Posted in Questionnaire on September 11th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.
Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.
Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.
The Obelisk Questionnaire: Felix Gebhard of ZAHN
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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
In ZAHN I play electric guitar, a craft that was taught to me (unbeknownst to them) by listening to and watching several generations of electric guitarists play numerous styles and genres of music.
More generally – being moved by music made me want to create a bit of it myself.
Describe your first musical memory.
Riding up front in my father’s Volkswagen van, listening to the cassettes he used to play – mostly The Beatles, Johann Sebastian Bach and Ton Steine Scherben.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
Barely being able to play guitar but nonetheless writing songs and recording a 7“ with my first band mere months after its formation was a very intense experience.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
Above-mentioned first band sacking the drummer, then breaking up altogether, then, a few weeks later, surprisingly playing a show with two new people replacing the drummer and myself was a pretty sobering episode.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
As artists progress they – if they’re lucky – discover paths to places hitherto unknown to themselves. Where those places are, or what or why they are, nobody knows beforehand. So I honestly can’t say.
How do you define success?
I am currently extremely stoked about the new album we made with ZAHN. To be able to collectively create something that leaves all three of us scratching our heads in awe thinking: “This really didn’t just come out the way we thought and hoped, it actually turned out even better!“ makes me feel that we were quite successful with this one.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
The flyer to above-mentioned show by above-mentioned first band.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
With ZAHN I would like to get the opportunity to make music for film or theater.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
Art in its best moments can give people subliminal pushes in new directions and make them think about things they hadn’t seen or thought about before without being too striking about it.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
I haven’t had the chance yet to put my canoe in the water this year – I hope to be able to do that before the fall.
Richmond, Virginia, noisegazers Twin Drugs release their second album, In Now Less Than Ever, on Oct. 7 through Crazysane Records, and with it, they proffer a twisted-reality psychedelia not so much to escape the vagaries of the daily trudge as to portray them in all their offsetting infliction. With 10 songs and 45 minutes that loop and drum/drum-machine like Godflesh and Jesu put together while running guitars and whatever the hell that is in “We Want Our Heaven” through a Sonic Youth-ian vision of post-everything noise — also they’re heavy — the trio of guitarist/vocalist Blake Melton, bassist Christian Monroe and drummer/electronicsist Alex Wilson hold a mirror up to where we are as a species and seem to ask if we’re living in an alternate timeline. The answer to that question, invariably, is yes.
At some point along what should have been our timeline — maybe it was Watergate, maybe it was the Challenger explosion, 20 years of needless war, 50 years of ignoring climate change, or someone stepping on the wrong bug a million years ago — humans branched off in a weird and mostly tragic direction. Not saying there aren’t upsides to existence, but if the pill-y tripped-out interlude “Fanfare” ahead of the bombastic assertions of “Eyelets and Aglets” is anything to go by, Twin Drugs know that at some point yet to be identified, the species took a turn from what had been its logical course of progress and we’ve been shitting the bed ever since. There’s some mourning, perhaps, in In Now Less Than Ever, but in post-modern style, the wash of “Ash Candied Cough” begins the album with a post-apocalyptic soundscape underscored by repeating swirls; you, out there amid the whipping dust of the wasteland.
Speaking of dust, the later stomp and cacophony of “Dust Worship” takes the more-flat-teeth bite of “World Fell Off” and turns it to a definitive gnash, and as much as Melton‘s quiet melodic vocals — all things ‘gaze are having a moment; don’t be mad about it; just be glad no one’s yelling at you right this second — tie the proceedings together along with that atmosphere of we-took-songwriting-and-bent-it-this-way, there is a spectrum of muted colors being explored through these sounds. All tinted grey, maybe, but pinks and greens and a kind of brownish yellow in “The Velvet Noise,” textured in three aural dimensions; length, width, depth. You could lose a day reading about the mathematics being seemingly referenced in “Room 110,” the relationship between chaos and proof-based order, but the drumless effects/synth wash seems to get the point across without lyrics, answering the caustic beginning of “Ash Candied Cough” with a more meditative, resolute sadness.
Though it feels conclusive, “Room 110” isn’t the end of In Now Less Than Ever. The closing duo “Sazerac” (6:00) and “The Sun While You Can” (7:14) make their own gravy on side B with post-noise sway, charge, and exhaustion in the former and unsafe-at-any-volume volatility in the latter, Melton‘s vocals barely discernible as they seem to be swallowed up by the rising tide of the finale’s midsection. They go quietly on a fade after a burst of intensity marked by particularly gutted-out drumming, but the message by then has been thoroughly delivered. And I hate to argue, but as I look at unprecedented storm surge destroying lives and livelihoods, wildfires burning centuries-old forests, the rise of fascism here in America and abroad, the very oceans dying and no one gives a fuck because capitalism, two years of plague to the point that everyone just kind of gave up (myself included), I think Twin Drugs are very, very much ‘in now.’ If that’s less than ever, it’s still plenty. They’ve captured the warped zeitgeist of right now. As such, don’t expect an easy listen.
