a Can demo and it now sounds like rock'n'roll fringed with blues. A brave bass boost to breakneck swirling drumming, lively or organ-like tremolating keys and Mendoza's scruffily agile, heart-massaging and, in 'Girl from Another World', freely sensational guitaristic make jazz & poetry something highly complex and sharp-edged brute, which is neither elegiac nor grotesque. to stir up dust as universal outsiders, refugees and travelers. The JAMIE SAFT QUARTET condenses a lot of common experience and shared spirituality for Hidden Corners (RNR109, CD / LP). That of Jamie Saft on piano and Brad Jones on double bass in New Zion and "New Dream", those of Hamid Drake on drums and Dave Liebman on Sax & Flute in Sacred System and most recently on "Chi", Liebman's with Miles Davis, Drake's with Pharoah Sanders and Don Cherry. The approach to the Ch'i in Taijiquan (whose main principle is softness), the fascination for the mysticism of the Gnawa and the Kabbalistic Gematria, the spirit of "Ascension", "Ptah, the El Daoud" and "Thembi". Bundled in the quest for the universal healing powers of music. Saft invited Drake to New Zion and, with Liebman, paid homage to John Coltrane. Now all of this is combined in 'Positive Way' and seven other forays into the dark, from 'Seven are Double' to 'Landrace'. Jones growls and lets his paws dance over the strings, Saft arpeggiates with a soft touch, and Liebman breaks out into enthusiastic, completely casual chants on the tenor. As if the spirit of the Impulse Masters had passed into his flesh and blood. Then Saft switches to splintery figures and the rumbling bass register, to Jones' singing pizzicato and Liebman's piercing but never stubborn insistence. To 'Yesternight', not by chance with Soprano, you almost want to sing Raindrops on roses / And whiskers on kittens. Saft hammers with a silver hammer and whirls up and down, Jones captivates with melodic dexterity, Liebman with the utmost tenderness. '231 Gates' hides its secret in flute tones and dizzying pizzicato. With his bow Jones strokes 'Turn at Every Moment' like a cat around the pant legs, and juice swims over the frozen lake - the soprano plays the prince with it. For 'Hidden Corners' Liebman becomes a feather-light tenor again, a striding walking bass and noble-fingered strumming. In 'The Anteroom', Saft lets dreamy expectation rise from the keys to a ghostly bow and Elysian flute. And Jones uses the finale again for a stupendous pizzicato, Liebman for soprano caprioles and Saft for crystalline strumming in the old style. As another retro trip, that's okay. Just OK? Does not also apply - with Lao Tzu, Benjamin and Brecht - whoever wants to defeat the hard should not let any opportunity for friendliness pass by? As a "minimal program of humanity" on earth full of cold wind? 17th

18 rune grammofon (Oslo) The FIRE! ORCHESTRA is, as fire, shapeshifting, but always with Mats Gustafsson, Johan Berthling and Andreas Werliin and the voices of Mariam Wallentin and Sofia Jernberg as embers. Concentrated on 14 flames, Arrival (RCD2205 / RLP3205) flickers with all sorts of brass and reeds, but with strings and, in addition to well-known detonators like Per Texas Johansson and Christer Bothén (on oboe, bass and double bass clarinets), new faces like Isak Hedtjärn (from festivals) on clarinet & alto sax and, as a returnee, Tomas Hallonsten (from tape) on keyboards. The violins lead with '(I am a) horizon' into the initially only smoldering 66 minutes, which the two singers breathe a gentle dawn, fringed by Susana Santos Silva's chirping trumpet and creaking bass clarinets. What voices, what a relaxed sun hymn. Wouldn't rough reeds groan in such agony. But Mariam & Sofia are swinging 'Weekends (The soil is calling)' as flower power girls from the 60s / 70s who have traveled through time. And so full of optimistic green power that they read the riot act against the cacophonic resistance of ominous George, dark rumble and painful roar again and wrap all of this around their fingers as a groove, even if the aftertaste tastes slightly bitter. Robbie Basho's 'Blue crystal fire' begins to smoke from a clarinet abyss, but the most fragile soprano and sharp keys take you into a fairytale forest: Deep within the forest: there I wait for you my love / Deer with silver antlers: come and play with me my love. 'Silver trees' lingers there with wistful, roaring bass clarinet singing to Berthling's pizzicato, until the two elves lick balm on the wounds that the cello spreads.With the magic saying: Nothing is, nothing was, nothing will be, which promptly instigates a trumpet-blown groove to which the girls rap and cheer loudly. 