krautrock

Record #808: Can – Tago Mago (1971)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

Few musical movements are as weird, wonderful, and influential as Krautrock, a collection of West German bands in the 1970s that pushed the boundaries of what music could actually do to its extremes. The movement had an incredible influence on post punk, progressive rock, new age, shoegaze, and the birth of post rock. The shape of modern, electronic leaning pop music can be traced back to Krautrock, specifically the synthpop pioneers Kraftwerk.

But perhaps no band in Krautrock was more influential than Cologne’s Can, whose sprawling jazz-and-funk jams, improvised vocals, psychedelic exploration, tape editing techniques, and ambient experimentation went on to define Krautrock and influence everyone from David Bowie to Radiohead to Joy Division to the Flaming Lips to Kanye West.

Among their monstrous catalog (they recorded ten albums between 1969 and 1979), most fans and critics agree that the pinnacle of their career was the trilogy of records featuring vocalist Damo Suzuki, which includes the criminally underrated Future Days, the seminal Ege Bamyasi, and this, the eldritch, immense Tago Mago.

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Record #752: David Bowie – Lodger (1979)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

I received a great kindness the other day.

Some months back, my friend Billy commented on one of my posts about David Bowie and we got to talking about his Berlin Trilogy. I mentioned that I had never been able to find a copy of Lodger, the third (and perhaps oddest) in the run and put the conversation out of my mind.

But not Billy.

A few days ago, he showed up at my wife’s shop with a copy for her to give me. That is generous enough, but it went even deeper. As it turns out, many years ago, he had given away his record collection when he came to faith, and when he found out that I was missing this record, he tracked down the friend to whom he had gifted his records so that he could fill the gap in my collection.

That’s a rare gift, and in most cases, the music itself would be overshadowed by that generosity. But Lodger is just as odd and meandering as the tale that brought it to me.

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Record #679: Kraftwerk – Electric Cafe (1986)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

By the mid ’80s, mechanical, inhuman synthpop that Kraftwerk pioneered had gone from an avant-garde experiment to the main stream. Artists like the Human League, New Order, and even Madonna had already taken the same artificial instruments and turned them on pop music.

And so when Kraftwerk released Electric Cafe, it was in a world where electronic music wasn’t just made by robots anymore. The adjustment is a little difficult, but it’s more rewarding than not.

Read more at ayearofvinyl.com #kraftwerk #krautrock #electronica #avantgarde #synthpop #vinyl

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Record #462: Kraftwerk – Autobahn (1974)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

autobahn.jpgBefore there was Daft Punk, there was Kraftwerk. The storied German electronica pioneers were playing with vocoders and pretending to be robots decades before the French duo picked up their LED-infused helmets.

But Kraftwerk wasn’t always the inorganic collective they’re remembered for. And while Autobahn is the first album to feature their signature robotic sound, it doesn’t stay there forever.

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Record #321: Can – Ege Bamyasi (1972)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
ege bamyasi

The last time I wrote about Can, I worried if the internet could handle anymore of its finite data being used to write about the legendary Krautrock pioneers.
Because friends, there have been terrabytes written on their importance and influence.
​The lion’s share of that code is occupied with musings on this album.
Ege Bamyasi is, with no room for debate, Can’s most long-reaching record. It found the group tightening their free-form, chaotic noodling into slicker, more sophisticated arrangements. While they would perfect this approach on their next album, Future Days (my personal favorite), Ege Bamyasi is absolutely unparalleled in its cultural importance. It’s been covered by Stephen Malkmus and Beck, sampled by Kanye West, and offered Spoon their band name. And it’s not for no reason: the songs contained on this disc are incredible. Pinch creeps darkly across a hardbop shuffle. Sing Swan Song is as morose and soothing a ballad the group ever wrote. One More Night writes Stereolab a love letter twenty years in advance. Vitamin C shivers with manic energy. Soup rocks and rolls heavier with a tempo that accelerates until it crashes into whooshing and whirling tape effects and formless improvisation. I’m So Green is as far from that as you can get–a simple, short, happy pop song (remember: Beck covered it). Spoon is a nocturnal, half-asleep chant set to a slow samba. Every minute of this record is brilliant, and it is deserving of its crown as King of the Krautrock Albums.

Record #121: David Bowie – Low (1977)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

low

The way the story goes, after years of commercial success and a crippling drug addiction, Bowie left L.A. and moved to Berlin to get clean and make weird music with Brian Eno (the three albums would come to be called the Berlin Trilogy).
And in the face of Young Americans and Station to Stations’ plastic soul, Low is entirely unprecedented and off-kilter.
On Low, The Man Who Fell to Earth strips off any pretense of humanity and indulges in the song of his people. Synthesizers beep and blip in jarring patterns, angular guitars stab jaggedly, and Bowie sings multitrackedly with himself, all Bowies singing with an exaggerated vibrato that swells and crescendos in inhuman rhythms (see: “Sound and Vision”).
Brian Eno’s presence is strongly felt, whether in his contributions or in his influence on Bowie. The songs on side one are avant-garde free-for-alls with obtuse arrangements free of the tyranny of the verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus structure, where side two is filled with “more” experimental, mostly voiceless, electronic pieces.
The most notable of these pieces is the eastern-tinged droning “Warzsawa,” with a theme written by a four year old and a vocal segment featuring one hundred and ten David Bowies. There’s also the electronic wash of “Art Decade,” the minimalist staccato pound of “Weeping Wall”, and the ambient “Subterraneans,” all of which were described by Bowie as attempts to show the despair of a post-war Europe (which might explain why my wife asked, “Why’s David Bowie so sad?”).
Combined with the angular chaos of the first side (which, amazingly, was made while he was getting OFF of cocaine), side two creates a record that, while critically acclaimed, was clearly NOT David Bowie as usual. In fact, my old roommate once told me that Low was the only David Bowie album he liked, to which I responded, “then you don’t like David Bowie.”