And as for the whole living-in-an-alternate-timeline thing: First of all, we should be so lucky to have reality be unreal. Second, doesn’t matter anyway. Just do your best not to be a dick. Thanks for reading.
You’ll find In Now Less Than Ever streaming on the player below, followed by more background from the PR wire.
Noisy shoegazers TWIN DRUGS return with their self-produced sophomore album, taking their brand of ‘maximalist’ shoegaze in a more brooding, introspective direction. “Being a prepper is normal these days,” says main-songwriter Blake Melton (guitars & vocals), concisely capturing the decay of our modern world. Hailing from Richmond, VA, the trio originally set out to combine the dreamy atmospheres of My Bloody Valentine with the punishing riffing of Metz to create an upbeat and energetic experience of sound. However, upon being confronted with the increasing complexity of life throughout the years, the band made a decisive take a turn for the darker.
“Covid is just one grain of sand in the hourglass of general existential anxiety,” Melton continues, referring to the increasing complexity and ambiguity of our lives in an age of mass-deception, proxy wars and global panic. Inspired by cosmic horror and the near-psychedelic archival footage compilations of British documentary filmmaker Adam Curtis, Melton, together with bandmates Alex Wilson (drums, live-electronics) and Christian Monroe (bass), collages the band’s own image of a world in decay. Mastered to perfection by Cult of Luna’s Magnus Lindberg and with cover art by Christopher Royal King (Symbol, ex-This Will Destroy You), In Now Less Than Ever is a complete experience that creeps up on you like only existential dread can.
In Now Less Than Ever merges two distinct approaches to distortion (shoegaze and noise rock) to create a mind-altering experience that is as much about dreaming on as it is about waking up. The familiarity of found audio extracts, ranging from Indian flute players to obscure Japanese jazz bands, blends with subtle shifts in rhythm, creating a fitting experience of the world’s structural ambiguity. Using noise to induce a turbulent trip and soothing vocals for an indefinite high, TWIN DRUGS take you on a hallucinogenic voyage, conjuring from the haze – images of an oppressive hidden reality.
Hamburg, Germany’s Entropy follow their 2020 debut album, Liminal, with the new three-song Death Spell EP on July 29 through Crazysane Records. With the arrival of “Unrelenting,” premiering below, all three of the cuts featured on the 13-minute outing have been revealed, operating as they do in coursing fashion as “Death Spell” and “Cthulhucene” bring grown-up-and-sonically-filled-out riffs to a vibe born out of post-hardcore and emo that wholly embraces a brightness of sound and melodic richness.
For songwriter Hans Frese they may be a ‘creative bridge’ from 2020’s Liminal to a second full-length as the PR wire informs below — it has no reason to lie, but that’s happened before — but the wistful lines of lead guitar that run alongside the thickened progression of “Unrelenting” offer the depth from which the rampant vocal harmonies seem to soar.
On a personal level, I am wary of nostalgia. It is a trap of the human brain that first pulls you out of the moment you’re in and then holds you in a place that has only turned perfect or better through the hindsight of your flawed memory. Be grateful for remembering it with less bullshit than there inevitably was happening at the time and move on. I’m not saying don’t miss good days; just that those days don’t need to be totems to be appreciated.
And I’m sure there are nostalgic elements at play in Entropy‘s work — even the name of the band speaks to the idea of moving from order (more ideal) to chaos (presumably less ideal) — as there are in almost everything to one degree or another, but the sonic blend in which that’s taking place is refreshing in adapting weighted tonality to its own stylistic and melodic ends. So if we’re looking back as we careen through “Death Spell” and “Cthulhucene” into the landing point of “Unrelenting” — the three cuts going from shortest to longest in the process — we’re also looking forward. One assumes to the next album.
What that upcoming release might hold in terms of aural shifts from the first record — already in Death Spell, the songs are tighter generally and have less open space in their sound, but also have rounded off tonal and percussive edges to lessen the noise and up the rock — the sense here is that Entropy have found their path, their bridge, etc. Whatever they’re walking on — could be the sidewalk by the 7-Eleven for all I know; not to get too nostalgic — they seem to know where they’re going, and if the purpose of the EP is to represent their craft and general creative direction, Death Spell duly enchants with its momentum, hooks, performance, wash and vitality.
A fun bit of temporal irony that a release that in some way purports to be looking back should make you look forward to something that hasn’t yet happened, but welcome to life, which has already long since made that whole chao ab ordine shift.
Off we go. Preorder Bandcamp link and the aforementioned PR wire info follows the video below. “Death Spell” and “Cthulhucene” are streaming near the bottom of the post. You know how this works.