'Dressed in smoke, blown away' carries sweet memories with it as organ gospel with gutbucket baritone and howling strings. '(Beneath) the edge of life' also curves around the hard edges of life with downtempo and string sweetness. And yet it ends with the deeply melancholy I'm lonely, please hold me, come closer, my dear / I can't hide all this hurt and pain inside I feel of a version of 'At last I am free' (I can hardly see in front of me), which is consumed in its oppressive self-contradiction. Yes, as such a fire! Orchestral phenomenon, existence and the world are eternally justified! They still exist, 'Supergroups', and ELEPHANT9 is one of them: With Ståle Storløkken (from Supersilent) on Keys, Nikolai Hængsle (from Band of Gold) on electric and double bass and Torstein Lofthus (from Shining) on ​​drums. Psychedelic Backfire I (RCD2206 / RLP3206) & II (RCD 2207 / RLP3207) is not only showing them live, but also demonstrating in January 2019 in the Kampen Bistro in Oslo with two versions of 'Habanera Rocket' & 'Fugl Fønix' (from "Walk the Nile ", 2009) at the same time their free rocking flexibility, thanks to which the same is never the same. And unfold the whole history of the band without sticking to the same notes: with 'I Cover The Mountain Top', the double 'Skink' & the title track of 'Dodovoodoo' (2008), 'John Tinnick' (again from the second Album), 'Freedom's Children' (from "Atlantis", 2012), Stevie Wonders 'You Are The Sunshine Of My Life' (from "Silver Mountain", 2015) and 'Farmer's Secret' & 'Actionpack1' (from "Greatest Show On Earth ", 2018). The fact that the Swedish guitarist Reine Fiske (from Dungen, The Amazing) is the fourth man to join in again at the second concert and that Elephant9 applies his Björkenheim / Rypdal touch was already part of the elephantic sound of "Atlantis" & "Silver Mountain". At first, however, Hammond, Rhodes, Minimoog & Mellotron dominate, who can dance on tiptoe through porcelain shops as well as provide action and voodoo with Emerson's jet propulsion. Storløkken is voodoo-raging with Zawinul & Young and holding up a mirror with Hancock & Co. EVIL. With all the retro-skepticism, I hesitate to insist that the 70s and Keith Emerson are the very last things needed today. Progressive Rock made the best of itself through aggressive punk and with a decidedly pan-European in-opposition spirit beyond hypertrophy. The present cannot say that of itself. But more thrilling than with such a troll groove and the Pentecostal tongues of Fiskes' phönix- & dodofedriger fusion of McLaughlin and Rypdal you can hardly advertise for Freedom's failed children. 18th

19 Noel Scott Engel called Scott Walker () The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore. The enemy of Zeitgeistsurfer (NZZ) gets that in his uncompromising originality (n-tv) as one of avantgarde music's most electrifying auteurs (npr) and experimental loner in the rabbit hole of madness (Spiegel) now shoveled into his grave. By people who don't fail to portray him as a failed teen star and freak, with "Climate Of The Hunter" (1983) being Virgin's biggest bust. To photos that turned a blind eye 50 years ago of his life. Penguins don't fly. Maoam. Always make it clear that you would rather dance around golden calves than with such a strange angel ... In the eighties, another solo album that finally put something like a halo around Engel's figure, but remained on the shelves like welded lead , and then, suddenly, out of the blue, a distant rumble of thunder as a subtle shock to the rest of the listening society: more than ten years later, in the middle of the nineties, a new Scott Walker album - Tilt ... If ever music from one Another dimension than what we presume to know, then the music of Scott Walker. For example Tobias O. Meißner (the author of "Starfish Rules", "Berlinoir" ...) in "Halb- Engel" (1999), where he gave Walker-Engel a voice to his protagonist Floyd, head of the band Mercantile Base Metal Index Showing a way out to the plight of fame, an alternative to suicide in the spotlight. Yes, "Tilt" (1995 on 4AD) as the first album of the 21st century? In times of need, the company also eats outsiders, fallen angels, the sound of a freezing heavenly body (Der Tagesspiegel), an Orson Welles of the music industry (Walker about himself). But it had to be: "Drift" (2006) ... "Bish Bosch" (2012). And if it's not pop, then art - Francis Bacon, Camus, Dada, H. R. Giger turned into sound. With Sunn O))) he heaved us naked monkeys "Soused" (2014) as large black monoliths into the lunar crater Tycho. With a whipped Marlon Brando, a lullaby from the killing of the redskins, a bull in the slaughterhouse, the slaughterhouses as Golgotha. Hymns to the night, enigmatic to the extreme in mythopoetic and existential multiple coding, but intensely