If the 1s and 0s used to encode written text on the internet were limited resources, then those specifically allocated for writing about Can (the rock face of krautrock) would be in short supply.

There’s literally nothing new anyone can say about Can anymore that will matter–all of the talk of the scope of their influence (cited by everyone from Sonic Youth to Death Cab For Cutie to Kanye West) or their ventures into avant garde (lead singer Damo Suzuki composed by improvisation in no particular language), or their groundbreaking recording techniques (Tago Mago was recorded in secret and spliced together to make cohesive songs) has been cited and quoted and borrowed until they all run together like one of Suzuki’s rambling in tongues.

But it doesn’t matter how much is written about Can when you actually hear it. The criminally underrated Future Days may be the first Can album I ever purchased, but it’s far from the first I’ve heard, even though I understood their importance long before I heard them (my former roommate would not shut up about them). More importantly, Future Days is the first Can record I listened to and said, “Ah…I finally get it. I finally like Can.” That epiphany came over a year after a week spent trying to force myself to fall in love with the savage beast that is Tago Mago (in my relationship with music, there’s a huge difference between appreciation and love). Future Days takes the things that make Can Can (the extended jams, Suzuki’s freeform lyrics, the experimentation with timbres, free jazz influence) is still here, but it’s a bit tamer. The group is a little more restrained than they’ve ever been, tending towards minimalism and ambient rather than the groove-punishing, free-for-all jams they had pioneered. The results are completely excellent, from the airy opening title track, the rocking Spray, the metallic rhythms of Moonshake, and mercurial Bel Air, which is worth every second of its twenty minutes. The band is in top form here, and none of them more than drummer Jaki Leibezeit, whose playing ties the record together, carefully treading the line between timekeeping and soloing for most of the album’s running time.

So forty years after Future Days was release, maybe the internet could spare a few more 1s and 0s for the excellent, excellent Can.