German noisy indie-rockers Entropy return with a freshly written EP consisting of three skillfully crafted noise rock anthems inspired by Swervedriver, Nothing and Torche. “Cthulucene” is a skatepark-banger that effortlessly accelerates the angst of adolescence to an adult existential crisis at breakneck speed, before resolving in a shimmering breakdown that sees the fragments of a perfect life floating around in slow motion.
A masterful evocation of 80s, 90s and 00s alternative rock nostalgia.
German noisy indie rockers Entropy return with an electrifying new EP consisting of three freshly written alternative rock anthems that further perfect the image of youthful nostalgia as captured by the band’s first LP. Golden hour at the skatepark, long road trips to the beach, falling in love with the feeling of being in love — Death Spell combines influences from 80s alternative punk, 90s noise rock and early 00s emo to create a convincing soundtrack that makes you fall in love with your adolescence.
A testament to the undeniable artistry of Hamburg’s Hans Frese, Death Spell was written as a creative bridge between the band’s blazing debut album and a yet-to-be released sophomore album that he already finished writing. As Frese explains: “I had written an entire album before writing these tracks, but I felt there needed to be some sort of transition between Liminal and the new stuff.” Indeed, Death Spell takes all the good vibes from the band’s debut album and pours them into a format that makes distorted guitars and fast-paced rhythms almost seem accessible.
The tempo feels effortless on high speed bangers ‘Cthulhucene’ and the album-opening title track, while the big vocal harmonies and shimmering open chord progressions of ‘Unrelenting’ form a perfect finale for this short but sweet exercise in writing summer soundtracks with noisy guitars. With great melodies and sweet harmonies that tug right at your heart, Entropy have created a perfect soundtrack for the summer.
Berlin instrumentalists Zahn release their self-titled debut album (review here) this week on Crazysane Records, and of the various outings from the sundry artists one might hear coming from the label, they perhaps best embody a “crazy-sane” ideal. They sound crazy and are, in fact, quite sane. The album begins at a running pace on “Zerrung” — a noise rocking bruiser with airier ambitions in floating guitar — and ends with “Staub” like it’s trying to embody the disjointed nature of something half remembered, and along the way, the core trio of guitarist Felix Gebhard, bassist Chris Breuer and drummer Nic Stockmann follow their whims to the bliss-filled land, voicelessly digging into heavy art rock vibes without the we-went-to-college-for-this posturing that so often accompanies, the sub-two-minute “Schranck” as close to Karma to Burn‘s bullshit-free sensibility (answering back to second cut “Pavian” in that regard) as one might reasonably ask them to come arriving to share midsection placement with the drone–mit–electronica “Gyhum” right before.
These contrasts — and more! — can be yours in some temporary and intangible form as the album is streaming in full here. All things are ephemeral anyway, so you might as well take the ride. And it is one, to be sure. The creepy noise that accompanies the forward bassline of “Lochsonne Schwarz” and the tweaked-out guitar leads the end of “Aykroyd,” the dreamy atmosphere of “Tseudo” brought to ground through sheer persistence of crash amid hypnotic guitar repetitions. Even at their most ethereal, they are crushers at heart, but as regards first albums and the idea of a band setting themselves up for a sonic progression, the truth of Zahn is that Zahn can go wherever the hell they want from here and you’d have to shrug your shoulders and say, “yeah, makes sense.” Their songs aren’t disorganized any more than they want to be, but they are volatile, and you never quite know when some synth might show up. Or some sax. Or some extra percussion. Or who knows what else. The paths forward are many, and included among them is the refusal to choose a single one. If we were placing bets, that’d be mine.
I won’t be so presumptuous as regards your valuable time as to demand multiple listens outright, but the more you dig into Zahn‘s first full-length, the more you’re likely to find. Given its instrumental nature, it is something you can put on in the background and it won’t try to beat you over the head with hooks or whatever, but if you do that, you’re missing out. I’m not saying you need headphones and a notepad to jot down every chord change or shift in tempo, but the three-piece (and their friends) earn the attention their material warrants.
Please, enjoy. Copious album credits follow the player below:
ZAHN are a new instrumental (noise) rock group consisting of Nic Stockmann (Heads., ex-Eisenvater) Chris Breuer (Heads., ex-The Ocean) and Felix Gebhard (live-Einstürzende Neubauten).
Electronics on ‘Gyhum‘ and piano on ’Staub’ by Felix Gebhard. Lapsteel Guitar on ‘Tseudo‘ and ‘Aykroyd‘ by Chris Breuer. Additional drums and tambourine on ‘Pavian‘ by Peter Voigtmann. Additional guitars and synthesizers on ‘Pavian’ and ’Staub’ by Fabian Bremer. Additional Guitars on ‘Zerrung’ by Wolfgang Möstl. Synthesizers on ‘Lochsonne Schwarz’ and ‘Tseudo’ by Alexander Hacke. Saxophone on ‘Gyhum‘ and ‘Aykroyd‘ by Sofia Salvo.