felt into being locked in and out. Some are born to it. Some are made to do it. Some allowed. Noel Scott Engel met all three criteria. This side and beyond of Jupiter. Terrifying, amazing, unique. As the devil will, I got my hands on "The Childhood of a Leader" in Musicland last week, Walker's soundtrack to Brady Corbet's film, which, loosely, is based on Sartre's "The Childhood of a Boss" and "The Magus" by John Fowles, who shaped the adolescence of a fascist leader after World War I. As soon as I got Walker in my head again, the news of my death came on the radio. And I felt a little guilty (like tripping over a sack of rice in China). The music is a real walker, even if without words. Richly orchestrated with loads of strings, counterbalanced with loads of brass power. With orchestration help from Mark Warman, who was meanwhile also involved in Corbet's "Vox Lux" (2018). Walker captivates with dramatic effects like those in "The Great White Shark" and "Psycho", and with concise effects like in 'Printing Press'. But even more through threatening chiaroscuro, with badly shimmering strings, pulsating and whirring bass, rumbling brass, strange percussion. Pure Walker and a Legacy Worthy. Alas ... The lyre man turned what he could. Tonight / my assistant / will pass among you // His cap will / be empty // Tonight my assistant / will hear / the canals / of Mars ... 19

20 ... over pop under rock ... BERESFORD - HAMMOND Circle Inside the Folds (the 52nd, 52NDCD005): After "The Lightning Bell" (2016) with pianist Carolyn Hume, his partner also in Fourth Page at last " The Forest from Above "(2018), Charlie Beresford plays here again, as in" Each Edge of the Field "(2017), in Tête-à-tête with the cellist Sonia Hammond. Back at the Cwm Gwilym Schoolhouse in the Welsh district of Powys, he plucks the guitar strings for the delicate 'Homage to Opus 8' (no, not Chopin, but Zoltan Kodaly's heartbreaker for cello), which billows up alternately to Hammond's thick line and finally comes up with a monotonous piano riff the place rotates. 'Submerged' follows in an almost Spanish-picked melancholy with a feeling that is savored by all fingers and bedded on cello velvet. The cello dances the first steps of the 'Apparat Waltz', the guitar hugs so tightly that it pecks, but doesn't skip a 3/4 hip swing. In 'Mosquito Machinery' the guitar strings whir thirsty for blood to a dark tone of cello at night that tries to cherish a blissful dream, but turns itself into a bloodsucker. Beresford, like a younger Steve Day, demands "Adjust the File" to a slightly metallic guitar loop, which the cello whirls around and shimmers, almost whistling. 'Something Against the Hull' begins with a slapped cello to a percussive pounded piano and plunges sonorously into the dark to Beresford's rumbling linker. To find a 3/4 time there again, which he plonks in the inner piano. For 'Order of Odonata' (the order of the dragonflies) he finally harps up again in Spanish to a grumpy cello, it sparkles in small circles, finds an old-fashioned tone, plays monotonously and, hummed by the cello, again in circles. Circles for whom a pen would be too narrow and where the community can like to grow. BIOTA Fragment for Balance (ReR Megacorp, ReR BCD9): The death of Charles O'Meara / C.W lies between the last "Funnel to a Thread" and Biota's new total work of art, once again published by Chris Cutler. Vrtacek (). The start of this special softcore chamber music from Colorado could hardly be more elegiac in his memory. His piano, however, is still part of the sound patterns determined by Rhodes, claviolin, biomellodrones, Hammond & Pump Organ, delicate percussion, strings (crown bass, violin, banjolin), delicate blower, accordion and above all by fine guitar playing, which of course only through processing , Mix and Editing by Bill Sharp, Randy Miotke and Gordon Whitlow take on their typical biota shape. As dreamscapes in which abstract expressionist landscapes and surreal soul landscapes echo. In dreamy accordion, piano or violin sounds, in a trembling organ or chirping trumpet sound and the fingerstyle guitar picking by Tom Katsimpalis and Mark Piersel. Shivered through with the emotional worlds from ballads from beyond Eden, as refreshed by the neofolk of the 60s / 70s kissed by electric muses. This time with ghostly echoes of Nic Jones' versions of 'The Flandyke Shore' and 'Oh Dear, Rue the Day', the 'Brigg Fair' made famous by Percy Grainger, Shirley Collins and Martin Carthy, and 'There Lived an Old Lord', like Jean Ritchie sang it. Enchanting, but always only ghostly intoned by Kristianne Gale, who also clouds her own 'Fishing Song', 'Magpie Lamps', 'Rabbit in the Rain' and 'On Laurels' in poetic swaths into the