Neu!

by Michele Dicuonzo (“Sensorium”)

The debut platter from the German duo Dinger/Rother stands as one of the historic cornerstones of kraut-rock as a whole, but also, and above all, as a fundamental building block of rock music as we know it today. Just consider the enormous legacy of the mythologized “Hallo Gallo”, over ten minutes of ‘motorik’ groove, as the authors themselves dubbed it at the time, with its broken rhythm and a crescendo of guitar effects that Stereolab clearly drew on from their very first recordings.

Or hesitate over the murky urban landscapes of the equally seminal “Negativland”, forged from obsessive, incessant bass riffs and overdubbed with grating noise that undoubtedly left its mark on the imagination of Joy Division's “Unknown Pleasures“, not to mention the entire industrial universe. Elsewhere, it's the more typically German strain that rises to the surface, with the solemn, ecstatic psychedelia of Florian Fricke's Popol Vuh tracing the coordinates of the sublime “Weinensee” and “In Gluck”, meditative, hypnotic and minimal tracks of remarkable stature.

The subdued ending of “Lieber Honig”, almost a mystical prayer, closes the books on a highly creative record. Neu! (a rather fitting moniker, there's no denying it) were nearly thirty years ahead of their time with their daring experiments, and what still surprises today is the undeniable modernity, the unsettling relevance of the music contained within these grooves.

***

“Poetic License” by Francesco Nunziata

Certain records simply aren't... They are much more: they are their own time and everything that came before... They are today and tomorrow, and above all, they are everywhere. Certain records aren't simply made of notes... in short: they aren't simply made of music. That's it.

It happens, then, that one must follow other paths, desolate territories, boundless landscapes incredibly austere in their paroxysmal otherness. Interrupted trails leading nowhere, but which are already that place, that emotion, that word... that record.

“Hallogallo” (10.07)

It happens, then, to follow an obsessive beat and to find within its coordinates a primal sense of rhythm, a mythical, exasperated, divine ceremony. But that's not enough. One must glimpse, in its powerful advance, the menacing, lunar glimmer of metal, the vaporous, shapeless mist of nights on the edge of the city. One must become something else: at times, God. Yes, indeed: those guitar lines, so perfect in painting parallel lines in the brain, must become one with the body, and the body must abandon its fears and plunge into the vortex.

“Sanderouwgebut” (4.51)

And may that vortex be silent and menacing like the shudder of the cosmos in the void. And may there be, in the unfolding of unexpected voices, anguish, desperation, yet the inability to be any closer to millennia-old springs, close to the Void that from the Nothing steeps us in Death.

“Weinensee” (6.46)

But from dark omens of destruction, may one still draw the meaning of the stars, the beauty of these fields nourished by dew ever since, as a child, you could uncover more secrets than the world could ever offer you. And amid these fluorescent, oil-slicked lamellae, may the interplay of guitars steeped in timelessness and joy still be glimpsed. Everything is so damn pure and primordial, like distant cries of birds destined for silence in the mother-of-pearl evening...

“In Gluck” (6.53)

This drifting, dragging behind it shreds of a life that can no longer be, because it is now only the lingering trace of things said and things done... This pushing on as far as possible, as far as the eyes can bear and the heart can hold... Because this is “stasis”, the stillness of time lying within itself, like a lazy, old, idle God.

“Negativland” (9.46)

And then washing up again along infected shores and glimpsing in the distance the dance of an Apocalypse, which in the sky is still just a dark omen, a shadow sheltering from the sun, unaware, we poor and wretched souls, that only its blinding fire still keeps this earth virgin before our stunned eyes.

Glimpsing sickly flowers in the clearing, and remaining fearless. Glimpsing ghosts and dead souls at the bottom of the valley, and remaining fearless. Glimpsing the earth absorbing the flight of butterflies, and remaining fearless...

“Lieber Honig” (7.15)

In the end, what remains is a heap of emotions, a psychological aphasia, perhaps the glimmer of a more intimate, even more essential purity. Because the wonder of words lies in their silence within the heart, their voice forever misunderstood, unheard. And so, letting go, drifting away, scattering across the world... Only some elusive syllogism of the soul could explain this whole divine shattering of the unspoken.

Not simply an album...

Ride the wave of great music

Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.

Follow on Google

03/11/2006