Recorded by Peter Voigtmann at Die Mühle Studios in Gyhum, Germany.
Mixed by Dennis Jüngel at Bedroom Eyes Facilities in Berlin-Friedrichshain. Mastered by Philipp Welsing at Original Mastering in Hamburg.
Designed by Fabian Bremer in Leipzig.
Zahn are: Felix Gebhard: Guitar Chris Breuer: Bass Nic Stockmann: Drums
The days grow long, but the Quarterly Review presses onward. I didn’t know when I put this thing together that in addition to having had oral surgery on Monday — rod in for a dental implant, needs a crown after it heals but so far no infection; penciling it as a win — this second week of 10 reviews per day would bring my laptop breaking and a toddler too sick to go to camp for three hours in the morning. If you’re a fan of understatement, I’ll tell you last week was easier to make happen.
Nevertheless, we persist, you and I. I don’t know if, when I get my computer back, it will even have all of these records on the desktop or if the hard-drive-bed-shitting that seems to have taken place will erase that along with such inconsequentials as years of writing and photos of The Pecan dating back to his birth, but hey, that desktop space was getting cleared one way or the other. You know what? I don’t want to think about it.
Quarterly Review #81-90:
Paradise Lost, At the Mill
If Paradise Lost are trying to hold onto some sense of momentum, who can blame them? How many acts who’ve been around for 33 years continue to foster the kind of quality the Yorkshire outfit brought to 2020’s studio outing, Obsidian (review here)? Like, four? Maybe? So if they want to put out two live records in the span of three months — At the Mill follows March’s Gothic: Live at Roadburn 2016, also on Nuclear Blast — one isn’t inclined to hold a grudge, and even less so given the 16-song setlist they offer up in what was the captured audio from a livestream last Fall, spanning the bulk of their career and including requisite highlights from ’90s-era landmarks Gothic and Icon as well as Obsidian features “Fall From Grace,” “Ghosts” and “Darker Thoughts,” which opened the studio LP but makes a rousing finisher for At the Mill.
The second long-player from Sweden’s Alastor is a surprising but welcome sonic turn, pulling back from the grimness of 2018’s Slave to the Grave (review here) in favor of an approach still murky and thick in its bottom end, but sharper in its songwriting focus and bolder melodically right from the outset on “The Killer in My Skull.” They depart from the central roll for an acoustic stretch in “Pipsvängen” after “Nightmare Trip” opens side B and just before the nine-minute title-track lumbers out its descent into the deranged, but even there the four-piece hold the line of obvious attention to songcraft, instrumental and vocal phrasing, and presentation of their sound. Likewise, the spacious nod on “Lost and Never Found” caps with a shorter and likewise undeniable groove, more Sabbath than the Queens of the Stone Age rush of “Death Cult” earlier, but with zero dip in quality. This takes them to a different level in my mind.
Its noise-rock angularity and tonal bite isn’t going to be for everyone, but there’s something about Zahn‘s unwillingness to cooperate, their unwillingness to sit still, that makes their self-titled debut a joy of a run. Based in Berlin and comprised of Felix Gebhard (Einstürzende Neubauten keyboards) as well as drummer Nic Stockmann and bassist Chris Breuer (both of HEADS.), the eight-tracker shimmers on “Tseudo,” punkjazzes on lead cut “Zerrung,” goes full krautrock drone to end side A on “Gyhum” and still has more weirdness to offer on the two-minute sunshine burst of “Schranck,” “Lochsonne Schwarz,” “Aykroyd” and finale “Staub,” all of which tie together in one way or another around a concept of using space-in-mix and aural crush while staying loway to the central pattern of the drums. “Aykroyd” is brazen in showing the teeth of its guitar work, and that’s a pretty solid encapsulation of Zahn‘s attitude across the board. They’re going for it. You can take the ride if you want, but they’re going either way.
Bones and Flowers is a welcome return from Czech Republic-based heavy rockers Greynbownes, who made their debut with 2018’s Grey Rainbow From Bones (review here), and sees the trio foster a progressive heavy flourish prone to Doors-y explosive vocal brooding tempered with Elder-style patience in the guitar lines and rhythmic fluidity while there continues to be both an underlying aggressive crunch and a sense of Truckfighters-ish energy in “Dream Seller,” some blues there and in “Dog’s Eyes” and opener “Wolves” besides, and a willful exploratory push on “Burned by the Sun and Swallowed by the Sea,” which serves as a worthy centerpiece ahead of the rush that comprises much of “Long Way Down.” Further growth is evident in the spaciousness of “Flowers,” and “Star” feels like it’s ending the record with due ceremony in its largesse and character in its presentation.