twilight, in the biota with them 'Whirl Quarter Moon', 'Halflight', 'Corner Shade' and 'Cloud Pale' feel for the forgotten and lost. A flow of unstoppable volatility and constant fluctuation is formed from 26 flowing passages, in the balance between vanitas, sadness and nostalgia drunk with beauty. With 'Unspun' and 'Compass Well' but also energetically and generally with a transcendental tailwind and Charles-Ives flair. PS: The fact that Gale teamed up with the Earthling Ralf "Gypsy" Bevis from Dülken on "Heartbeats In The Ocean Of Stress" and "The Schoenberg Paradox (paradoxically)" by Arzathon gives me the opportunity, besides the unique and yet with Denis Frajerman or Beresford & Hammond soul mate BIOTA to indicate this true I am not here to entertain-undergroundler: -> arzathon.bandcamp.com !! 20th

21 CHRIS BROKAW End of the Night (Glitterbeat / tak: til, GBCD075 / VDSQ 024LP): The devil knows why with me, when there is Codeine, Come, Willard Grant Conspiracy, Thalia Zedek, Molasses, Dirtmusic or Rhys Chatham x projects that he was caught in my traps, nothing got stuck from Brokaw. The 'smoker with dog' artwork, which was scrawled by the legendary graphic design oldie Sandy Dvore, immediately catches the eye, even before I discover two good skycap jazz musicians among my colleagues with the drummer Luther Gray and the bassist Timo Shanko just bring in as a good buddy. In addition, Greg Kelley blows a melancholy muffled trumpet on 'Swimming, Tuesday' and again at the end of these ten nocturnes. Otherwise Brokaw, as a one-man guitar band, lets strings play around four pieces. That these songs withheld your slacker and loser timbre without words in indie-americana style doesn't seem like a painful loss to me personally. Because the tenor of the brooding guitar and bass vigil is painful enough, especially when strings rub against the fibers of the heart or the guitar cascades away. The energetic 'Step Outside' remains nothing more than a resolution, because Brokaw continues to harp the harp of gloom and misses any eagerness to leave the night and the tough midnight blue in the mind behind faster, not even as the sleepless runner of ' His walking '. The night has to pass by itself and does it with such an anxious reveille of the trumpet blown with several tongues, as if dawn were just dusk in transparent disguise. DENIS FRAJERMAN Wastelands / Lawrence of Arabia (Klanggalerie, gg292): I was disappointed that "Herbes & golems" - with one exception - was recorded with booming silence. Well then, ceterum censeo ... For the small 'Wastelands' suite, Frajerman puts lines by T. S. Eliot like musty mushrooms in Susannah Rooke's mouth. Starting with April is the cruellest month, breeding / lilacs out of the dead land, mixing / memory and desire ... He has already realized his 'Quatuor N 2 "La Mort D'Anchise"' (2004) with her, and Carole Deville and Hélène Frissung on cello and violin also belong to his entourage, because strings are indispensable in Frajerman's creations. They sound here with soft drums, in addition to melancholy bass clarinet, soprano or sopranino on their part guitar, keyboards or bass. The cello hums even more elegiac when the Thames flows as Lethe. The nymphs are departed. / Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song ... Rooke insists: Stay with me. / Speak to me. She asks urgently: Do you know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember nothing? In order to finally drift past the Isle of Dogs to a violin tone that couldn't possibly sound like a body of water in the current silted up by oil and tar. Ten compilation contributions are then connected as 'Lawrence of Arabia' by a slight, and in 'Express' also more distinctly oriental tint. Which comes from strings, in addition to zarb & percussion and, specifically, soprano or sopranino. Frajerman's own playing is determined by multi-colored keys, with 'Choleoptia', his 'One Minute Symphony' for "Apología de los insectos" (2017 on Endogamic), Acoustic Guitars, Piano, Voice, Hand Clap, Mouth Percussion & Chinese Cymbal started. With 'Clock Bird' he takes up a piece from Minimal Compact's "Lowlands Flight" (1987) in a completely clockwork-minimalist way, and he also dedicates the entire album to Samy Birnbach. With 'Like the Wind at the End of a Street' and all the magic of caravans and mirages, he covers Amon Düül II, on whose "Wolf City" (1972) you can find it. Whereby 'Nostalgy', 'Mélancolia' and 'Captain Nemo's Death' explicitly reveal that basic trait of the peculiar neoclassical pieces, which seems to me more pronounced than orientalism. Which, in spite of the sheer strings of 'Orient', doesn't mean that Frajerman has to be imagined as Pascal Comelade's gloomy cousin. 21