Hello internet pals of music. Today we’re microdosing the German Kosmische pioneers with a later-era instrumental voyage through the aural outer realms.
Can is one of those bands that all hip connoisseurs like to name drop when talking about other bands they influenced. And those conversations usually center around the years with Damo Suzuki, the ensemble’s second singer.
And respectfully so. 1970-1973 was a great period for the band that resulted in masterpieces like Tago Mago and Ege Bamyasi.
In other words, the shit every hip connoisseur goes to when anyone mentions Can.
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When I was in my twenties, I thought I knew so much about music. Thought I was the bellwether of musical cool, always one step ahead of my friends tastes.
There was a customer at the video store where I worked. We talked about music often. He was older by about a decade or more. He’d booked Black Flag in Hattiesburg, Mississippi.
One slow night at work, we went to my car and I played him a recording of this improv group I was part of called 3 x 3. The stuff we were doing was wandering, rhythmic and spaced out. I was playing a digeridoo through a delay pedal. I was very much into the threatening droning sound I could create. I don’t think any of us had heard of Can though.
He told me I needed to seek them out. So I did, the only way one did in 1993. I went to the record store immediately.
I found this late period album first (Out of Reach) and bought it for maybe $10. It was 1993, so it may have been even cheaper.
Took it home and put it on. It confused me. That dude had mentioned Stereolab when he was telling me why I’d like Can, because he knew I was extremely into them. 1
But this didn’t sound like Stereolab and I was disappointed, decided I bought a stinker and promptly returned it.
You live to learn, I guess. I love this later stuff now.
The other night I watched a documentary about the German music producer, Conny Plank. I knew he had worked with Can and Neu!, but never fully grasped how integral he and his family were to the Kosmische sound. Like Can had done in Cologne, Plank pushed a utopian ideal of making music, building his studio in a country house and inviting bands to live with his family while they made their records. Revolutionary at the time, I’d suggest.
The freedom allowed those bands to develop ideas. Conny’s approach to the studio was like a captain of a ship, steering all involved through strange sonic seas. He was always pushing the frontier; in the 80s he was recording bands like DAF and Whodini. Always exploring where sound could go.
The documentary is called Conny Plank: The Potential of Noise. I highly recommend it.
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Same dude ended moving in to our house at one point. We let him because he had an amazing record collection. He also introduced me to Sleep and Spacemen 3. He moved out pretty quickly though, because the dog that lived there hated him and used to barricade his bedroom door with his giant dog body, forcing the dude to have to leave his room through the bedroom window and then back into the house through the front door. Every morning. Also, he was always late with rent-there was a reason why he had such a great record collection.