One can’t argue with Melbourne heavy post-rockers Treebeard‘s impulse to take the material from their prior two EPs, 2018’s Of Hamelin and 2019’s Pastoral, and put it together as a single full-length, but Nostalgia goes further in that they actually re-recorded, and in the case of a track like “The Ratchatcher,” partially reworked the songs. That makes the resultant eight-song offering all the more cohesive and, in relation to the prior versions, emphasizes the growth the band has undertaken in the last few years, keeping elements of weight and atmosphere but delivering their material with a sense of purpose, whether a give stretch of “8×0” is loud or quiet. Nostalgia effectively pulls the listener into its world, duly wistful on “Pollen” or “Dear Magdalena,” with samples adding to the breadth and helping to convey the sense of contemplation and melodic character. Above all things, resonance. Emotional and sonic.
Estonian five-piece Estrada Orchestra recorded Playground on Nov. 21, 2020, and while I’m not 100 percent sure of the circumstances in which such a recording took place, it seems entirely possible given the breadth of their textures and the lonely ambience that unfurls across the 22-minute A-side “Playground Part 1” and the gradual manner in which it makes its way toward psychedelic kraut-drone-jazz there and in the more “active” “Playground Part 2 & 3” — the last part chills out again, and one speaks on very relative terms there — it’s entirely possible no one else was around. Either way, headphone-ready atmosphere persists across the Sulatron-issued LP, a lushness waiting to be closely considered and engaged that works outside of common structures despite having an underlying current of forward motion. Estrada Orchestra, who’ve been in operation for the better part of a decade and for whom Playground is their fifth full-length, are clearly just working in their own dimension of time. It suits them.
Even in the sometimes blinding sunshine of Vestamaran‘s debut album, Bungalow Rex, there is room for shades of folk and classic progressive rock throughout the summery 10-tracker, which makes easygoing vibes sound easy in a way that’s actually really difficult to pull off without sounding forced. And much to Vestamaran‘s credit, they don’t. Their songs are structured, composed, engaging and sometimes catchy, but decidedly unhurried, unflinchingly melodic and for all their piano and subtle rhythmic intricacy, mostly pretense-free. Even the snare sound on “Grustak” feels warm. Cuts like “Risky Pigeon” and “Cutest Offender” are playful, and “Solitude” and closer “Only for You” perhaps a bit moodier, but Vestamaran are never much removed from that central warmth of their delivery, and the abiding spirit of Bungalow Rex is sweet and affecting. This is a record that probably won’t get much hype but will sit with dedicated audience for more than just a passing listen. A record that earns loyalty. I look forward to more.
Three records in, to call what Low Flying Hawks do “heavygaze” feels cheap. Such a tag neither encompasses the post-rock elements in the lush space of “Monster,” the cinematic flourish of “Darklands,” nor the black-metal-meets-desert-crunch-riffing-in-space at the end of “Caustic Wing” or the meditative, post-Om cavern-delia in the first half of closer “Nightrider,” never mind the synthy, screamy turn of Fuyu‘s title-track at the halfway point. Three records in, the band refuse to let either themselves or their listenership get too comfortable, either in heavy groove or march or atmosphere, and three records in, they’re willfully toying with style and bending the aspects of genre to their will. There are stretches of Fuyu that, in keeping with the rest of what the band do, border on overthought, but the further they go into their own progressive nuance, the more they seem to discover they want to do. Fuyu reportedly wraps a trilogy, but if what they do next comes out sounding wildly different, you’d have to give them points for consistency.
La Maquinaria del Sueño, Rituales de los Alucinados
Cult poetry on “Enterrado en la Oscuridad,” garage rock boogie “Ayahuasca” and classic, almost-surf shuffle are the first impressions Mexico City’s La Maquinaria del Sueño make on their debut full-length, Rituales de los Alucinados, and the three-piece only benefit from the push-pull in different directions as the seven-song LP plays out, jamming into the semi-ethereal on “Maldad Eléctrica” only to tip hat to ’60s weirdo jangle on “Mujer Cabeza de Cuervo.” Guitars scorch throughout atop swinging grooves in power trio fashion, and despite the differences in tone between them, “Enterré mis Dientes en el Desierto” and “Ángel de Fuego” both manage to make their way into a right on haze of heavy fuzz ahead of the motoring finisher “La Ninfa del Agua,” which underscores the live feel of the entire procession with its big crashout ending and overarching vitality. Listening to the chemistry between these players, it’s not a surprise they’ve been a band for the better part of a decade, and man, they make their riffs dance. Not revolutionary, but cool enough not to care.
