Formats
KILP012 - 2xLPs
4050486998915
Details
What can music do that everything else can't? Something is different and better because it is direct and not interrupted by anything in this profession. Music, so strangely authentic, can save whole youngsters or sweep off the table like a checkered tablecloth full of junk. Everything blurs, gets into each other, holds the essences ready and immediately into the perceptual, into what absorbs, the senses, the recording trumpets, this torn ear, which can be nothing more than full of what comes there. And something comes, uninterrupted sound, current, current, entry into the tunnel, into the new (new !, the only meaningful band name), into the unknown and unprecedented. Everything is new and unknown and absolutely never existed and heard - every second, forever. That everything should have been there before is nothing more than an annoying misunderstanding, you can almost believe it yourself, the power word, elongated in all directions, hollow and unlikely, by people who could all be my father. The buzzing of flies over the bio bin: avant-garde soundtrack. The rustling of blood in the ear: the beginning of every sound art. Only the greatest possible silence, the space in which things sound and can reverberate, gives the whole that kind of pupation, transformation quality that iridescent us. And that goes directly against dying, against zero. That something is, and not nothing, is the most beautiful positivism that there is. Everything swings permanently, is continuously positive instead of zero. And strictly speaking, it also flickers when there is silence in the plus range. Because there is no silence, whatever that is, only whirring, whirring, bubbling, noise, hum, crackling (etc.) on a more or less (in) audible frequency. We know little of the sounds that the moon or other lumps of space may cause, of dolphins and whales, whose singing is like a call from rooms, of which it remains unclear whether they scare or comfort us deeply. We now also know, for example, that we have Christian Löffler's music. Since his debut album in 2012, word has gotten around that this is not just about hip electronica, but something that deals with us, our soul states. Self-immersion, this music seems to be throwing to us, as self-protection, as a bulwark against a world in which elections are won by half-madness, capital flies through the area like a sickle-stricken sickle, to destroy existences en masse and the Middle Ages crawling freely from all holes and marching forward again. This horribly transparent, because completely open longing for some form of existence that does not exist, for something that could be the opposite of our inadequacy, this imperfection that produces little more than shit. How desperate does our brain have to be that it constantly wants to be better than it can? This tremendous simplification continues, thinking only in headlines, fuzzy terms everywhere, because the simple answers to the burning questions are quite okay in the long run, at least so okay that it doesn't hurt enough. The present as a great anonymous placeholder for a much wider sense of displeasure. Hence the shooting fantasy shit everywhere, the stupidest glorification of the Middle Ages, Sunday evening depressive TV, the leisurely drift into the self-chosen Ikea world, into the final immaturity. If they would at least shut up, but no, they have to go on missions, start talking, and kick things off, the consequences of which are still completely unpredictable. But I want to shut up myself and concentrate on what is absolutely necessary. In a world like this, you may only be able to travel inside. There you will find everything you need, at least in theory. What do you need? This music knows. Everything flimsy of one's own existence, that is, what one can dream of under the hand in a fraction of a second immediately falls apart. Something is missing, something is wrong, you know that, that is the basic feeling with which you enter the street anyway. Actually everything is even more difficult to bear with this music because it offers a hint that everything could be completely different. And in a way that just can't be, especially not in the long run, especially not with us, you or me. So this music shines as a utopia through the gaps, the branches of the trees. Or, on the other hand, as a costume image of failure, the glowing, constant restlessness endowed with little hope. Let's take a track like "Neo" from the new album "Mare" - something pulls together here like a cat that has curled up to sleep. Or “Youth”, which blatantly tells of the thousands of past summers, in which something like childhood took place and is gone forever, only to then rely on an old bass sequence in “Lid” and breathed one, to murmur muttered vocals, who notices that he cannot really choose between lamenting and starting anew and prefers to break out of the whole track in beauty, beauty whose sad glow retreats again and again in the course of the album, as in "Athlete" and "Vind" to spend the winter somewhere other than in the track itself. Here there is a kind of interruption in the knowledge that all knowledge is only knowledge of death.
Tracks
Press
Reworks: Max Cooper, Aparde, Zimmer..