Recently in Krautrock Category
Hesitant hype consumers take heed: it took me six months to "get" Electrelane. This after seeing them play the most riveting show I saw all year. This after being inappropriately obsessed with their promo photos for a couple of months. This after they released one of the most subtle, powerfully understated records of last year.
"And they're from Britain," he whispers--the crowd gasping in astonishment. Brighton, to be specific. Debuting with a series of short-run seven inches before setting up their own (Sony-supported) Let's Rock! imprint--the band eventually released their mostly instrumental debut, Rock It To the Moon (with which I admit I am embarrassingly unacquainted), later issued in the U.S. by the now-defunct Mr. Lady Records. The band soon moved to British sub-major Too Pure! (Stereolab, McKlusky, Scout Niblett, etc.) on which they released last year's The Power Out to near-universal acclaim--and a near six-month extended yawn in my iTunes playlist. And yet for whatever reason--be it guilt of critical association (the record's consistently compared to Euro-riffic folks like Neu and Stereolab), or more probably (and shamefully) the obscenely Anglo-baiting photo above--I maintained my loose interest in the band.
One chilly September evening of last year, after months of exhaustingly disappointing shows from bands that I've long admired (nameless here, of course), I ventured with decidedly low expectations to Berbati's to see an evening of glossy magazine fare--the Ex, some wanky free-jazz drummer that was rolling with them (who I am told is hot shit by some of my more highbrow friends), and Electrelane. As Electrelane set up, I retreated to the back of the room where I expected to stay for the duration of their set. By the third song, I was up front. By the end of their set, I was convinced that I just seen the Greatest Band Of All Time--and it was all because of Mia Clarke.
Sure, Verity Susman's slurred and howled multi-lingual gymnastics were undeniable, and Emma Gaze's (the most cartoonishly faux-British name ever muttered, I might add) fanastically metronomic kit was, well, just sickening--but guitarist Clarke, androidian in expression and precision, was, to put it bluntly, fucking MAJESTIC. Searing through songs made unrecognizable by sheer dexterity and volume, Clarke crushed cock-dropping blues riffs with blank and swanlike grace--brilliantly emasculating every solo, every chord, by pinching off every ounce of swaggering rocknroll testosterone. She was, in that evening, the most compelling guitar player I have ever seen. And Electrelane was the Greatest Band. I couldn't even stay for the Ex. After that, anything would be a let down.
And with that, I just knew that I finally got it-- that I would rush home, put on the record, and every stunning facet would finally unfold. But then it didn't. The Power Out was still boring as shit. I mean, what the fuck, right? These were the same songs, yet played as if they were recorded in a nursing home during rest hours--whispered so as not to wake the neighbors. By their own admission, Electrelane is a live band, but this kind of disparity was just inexplicable.
A few months have passed since September, and in that time I have grown to love The Power Out with a fervor that grows with every listen. It's incredibly subtle, unsettling, square-pegged, and often pretty clunky--but is beautifully so on each of those counts. Not that it could ever live up to the Electrelane that I saw last September, but how could you possibly compete with the Greatest Band Of All Time?
This is beginning to get difficult. Something that I might impress upon you, dear reader, is that however junkstore these here GBoAT entries might come across, they are in each a very serious undertaking. My knowledge on each of these subjects are far from encyclopedic, and as such, it is only through relentless and laborious research that we are able to offer you these daily missives. I'm not looking for thanks--just a little forgiveness.
Weird tangent. Anyway, today's subject is Neu!, a band whose history I have only had a very narrow understanding of until, well, about 20 minutes ago. Birthed from the crab grass seedling of early partnerships with Kraftwerk, drummer Klaus Dinger (who played on the second half of Kraftwerk's self-titled debut) and Michael Rother (a touring guitarist) split from the band in 1971 with creative differences, moving in together to work on a new project. Living at the time with a couple of young German ad executives, the two decided on the name Neu!, the most common word used in advertising, and began the process of recording their first LP.
With Kraftwerk producer Conny Plank on board and an extremely limited recording budget (a problem that would plague them for many years), the duo spent four days improvising in studio. The resulting LP, their self-titled debut (comprised entirely of elements conceived on the final two days of studio time), was in very name a strange sort of Genesis from the rigidly mechanical (or "motorik") drumming to the single-note throbbing bass, guitar washes and white noise. It's been said thousands of times (and, I might add, quite a lot more eloquently than I can possibly muster at present), but Neu! really is just so sprawling in its simplicity: covering enough territory in its six parts to expand the ethos of the then emerging Krautrock (German as they were) altogether; the warm sonic wash that would go on to fuel a thousand warm washes.
As per usual, the record didn't find an audience outside of their homeland, but the record did do surprising business in West Germany and following their first (and only) tour, about six shows, the band returned to the studio to record the unsuccessful single "Neuschnee" / "Super", followed by sessions for their sophomore release.
The recording sessions for Neu! 2 were plagued with budget problems, affording the band about enough studio time to record the first side of the record before the money ran out. Broke and under a great deal of pressure from their record company, they could flesh part of the record out with the material from their previous single (about seven minutes), leaving about fourteen minutes of empty space to fill. Their famous response was five additional "compositions": their 45 played at three varying speeds, a recording of a broken version of the single, a song from the already completed sessions as played through a bad tape recorder. WE INVENTED THE REMIX.
After the understandably luke-warm reception to the record, Neu! briefly split, Rother forming the acclaimed (if obscure) Harmonia with the members of lesser Krautrockians Cluster. The band released two records, were called "the world's most important rock group" by Brian Eno, then split. During this time, Neu! reunited to fulfill their contract to Brain Records.
The resulting LP, Neu! 75 (with which I am unfortunately personally pretty unfamiliar), saw the band incorporating more synths into their sound, and at the same time pursuing a more abrasive leaning. More widely acclaimed then the disappointing (though at times stunning) Neu! 2, the record still didn't do any business, and the band (as planned) split.
A year or so later Rother gets a phone call from David Bowie about a project he's working on. He's heard Neu! and Harmonia, and is curious as to whether he'd be interested in working on a new project with Bowie and Eno out in Berlin. Rother declines. Bowie and Eno go on to make Low.
Neu! reunites one last time in 1986 to record the lackluster Neu! 4 (which remained unreleased until the late 90's, and which Dinger released without Rother's blessing), but for the most part, that's where their story as a band ends. That is, if you don't count the sprawling number of Space Rock, Ambient, and Psyche bands that would go on to rip them of (and let's not even get into Stereolab again). which, of course, we don't.
For their part, and for all of the compelling reading I had to the do this morning, Neu! is and will forever be the Greatest Band of All Time.