A three-tracker EP issued through drummer Max Ear‘s (also of OJM) own Go Down Records, Karnak features an instrumental take on a previously-vocalized cut — “Anulios,” from 2018’s Anodnatius (review here) — an eight-minute live jam with Mario Lalli of Fatso Jetson/Yawning Man sitting in on guitar, and a live version of the Conny Ochs-fronted “The Pilot,” which opened 2019’s Cathodnatius, the cover of which continues to haunt one’s dreams, and which finds the German singer-songwriter channeling his inner David Byrne in fascinating ways. An odds-and-ends release, maybe, but each of these songs is worth the minimal price of admission on its own, never mind topped as they are together with the much-less-horrifying art. If this is a reminder to listen to Anada Mida, it’s a happy one.
German duo Zement issue their third full-length, Rohstoff, on July 9 through Crazysane Records. “Entzücken,” as it happens, is the longest song on it, running 10:53 and typifying the two-piece’s synth-led, drum-inclusive mostly-instrumentalist krautrock syle. Too prog for the planet, so they left it far behind earlier in the album, say, right around 30 seconds into opener “Goa” when the robot voice checks in. Now, they could’ve made a video for “Entzücken” with space scenery, or with archive footage from the public domain, set up a mirror effect to trip it out, and let it go for 10 minutes. Nothing against that. A lot of bands do it and it’s fine. Gets the word out, puts the material on another algorithm, blah blah. And certainly “Entzücken” is hypnotic enough that they would have pulled it off just fine and no one would blink, partially because their brains would shut down and their autonomic response would slip.
Zement — comprised of Philipp Hager and Christian Büdel — don’t go that way with “Entzücken.” They go the other way, which is to chronicle a faux hot-ramen eating competition through multiple stages of what seems to be a championship scenario until a victor is crowned. Are the noodles really hot? I don’t know. Is hot-ramen really a thing in competitive eating? I don’t know. I don’t care. The clip is brilliant. True, it pushes the song to a backing position, but hell’s bells, in trade you get to watch 10 minutes of hilarious noodle consumption with German-language commentary over the top — mind you I have zero idea what they’re saying — and witness the genius of a group willing to serve the piece by using as that, a piece, of a larger presentation. In this case, a soundtrack. You’re gonna enjoy it, that’s all I’ll say.
Rohstoff unfolds long and short-form krauty weirdness, texturing psychedelia into “Soil” and “Seine” — by different means, but psychedelia nonetheless — no less easily than they do soft jazz saxophone into “Kleiner 3” and the dancier “Zunder.” “Atem” caps with a dream drone and looped speech, but only after “Ecke 54” has manifested a folk dance for a folk who never existed, playful and strange in kind. “Entzücken” is a part of the procession of this 47-minute/eight-song entirety rather than a summary of its whole, but one could hardly ask a better entry point than Zement offer with the video, which is premiering below.
PR wire info follows.
Please enjoy:
Zement, “Entzücken” official video premiere
The third video clip “Entzücken” for Zement’s new album „Rohstoff”, stands in a tradition with Air’s “All I need” and Daft Punk’s “Da funk”. It’s all there: Talking over the song, check. Dump jokes, check. A good concept, yes indeed! Totally bananas! Nobody’s gonna watch an eleven minute long music video (so they say) but, everybody is watching an eleven minute clip of Hot Nudle Fight World-Championship on YouTube! Especially in combination with hot music. This clip stands for itself. It’s entertainment, underlaid with a super nice psyched krauty Techno song by Zement!
The German Neo-Kraut/Psychedelic duo ZEMENT return with their third LP sounding better and more focused than before! Combining the wonder of the autobahn with intelligent nods to techno and free jazz, Rohstoff constitutes an endless meditation on the architecture of mind and the movement of bodies.
All songs written and performed by Zement. Saxophone on “Kleiner 3” and “Zunder” by Martin Pirner. Produced by Zement & Florian Helleken. Recorded by Florian Helleken at Hersbrooklyn Recordings. Mixed by Lolo Blümler at Iron Bar Studios. Mastered by Chris Hielscher at Subsounddistortion. Artwork by Complex Pleasures and Hannah Gebauer. Zement is Philipp Hager & Christian Büdel.
German heavy psychedelic rockers Yagow release their second album, The Mess, June 18 on Crazysane Records. The trio issued their self-titled debut (review here) in 2017 and thereby served effective notice of their weirdo intentions, the record’s molten freakery laid back but still out-there in the cosmic sense. The kids — all of whom are over 30 — might call it neo-psych, but the wretched truth is there’s no such thing. It’s all just psych. Heavy psych, in this case. And Yagow deliver seven thrillers in that regard across their sophomore foray, blown out and rolling every which way as it is while still remaining cohesive in its approach — they didn’t call it The Mess because their songs are any sloppier than they want them to be — pushing speedier feedback-and-organ-laced vibes in “Tres Calaveras,” while the earlier opening title-track pairs sitar sounds and fuzz guitar in classic fashion, pushing toward space rock without breaking the motorik light barrier, and the subsequent “Doomed to Fail” reverbs in such a manner as to evoke the US Pacific Coast. If they were from Palm Springs and not Saarbrücken, you’d call it desert rock and be just as right.
That latter, second cut, comes tailed by the immediate low-end tension of “Rise and Shine,” for which Yagow are premiering a video below — how about that? You can hear some holdover tonal spaciousness in there for sure, and “Rise and Shine” pairs that with nod-ready tom work and a deceptively solidified verse setting up a shift into a hook peppered with ’60s organ shimmer before being shoved to a rousing finish. That moves into “Bloom,” with a purposefully emptier-feeling verse and looser swing — too humble to swagger, but too dead-on in the bass distortion to be called humble — and a build into a crescendo worthy of its place as The Mess‘ centerpiece. The aforementioned “Tres Calaveras,” presumably a leadoff for side B, answers with more straightforward galloping motion early and a bit of drift in its second half, almost tricking the listener into its immersion, but doing so with no malice in its intent. Kudos to guitarist/vocalist/noisemaker Jan Werner, bassist Kai Peifer and drummer Marc Schönwald on acknowledging their place in the universe on “Eclectic Electric,” the most outwardly engaging chorus on the record. It’s good to know, ultimately, that they realize that they’re weirdos too. Makes the whole thing easier, and, honestly, more fun to process.
Speaking of processing, the nine-minute closer and longest track on The Mess, “Getting Through: Is This Where the Magic Happens?” should be answered with a resounding yes. It should come as little surprise that the longer finale is jammier, fluid and open-feeling, but to their credit, Yagow don’t simply throw wide the door and let the track make its winding way into psychedelic oblivion. They hold onto it. They keep a cool head. They maintain. Sure they’re on an outbound passage into the echo-drenched ether with only their own tonality to keep them warm — should do the trick nicely — but that doesn’t mean one needs to completely forsake every semblance of structure. Yagow never give all the way into making a mess on The Mess. One wouldn’t call the album tidy, exactly, but the flow between and within tracks demonstrates the underlying focus of their execution, even when that focus is on blurring reality. Which, really, could use some blurring at this point.
And on that happy note, I’ll turn you over to the portrayal of base consumerism and ’90s home shopping that is the clip for “Rise and Shine,” inspired as it is. A quote from the band and album info/preorder links follow, all courtesy of the PR wire.
Enjoy:
Yagow, “Rise & Shine” official video premiere
Yagow on “Rise & Shine”:
The song is about the conscious or unconscious assumption of certain roles within our capitalist society that are expected from us and about how we have been socialised to adopt them and to perfect that facade. When Pascal and Tobi from Keine Zeit Medien came up with the idea to recreate a teleshopping program in the style of the ’90s for the first video single and to have every band member present a trashy product, we knew that this would go perfectly with the message of “Rise & Shine!” With the support of some friends who, in contrast to our amateur acting, turned out to be near-professional actors, the shoot was a lot of fun. And when Pascal, in his role as our hair model, said that he would be willing to do everything for the sake of art (“Mach mir einfach die Halbglatze!”), it was clear that the video was going to be killer! See for yourself!
The otherworldly sounds of psychedelic space-rock outfit Yagow take a new turn on their sophomore album The Mess. Combining the resonant riffing of The Black Angels and True Widow with the celebrant atmosphere of Dead Skeletons The Mess presents an eclectic mix of noise rock, psychedelic rock and stoner rock influences that continues in the vein of their self-titled debut album (released in 2017). However this time Yagow paint with a deeper warmer sonic palette that makes their intend more effective than before.
THE MESS (limited 12″, 180g heavyweight vinyl) will be released June 16th 2021 through crazysane records.
— Peacock Edition: white/orange/purple splatter (Ltd. to 150) — Grimace Purple Edition (Ltd. to 150) — Solid Black (Ltd. to 200)
THE MESS was recorded by Bob de Wit and Koen Verhees at Super Nova Studio, Eindhoven in October 2020. It was mixed by Dennis Juengel and mastered by Philipp Welsing. THE MESS is released through crazysane records.
Yagow are: Marc Schönwald (Drums, Percussion) Kai Peifer (Bass) Jan Werner (Vocals, Guitars, Drones)
All Songs written by Yagow
Guest Musician: Bram van Zuijlen (Synthesizer, Organ, Saloon Piano)
[Click play above to stream ‘Helix’ from Grin’s second album, Translucent Blades. Album is out Jan. 17, 2020, on Crazysane Records with preorders available here.]
Both Jan Oberg and Sabine Oberg, who together comprise the Berlin-based duo Grin, also double in Earth Ship. Though the origins are murky, it would seem Grin formed as a side-project of that outfit sometime ahead of recording and releasing their debut full-length, Revenant, last year, with Jan overseeing the recording and mixing at his own Hidden Planet studio in Berlin in addition to drumming, noisemaking and singing. He and Sabine, who also plays bass, would seem to have a hand vocally in Translucent Blades, the early 2020 Crazysane Records follow-up to that debut, but the process from which the second album emerges would seem to be somewhat similar — done at home, so to speak, with just the two of them involved.
It is a relatively quick eight-track/36-minute LP, and yet, the level of stylistic exploration and the sheer aesthetic ground covered on Translucent Blades is somewhat staggering, and while there’s little doubt that the material benefits from the players’ prior familiarity with each other — I don’t think it’s a coincidence they have the same last name; i.e., they’re married — but in concert with that is a clear will shown on a per-song basis to tread onto some new ground, try some new thing, and incorporate it into a whole that takes shape as being their own. Though quick, it is also a heady project, to be sure, but these are heady times, and one tends to think the general listenership is schooled in and out of genre in such a way as to appreciate the progressive aspects of what Grin build toward in cuts like “Husk” as well as the impact of the payoffs in “Orbital Grace,” “Electric Eye,” “Holy Grief” and the finale “Reviver,” which is aptly named for the blackened aspects it reignites from opener “Helix,” giving a symmetrical closing to the record that only underscores the notion of a masterplan at work on the part of the two-piece. And masters they just might be.
To wit, there’s no ground they touch on Translucent Blades that they don’t conquer. “Helix” begins with a push of low end and spacious crash cymbal, a swirl backing that’s either guitar effects or some kind of synthesizer noise as the first black metal-style cavern screams start — an immediate defiance of expectation that Grin wear exceedingly well. The overarching stylistic affect is psychedelic, and all the more so when a clean-sung chorus takes hold with even more delay/echo in the midsection, Jan and Sabine seeming to come together on vocals before a drop to standalone bass leads to a semi-spoken section with far-back shouts behind, the final stage of the first of eight tracks, summarized there in some ways but still with plenty of ground to boldly cover. “Orbital Grace” brings in Jesu-style post-all, while the title-track rolls out more severe plod with more semi-spoken lines atop a wide open atmosphere and a finish that — I don’t know if Grin are able to play live or if there’s just too much going on with layering to make it happen — but deserves to come from a stage somehow some way.
They again toy with black metal on “Husk,” but in squibbly guitar, not vocals, and push it so deep in the mix as to have almost an ambient effect alongside the galloping drums, playing out behind an airier lead and lyrics that are so drenched as to become part of the wash, an instrument unto themselves, as is clearly the intent. The risk any such release runs is in putting its aesthetic ambitions ahead of the songs, but Grin seem to pivot around this trap by making each piece on Translucent Blades stand out in some way while feeding into the complete flow of the record in its entirety. “Husk” rounds out side A and side B begins with the meditative-heavy-Om-via-Zaum unfurling of “Electric Eye,” a rollout more about hypnosis than build, even when an additional layer of fuzz joins the proceedings late in their march.
One might think that by the time they get through the first half of Translucent Blades that the course would be set, but the Obergs continue to broaden the scope as they move forward, first with “Electric Eye” and then with the plunder-in-space of “Holy Grief,” which brings together a cosmic doom via Ufomammut spirit with a forward thrust of snare in its verses that seems pulled from High on Fire‘s rhythmic fervency. Perhaps most importantly, the song seems to dissolve into noise, cutting off at the end, but prior to that, letting itself get lost in the wash of its own making in an effective moment of inward and outward trance induction. That is, they seem just as affected by it. A quiet two-and-a-half-minute instrumental “Antares” serves as the penultimate inclusion, bringing in flute — or flute sounds — with an echo-soaked spoken sample or verse (it’s hard to tell) and stark guitar resolution that gives way to silence ahead of “Reviver,” the very title of which lets the listener know that Grin aren’t letting go without a fight, whatever shape that might ultimately take.
“This is how everything ends” is the first line of the song, and though Jan would seem to be describing an apocalyptic landscape — fair enough — the fact that “Reviver” is where it is would seem to clue one into its having been written as an intended finale. It grows in intensity across its five-plus minutes, making its way toward a last march that shuts down cold on snare hits but still brings out a sense of drift before it does. Grin are of course not the first act in the universe to blend sonic heft and atmospheric breadth, but the reach with which they do so is noteworthy, and the feeling of intent behind their finished product only makes its execution more appreciable. Their experiments work, and further, they’re not just experiments. There’s an expressive aspect to Translucent Blades that unites the material regardless of where an individual track is headed, and while Grin might demand multiple listens to let the record properly sink in, each airing provides more than enough satisfaction to earn the next.
